


Rhapsody in Ass Major

by MaverikLoki, Ywain Penbrydd (penbrydd)



Series: A Comedy of Assholes (Rhapsody, etc.) [27]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: A wizard's staff's got a knob on the end, Anal Sex, And mercy what a knob indeed, Anders has some fucking issues, Bloodplay, Breathplay, Brother/Brother Incest, Cock & Ball Torture, DAMAGED GOODS: DO NOT SHAKE, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dicks and Sass, Dom/sub Play, Dysfunctional Relationships, Fisting - Fenris style, Hawkewardness, Issues Were Had by All, Justice!Anders - Freeform, Klismaphilia, Knifeplay, M/M, MAGES. - Freeform, Moresomes, OCD, Open Relationships, Oral Sex, PTSD, Problematic and played straight, Rhapsody: It Makes an Ass of You and Me, Rimming, Romance Porn, Sass & Class & Ass, Sleep Groping, Sounding, Threesome - M/M/M, Trust Issues, Weirdly Uncomfortable Smut, Zero Relationship Skills, an inordinate amount of alcohol, ass-groping, bad decisions everywhere, everyone is a hot mess, fuck what even were the tags?, fucking fucked directly up, gesticulating with dildo, gesticulating with ham, no one is ever drunk enough for this, organ-fondling, plundering the Deep Roads, repost because Mav is an idiot, the Hawke ass is legendary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-21 13:36:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 394
Words: 996,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3694247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaverikLoki/pseuds/MaverikLoki, https://archiveofourown.org/users/penbrydd/pseuds/Ywain%20Penbrydd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>DA2 AU in which both Carver and Bethany survive, and there are three older Hawke siblings. And all of them are Purple. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll want to set Fenris on fire a couple times. Nobody knows what the fuck they’re doing, but they’ll do it anyway! At least people usually know who the fuck they’re doing… Except that one time. Starts cracky, but gets semi-serious, decently quickly. Never gets entirely serious, because hello, Purple Hawke does not ‘serious’. Or at least three of them don’t all at once. IT’S A GODDAMN ROMANCE. JUST READ IT.</p><p>  <i>"Why does everyone keep saying 'ass'?" said either Anton or the pile of blankets in his shape.</i></p><p>  <i>The three brothers Hawke, and their ludicrous adventures in ass-grabbing good times.</i></p><p> </p><p> <b>***REPOST BECAUSE HELLO ACCIDENTAL DELETION</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. PART I: THE DEEP ROADS

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, this is Mav, and I am an idiot. After 33 chapters, 100+ kudos, and Lord knows how many comments, I apparently accidentally deleted this. So this is the repost. An attempt at a repost. Something in the general vicinity of a repost.
> 
> For those of you new to Rhapsody, welcome to the insanity. I suggest you drink responsibly while reading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you making the journey into Rhapsody for the first time, I advise consulting the [Codex](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6033208/), if things are confusing. [Days of the week](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6033208/chapters/15164164), for instance, have been converted to more Thedas-appropriate words that aren't dependent on the names of gods that don't exist in the setting. Sexual content is also tagged by chapter in the Codex.

The brothers Hawke had made a considerable investment in Bartrand's venture. Sufficiently considerable that the brothers were able to bring their companions. It was, to say the least, not a small group, although one with a good deal more experience with darkspawn and Things That Should Not Be than the bulk of the caravan. They made good time, at least until they finally made it underground. The entrance to the thaig wasn't small, but it was a good deal less space than one could find on the open road, which left the lot of them sharing but two tents, which were, at least, large, but encouraged a certain familiarity among their occupants.

As tended to be the case, Varric was among the first up. Strangely, though, Fenris wasn't.

Varric took the time alone to properly care for Bianca, pulling out a scrap of cloth and oiling her down the way she liked. It was almost peaceful, in the morning quiet, if it weren't for the stink of taint and the weight of stone around him. He had to be the only dwarf who hated the Deep Roads, and he told Bianca so.

A muffled curse broke the stillness, then a thud and a second, louder curse. Varric glanced over at Tent Number Two with eyes narrowed. He wasn't surprised when the tent started glowing and mages started shrieking. Varric set down his cleaning supplies and put away Bianca.

"Guess it's time to start the day."

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?" Justice demanded, the blue blaze brightening, even outside the canvas walls.

Cormac grabbed Artemis and pulled him behind Anton, rolling their still-sleeping brother onto his side, to use as a bulwark against the Fade-glowing lyrium-delirium going on in the middle of the tent. Anton groaned half-heartedly and pulled the blankets up.

Blue and bluer circled each other, each waiting for the other to strike.

"What is the meaning?" Fenris sputtered. His hair was still flattened on one side from sleeping on it. "What is the meaning of waking up with your hand on my ass?"

"I DID NOT KNOW IT WAS YOUR ASS," Justice boomed. "IT WAS SOFT, LIKE A PILLOW. IT WAS AN EASY MISTAKE."

"My ass is not pillowy!" Fenris swore and scrabbled about for his sword.

Artemis looked sidelong at his brother (the non-snoring one). "We should probably stop them before someone loses a hand. Or worse."

"Before someone loses a dick," Cormac sighed, getting up. "If I get killed, does that count as you losing a dick?"

Cormac stepped over the pile of blankets and brothers and put a hand on Justice. Mostly because putting a hand on Fenris would end in losing it. "Look at me, Anders."

"NO. I WILL NOT. HE MEANS TO STAB ME."

"I do mean to stab him. He was touching my ass. Fondling it, even. There was a mage fondling my ass, and now I'm going to stab him," Fenris reasoned, still blinking the crust off his eyelids.

"You let my brother, the mage, touch your ass all the time, so don't bring magic into it. You've got a nice ass, Fenris. He probably thought it was mine." Cormac grinned like nothing in the world was wrong, and rested his head on Justice's shoulder. "Come back to bed, and we'll get your hands on the right ass, this time."

Artemis let out a choked noise and made as though to duck behind Anton again. "There has been no touching of asses here," he said, ears flushing red. "Not between Fenris and me. Admiring of asses, sure, but--"

"It is much too early for all this talk of asses!" Fenris growled. He still had his sword in his hand.

"I AGREE."

"You have no say in this, Justice!" Fenris snapped, waving his sword again.

"You know what it's also too early for?" Artemis said, scrambling to his feet and positioning himself dangerously between his two glowing companions. "Waving swords around. And glowing. Much too early for the glowing."

"It's never too early for asses. Or swords of the less metallic and more fleshly variety. It's definitely too early for the glowing, though." Cormac kept his hold on Justice, not sure it would do much good, but at least he could say he tried. Or someone could. "Stop glowing, my long, lean beauty. We'll start the morning over. You and me, and a little less angry elf."

"I'm standing right here!" Fenris protested, flickering with annoyance. "Stand aside, mage. Your brother irritates me."

Justice opened his mouth, looking like he might say something that would start a war, so Cormac solved the problem as he solved so many problems, by applying his tongue. The resulting kiss was a somewhat drooly, teeth-clattering affair, in which Justice may have muttered a few things, but no one could quite make them out. Of all things it might be, romantic was not among them. Grotesque and dangerous were much more appropriate descriptions.

Artemis made a sound like he was choking back vomit. "Maker, they're at it again," he groaned. He looked back at Fenris, who was staring at the kissing, half-glowy couple with that face, the one that looked like he was sucking on a lemon. At least his sword was pointed at the ground. "Alright, Fenris. Let's get you, me, and all our respective 'swords' out of this tent before they start.... 'dueling' with theirs."

Artemis made a shooing motion, which earned him an annoyed glance from the elf, even as he obeyed, muttering under his breath and dragging his sword behind him.

"Good morning," Varric chirped.

"Fuck off," was the less cheery reply.

Instead of Fade light, Anton's snores filled the tent.

* * *

The next sunless morning saw a very different pile of bodies in the second tent. Fenris and his sword at the very outer edge, beyond Anton's incredible ability to sleep through anything. On the other side of Anton, Artemis and Cormac were wrapped around Anders, who sprawled shamelessly between them. The idea, after all, was to keep the glowing and shouting to a minimum, from here in. That was the sort of thing that might attract darkspawn, and even with a Warden, no one wanted to take that chance. Especially the Warden.

Anders dreamt of his time on the run -- the better parts of it -- and a smile curled across his face, as he slipped an arm under the body on either side of him and firmly kneaded the asses of both brothers, without waking up. He made a small sound of pleasure as Cormac moved closer, wrapping a leg around his own.

Artemis curled into the warm body next to his, the arm he'd thrown around Anders's waist tucking him closer. In the liminal state between waking and dreaming, he nuzzled under a stubbled chin, pressed back into the hand on his ass. Unfortunately he went from "almost" awake to "fully" awake in the middle of Anders's next squeeze.

"Oh sweet Maker," Artemis breathed, freezing. He was cuddling. With Anders. With his brother's... _something_. And that was definitely not his own hand on his ass.

Artemis stared at Anders' chin and tried to figure out how he could wriggle out of this without waking him or Cormac. He tried to shimmy out from under Anders' hand, but the bastard just squeezed him tighter.

Fuck it. "Anders," he hissed. " _Anders_." He patted Anders' cheek. "Wake up. Now."

Anders turned his head and pressed his lips against Artemis's forehead. On the other side of him, Cormac's hips began to roll, in time with the squeezes, and Cormac hovered in that mostly-asleep state between dreaming about doing Anders and actually doing Anders. His hands wandered, rubbing Anders's chest and eventually stroking his brother's arm.

Showing absolutely no sign of waking up, Anders made a few small, warm sounds, inviting more of everything he could get, as he kissed Artemis, again, this time on the eyelid. His nightshirt was not heavy enough to conceal the state he was in, as Cormac's thigh rubbed against him.

Artemis felt his cheeks flush up to his hairline. There was a body against his, a warm hand on his ass pressing him against a warm thigh. It had been too long since anyone had touched Artemis like this, and Anders smelled _nice_ , like elfroot and embrium and the Fade, earthy and ethereal and masculine all at once.

"Maker, you're worse than Anton," he muttered, shoving Anders's hand away before his... _condition_ became more obvious. He scrabbled back and away, feeling cold for the loss. "Wake up, you twits!" he shouted, the dreamy contentment he'd woken to thoroughly ruined.

Fenris shot bolt upright, clutching his sword. "What?"

He blinked, squinting at Artemis, then at the walls of the tent. There were no unusual sounds, no fighting, no screaming. Except for Artemis.

On the other side of the tent, Anders and Cormac failed to get up, scrabbling at each other, cracking their heads, and pulling each other back down, over and over. "Maker's balls, Artemis! It can't be but dawn! What is with the shouting?" Cormac snarled, having just been awoken, in _quite_ a condition, from a very lovely dream.

Anders finally gave up and stayed flat. "Why am I awake?"

Anton just groaned and pulled the pillow over his head.

"To my credit, I tried less shouty methods of waking your boyfriend first," Artemis groused. His glare was hampered by a yawn he smothered with his fist.

"That doesn't answer my question," Anders said.

"You're awake because there are still indentations in the shape of your fingers on my ass."

Anders's eyes widened. "What?"

From the other side of the tent came a strange rumbling sound. It took Artemis a moment to realize that it was Fenris laughing.

"Some people sleep walk," Artemis ranted. "Some talk in their sleep. Some steal the covers. But _habitually groping asses_ is a new one for me."

"To be fair, it's a very nice ass. Nice asses run in your family," Anders rambled, still trying to get his brain to work.

Cormac grinned across Anders at his brother. "Do you see why I like this man? Entirely after my own heart. Or after my ass. Which is also an amazing and excellent pursuit."

"Pursuing your ass seems like a contradiction in terms," Fenris threw in. "You have a tendency to offer it so freely."

"Why wouldn't I? Someone's got to get the glory of the old Hawke ass out in public!" Cormac declared, springing to his feet, knob bobbing against the front of his nightshirt a few times, while a touch of disconsolation gnawed at the edges of his arrogant good cheer, and a faint flush crept along the line of his jaw. He coughed and dived for his clothes.

"The splendidness of my or Cormac's ass was never in question," Artemis replied, even as he made that 'I'm going to vomit' face again. "Though I wager I could beat his ass, in more ways than one."

"Why does everyone keep saying 'ass'?" said either Anton or the pile of blankets in his shape.

"Don't worry, Anton. Your ass is admirable, too." Anders offered the blankets a wink. The blankets slithered closer to the edge of the tent, crowding a now-disgruntled and still-armed Fenris against the canvas.

"Anyway," Artemis sighed rubbing his forehead. He reached for his trousers, hooking a toe through a belt-loop and sliding them towards him, so he wouldn't have to stand and show off his knob the way his brother had. "We're all awake now. Good morning." He slipped on his pants and avoided eye-contact with Anders.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drunken mayhem, loud sex, and Anton isn't getting laid, which isn't fair at all.

They had found something, at last. Older, the dwarves thought, than anything they knew. Anything found here wouldn't just be old dwarf stuff, it would be the old dwarf stuff of legend. They set up a base camp, just outside the entrance, in an area that looked like it might once have held travelling merchants, like the outer courtyard of Orzammar still did. And once they all had settled, the celebratory drinking began. Even Anders managed to convince his more disapproving half that a couple of pints wouldn't impair him substantially.

It must have been nearly dawn, when they finally lay down, most of both tents filled with people drifting in and out of consciousness, the time spent in like peering through a porthole in a storm, ghosts of things that could have been slapping against the edges of their vision, while the ground rolled beneath them. Cormac and Fenris took it well, both being practised drunks, and sat up a while longer playing at cards, before Cormac lost one hand too many, and stumbled off to collapse onto Anders, a few feet away. Fenris curled up where he was, to one side of the food chest, trying to ignore the drunken giggling that emanated from everywhere around him.

For his part, Artemis wasn't sure who the warm body and jabby elbows beneath him belonged to, but he had a feeling they were related. The elbows were a little too pokey, he decided, so he rolled over onto his back and into Fenris's spiky personal space.

"Hello," he said through a snicker before clapping a hand over his mouth. "Your spikes are pokey too." He tapped the edges of one of the aforementioned spikes to illustrate.

Fenris' eyebrow crept towards his hairline. His lips twitched in a smirk. "Are they."

"Yes. I thought you should know."

Fenris took the hand that was still poking at his armor and placed against Artemis's chest. "Thank you for informing me. How much did you drink?"

Artemis made a garbled sound that fell somewhere between "psssh" and "I dunno".

"Please don't vomit on me," Fenris requested.

Halfway across the tent, Cormac and Anders were getting loud, each having had enough to drink that neither of them cared who heard. Or, apparently, who saw, considering that Anders had hiked Cormac's robe up around his waist and was apparently in the process of swallowing his knob. Given the bit of a show Cormac had given a few days before, there would almost have to be swallowing involved, at that angle.

Fenris tried to keep his eyes on Artemis, but what--? No. He was not looking. Being aware of the vague shapes moving outside his field of focus was enough. More than enough. He patted at the cloth under him until he came up with... something small. A sock? A rag? He wasn't sure. But, he threw it in that general direction. "Stop gagging yourself long enough to gag him. The entire camp does not need to hear all about what you're doing, and how well you do it."

He was not interested in 'that electricity thing'. No. Not at all. "Your brother is very loud," he pointed out to Artemis.

Artemis followed Fenris's stare (and the trajectory of his sock) and saw the source of all the fuss. He stared at the shadowed shapes for one, two, three beats longer than he meant to. "Maker," he breathed, watching the way Anders's head moved over his brother.

His _brother_. Right.

Artemis swallowed and looked back at Fenris, trying his best to ignore the sounds that went straight to his crotch. "Loud," he babbled. "Yes. Very loud. In every situation."

"I will not argue with that," Fenris replied wryly.

"There's no way we're going to sleep through this, are we?"

"Best to wait it out."

"Andraste's tits, Cormac," Anton groused at a particularly loud note from their brother. "You'd think he was paying you."

In a strangely coherent moment, after an excruciating sound, Cormac managed an answer. "I should be paying _him_! Maker's breath, Anders, if you're ever at a loss for coin, I strongly suggest sucking dicks for it. All of Kirkwall would be yours in a matter of weeks. Have you tried putting this forth to win more weight for your cause?"

Anders bit him.

Cormac swore loudly and thoroughly enough that, in the next tent, Isabela applauded, and Carver covered Merrill's ears. As Anders stood up, Cormac sank down, pleading with him not to stop. Anders's only response was to start removing his own clothing, totally missing where he meant to throw it, but getting it all in the same place, at least.

And Fenris was still _not looking,_ his eyes staying firmly on Artemis, as small sounds started over there, again. Much quieter, for now, but he had a feeling that wouldn't last. This drunken mage, those sounds... it was almost enough to give him a complex. "Talk to me, mage. I would prefer your drunken babbling to their drunken... adventuring."

Fenris's stare was hypnotic, eyes large and dark in the shadows slanting across his face. Artemis's gaze drifted to Fenris's lips, and he wondered if Fenris would punch him if he tried to kiss him.

Oh. Nope. He was not thinking about kissing Fenris while his brother was grunting like a heifer mere feet away. He cleared his throat.

"Talking. Right. That is a thing I can do. Um." Except that those sounds and the play of shadows on the opposite wall were thoroughly distracting. "What was I talking about?" he asked a bit breathlessly.

Fenris sighed in frustration. "Anything. Nothing. Just... talk, mage." Fenris's voice was a low growl that Artemis felt as well as heard.

"Would rather listen to you talk," he said bluntly. "You have a nice voice. And a touchable ass too, if Justice is to be believed." Artemis would love to find out for sure, but he was rather fond of having hands.

"Let us not talk about my ass." It wasn't a sentence Fenris had ever imagined himself saying. "But, if you must stop me from getting up to remove your brother's internal organs, I give you permission to touch it. That would stop me from getting up, I think. Perhaps at some small cost to you, but I think I am the one of the two of us who might not mind if he had heart failure from the strain, in the next five minutes. Stopping me from getting up might actually be worthwhile, to you."

In the background, literal sparks flew, as the mages continued their all-out assault on the senses of everyone around them. Fenris thought he recognised the glow of ice, as well, and a brief chill brushed across his toes. Perhaps there was a point to boots, after all, if only for sleeping in. As Cormac began to howl unintelligible praise, again, while Anders did whatever it was Anders was doing, Fenris's fists clenched and he gave serious consideration to getting up, aside from the part where he'd just given this drunk mage permission to grab his ass, if he tried.

"I kept a room, for a few days, in a cheap brothel in Starkhaven. Even that was quieter. I do not expect he will still have the respect of the rest of the expedition, in the... I'd say morning, but I think it is. Perhaps he can win it back, if we run into any darkspawn. Slaughtering the enemies of the people tends to cover a great many sins." He tried to be philosophical about it, really he did, but those sounds and the sight he would not let himself see, just over Artemis's shoulder...

"If they keep this up," Artemis said distractedly, "they'll summon enough darkspawn to us to save them the trouble later."

His mind was still on Fenris saying he could touch his ass, in the event of an emergency. If those noises kept up, Artemis was going to have an emergency in his smalls, and that very ass might be his salvation or his death.

"Hey, will you two hurry up?" Artemis shouted over his shoulder. He did not need to be thinking about asses or groping or hands that had been on his ass that were now on his brother.

He burst into giggles at the absurdity of the situation, burying his face against Fenris's spiky chest. Fenris stiffened but didn't pull away. The mage was _touching_ him. Certainly the least annoying of the mages, but still. Touching him. There was mage-face pressed into his armour. He supposed that was the purpose of armour -- keeping things from touching him any more closely than its outer surface. His fingers twitched, uncertainly.

On the other side of the tent, Anders was still strangely silent, for all the 'yes, more, harder' coming out of Cormac, and Fenris found himself almost grateful he only had to listen to one of them. He did not look up from the mage pressed against his chest, when a deep and utterly debauched sound spilled out of Cormac, liquid and electric. Fenris felt it wash over him, rippling through his bones, crackling between his fingers and toes. For one lunatic moment, he wondered if Artemis made sounds like that, too, and what it would take-- Mage. Touching him. No.

Another wave of electricity went far afield, and a gasp choked off Artemis's giggles as he arched into the body against his, feeling sparks sizzle up his spine. " _Oh_."

Clawed fingers dug into Artemis's hip, holding him still. "Mage," Fenris rumbled, half a warning, half a promise. "Don't move again, or so help me..."

More electricity washed over them both and crackled between them. Artemis arched again, the claws in his hip digging hard enough to draw blood. " _Nngh_."

"You're doing that on purpose!" Fenris growled over Artemis's shoulder, finally allowing himself to look past him at the rutting mages. He couldn't see Anders's grin in the dark, but he knew it was there.

 _Fasta vass_. Tomorrow he was switching tents with Varric.

The next shot was either Anders finally missing or Anders finally hitting his intended target -- assuming, of course, this was all intentional, which as far as Fenris was concerned, it had to be -- as it landed on the point of Fenris's hip. Every thought he might have had about any of this left his head, as the low charge raced through him, down his gauntleted fingers, into Artemis. Fenris's head tipped back, eyes rolling up in their sockets, his body tightening, pressing closer against Artemis as his muscles clenched. His claws dug in and his hips twitched.

That was it. He was going to end them. The abomination, first. He moved as if to rise, trying to ignore the dull throb between his legs... only to be held down by a hand on his ass. A mage's hand.

He held very still, half-raised onto his elbows, and narrowed his eyes at the owner of this adventurous and soon-to-be-unattached hand.

"Hawke," Fenris growled, noting the dazed way Artemis grinned up at him. They were in a precarious position, Artemis's boozy breath on his cheek, hip digging into his. Any movement one way or the other, and, to paraphrase Cormac, their 'swords' would be dueling.

"It _is_ pillowy," Artemis marveled, and--- _Maker_ \---that hand had started to _knead_.

"Mage," Fenris choked.

"You said I could."

Dizzy giggling emanated from a pile of blankets that Fenris assumed was Anton, and Fenris weighed the appeal of just killing all of them. On the other hand, dead mages didn't give ass-massages. On the other other hand, dead mages wouldn't be touching his ass at all. It was terribly difficult to make rational decisions with all this groping going on, and the exceptional amount of dwarven liquor that had gone down his throat was not helping with this problem.

"I did. You have stopped me. I will not remove your brother's organs and feed them to the camp dogs." He was aiming for disapproving, but only managed breathless.

The pile of blankets continued to giggle. On the bright side, Fenris thought he was likely to be the only one who remembered any of this, and sufficient drink on another night might be enough to solve that problem. He could be a fool, just this once. He lifted one gauntleted hand and placed his thumb on that ridiculous little patch of fluff on the mage's chin, rubbing it gently. Humans and their incessant fluffiness had always amused him.

Artemis bent to nip at that clawed thumb, holding the tip of it between smirking lips. He looked up at Fenris through his lashes and continued to squeeze that wonderfully pillowy ass.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked around Fenris's thumb.

Fenris licked his lips and traced Artemis's with the pad of his gauntlet. "You probably should," he rumbled.

"I didn't ask if I _should_ ," Artemis countered, drunk enough to think himself quite clever for the reply. "Do you want me to?"

Behind Artemis's back, magic was still flying and Cormac was still singing Anders's praises, but Fenris had Artemis's full attention.

Fenris leaned closer, closing his eyes so he wouldn't see _any of this_ and let his lips brush against Artemis's ear. "Is this truly something you want to do, while your brother screams his pleasure with the healer? The healer he's going to _need_ , judging by the sound of it..."

His fingers spread, claw tips lightly scraping across Artemis's cheek. Sure, it was a foul thing to say, but if this was going to stop suddenly because of Cormac, better it stop now, before they got much further. And speaking of Cormac, the man seemed to have an incredible grasp of absurd and vile expletive. It sounded like he could teach the pantsless pirate a few turns of phrase.

"Do you want to do this, here and now?" he asked Artemis, uncertain which response he would prefer.

The teeny-tiny, microscopic part of Artemis's brain that was sober told him this was a Bad Idea (complete with capitalisation), but the drunken rest of his brain didn't see how it possibly could be. He leaned into the claws at his cheek and shivered at their sting. It was hard to think with a saturated brain in his head and a wonderful butt in his hand.

Artemis offered his throat to Fenris's wicked claws and _smiled_. "Fuck Cormac and Anders," he said. "Or, you know. You could fuck _me_."

"Oh sweet Maker," came Anton's muffled voice.

Artemis snared his free hand in white hair and pulled Fenris down to him in a drunken, slobbery kiss. He may have missed the elf's lips on the first attempt, but he persevered. Fenris growled into the kiss.

In all the years he had worn them, Fenris had never removed his gauntlets quite that quickly. For all that he mightn't have minded that dangerous edge, the inevitable bit of blood, he still hadn't mastered opening his _pants_ with them on, while drunk. And he was completely certain that whatever the morning might bring, opening his pants was a necessity. His bare hands clutched at Artemis, tugging the mage's hair, stroking his slim neck, kneading that ass he had never consciously admitted he might want to touch. Perhaps Anders was right. Perhaps nice asses did run in the family. Certainly Fenris could find no fault with Artemis's, feeling the muscular weight of it against his palm. Small and firm, as one might expect on an adventurous mage.

When the kiss finally broke, for lack of breath, Fenris pushed his thumb into Artemis's mouth again, hauling the mage against him with the other hand. With no space between them, Fenris used the leverage to tip Artemis's head back, ducking down to bite along the line of his jaw, hips shifting into a slow roll.

"But, I wonder," he muttered against Artemis's neck, "are you so loud? What sounds will you make for me?"

"Fenris," Artemis said on a shivery exhale. He was never so glad for his habit of not wearing pants to bed. He mentally patted himself on the back. Good thinking, Artemis. Good foresight. With a crooked smile, he added, "That depends, doesn't it?"

Artemis hooked a leg over Fenris's and rolled them until the elf was completely on top of him, bracing himself on arm over Artemis's head. Fenris's teeth and tongue continued their trail down the curve of Artemis's neck, worrying at the meat of his shoulder.

"Is that a challenge, mage?" he growled against bruising skin.

"Nng," was Artemis's intelligent reply, a rush of breath against the shell of Fenris's ear. Artemis mouthed at the tip as they writhed in counterpoint, reaching both hands down to squeeze Fenris's ass, now, encouraging his hips to rock harder.

Finally, Anders made a sound, which was enough to catch Fenris's attention, for a split second. After so much silence from the abomination, it was surprising. "How is he still going?" Fenris wondered, perhaps a little louder than he meant to.

"I'm a Warden. Comes with the territory."

Fenris could feel the smugness of Anders's grin all the way on the other side of the tent, and it just annoyed him. Very well. He had his own mage to make scream. He huffed and lowered his mouth to Artemis's collarbone, nipping along it, as he tugged at the nightshirt Artemis wore, trying to raise it at least enough to enable further skin contact. He was not quite drunk enough to believe either of them needed to be naked, under the circumstances, unlike certain _other people_.

Finally working the nightshirt over Artemis's hips, Fenris paused to smooth his hands over the exposed skin, a smooth thigh, a sharp hip, and more of that inevitable human fluff. That was warm and rough under his fingers, and his hand kept returning to stroke the edges of that bit of hair, before it finally wrapped around the silky-smooth surface of Artemis's rather appealing knob. And that was something else he wondered about, with humans. Didn't that just... itch?

But, now was not the time to ask such questions. Now was the time to do regrettable things he could blame on the drink. He kissed Artemis firmly and intently.

Artemis tried to press back into the kiss and into the hand on his knob at the same time, something that was regrettably difficult to do when one was drunk and on the floor. He did his best, though, tangling both hands in Fenris's ridiculously soft hair as he kissed back with gusto. He nibbled at Fenris's lip, and his tongue traced the lyrium lines on Fenris's chin.

Fenris's hand tightened around him, fingers flexing experimentally, and Artemis groaned. "Maker," he breathed against Fenris's lips. "Fucking _finally_. Do you have any idea how long I've wanted you to touch me like this?" He swallowed Fenris's grunt of surprise in another kiss.

And okay, so maybe now wasn't the time for desperate confessions of love (or lust, really), but Artemis was willing to confess to anything, up to and including King Cailan's death and even that time Leandra had made him wear a dress, if Fenris would just keep touching him like that, _oh Maker_!

Artemis wasn't as loud as his brother. He voiced his pleasure in breathy counterpoint to Cormac, lips open around shivery pants and small, choked off moans, and he bit his lips against even these.

Fenris eased Artemis's lip out, with his own teeth, nibbling at it.

"Such quiet little sounds. Everything about you is understated, isn't it?" he breathed, in wonderment, hand squeezing a little tighter, stroking a little harder. And still, the mage simply panted and occasionally squeaked, beneath him. "You would never have told me, would you?"

He wrung Artemis's flesh in inadvertent time to the wet, thrusting sounds from the other side of the tent, the little gasps and groans much more satisfying than any of Cormac's squalling. Fenris finally had to let go long enough to untie his leggings. _Had to._ Getting out of them was no longer optional. He tried to push them down, but they wouldn't go far with him sprawled across Artemis like he was. Still, it was room enough to press against the mage's heated flesh. The slide of skin on skin made his breath catch in his chest, and a rolling dizziness came over him, as sweat broke out along his spine. This... what was he doing? Foolish, delicious, and regrettable. He would claim to remember none of it, and neither would anyone else.

Holding up his hand, he made one simple demand. "Lick."

Artemis blinked at the hand in front of him for a moment, the reality of what they were doing, were about to do, hitting him even through the haze of drink and the stink of sex. Maker, this was Fenris. Spiky, broody, lovely _Fenris_. Artemis was in serious danger of overthinking this, of following cause to effect in his mind, dominoes falling one after another, until he chickened out and let this opportunity pass by.

"Fuck it," he decided under his breath. He wouldn't let it.

He grabbed Fenris by the wrist and licked his hand with gusto, using the lyrium lines as a roadmap until he took Fenris's fingers into his mouth, sucking the salt from his skin. He hummed and purred around Fenris's unfairly long fingers, hips grinding up into his other hand in counterpoint to his tongue.

Sweat pooled at the base of Artemis's spine and made his nightshirt stick to his skin. Fenris's skin was hot against his, and they were both in danger of burning up and consuming each other in the flames.

When Fenris finally pulled his hand free, Artemis swallowed his spit and licked his lips, his stare hungry, pleading, vulnerable. "I need you," he breathed, still holding Fenris's wrist.

Fenris shivered. What a thing, to be _needed_. To be _wanted_. To be desired, instead of commanded. "Then you shall have me."

He reached down and wrapped his wet hand around them both, using the other arm to brace himself, as he kissed Artemis hungrily. A hundred little bites and licks across the mage's lips, as he thrust against Artemis, in his fist. He meant what he said. He did. He just had to... work himself up to the idea. A little bit of teasing and grinding would buy him some time. Or it would burn out any resistance he had left. One or the other.

And somehow, in the dark, he could feel Anders's eyes burning into him, from across the tent. As if whatever the abomination was doing to Cormac wasn't enough. Although, Cormac was starting to sound like he was rapidly approaching 'enough', more 'ow' than 'ooh'. Unless they were into that. Which Fenris did not want to know.

As the easy slide became a sticky grind, he brought his hand to his own mouth, licking the musky taste of sweat and sex from his fingers. This time, when he reached down, he kept going, eyes caught in Artemis's gaze, as he pressed two fingers into the mage. "Is this what you want? Do you want me inside of you?"

Artemis squirmed, hips jerking first away then towards Fenris's fingers. "Maker, yes!" Artemis groaned. Anticipation made him light-headed as fingers pressed and probed, scratching an inch Artemis had forgotten he had.

Maker, it had been a while. Since before Kirkwall, at least. Probably the night before Ostagar, when Artemis had gotten just as desperately drunk then as he had tonight and one of Cailan's guards had buggered him against a tree. That was something better in theory than in practice, he'd learned. He'd had scuff-marks from tree bark on his junk for days, and there were just some places one ought not to find twigs.

Except this wasn't Ostagar or tree-sex. This was Fenris and... sex in the Deep Roads. Across the tent from his brother and _his_ lover. For a moment, Artemis wondered what Brother Number Two was doing and supposed that he was probably either sleeping through it or rubbing one out under the blankets.

"Come on," Artemis growled through gritted teeth, rocking back on Fenris's fingers now. He clutched at what he could reach of Fenris, hands fisting in that ridiculous armour. "Take me. Need it. Need _you_."

He'd deny all of this in the morning.

Fenris looked down and spit on himself, sliding his fingers out of Artemis to spread the spit onto himself. After a few more rounds of spitting and stroking, he leaned back over Artemis and lined himself up.

"Bloody. Impatient. _Mage_ ," he declared, shoving himself in. And then the world went sideways. His mouth went dry and everything seemed to glow, flashes of light firing off behind his eyes with every beat of Artemis's heart. His arms shook as he held himself up, gaping stupidly down at the mage beneath him.

It was _good_. This was the kind of good that inspired epic poetry, he suspected, but it had knocked the sense out of him. Warm, tight, and _so alive_ , and he was not just permitted to enjoy it, but invited. Begged. Something in the back of his head suggested adding 'fucking gorgeous mages in the ass' to his list of what freedom meant to him, and at that very moment, he thought he might.

Finally, he remembered to move, slowly pulling back, and enjoying every twitch and flex of Artemis's body, before he thrust back in, hard and deep. "You dreamed of me. Tell me what you dreamt. How do you like me to touch you? How do you like it, when I put myself into you?"

It was easier to try to make it sexy, than to admit he had no idea what he was doing, and he'd only gotten this far based on memories of dirty stories and pub songs he'd heard.

For his part, Artemis grappled for words, collecting his thoughts only to have them skitter away at each push of Fenris's hips. Maker, they were... He was...

"I..." Artemis started, stopped, and licked his lips. Fenris was huge and solid and perfect inside him. "I want it... like this. Slow. Deep. And then I want it to build. I want you to let go of yourself. I want you to... to _devour_ me."

Leather armour shielded Fenris's back from bruises as Artemis clung to him, pulling their bodies as tight together as they could. He arched up to feather kisses over Fenris's lips, over his chin and chiseled jaw, over every inch of skin his lips could reach. His knees pressed tight to Fenris's flanks, heels hooked at the small of his back and drawing him in.

Artemis wanted to ask if Fenris had thought about this too. He wanted to know what Fenris wanted, what he'd ached for, but he was afraid to ask, afraid to discover what he already suspected: that Fenris hadn't been aching for this the way he had.

"Like this?" Fenris asked, following with a few achingly slow thrusts that went in as far as he could figure out how to get himself. It wasn't until the fourth or fifth that his hips got away from him, and he ground in at the end of the thrust, making the world sparkle around the edges. If this was as good for Artemis as it was for him, he was definitely going to take Artemis's advice about things like this, in the future. The future... Future? No, no, no. This was for one night. One drunken night. Morning. Whatever, it was the Deep Roads; there was no time underground.

Thrusting and grinding got easier as Artemis fell into the rhythm with him, and Fenris pressed his lips to Artemis's again. Who would have thought a body part used for such common things could be a source of such pleasure? Lips and tongues moved up a bit, in his estimation, as he kissed Artemis until neither of them could breathe. Panting and still thrusting, he gazed into Artemis's enticing blue eyes, wonderstruck at all of it. If it was like this, Fenris was suddenly a lot more understanding of the general obsession with sex. Obsession was still poor form, but it seemed like the sort of thing in which he might indulge, occasionally.

A particularly forceful bit of writhing from beneath him leant itself to interpretation, and interpret he did, picking up the pace, and enjoying every little encouraging gasp and groan from Artemis. Sweat dripped down inside his armour, which was going to be unpleasant, later, but at the moment, there were few things he cared less about.

"You like this, don't you?" he purred against Artemis's ear.

Fenris's voice was sin itself. "Yes," Artemis panted, palms tracing the armor at Fenris's back, mapping out nonsense patterns of their own. "Keep talking. Please."

It was a reversal from earlier in the night, when Fenris had asked Artemis to speak, to distract him. Except the object now wasn't to distract but to entice.

Fenris continued to move as he considered what to say, what Artemis wanted to hear. Then Artemis shuddered under him, at a particular twist of his hips, and he chased that, wanting to feel Artemis shake like that again. His next thrust wrung a strangled shout from Artemis, the loudest noise the mage had given him yet.

"Listen to you," he rumbled at Artemis's ear. "Like that, do you?"

Artemis bit his lip against another shout and nodded, burying his face in the crook of Fenris's neck. " _Maker_ ," he panted, over and over.

"Mmm. No, but from the sound of you, perhaps I will be your _unmaker_." Fenris had no idea where he found the wit for that quip, since he was pretty sure there was no blood left in his head. He twisted his hips. "Make that sound for me, again. I like the way it echoes in your chest."

His pace picked up, as Artemis continued to plead for divine intervention, bucking and writhing against him. And _that_ whatever that was... That pressure, there, that... Perhaps there were benefits to mages, after all. He was relatively certain that was some kind of magic, the way the pleasure rocketed through him, clattering against the inside of his skin. "Yes," he gasped, eyes huge and round. "Yes, _oh_ , Artemis!"

Fenris's breathing finally got away from him, stuttered gasps replacing the long, slow panting. He wasn't sure what to do with any part of his body, as each one sparked in turn, never long enough to choose to focus on one. His hips jerked, hard and fast, and he rutted senselessly into the mage beneath him, making sounds of pleasure and surprise, interspersed with low growls of Artemis's name, and what he hoped were quiet encouragements. How had he gone so long without this?

Artemis's hand scrabbled at Fenris's back as the mage held on for dear life, each thrust knocking the air out of him in a series of "ahs", as though his lungs only obeyed Fenris and the rhythm of his hips. Fenris did manage to wring another shout from him, one that echoed in the tent and likely outside of it, but Artemis was too far gone to care. His head rolled back, and he looked up dazedly into Fenris's eyes, marveling at how round they were, maveling at the sound of his name in that velvet voice, as he reached up to caress Fenris's cheek. Palm molded to Fenris's jawline, thumb sweeping in half-circles under Fenris's eye.

So perfect. Fenris felt so... _so_...

Artemis couldn't take it. He reached down between them to grasp his knob, pulling furiously in time to Fenris's thrusts. Within moments, he was shouting and shivering, shuddering under Fenris's onslaught as his pleasure crested, peaking in sparks of white behind his eyes. Artemis fought to keep his eyes open, to drink in the look on Fenris's face, to tattoo every moment to his memory.

For a moment, he forgot that this wasn't something he was planning to remember.

Fenris, on the other hand, forgot everything: his name, where he was, where he left one of his legs. It was one of those nights. Not that he'd ever had a night like this, but he looked forward to having more of them.

Warmth coiled in his chest, pooled between his hips, and he honestly thought he might die. His mouth, apparently, knew better. "Artemis! Venhedis, Artemis, _please_!" and so on, and so forth. He couldn't have stopped panting out his desperation if he wanted to, but he'd forgotten how to want anything but the amazing sensation of this warm body wrapped so tightly around him, if ever he even knew. He had been, overall, poor at wanting. It hadn't been his place to desire. But, now, a compelling lust ran in his blood, a flickering burn with every beat of his heart.

And then, with a shout of surprise, he sank entirely into the pleasure, completely befuddled by the rush of even more intense sensation. When he came to his senses, he felt damp, achy, and deeply satisfied. In the next tent, Isabela was whistling her approval, and across the tent he was in, Anders was staring and Cormac was applauding.

Fenris was certain he was supposed to feel something about all the noise, but all he felt was sated. He rolled to the side and tried to pull Artemis with him. "Stay with me," he mumbled, warm and completely dazed.

"Don't think I could move even if I wanted to," Artemis murmured, his smile crooked and goofy and a little sheepish. He curled against Fenris's body and tried to pull his nightshirt back down over his apparently grabbable ass. "Maker. Are they staring? Please don't tell me they're staring."

Best to avoid the world, at this point. Artemis did so by nestling under Fenris's chin. His brain was still piecing itself back together after that, still trying to reform around a reality where _he and Fenris had had sex_. In front of his brother. Andraste's tits, tomorrow's hangover was going to be spectacular.

"I'm still here, you know," Anton muttered. "And if anything I'm wearing _more_ clothes than when this started, and that just not fair." He tossed Anders's smalls back to him and burrowed back under the blankets, muttering to himself.

Artemis groaned and hid his burning cheeks against Fenris's neck.

Fenris reached over Artemis, remembering something about a bedroll. He pulled the blankets over them, sloppily, and tossed a leg over Artemis's hip. Everyone else could go straight to the Abyss. He was tired, he'd just had his entire reality recomposed, and right now, he was going to go to sleep, with this incredible man in his arms. Everything else, including denial, could wait until the hangover wore off. Oh. Another use for mages. Hangover cures. He smirked at Anders over the top of Artemis's head, as the healer pulled his smalls on, looking completely unperturbed by the fact he'd had them handed back by the one person who hadn't gotten laid.

As Anders wrapped himself around Cormac's back, nuzzling his neck, their last exchange was just audible. "And you can finish me off, tomorrow," Anders suggested.

Cormac just groaned. "Oh, fuck."

"That's the plan."

Anton groped around for something heavier to throw.

  



	3. Chapter 3

Artemis woke and wondered if he was dead. His mouth certainly tasted like it, and his head certainly _felt_ like it. But he knew he wasn't when he squinted at the white hair tickling his face and realized it was Fenris's.

He knew he wasn't dead yet because he was going to be soon.

Fenris shifted in his sleep and snuffled against Artemis's throat, lips parted around a rasping breath that wasn't quite a snore. The previous night and all its drunken... _activities_ came back to Artemis, and he was far too fucking hungover to deal with the tangle of reactions that came to mind. He was also far too fucking hangover to deal with the look his brother was giving him over Fenris's shoulder.

Cormac's morning sass degraded almost immediately, when Anders pinched his ass. "No. Absolutely not."

He rolled onto his back in self-defence. "Heal me, first. I am not touching you with anything but my fist, until I stop having a headache and a pain in my ass that I can feel in my lungs."

Fenris woke to the sound of Anders laughing hysterically. Limbs. Human fluff. Mage. And his pants were open, to boot. That actually happened, then. Fenris made an effort to close his pants with a minimum of motion, in the hopes of increasing the deniability of all of this. Nope, didn't happen, we were all too drunk at the time. You were hallucinating. We were just making fun of Cormac and Anders. That last one seemed almost plausible.

Anton snored on, under the pile of blankets that was only large enough to fit one person.

Artemis's and Fenris's gazes met and skittered away. Artemis coughed into his fist and scuttled away a bit. Fenris had been surprisingly warm and comfortable for someone who dressed like a pincushion, and Artemis felt a bit exposed, lying in the middle of the tent in just his nightshirt. "Good morning," he muttered, avoiding another brush of eye-contact by looking about for his pants. Yes, over there, by Anton's head. His pants. Pants, pants, pants.

"Morning," Fenris rumbled, the pitch rising in an almost-question as Artemis shuffled across the tent on his rump and extricated his pants from the pile of cloth surrounding his snoring brother. The one person who hadn't gotten laid last night---oh Maker---and who had likely heard and seen everything.

Anton mumbled something that could have been another "Good morning" or just more sleep-talk. At least Cormac wasn't saying anything to him yet.

Right. He wasn't going to think about that. Nope. He was going to pull on his pants and face the day, hopefully while avoiding absolutely everything else.

A bit of a mournful look crossed Fenris's face, as he watched Artemis get dressed. Those long, hard legs that had wrapped around his waist, the night -- what time was it _anyway_ ? -- before, disappearing into grey-green cloth. But, no. Deny, deny, deny, and next time don't do it in front of everyone. That was his plan, and a solid plan it seemed, or at least as solid as he was going to get before -- "Abomination, stop jabbing Cormac in the ass, and get up. I have a use for you that in no way involves you being nude."

Anders just laughed harder. "You don't know if it involves me being nude or not, and if you want me to get up right now, I can promise you nude is what you're getting."

Cormac sat up, in slightly better shape than he'd been, minutes before, holding out a faintly glowing hand. "Come here. He's just being a prick. If he won't do it, I'll do it. Won't be as good, but I won't have you brooding _and_ hung over."

Fenris took a bit to untangle his armour from the blankets, before he stood up -- and there was a regret -- and staggered over to Cormac. "I'm not picky."

"Yes you are!" Cormac laughed, wrapping a hand around Fenris's ankle, and letting the healing wash up his leg. "And thanks for last night. He needed it."

Fenris shook the hand off his ankle and squinted in what he hoped was confusion. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Artemis's cheeks and ears flamed red. He passed a hand over his face and glared through his fingers at his brother. "Ignore him too, Fenris," he said.

"I usually do."

Right. So denial was on everyone's agenda today, it seemed. He kicked Anton awake. "Come on. Nap's over."

"Like I got much sleep last night," the blankets groused before shifting, moulting off of Anton until the shape under them looked vaguely human. Best to ignore him too.

Artemis stood up and immediately staggered. Okay, maybe standing wasn't the best idea yet, if his stomach's one-organ revolt were anything to go by.

"Are you going to throw up?" Anton asked helpfully. "You look like you're going to throw up."

"I am not going to throw up," Artemis insisted. His stomach gurgled, and he grimaced. "Okay, maybe I'm going to throw up. Anders?" There was no way he was going to ask Cormac for healing.

Fenris hovered as though torn between helping him and backing up to make sure Artemis didn't puke on his bare feet.

Anders got up and took a blanket with him, winding it around himself as he crossed the few feet to Artemis. "Hold onto my arm, so you don't fall. Your equilibrium's going to shift, and I don't want to drop you on your gorgeous ass."

Cormac threw one of his boots and successfully nailed Anders in the ass with it. "It's my ass you should be looking at!"

Fenris glared and then looked away. Venhedis. Where had he put his foot-wraps? When had he even taken them off? He would think about his feet, now, because it was infinitely less upsetting than dealing with the jealous burn that had displaced the nausea in his guts. Feet. Feet were a safe subject. No, he was going to choke the life out of that filthy abomination, as soon as they were out of the Deep Roads, and he was less concerned with needing a proper healer, in case of combat. Oh, there they were. Under the edge of the bedroll he'd dragged over them, last night.

Artemis took Anders's offered arm and closed his eyes at the blue glow of Anders's magic. It washed over him, first in a trickle, then a rush, and he swayed, grip tightening on the healer's bicep. He let out a groan of relief that had Fenris's blood rushing in completely the wrong direction. Feet. Stay on feet. Wrap over one foot then the other.

"You're a life-saver," Artemis told Anders with a dazed smile. He patted Anders's arm and straightened, feeling a little less like one of his dog's chew-toys.

"Yes," Anton agreed wryly. "Things are usually better when there's no puking."

"Only 'usually'?" Artemis asked. He certainly wasn't eyeing Fenris's back and wishing the elf would look at him. "Are there instances when puking makes something better?" He made a face at Anders and Cormac. "You know what? Don't answer that."

"There's a totally innocent answer to that question, but it involves assassins," Anders pointed out, not actually answering the question as he stepped around Artemis to crouch down next to Anton. "Oh, _there's_ my pants!"

He gathered his clothes from next to the rogue, with a smile that was almost as anti-apologetic as anything Cormac could have mustered. "Let me guess, you're next on the hangover-removal chain?"

Anton squinted grimly into the face of salvation, and for a moment, he considered telling Anders exactly where he could stuff it. "Unless you want me to be the puking assassin in the party."

Anders actually stood up and got dressed, while he healed Anton. No need to prop up the guy who's already laying down.

"I feel like you should know you threw your smalls right in my face, last night, like a cheap stripper," Anton said, instead of thank you, setting Cormac off into a fit of the giggles.

"Hey, hey, I still think someone should be paying this guy a lot more than he's getting scrabbling in the dirt in Darktown." Cormac chimed in. "Probably me, actually."

"Yes, might as well make it official," Artemis drawled. "I guess it's all on which title you prefer, Anders. The Healer of Darktown or the Whore of Darktown."

"Except the 'Whore of Darktown' implies I'm sleeping with all of Darktown," Anders replied, the corner of his lips quirking.

"And this is all of us, looking surprised," Fenris added dryly.

"Now, that just sounds exhausting," Anders said, brows knitting. He was likely going over the logistics.

Which just made Artemis think about last night. Again. He shook his head and made for the tent exit. "Now that just makes me wonder what's _really_ in your healing potions," he quipped around a nervous laugh. He was careful to avoid brushing Fenris's elbow with his as he passed.

"Nothing contagious," Anders quipped, fastening his coat.

Cormac finally got up and retrieved his boots, bare-ass naked and clutching a blanket in front of his crotch. "One of these days, you're going to need to go back into those ancient Tevinter texts and dig up the secret of resurrection, because if you keep on like last night, you're going to kill me. And it will be an amazing way to die."

Fenris made a disgusted sound and followed Artemis out. "Is your brother always so..." He gesticulated irately.

"Yes," Anton called out after him.

Cormac pulled his clothes on, not without an exceptional amount of pressing the still-bare parts of himself against Anders.

"The two of you could make a living doing this. When we get back to town, you should go propose it at the Rose," Anton muttered, finally surrendering the blankets in favour of the lure of breakfast.

* * *

The caves still echoed with the weight of the door slamming shut. Varric's voice echoed too, in harsh, desperate roars of his brother's name, fists beating a tattoo into the impregnable door's surface. The brothers Hawke and their companions stared at the door in varying degrees of shock.

Artemis and Anton exchanged looks with each other and with Cormac. Artemis wouldn't say that he could never be annoyed enough with his brothers to lock them in the Deep Roads, but he sure as shit wouldn't do it over a piece of lyrium. This was a joke that had gone on too long. It had to be.

Except the only punchline came in Varric's voice breaking.

Incongruously, Artemis had the thought that, if they died down here, at least he got to screw Fenris first.

Fenris was not amused by any of this. Not the being locked in, not the dwarf's panicked shouting, and sure as shit not the way the abomination -- their healer -- curled in on himself, eyes too wide, face all pale and tragic. Oh, no. No, no. This would not do. He knew that look.

Moving across the cavern, Fenris squeezed Artemis's wrist, and just kept walking. He grabbed Anders by the face, and stopped Cormac cold, with a foot in his chest. "Anders. Look at me. Do you see me?"

Anders made nothing but small, panicked sounds.

"Look at me. What colour are my eyes, Anders?" Fenris went on.

"He's done this before," Isabela pointed out, impressed.

"Don't think too much about _why_ ," Aveline grumbled, checking the wall for anything that might open the door. "Carver, help me over here."

Anton joined them, clever fingers searching for a switch, a pressure plate, some way to open the door from the inside.

Artemis hovered next to Cormac, knuckles tight on his staff, and looked to his older brother for guidance. "Is he alright?" he asked, indicating Anders with a nod of his head. He thought of Anders's healing magic, of the way it seemed to wash over and through him, setting everything to rights. He didn't know how to do that for Anders.

Luckily Fenris knew what he was doing. He held Anders's stare, kept his breathing slow and steady and obvious.

Anders blinked up at him, eyes wide and unseeing. "Green?" he said at length.

Anton cursed and shook his head at his brothers. They weren't going out the way they'd come in.

"That's right. They're green." Fenris tried to smile just a little. "Ok, here's what we're going to do, Anders. You like Cormac, right? I want you to step over here with me and hold onto Cormac. He'll keep you safe."

Trying to ignore the sweat pooling in his palms, Fenris nudged Anders toward Cormac, looking expectantly at the other mage. Cormac was quick to respond, both to his brother and to Anders. "Come here, pretty thing. You're fine. We're going to be fine."

Anders grabbed on to Cormac's shoulders like he might never let go. "We're down in the dark."

"It's not so dark in here, right Artemis?" Cormac put on that inappropriately sassy smile that only he loved on himself. "Look at all that glowing red shit. We could practically have a party in here."

"No, no, no. We're down in the dark, and I can _hear them_."

"Oh, shit," Varric groaned. "He's a _Warden_. The Warden is losing his shit."

"He's not losing his shit, Varric," Fenris snapped. The look on his face strongly suggested that, for all the abomination annoyed him, now was not the time to question Anders's sanity. "He knows where the darkspawn are, and the darkspawn know where the surface is, from here. He's not losing his shit. He's getting us out of here."

Artemis looked at Fenris, at the conviction in his eyes and the squaring of his shoulders, and felt his own breathing steady in response. In that moment, he would obey anything that man---elf---asked of him. "He's right," he said, following Big Brother's example. "We'll be alright." His hand hovered over Anders's shoulder, unsure whether touching him was a good idea just now.

"Well," said Aveline as she turned back to the others, the set of her jaw squarer and stiffer than usual. "There's no way that door is opening. The only chance we have is to continue further in."

Anton let out a dry, nervous laugh. "Can't say this is how I thought today would go."

"Considering how we woke up, I suspect none of us did," Artemis added with a forced smile. Normalcy. That was what they needed. And normalcy with the Hawke brothers meant inappropriate humour.

"I woke up in the arms of a man who wanted to plunder my already-looted booty," Cormac sighed. "And now he's going to save us all. The next time, Anders? Just do me. I owe you at least twelve, if you get us out of this alive."

"But, I'm not alive," Anders protested, still not quite all there. "Didn't you know?"

And then, there was Justice, radiant and blue. "I WILL LEAD US," he declared.

Cormac did not look entirely well, for a long moment. There was a joke, there, but not in front of Justice. Justice who, at a certain point, always stepped in and stopped Anders from speaking of certain things, from doing certain things. And, admittedly, from _dying horribly_. Still, at times, Cormac wondered what the fuck he was doing. It was like dating a woman with a controlling husband. Except not a woman. And not actually dating.

Fenris crossed his arms and glared at the floor.

"Oh. Yeah," muttered Carver. "This is _much_ better. Whose idea was it to come down here again?"

"Don't even start, Carver," Anton said, while everyone glared at Carver in agreement.

"COME ALONG," boomed Justice. He pulled coldly away from Cormac and went back up the stairs, past the altar where the lyrium idol had sat, his blue glow eclipsing the traces of ethereal red. The group trailed reluctantly after him, letting the Fade spirit lead the way.

Artemis timed his steps to walk beside Fenris, shooting the elf sidelong glances. "Thank you," he said, keeping his voice low. "For before. For... Anders. That was impressive." He wanted to ask Fenris how he knew to do that, but there an obvious answer, which was one Artemis doubted he'd want to hear.

"Another of my talents," Fenris replied. "It is not so impressive. What is more impressive is how few people think to try it."

The elf failed to raise his eyes from the ground, before him, deep in that space in which only the end mattered, and the means could be drunk away, later. He watched Carver's heels, noticing how the youngest brother slowed to help the blood mage. He didn't like her. He didn't trust her. He didn't want her anywhere near him, to an even greater extreme than that piss-damned irritating abomination, but he would admit that she and Carver seemed to settle each other.

Isabela brought up the back, one arm around Varric, and the other around Aveline. Every few steps, she'd crack some completely inappropriate joke as loudly as possible, and up front, Cormac would howl with laughter. Eventually, Cormac started to sing. It was one of those things he did relatively well, even if it was always the dirtiest of drinking songs he could remember at the moment.

"I put my hand upon her toe," he started, and Isabela screamed and joined in. Loudest rogue in the Marches, Fenris thought.

"This isn't a Lowtown pub crawl!" Aveline protested, but Isabela drowned her out.

"Whip it in, whip it out, quit fucking about," they sang, letting the music prop up the mood in the tunnel. Or tank it. Either or.

Anton sang at the top of his lungs, nudging Carver and Artemis to encourage them to join in. At the front of their troupe, Justice let out a sigh in all capital letters. "THIS SQUALLING SHALL ALERT DARKSPAWN TO OUR PRESENCE."

"Spoilsport," Anton said.

"It's probably safer," Artemis shrugged. "You don't want me singing. The darkspawn would think I was one of their own."

"You're not wrong," Anton agreed. Then he heaved in a breath and continued singing anyway.


	4. Chapter 4

"Andraste's tits!" Cormac grabbed his nearest brother by the chin and twisted his head toward the light. "That's light. That's daylight. That's _outside_!"

Carver batted Cormac's hand off his face. "And now we get mobbed by darkspawn, again, because you're shouting, right?"

Fenris pushed ahead of all of them, squinting in the light, sword at the ready. "I, for one, am done with this vile, corrupted hole," he proclaimed, waiting for his eyes to adjust, every few steps, as he moved toward the light. 

Cormac followed at the usual distance, ready to rain fire and lightning on anything that even thought about disrupting their break for freedom. "I could make a joke about corruption and holes, but I'm the one fucking the Warden, so let's just not."

As usual, and thankfully, Justice missed most of the nuances of Cormac's horrifying commentary on the situation.

"Was that something dirty?" Merrill asked. "I missed something dirty again, didn't I."

"'Missed' isn't really the word I'd use," Carver replied. "More like 'were saved from'." Aveline huffed something that sounded like agreement.

"Oh sweet Maker," Artemis whimpered, coming up beside his oldest brother. He grabbed Cormac by the chin and planted a kiss on his cheek, days of beard growth making it a more prickly experience than he was expecting. "Smell that? That's fresh air. Air that doesn't smell like rot or your disgusting, unwashed body. Andraste's pert nipples be _praised_!"

Once back out in the air, out in the sweet, Maker-loving air, Anton dropped face-first into the dirt and groaned in relief.

"I'm probably the only dwarf who's this relieved to be out of the Deep Roads," Varric sighed. He patted Anton's shoulder as he passed, still squinting into the sun. "Alright there?"

"I'll never leave the surface again," Anton said, voice muffled in the grass.

Artemis, meanwhile, was happily kissing anyone in reach.

Fenris found himself in reach. Possibly slightly intentionally, although he would deny it to his dying breath. He growled a little less than entirely threateningly as Artemis's lips met the side of his face, and having angled himself just so, he landed a quick pinch under Artemis's shapely bottom. Nothing anyone would ever notice. Another little secret he was sure they would both deny until they were blue in the face.

Cormac was wrapped around Justice's legs. "Annnnnders, come back to me. Come down here and look at that sky! We're out! We're out and we're never going in again!"

"I CAN STILL --" and the non-stop blue blaze that had burned from the time they'd been sealed into that room went out. "-- hear them."

Anders's eyes rolled back in his head, and he dropped, knees aimed for Cormac's face, but Aveline caught him under the arms, and with Cormac's help, she laid him out on the ground. 

"He's been up for days," Cormac whispered. "Did you see him eat anything?"

"How much did any of us eat?" Aveline responded, shrugging. "Keep him down and don't let him do anything that's going to make him _more tired_."

"Yes, mum," Cormac snarked, sprawling across Anders.

They smelt of sweat and death, all of them, but they were still alive, and they were out.

Fenris moved to stand before Varric, but wouldn't look at him. "I'm sorry about your brother."

Varric's answering smile wasn't the happy kind. "Not as sorry as he's going to be," he said, hand twitching for Bianca at his back. The not-smile twisted again, and Varric patted Fenris's arm, too tired to observe his unspoken "no-touching" rule. Either that or Artemis had broken down _that_ wall. "Let's get everyone back home. Hawke needs to heal the healer, and I have a feeling you have a use or two for his little brother." He winked and walked past Fenris, exchanging wicked smirks with Isabela.

"Which one?" Fenris countered with a nonchalance that was fooling no one. He waited until Varric wasn't looking to glance at Artemis, who was leaning now with his back against a tree, body one sagging line and eyes closed.

Merrill crouched beside Cormac and nudged his arm with a water skin. "Here," she said. "He probably needs it, poor thing."

Anton peeled his face off the ground and found he wasn't the only one sprawled upon it. "Hmm." Maybe he'd started a trend. It seemed like everyone had stopped for a rest, so he made no effort to get up. He pressed his face back into the dirt and breathed deep.

Cormac smiled dazedly up at Merrill. "Thanks. I don't... He's pretty passed out."

"Oh." Merrill sat down, looking thoughtful. "That's true. I don't suppose he's going to drink until he wakes up."

Cormac choked off his first response. There were things he just didn't say while he was _looking_ at Merrill. It was worse than saying them to his sister. "Did you find water, or is this just the last of what we have? We should find water. And drink it. And wash in it. And drink more of it."

"I'm holding out for beer," Anton muttered into the dirt.

"Oh, what I wouldn't give for a beer and a bed," Carver groaned. "But, no. My stupid-ass brothers dragged me down into the Deep Roads on some theoretically profitable family bonding expedition. For the record, I hate all three of you, and I know where you sleep."

Aveline clanked as she sat down. "We followed the darkspawn out. The ones we killed aren't going to be the only ones that know about this exit."

Fenris sighed, still standing. "I've got first watch."

"I'll join you," Artemis said before his brain could catch up to his mouth. "For the... watching, that is. First watch." He pushed off the tree, smothering a yawn with his fist. They were all exhausted, but he was the giddy, trembling-fingers kind of exhausted where there was no way he was going to sleep yet.

"I'll go scout for water," Aveline volunteered. She walked as though her armour were ten times heavier than usual. "Anton, you're coming."

Anton groaned into the dirt. "I'll start digging a well," he said.

" _Now_."

Anton muttered something uncharitable about Aveline's mother under his breath, but he pushed himself upright, making a show of how heavy his limbs were, drawing on the ground. They wandered off into the woods together, the image of exhausted determination.

"Can I help in any way?" Merrill asked Cormac, eyes large and green and so very hopeful.

"You're Dalish. Do you know any spiffy tree magic, so we can get shelter?" Cormac muttered into Anders's chest, barely clinging to consciousness. He'd been obnoxiously loud and cheerful for... he wasn't even sure how long, but it was damn near non-stop. It wasn't really the obnoxious part that was difficult, but that much consistent cheer just took it out of him.

"Oh. I ... I don't... I'm sorry. I'm not a woodcrafter." Merrill looked saddened by this sudden lack of skill. "I could get leaves, though! They're very warm in large piles."

Cormac started to laugh, just a dull snicker at first, but it built out into a guffaw he was surprised didn't wake Anders. "Yeah. Do that. Leaf piles sound great."

"Are you just humouring me?" Merrill asked, peering suspiciously at Cormac.

"No. I'm just laughing because we just crawled out of certain death, and now we're going to sleep in a pile of leaves." Cormac blinked. "That made more sense in my head. I welcome your leaf pile! You should ask Carver if he wants one. I'm sure he'd love some of your leaves."

Away from the noise, Fenris squinted at Artemis. "For the watching. _Yes_. Are you certain you should be standing? Are you sure you won't mistake me for a hurlock and light me on fire?"

He tried to sound dismissive. He did. He was tired enough, though, that he might have sounded concerned.

"Yes, because I know loads of glowy hurlocks in tight pants," Artemis quipped with a tired smile. "Though you're welcome to hold onto my staff if it makes you feel better. Er, that is..." Artemis's ears flushed red as he thought of Fenris holding his _other_ staff, long fingers on hot skin. He coughed into his fist. "This staff." He offered Fenris the staff in question, the larger and probably more deadly staff in his possession.

Fenris glanced at the staff, then looked back at Artemis, a raised eyebrow saying he knew where Artemis's thoughts had wandered. He didn't move to take it.

"Right. Watching," Artemis babbled. "The first watch. We are watching. We are the ones who are watching the first watch..."

His mouth tended to run away from him when he was tired. His staff bounced on the ground in nervous agitation.

Fenris's hand lashed out and grabbed the staff, finally, stilling the jitter. "We are atop a cavern. Don't."

That was loud enough to be heard, at least as far as Anton was from them, but Fenris lowered his voice and stepped closer, and the rest of the words were unintelligible more than a foot or two away. "I suspect you would be even louder, if I took hold of your _other_ staff."

Across the camp, Merrill dumped more leaves on Cormac and Anders. "Leaves are really good for this," she rambled, "because they're never quite flat, and the space between them traps the warmth. You should never underestimate the insulative properties of plant material. Not that it would help much in snow, but you can build little cabins out of snow, and those are much warmer than they should be."

"Do you know that from the Dales or from your demon?" Fenris loudly asked, exhaustion, giddiness, and the terror of what might come up after them if he closed his eyes having chewed through his self-control.

Varric sucked in a sharp breath, but Merrill rounded on Fenris, all smiles. "The Dales, of course. You should take more of an interest in your elven heritage, Fenris. It could save your life, one of these days."

"I will take that under consideration." Fenris intently observed the grass growing.

A short distance away, Aveline and Anton came across a spring. It wasn't something they could bathe in, but the water was fresh and clear. Anton showed his appreciation in his characteristic way: by smashing his face into it.

"Maker be praised," Anton gurgled, words bubbling in the water.

"Stop that," Aveline scolded, pulling Anton back by the collar. "The point is for the water to be drinkable."

Anton shook his head like a dog, water spraying every which way. "I was just testing it," he said. Aveline huffed and rolled her eyes, pulling out her water skin.

Artemis meanwhile stared at his staff where Fenris had touched it. After Fenris's almost-altercation with Merrill, he leaned in and said, "You know, if you wanted to touch my staff, all you had to do is ask. In fact, you don't even need to ask. You could just make a grab for it, and I'd let you do whatever."

There went his mouth again. Maker.

"I doubt this is an appropriate time or place for me to be grabbing at your staff," Fenris rumbled, amused. "What would your brothers think?"

Anton filled his waterskin and then one of his boots, taking the latter back to pour over Carver's head. He'd wanted to hit Cormac, but Cormac was curled up on the healer, and the last thing Anton wanted to do was piss off the healer, before they got back to civilisation. 

"Free yourself from the stench of sweaty plate-mail!" he shouted, upending his boot over his youngest brother.

Carver sputtered, fumed, and punched his brother in the junk. It was, Anton reflected, as he crumpled to the ground, for the best that he'd elected not to piss off the healer.

"Andraste's brazen ass!" Carver complained. "There's water in all the joints. There is bunched, wet cloth in my elbow. Cor--" He stopped. No, asking Cormac would be a bad idea under the best of circumstances. Waking Cormac up to demand dry underarmour was not going to end well. Ask the other mage. 

"Artemis, do something useful!" Carver dripped menacingly.

"Do your brothers think at all?" Fenris asked, watching things unfold.

"No," Artemis sighed. "But then I clearly got all the brains in the family."

Fenris glanced at Cormac and hummed in agreement. Looking askance at Artemis, he was inclined to think he had the best ass in the family too, despite how vehemently Anders praised Cormac's.

At Carver's accusing glare, Artemis threw up his hands, staff balanced in one palm. "What do you expect me to do?"

Carver flicked water in his direction, looking like a spiteful wet cat. "You could dry me off," he said.

"By what, lighting you on fire? I'm a force mage, Carver. We're not exactly known for our finesse!"

"Then light _him_ on fire!" Carver growled, flapping a hand in Anton's direction.

"Please don't," Anton groaned, still curled up in the mud.

"It could have been worse," Fenris pointed out. "You could have tried that on me."

"You're not related to me," Anton retorted. "Thank the Maker."

Aveline attempted to engage Merrill in a conversation about local edible plants, over by the spring. Anything to escape from the haze of testosterone and idiocy that hung over the camp. And maybe they'd end up with something to eat, too, which Aveline had no intention of sharing, at this point. Well, maybe with Varric. It had been his brother who started all of this, and that didn't seem to sit well with the dwarf, however much he tried to pretend he should have seen it coming.

Isabela took advantage of the situation she was so felicitously presented with. "You know, Carver, if you don't want to be stuck in wet armour, you could always take it off. I'm sure Merrill and I would have no objections, Sparklefingers is passed out, the dwarf's absorbed, the other elf is supposed to be looking elsewhere, and you're related to everyone else. Except Madam Guardswoman, over there, and who cares what she thinks."

"Oh. Ew. Isabela," Artemis groaned. "Please don't encourage my little brother to strip."

Carver made a rude sound in the back of his throat. "Trying to protect my virtue?" he sneered. Almost as if to spite him, Carver started removing his wet armour, unbuckling each piece and tossing it in Anton's direction. 

"Trying to protect our eyes," Artemis replied.

Isabela tutted as she approached Carver, throwing him a wink before walking behind him, thief's fingers making quick work of the buckles there. Carver threw a nervous look at her and at Merrill, then tried to hide it behind a cocky smirk at his brother. Artemis rolled his eyes.

"Ow," muttered Anton as a vambrace hit his head before slipping into the mud.

"You know," Carver said over his shoulder, "I have this tattoo..."

"Don't even think about it, Carver," Artemis interrupted before it was too late.

"Do you, now? Has it got fins or feathers?" Isabela rested her chin on Carver's shoulder and looked Artemis right in the eye.

"Neither! It's a good Fereldan tattoo, a Mabari!" Carver looked terribly smug about that. "I can make it bark."

"I'd rather see it wag," Isabela purred, right in Carver's ear, and the youngest Hawke turned a bright red.

"Izzy, leave the poor boy alone," Varric called out. "At least while his brothers are watching."

Carver kept a tight grip on one of his pauldrons, both hands keeping it firmly in front of his crotch, as Isabela unwound herself from his back and slunk off to pester Varric some more.

"Can you at least set _something_ on fire?" Carver asked. "It's still light out. It's not like it's going to be a blazing beacon leading right to us. I'd just really like to stop being wet."

"I am so glad Cormac's asleep," Aveline muttered.

Fenris hummed in agreement, lips curled in a grimace.

"Don't tempt me, Carver," Artemis replied, looking heavenward for strength. He let Carver stand there, shivering, with a pauldron over his crotch, for a moment before taking pity. He summoned a ball of fire in his hand and approached his little brother, holding it between them in silent offering. Carver sighed in relief and soaked in its heat, creeping closer. 

Artemis hated that his little brother, who he still saw in his mind as a little boy with a snit face and a wooden sword, was taller than him, if only just. 

"Well," Fenris rumbled, "if the magic _does_ summon darkspawn, at least Carver's crotch will be protected."

"Lucky him," Anton muttered.

"You should consider investing in a better codpiece," Anders muttered, pulling Cormac more solidly onto him. Cormac was, if nothing else, quite warm. He considered continuing this arrangement, once they got back to Kirkwall, if only so he could stop freezing his toes off in the middle of the night. "I once knew an assassin with excellent taste in crotchwear."

"As did I." Isabela leaned to get a view around Artemis. "Did we know the same assassin? A pretty little blond, with an interest in 'impact redistribution'?"

"Mmm, Zev," Anders muttered, groping Cormac's ass before he passed out again.

"Do I want to know?" Varric asked.

"You already know," Isabela assured him.

Carver was trying to dry his tunic over Artemis's hands, without setting it on fire -- a feat that might require more hands than he had, but he was willing to take that chance, for the benefit of having something warm and dry. "You're the best brother, Artie."

Aveline and Merrill hung back, by the spring, enjoying their salads in peace.

"We're going to have to go back over there, eventually," Aveline pointed out.

"Yes, but they'll be asleep and we'll have had supper." Merrill smiled brightly. "Supper makes anyone a little more bearable."

"So does unconsciousness."

"See! You're getting it!"


	5. PART II: THE BALL

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part II: The Ball! Also, Anton getting his mack on. Finally.

A grand ball. The Amells had returned to Kirkwall, reclaimed their family home, and brought a good many people along for the ride, it seemed. The estate overflowed with people, from Leandra's Orlesian friends to Cormac's miners' union leaders, Anton's compatriots of questionable virtue, Bethany's handsome prince charming, Carver's collection of Ostagar survivors, and an assortment of 'philosophers' who seemed to be in the habit of wearing robes. Leandra was somewhat surprised at the number of elves present, and that none of them seemed to be servants. Some even seemed to be actual _Dalish_. That was not something she had necessarily seen her family associated with, for all that she had been raised in a house with high standards for the treatment of elves. But, that one with the white hair and the tight pants made her nervous, the way he glowered at everything and seemed to lurk behind Artemis.

Two dwarves her sons had apparently saved in the Deep Roads had volunteered to see to the staffing and catering concerns, and they proved quite competent in both regards, for all that the one seemed a little light about the wits. She couldn't tell how old he was, but he seemed to be a child, and having had five of her own, Leandra was not at all put out by this sudden sixth in her house. A delightful boy, really. Why couldn't her sons have stayed so pleasant?

"So, Artie poured the last of the whiskey on it, and I set it on fire with the torch, while Carver cut the head off the one behind us!" Cormac slapped Anders on the back, jovially, and the Orlesians they were speaking to laughed. "And that's how we got out of the Deep Roads alive."

"I'm pretty sure that's how you got out of the Deep Roads, but I think 'alive' had more to do with me, than any of your half-cocked shenanigans," Anders pointed out.

"Well, now that we're home, you'll have to try my full-cocked shenanigans," Cormac retorted, pulling Anders down for a kiss on the cheek. Never the lips, with Anders, for some reason. "And he's right. Without this herbalist, we'd all be dead."

Anders's heart skipped a beat and he excused himself to get a glass of wine he'd have to fight himself to drink. But, he did mean to drink it. Drink all of it, and maybe another three glasses as well. Damn Cormac. This had been a terrible idea, and now he was getting attached.

Artemis was in the middle of pouring himself a glass when Anders approached, a glass which he handed to the 'herbalist' with a grimacing smile. "Is he telling the whiskey story again?" he asked, reaching for a second glass and pouring more wine. "Sounded like it from here. Maker, a waste of whiskey, that."

There was no whiskey here. No rum, either. Noble parties were much too prissy for that sort of thing apparently, so all he had was this fruity Orlesian wine and glasses much too small to make the buzz worth it

Over the rim of his glass (shut up, Justice), Anders watched Artemis pour. And pour.

"You might as well drink it from the bottle," he said. 

Artemis flashed Anders that same unhappy smile. "If you can find a polite way to do so, let me know." He took a long gulp and made a face before topping off his glass again. "Urgh, that is disgusting." He finally set the bottle down (for now), hands flitting around its base as he tried to space it evenly between the others, turning it until the label faced outward. He twitched it first one way, and then the other. Then he started to smooth out the tablecloth. 

Anders raised an eyebrow. He was familiar with Artemis' s nervous habits, but he didn't usually fret this much. "Rough day?" he asked before taking a much-needed drink himself.

"Too many people," Artemis muttered. "They're making a mess."

"Right." These Hawke brothers were going to drive him insane, if Justice didn't first. It was a race he wasn't planning to watch.

"What about you?" Artemis asked, fingers tapping now on his glass. "I don't often see you drink."

"I don't have time to be drunk. Or eat. Or sleep. Or most of those other little human necessities." Anders picked up a different bottle and filled his glass again. "I agreed to the expedition, because I needed a holiday and a good night's sleep. And then there were darkspawn. So much for that."

These glasses really were too small for the kind of drinking they were trying to do, Anders noticed, pouring again. "Once you start running, you never stop, even when you're stuck in one place."

"Maybe if you hadn't made a deal with a demon, you wouldn't be having this problem," Fenris suggested, appearing behind Artemis with a bottle of sherry from his own cellar, that he pressed into Artemis's hand. "Drink this. It's far more appropriate to the occasion."

"It's not a demon. Other than that, you're ... half-right." Anders shrugged. "But, I'd also be useless and entirely self-interested, so... it's a bit of a trade-off."

Anders squinted at his own hand. He'd never thought that, before. In fact, he rather missed his days as a self-interested layabout. Those had been some truly good times. He'd been happy, for a while. Then he'd been in chains again, and then he'd become a Warden, but even being a Warden hadn't been so bad.

"I take it back. Other than the demon part, you're right. And if I ever say something like that again, you have my full permission to perform an exorcism."

Fenris smiled thinly and stepped closer to Artemis's back. "Do I? The hard way, even?"

"I'd rather you do it the easy way," Anders said, pouring himself another glass of the useless wine. _That_ was useless. Not him. 

"You won't live to see it," Fenris warned.

"Warden," Anders reminded him. "Remember to wash your hands when you're done."

"Not entirely sure what you two are on about, but you're making me blush," Artemis said into the sherry (and Maker praise Fenris for that).

"Are you sure it's not the drink?" Fenris asked. Artemis huffed and took a drink, Fenris's eyes on his throat as he swallowed. The bruises he'd left on that neck had faded, but he could still remember what his skin had tasted like and how his pulse had beat hard and fast underneath. 

Artemis paused and licked his lips. "I'm sure."

"I'm sure I can think of a few other ways to make you blush," Anders quipped. His gaze slid to Fenris as he spoke, and the elf bristled. 

"You keep talking of running away," Fenris growled, "and yet you're still here." Artemis put a hand on his shoulder. 

"Here's an idea," Artemis interrupted before the two could escalate, "why don't we run away from this horrible party?"

"All three of us?" Anders asked. "My, what scandal! Let's!"

Fenris glared, but the question had belonged to Artemis, and he really had no idea if Anders had been included in it. _What then?_ he asked himself. Mages. He would never understand mages.

Across the room, Cormac was being some kind of horrible to the Prince of Starkhaven, to judge by the look on Bethany's face. The poor girl, four brothers, and all of them sharp-tongued bastards. Actually, Artemis seemed like he might be reasonable, even after a couple of weeks in the Deep Roads. Anders was willing to credit him that, after everything he and Cormac had put everyone through. At least Anders assumed he and Cormac had put everyone through some shit, the way everyone watched him all the way back to Kirkwall. But, he'd never been good at enclosed spaces and stone, so most of that trip was just another burning black pit in his memory.

Maybe he'd work his way through the Hawkes. Maybe that would get him off Cormac. It wasn't supposed to be serious -- he didn't have time for that, and he really didn't have it in him to ruin another life the way he'd ruined his own. So, yeah, he decided, if Artemis was offering, he'd take it. And the elf, too; why not? He was sure that tight-assed bag of loathing could hit everything he'd never ask for, but wouldn't turn down.

* * *

Out in the front room, away from all the revelry, stood a blond man in Templar plate. Bodahn wrung his hands as he fetched Anton -- he knew enough of this family to make that choice. Artemis would end up in chains, Cormac would burn the house down, Carver was too young and indiscreet, and Bethany was the one the man had come seeking. And Leandra, well, the lady of the house was otherwise occupied with her return to high society. It had to be Anton, who swept into the room with the strongest bottle at the party in one hand and two glasses in the other.

"Ser Templar! How lovely of you to join us, this fine evening. I didn't know the Order cared! Mother will be thrilled to see you, of course!" Anton smiled broadly, as if the house with three mage children had nothing to hide.

"Cullen," the Templar introduced himself, holding out his hand, only to find a glass in it. "I understand you have a sister with some magical talent."

"I have only one sister, and I'm afraid she's in Starkhaven." Anton assumed a zone of nationhood around members of the royal family of any nation, and given how close his sister had been standing, at last glance, he had few doubts she'd be in it. "If you've come to woo her, I'm afraid you're a little late."

"Woo... her? I, er, no." Ser Cullen was looking terribly wrong-footed, and Anton was feeling terribly smug.

"Oh? Come to woo someone else, then?"Anton asked as he filled Cullen's glass, pretending not to notice the abortive gestures Cullen made to discourage him. "Oh, do tell! Don't keep us in suspense."

Cullen's ears turned the loveliest shade of pink. He cleared his throat and brought the glass to his lips, only to realize what he was doing and pull it away at the last minute. 

"I've already told you why I'm here, Serah Hawke," Cullen said with renewed conviction, setting down his glass on a side table. Anton blithely sipped his. He was used to keeping his siblings' secret, and this was hardly the first time he'd shooed a Templar off the scent. It was the first time with such a handsome Templar, however, so maybe there'd be less shooing this time around.

"And I've already told you why it was a wasted trip," he countered. "Unless, of course, you'd like to stay a while." He pressed the glass back into Cullen's hand. Anton let his eyes do the rest of the talking, gaze raking over Cullen's armoured figure and lingering in all the most promising places.

The pink spread from Cullen's ears to settle in blotches along his cheeks.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get a little interesting. Fenris is displeased, Anders is catty, and Anton introduces his new Templar friend to the inside of the coat closet.

The cellar of this grand manse, Fenris noticed, was not as full as his own, but it did appear to contain some substantially stronger drink, to judge by the shapes of the bottles. Whiskey, gin, brandy...

"How upset," he asked Artemis, "would your mother be, if we opened a bottle of brandy? I do not believe the ... _healer_ and I are quite drunk enough for each others' presence, just yet." Don't say mage while the house is full of people. He had at least the sense for that. That's how you stop having a healer, whether you like the blighted thing or not.

"Oh, Fenris, just get that stick out of your ass, and there'll be room enough for me, even sober." It wasn't so much that Anders had as death wish as that Anders had a death wish. Regularly. The bright blue kind that didn't let him drink, eat, or sleep.

"While we are all aware of the fantastic capacity of your ass, and the fact that it goes both ways, I am afraid mine does not. Neither for sticks nor for you."

"You amazing hypocrite!" Anders accused. "You'll plunder his ass all night long, but nothing goes in yours?"

"I didn't hear him complaining at the time," Fenris snapped.

"Oh wonderful," Artemis choked, pointedly not thinking of Fenris's weight on top of him and the way he'd felt as they... "Are we talking about that? Because if we are, we are definitely opening that bottle of brandy. And blaming it on Carver." Artemis reached for said bottle as he spoke, setting down the now-demolished bottle of sherry. His earlier drinking laid everything in a pleasant fog, leaving him just buzzed enough to settle the itch under his skin but not nearly drunk enough to make him forget it. He blew at the bottle's film of dust and pried it open, taking a long drink straight from the bottle.

"Oh, we could do more than talk about it," Anders replied with a sly smile, taking the bottle from Artemis and following suit. "In fact, we could re-enact it, if you like. Then you can compare notes."

Artemis squeaked, and Fenris glowed. "Are you...?" Artemis sputtered, eyes round. "What about Cormac?"

"What about Cormac?" Anders shot back, perhaps more harshly than he meant to. Cormac was the last person he wanted to think about right now. It was hard enough when Artemis's eyes were the same shade of blue.

Artemis floundered for a moment, lips forming syllables he never voiced. In the end, he just reached for the brandy. "Give that back," he muttered. None of them were drunk enough for this.

Anders took another swig and passed back the bottle. "You know your brother better than I do. You know he isn't serious. I know me better than either of you. This isn't serious. And if anyone ever told you your brother was better looking than you, they were lying."

"That is a point upon which we can agree," Fenris grudgingly confessed, eyeing the other bottles in the nearest rack. Perhaps a bottle of something clear, as well. He wasn't sure he wanted to become that familiar with the abomination, and everyone's lips but his own had already been on the bottle.

"Did anyone see Isabela, before we left?" Anders suddenly asked. "I think we just left the pantsless pirate in a room full of Orlesian nobles, some of whom are going to end up missing things."

"It isn't going to matter. Money never misses much for long," Fenris grumbled, pulling out a bottle of something he didn't recognise and prying it open. It didn't look that old. Probably wasn't irreplaceable. It tasted of apples and fire.

"I had hoped we were all drunk enough not to remember that," Fenris said, after a few moments, returning to the previous topic. "But, since that's clearly not the case..."

He wrapped an arm around Artemis's shoulders and glared at Anders, as if his eyes alone could strike the man down.

"And to think. I thought you opposed to mages. We're terribly dangerous, you know," Anders taunted.

"Some mages are substantially more annoying than others."

"And sometimes everyone is annoying," Artemis interrupted, "and not nearly drunk enough." He took another drink to distract himself from how warm Fenris felt pressed against his side, his arm around Artemis like he was staking ownership. A few more drinks, and Artemis would let him do so in more pleasurable and regrettable ways.

"Well, there's an easy way to fix that," Anders said cheerfully, even as his glowy passenger disagreed. 'Drinking' was close enough to 'drunk' for Anders to pretend. Besides, there were other ways to lose himself for a while, and this was looking promising.

Another long swig, and Artemis couldn't remember what he'd done with his legs. He still noticed the bottles that weren't sitting right, their labels turned just off of centre, but he was able to leave them be. He made a note to organise the bottles alphabetically later.

"Alright?" Fenris rumbled, velvet voice at Artemis's ear, sending tiny shivers down his neck.

"Mm," Artemis replied, head lolling to Fenris's shoulder. The armour jabbed his cheek, and Artemis straightened again. "Your armour is bothersome," he muttered.

"There's an easy fix for that, too," said Anders.

* * *

Cullen, who had until this point assumed himself interested in women, and only women, found himself pressed back against the closed door of a coat closet, with one of the Hawke brothers' tongues in his mouth. It was not, perhaps, the most unpleasant sensation, and really, the bit of stubble didn't detract much from the experience. Anton, he thought this brother was. And really, all told, he wasn't quite sure what he was doing in the coat closet with Anton. There was some conversation, and then there was a door he hadn't noticed, and then... kissing. Not that he was going to object to the kissing. He hadn't been kissed in quite a while, and possibly never this enthusiastically.

He made some small sound and -- Maker, no -- Anton stopped. Cullen blinked, eyes wild with surprise.

"Are you comfortable in all that plate?" Anton asked, leaning firmly upon it. "I'd think it might pinch in some places, at times like these."

"What?" Cullen swallowed, ears red and his face not much paler. "Plate... times like... what?"

"Oh, I see how it is. Swooning already. Here, let's loosen that up for you." Anton made quick work of a few vital buckles, and metal clattered to the floor of the closet. Not all of it, but enough that stepping out, without stopping to put it back on, would be extremely awkward. "Let's see if that feels a little better."

And then Anton's mouth was on him again, and oh, Maker, Cullen thought he might lose his mind, if he hadn't already. He might have muttered something about desire demons into Anton's mouth, but he'd stopped listening to himself whole minutes ago. It was a party, right? Perhaps a little celebration could be endured, to keep the favour of the noble houses. Good PR. Yes. And the mage was in Starkhaven anyway, so nothing lost.

Kissing Anton -- or rather, being kissed by Anton -- was like drowning. Breathless and consuming... and a little wet, but Maker damn him if he was going to complain. Cullen wasn't sure what to do with his arms. They hung at his side, limp as noodles, as Anton sucked out his brain through his tongue. Then the blighted demon was all but climbing him like a tree, and Cullen hooked his arms around Anton's waist out of self-preservation.

It wasn't until Anton purred and ground back into his hand that Cullen realized at least one arm had landed south of his waist. He pulled it away, a gasp choked in his throat, and Anton chuckled against his lips. Anton pulled back, licking kiss-swollen lips and devouring Cullen with a look.

The sound Cullen made was not a whimper. Certainly not. He was Knight-Captain, for the Maker's sake.

"Well, aren't you a lovely shade of red?" Anton said. He cupped Cullen's cheek, and felt the fire-hot skin there. Great. He was blushing again.

Cullen shut him up with a kiss of his own. And some Smite. No damage done, no change of situation or perception... Not a mage or a demon, then, just a man snogging him in a coat closet. Cullen was certain he should be in some way more offended by this -- this man he didn't even know, whose lips were crushed against his own (which was his own fault, this time) and whose hands were -- there was another clatter as a piece of plate hit the floor.

No damage done, but Anton still felt it happen. That chilling wrong that cut through the core of him -- he'd tangled with Templars, before, on behalf of one or another of his siblings. He knew what that was. And he laughed against Cullen's lips. "You find me so enchanting that you thought I was a _mage_? I'm terribly flattered, Ser Cullen."

"How do you--"

"We were at Lothering, when it fell." Anton whispered into Cullen's ear, nibbling on the lobe.

Cullen sucked in a sharp breath, and Anton cut off whatever he was about to say.

"Ah, now you understand. Let it go. We have." More clattering followed, and Anton's hands firmly gripped the unarmoured flesh, now covered only in cloth, running his hands over almost all he could reach.

Cullen found himself rapidly running out of plate. He was still dressed, though, even without it. While it wasn't anything he'd choose to wear in public, it wasn't as if he was down to his smalls. He just kept telling himself that, as Anton's hands wandered over him, as Anton's teeth nibbled down his neck. And then Anton's mouth was on his own, again.

When the Order had issued Cullen that armour, he never thought he'd need it for protection against this kind of onslaught. And an onslaught it was, a duel of lips and tongue and the occasional click of teeth as Anton stripped him of his defences, one by one. He wasn't naked yet, but he felt it.

"Huh. Usually Templars are more aggressive, " Anton murmured, possibly to himself. Somehow, Cullen's body still had blood to spare for his cheeks, and they burned again. Anton chuckled and kissed one cheek almost chastely. "It's not a complaint, Ser Templar."

Cullen wondered if this man even remembered his name.

Anton's lips found Cullen's throat next, and Cullen's hands found skin under Anton's fine tunic... as well as the hilt of a dagger. Another huff of laughter from Anton, and he was taking the dagger from his waistband, away from Cullen's fingers. Did the man mean to kill him?

"Never mind that," Anton soothed between kisses, tossing dagger and sheath to clatter to the floor, next to Cullen's armour. A second dagger followed suit, then a third. Cullen would never have guessed they were there.

"You're a dangerous thing, aren't you?" Cullen said, breathless.

Anton smiled. "Oh, ser, you have no idea."

After a beat to gather his courage, Cullen made a lunge for this beautiful, wild man, crashing lips to lips again. He tripped over a piece of plate, and they fell over in a heap, taking half of the guests' cloaks with them and making one hell of a racket.

Bodhan's voice could be heard from outside the closet. "Serah Hawke? Is everything all right in there?"

"Everything's fine," Anton called out, breathless, "but if anyone wants their cloak, knock first."

There was a strained silence from outside the door that was more than made up for by the panting and quiet groaning inside the closet.

The Templar was handsome enough that Anton might have taken an interest, anyway, but with his sister's freedom on the line, it was time to pull out all the stops. "You like my lips on your lips, on your cheek, on your neck..." Lips followed words, and Anton lost himself against that burning skin. "Is there anywhere else you'd like my lips? Do other parts of you taste as sweet?"

Cullen flushed again, the red creeping down into the collar of his sweat-stained underarmour. _Not a demon_ , he reminded himself, flesh stirring against Anton's thigh, where they'd crashed together on the floor. In a blind panic, he kissed Anton again, not to have to answer.

  



	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party downstairs continues, and Fenris learns that mages do have some uses.

Downstairs, the situation had not improved. By some standards, it had gotten worse. Anders remained inhumanly tall, even with Fenris's fist clenched around his neck, and he plucked the bottle of... whatever that was from Fenris's other hand, attempting to choke down a couple of shots before his throat closed entirely.

"Apples?" he wheezed, squinting at the label and holding the bottle well above Fenris's head.

"I _like_ apples," Fenris snarled, trying to figure out how to get the bottle back without letting go of the mage's throat.

Artemis blamed the alcohol for this on multiple levels. "Why?" he sputtered, stumbling over to them. "What are you -- what?" He tried to pry them apart, only to remember he needed two hands for that and that one was occupied. He pressed his bottle into Fenris's grabbing hand, earning him a confused look from his new elven drink-holder.

"No. No choking." Artemis tried to pry them apart, this time with both hands. "Unless he's into that," he added with a giggle. "Are you into that?"

"I'll try anything at least once," Anders replied hoarsely, smirking even while his face was turning purple.

"Only once?" Artemis muttered. He knew for a fact this wasn't the first time Anders had been strangled. Or the tenth.

Fenris growled, glowing white-hot but letting Artemis pull his arm away. "If I choke you, mage, it won't be for your benefit."

Anders rubbed his throat, cough turning into a sharp laugh. "But it will be for your benefit? Figures you'd be into that. The leather was a big hint." Anders took another swig from Fenris's bottle, eyes locked on the elf. "Mm, feels nice on a sore throat."

Artemis found himself with an armful of angry elf, putting all his weight into preventing a murder in his new basement. "Maker! Anders, stop provoking him!" Once Fenris had stopped snarling, he snatched the bottle from Anders and held it safely away from both of them. "Maybe I was better off upstairs," he mumbled, taking a drink. Mm. Apples.

"But, if I stop provoking him, he'll stop squeezing my soft parts," Anders teased, completely unable to stop.

Fenris looked strangely wary, even as he bared his teeth, speaking to Artemis, even as his eyes never left Anders. "There are far fewer drinks worth drinking, upstairs."

"And speaking of drinks worth drinking..." Anders adjusted himself blatantly and leaned down to examine another row of bottles. This was never going to work, without a bottle for each of them. And if he drank the whole bottle... well... he was a healer. He'd done worse.

Justice made a concerted effort to disagree with this entire turn of events. Especially the strangling part, however pleasing it had been to be that close to the Fade, again. But, no, this would not stand. Drunkenness, strangling, that completely distracting brush of cloth against a part of their anatomy that had no business being that interested in _any of this_. Especially the strangling. No more strangling.

As Anders continued to argue with himself over the finer points of the situation and whether whiskey or gin would be more situationally appropriate, Fenris pulled Artemis to him, tightly, roughly kissing the only bearable Hawke.

"Do you think we could find a better use for this?" Fenris asked, tapping the bottle in his hand against the bottle Artemis had ended up with. "I like apples. I like you. I don't like him, but we could leave him here to drink himself into stupidity, alone."

He would not admit to watching the way the abomination moved. He had seen that body in silhouette, and that was more than enough. It was, he thought, a rather fine body, and a damned shame it was wasted on such trash. He could have been delighted with a rogue with a body like that, but it wasn't enough to excuse a mage. More specifically, the most annoying, loud-mouthed, whiny mage in all of Thedas. Still, his eyes lingered, even as he shamelessly squeezed Artemis's ass.

For his part, Artemis focused on Fenris's lips, if not what they were saying. A part of him had worried he'd never kiss those lips again, and that night -- morning? -- in the tent had been all he'd have of Fenris.

Artemis didn't so much kiss Fenris as he fell onto his mouth. He would have been embarrassed by the pleading sound in the back of his throat were he sober enough to care. Speaking of, he thought as Fenris growled and pinned him to the wine rack, he really should try this sober some time.The bottles rattled at Artemis's back, their necks burrowing holes in his spine, but that was a concern for later.

It took Artemis embarrassingly long to remember Anders, and he looked up at his fellow mage over Fenris's shoulder to find him watching them shamelessly, as though they were his after-dinner entertainment. The elf bit at Artemis's collarbone, making him shiver, and Anders smirked, saluting him with his new bottle. Artemis didn't see Fenris watching Anders in turn.

"Don't mind me," Anders said, leaning back against the wall to enjoy the view. "Go right ahead. Can't say I've ever seen wine-rack sex before, so I'd like to take some notes."

Fenris growled, his nose still buried in Artemis's neck but his eyes on Anders. He squeezed Artemis's ass hard enough to make him squeak. "We do not need your running commentary," he said.

"Are you sure?" Anders asked sweetly as he straightened and approached them, that grin promising trouble. "Because your technique could use improvement. Shall I demonstrate?" Before either of them could protest, Anders had a hand in Artemis's hair, and his lips on Artemis's lips. Maker, but the man could kiss!

Fenris found himself pinned between the two mages. He could get out of this, but he wasn't sure he could get out of this without hurting Artemis, who was currently distractedly rocking his hips between Fenris's thigh and hand, while still lip-locked with the most annoying mage in all of Thedas. The most annoying mage in all of Thedas, whose knob throbbed against Fenris's back.

"I did not fight for my freedom, just to be stuck between fucking mages _fucking_!" Fenris snarled.

Anders hummed quietly into Artemis's mouth. "Are we leaving you out? My mistake."

He rolled his hips, pressing Fenris closer against Artemis, and then pulled back to nibble at the tip of Fenris's ear. A long stripe along the back edge, in just that place that every elf he'd ever fucked had liked tongue. Trust him to be wrong, this once. This elf was not every elf, as the teeth that sank into his chest reminded him.

Anders heaved out a breath, kissing Artemis brutally, all teeth and tongues, wet and hard. It was a horrible position, and Fenris wouldn't be able to keep it up for long -- or at least that's what Anders thought until he felt the bruising start in earnest, the wet rush just below his screaming skin. The bottle dropped and he grabbed Fenris by the hair.

"No blood. Hurt me all you want, but no blood." The fear in his eyes was plain and equally plainly not for himself.

"You think you have a choice, abomination? You think I have any reason to obey anything that comes out of your filthy mouth?" Fenris snarled, mouth still full of tunic and pinched flesh.

"I'm a Warden, you feral elf-beast! And you'll either end up a Warden or dead, if you don't stop _biting_ me!" Anders hissed.

Fenris stopped trying to tear a piece out, but didn't let up at all. It wasn't the 'dead' part. Mage threats were a waste of his time. It was the 'Warden' part. "What?"

Anders sighed, massaging the base of Artemis's skull with one hand, and longing for the bottle that had been in the other. "Wardens. It's not all fun and games and killing darkspawn. It's in the blood. Literally. And I didn't stick around long enough to find out what happens if you drink the blood of one, but I got the impression it ranked somewhere in the vicinity of vampirising a hurlock, in terms of recommended ideas."

Fenris spat and wiped his mouth with the hand holding the bottle, his other hand still enjoying the firmness of Artemis's ass.

"Yeah. I'm yours, tonight. Both of you. Do what you want with me, but don't draw blood." And there was that singing sweet destructive urge Anders had missed so much. Fenris just pushed those buttons for him, and he wanted them pushed harder. It wouldn't end in him getting dragged back to the tower, if he shoved too hard, this time, it would end with him dead. Justice objected, but look, there were two other wonderful hosts, right here. And one of them certainly had enough injustice in his life to welcome the power to change it. Maybe even the other, if Justice wanted another shot at the same cause, with a little better footing.

"And someone hand me that fucking bottle, because I need him to _shut up_." Anders let go of Fenris's hair, but kept rubbing his thumb in circles behind Artemis's ear. "Not you. Or you."

Artemis was still trying to count the hands touching him. It took a bit for Anders's words to catch up with him, but he frowned when they did. "Just the blood, right?" he asked. "No ill effects with any other, er, bodily fluids?"

Anders made a face. "Are you asking if sucking my dick would make you a Warden?"

"I... er..."

"Would explain why you signed up," Fenris rumbled, his teeth around Artemis's earlobe. Anders had to concede the point.

Taking another drink, Anders watched Fenris's hands as they slid over Artemis, all long fingers and square knuckles, mapping the lay of the land. His own played with Artemis's hair and nape, then slid down to replace Fenris's hand on his ass, three sets of hips forming an imperfect triangle. Artemis was starting to make those small, hitching sounds Anders remembered from the tent.

"Hang on," Artemis breathed, tugging half-heartedly at Fenris's hair. "Are we really doing this? Do you want to? I mean, me, with both of you? What are the chances of all of us surviving this?"

Anders didn't tell him that was rather the point. Justice's disapproval flared where it had long since faded to background noise

"And... I mean, we're in a wine cellar. I have a wine bottle poking at my ass, and that's lovely symbolism and all, but--"

Anders picked up a wine cork off the floor and pushed into Artemis's mouth."How's this for symbolism?" he asked. Artemis nodded and smiled sheepishly around the cork.

"Get yourself one as well," Fenris growled. From the vicinity of Artemis's throat.

Anders smirked. "Here's a riddle for you," he murmured in Fenris's ear, ignoring the way the elf flinched back. "How can you shut up two mages at once?"

Fenris's narrowed eyes said 'by killing them', but he waited. Anders answered by sinking to his knees. He rubbed his cheek against Artemis, before he started picking at the laces on Fenris's leggings with his teeth.

Fenris opened his mouth to protest, but then Anders was mouthing at that extremely obvious bulge, and Fenris covered his sudden lack of commentary by pulling the cork out of Artemis's mouth with his teeth and then replacing it with his tongue. He was insufficiently drunk for this. He wasn't sure he wanted to be sufficiently drunk for this. But, at the same time, the most annoying mage in all of Thedas was volunteering to shut up and suck him off. There had to be a catch. Maybe he could choke the abomination to death. The corner of his mouth tilted up, and the kiss got more awkward, but it was still delicious. It was still _Artemis_.

Anders took advantage of his position on the floor to run a hand up the inside of Artemis's leg, fingers dancing along the pressure points he knew were there, fingers lingering at the second-highest, just below where Artemis would, no doubt, outright squeal if he tried to put his hand, rhythmically stroking and pressing. His face, meanwhile, was pressed to Fenris's crotch. He slid his teeth down the length that looked uncomfortably trapped along Fenris's leg, squeezing just a bit at the tip and nearly taking a knee in the face for his trouble, before he returned to the laces. Fenris used some bizarre Qunari knots or something, because this was much more difficult than Anders remembered untying knots with his teeth being.

"The third loop from the top," Fenris sighed, disgustedly, looking down, for just a moment. "Do they not teach you proper knots in the circle? No, of course not, not if they want to keep you tied up. I can see the appeal."

And then his mouth was back on Artemis, rough little bites on the lower lip, the point of the chin, the line of the jaw. His hands wandered, eventually slipping under the back of Artemis's tunic, and running straight into his belt. Mages. Mages and their stupid mage-clothes. Certainly Artemis was dressed much as any other man might be, but he was still a mage, and these were his clothes. Stupid mage-clothes. He huffed his annoyance against Artemis's neck.

Artemis was running into similar trouble with Fenris's armour, which even a sober person would need an instruction manual to navigate. In the tent, Fenris had kept his armour on, and Artemis was desperate to touch skin to skin, to trace lines of muscle and lyrium hidden under spikes and leather. He whined in frustration around Fenris's tongue.

"I want to touch you," Artemis murmured against Fenris's lips between kisses. "Please."

As if on cue, Anders finished undoing the knot, pulling open his leggings and kissing his knob hello.

Fenris shuddered. One mage begging, another servicing him on his knees. Maybe he was drunker than he thought, or maybe he was dreaming and at the mercy of a pair of lust demons. With the way Anders's tongue felt, and the way Artemis was looking at him like he was something precious, Fenris thought he wouldn't mind.

Anders held Fenris's hip, keeping him still as he teased his knob with lips and tongue. Fenris struggled to focus, remembered Artemis had made a request. Reluctantly, he pulled his hand away from heated skin and fumbled with his buckles. Artemis followed suit, undoing his belt and letting it clatter to the floor, his tunic following it soon after.

Slowly it filtered into Anders's awareness that he was still wearing all of his clothes, and he was the last one. Good. That was fine. Let that happen. The less clothes everyone else was wearing, the more interesting this would get. The fingers he had on Artemis's thigh moved up that last bit, pressing into the inside of the joint, in that one place that would either make him swoon or bust up laughing, and Anders wasn't quite sure which one he was hoping for. Either would be amazing comedy as Fenris tried to figure it out.

And speaking of Fenris... Anders nuzzled the base of what was, by all appearances, a substantial knob, _for an elf_. He kissed and nipped and licked at the smooth skin around it, shifting the hand that held Fenris still to tug those tight leggings down a little more. No, really, a little ... Andraste's ass, but this elf was painted into his clothes. Finally, Fenris noticed and moved his leg a touch, and the leggings dropped another inch.

The feel of magic raced along the lyrium in Fenris's skin, as painful and terrifying as it was pleasing. He reminded himself that he was in control. There was only one magister in all of Thedas who could successfully do anything that particularly mattered, and that magister was not in this cellar. Wasn't even in the Marches, last he'd had word. So, there were just these two mages, the one with the pretty eyes and the incredible ass, and the one with the big mouth that was currently full of his balls. He took an unreasonable satisfaction in the latter, that went far beyond the erotic thrill, and that was saying something.

Anders's hand pressed just so, and Artemis jumped, hips jerking and a rather unmanly squeak swallowed by Fenris's lips. Fenris grunted in surprise, wrapping an arm around Artemis's waist, pressing him closer and holding him still. Lyrium lines flared bright at all the new skin on skin contact, magic crackling down his spine, down his arms and to his fingers.

Wet heat engulfed him, and Fenris's fingers flexed, nails digging crescent-shaped bruises into Artemis's skin. "Venhedis," he cursed, and Anders chuckled around him, making him shudder.

As Fenris panted for breath, Artemis trailed kisses and tender bites along his neck, down to the jut of a collarbone. He threaded his fingers into Anders's hair, massaging his scalp with a tenderness in sharp contrast to the violent jerking of Fenris's hips.

Anders wondered if he still looked good in white, because if this happened the way he expected it to happen, spunk was going to shoot out his nose. Fenris had no skill, no finesse, and no sense of angle. And Anders figured letting Fenris twist him into a few little accidents of that variety would make him that much more endearing -- to Artemis, anyway. Hopefully, proving he knew how to swallow would be enough to endear him to Fenris, even just for a few hours. Of course, the way Fenris was pounding into his mouth gave him little hope those few hours would yield much enjoyment, from that quarter.

The flicker of tongue and the way Anders swallowed around him, each breath ghosting across his wet skin, had Fenris trying to find a better way to stand, some smoother way to support himself, as his hips bucked and his legs began to tremble. Instead, he clung more tightly to Artemis, fingertips trying to smooth away the divots, after every time his hands clenched against this mage's skin. "Artemis, please," he whispered, uncertain of what he was even asking for, but sure that Artemis could provide it.

Anders sulked. _His_ mouth around Fenris, and the elf begged _Artemis_ for more. Still, it was probably worth counting as an improvement over strangulation, even if he wasn't breathing that much easier. His hand turned over and cupped Artemis's junk, thumb tracing the contours. Maybe he'd get them both off, and then go bang Cormac through the garden wall, to work off the frustration.

"It's all right, love," Artemis murmured, cupping Fenris's cheek, brushing back his hair, and feeling him shiver. "I've got you." He could feel how close Fenris was, and he wanted to see it, wanted to watch him shake apart, like he had in the tent. But Artemis was far from done with him, and they were neglecting their guest.

The hand in Anders's hair tugged gently. Everything about Artemis's touch was gentle, and Anders wondered if he was always like that or if this was his way of balancing out Fenris's roughness. Their eyes locked, and Anders followed his lead, pulling back and off of Fenris. Fenris snarled and grabbed for Anders's head again his knob hitting Anders's cheek instead, but Artemis intercepted him, distracting him with more soft words and a kiss.

"Damn... mages," Fenris panted. Artemis was sure they'd make it up to him.

Anders sat back on his heels, retrieving both hands and wiping the spit from his chin. "Not done with me already, are you?"

Artemis answered with a smirk. "Just getting started," he said, tugging at Anders's coat. "Off, or I suspect Fenris will tear it from you. Are you into that?"

"Not when it's my only coat."

The lighting in the cellar was dim, but it wasn't _dark_. It wasn't dark enough for Anders not to have to _explain_ , if he stripped. And explaining was, quite possibly, the single most boner-ruining experience he could imagine, at this juncture. Still, he stripped off the coat and reached up to hang it on a bottle jutting from a rack they weren't leaning on. The tunic would stay on as long as he could keep it. That would be cheap enough to replace, even if it did end up ripped off him.

Fenris was still growling his increasing displeasure, teeth worrying at the curve of Artemis's jaw. Mages were a bad idea. This whole damn thing was a terrible idea, and he was sure the abomination had been angling for it, since they were in the Deep Roads. That or Cormac had really been too drunk to aim, which was technically also possible, given the amount of incoherent pleading and yowling. He'd have thought it was some freaky blood magic thing, but the abomination was so averse to bleeding and no one had actually used any magic, yet. Still, here he was, with his pants open, dripping with mage drool, and aching for more.

Anders kept an eye on Artemis. "Looks like you've got some ideas. Feel like sharing with the rest of us?"

Ideas? Artemis was much too drunk and aroused for ideas. What he had were wisps, thoughts, images (so many images) most of which he was certain were physically impossible, despite how fun they looked. He stared at Anders's swollen lips, searching through the slag that was his drunken brain for the right words for what he wanted.

"I just thought you might prefer a scenario we'd all enjoy," he said, cupping Anders's chin and tracing those lips with his thumb, stubble coarse against his skin.

"Speak for yourself," Fenris growled around Artemis's skin. Unless Anders healed him later, he was going to have some interesting bruises.

Artemis smirked against Fenris's ear. "You mean you wouldn't rather be fucking one of us somewhere else?" That seemed fairly straightforward. He hoped Fenris wasn't so drunk that that would need clarification.

Anders nipped at the thumb in his mouth and considered. "I'm flexible," he volunteered, expecting to end up in the middle.

"You," Fenris purred into Artemis's ear. "I want _you_."

He absolutely did not trust the abomination. Which, of course, was why his pants were open, and there was mage spit drying on his knob. Of all the things Fenris wanted, commentary from Anders did not make the list -- which meant either gagging him or just not giving him anything to comment on. Gagging him had a certain appeal, but just not touching him seemed like the safer choice, all in all. But, that left the question of whether Artemis wanted to be between them.

Stupid question, of course. Artemis had _invited_ the abomination to join them. Stupid mages and their stupid mage-knobs, magically seeking each other out. He huffed against Artemis's neck, and came back to the middle of something that was probably in some way important.

"--could just go on as I was, and pick up my ass for you," Anders was saying.

"No," Fenris growled, "you are not touching me again with your... with your mouth-sorcery!"

Anders raised an eyebrow. "Mouth-sorcery? Well, that's a new one."

Artemis bit his lip against a giggle, wrapping an arm around Fenris's shoulders and swaying against him. Fenris scowled at this mage too, though it was harder when he smiled like that.

"Well," Artemis said, still breathy with laughter, "I suppose that limits our options, don't you think?" The smile he turned on Fenris was positively wicked, a look that went straight to his knob, and he knew he'd do anything Artemis asked.

Damn mages.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, we heard you like smut... *coughs* Cullen gets laid! The threesome in the cellar becomes a foursome! Hot hilarity ensues in all cases!

Cullen had no idea where his pants went. He suspected they were somewhere under the pile of cloaks and coats Anton was currently laying on. He certainly had no idea where his smalls had ended up, and some poor noblewoman was likely in for a surprise when she went to get her coat later. More surprises than that, the way Anton was clawing at his back, but a few spots of blood were easy enough to overlook in a place like Kirkwall. Could have picked those up anywhere.

But, even that faded out as Anton's legs wrapped around his waist. "Come on, Ser Templar. Sheathe that powerful sword."

The blush that raced across Cullen's face hit so hard that he wondered if it would bruise, and all that came out of his mouth was disjointed stuttering. He was supposed to put what _where_? Anton surely didn't mean... But, a hand slid down through the tangle of legs, and that was exactly what Anton meant, judging from where Cullen suddenly found the tip of ... himself... pressed.

Anton's fingers moved slowly, enticingly along the length, slicked with one of the small packets of oil he carried for occasions like these and the occasional stubborn lock or hinge. He licked his lips and then kissed Cullen again, licking and nipping the templar's lips. "I'm a man like any other, if a little better looking than most. Just push."

"I haven't--" Cullen started to say, only to realize that this wasn't the time for that kind of confession, not if he wanted 'I haven't' to turn into 'I have now'. And, Maker, did he want that.

Cullen pushed in carefully, as slowly as he dared. One inch, then two. He watched Anton's face, watched it twist and heard his breath hitch in what he thought was pain. "I-I'm hurting you." Oh Maker damn it. He'd done it wrong, hadn't he? He'd said to push in, but--

"Mm?" Anton opened his eyes as Cullen started to pull back out. His legs coiled around Cullen's and held him in place. "Please," he huffed, smirking up at the templar. "It takes far more than that to hurt me. Care to try?"

Cullen let out a breath. "You're alright?"

Anton's smirk softened. The man looked so genuinely concerned. For him. "Yes, I'm alright." If he weren't, Ser Templar would have a knife in his liver. Or spleen. Maybe both. He wasn't too picky about vital organs.

The only one organ he was interested in right now, however, was this templar's sword, and it was currently sinking into his flesh in the most delicious way. "Mm, yes," he purred, wriggling hips to pull him deeper.

Cullen tried to keep breathing. Really, he did. But that became increasingly difficult with each slow inch that slid into Anton's almost painfully tight hole. Hot, tight, and pulling him in. This was completely unreasonable, in every sense of the word, and he wanted more -- but only if he could have it without hurting this outrageously alluring man. But, given the way 'yes' was about every third word out of Anton's mouth, maybe he was doing something right, after all.

 _The last time you felt this good.._. No. There were no demons, here. He'd checked.

Anton saw the doubt flash across Cullen's face. "Regretting this so soon?"

"No." Cullen pushed the rest of the way in, and everything seemed to be brighter, sharper, and in a completely different reality. He wondered if this was why the mages in the tower were always hiding behind statues and bookcases with their robes hiked up around their waists -- if it was just to get closer to the Fade, because surely that's what this was. "No regrets."

Anton's fingers sunk into one heavily-muscled ass cheek, and he dropped his hips. The strangled sound that followed was everything he'd hoped for.

Cullen held himself up on his elbows, lips slack and breathing heavy as his hips ground forward. It was a tentative move, almost a question, one Anton answered with a pleased hum. He moved again, again, slowly gaining confidence under Anton's lavish encouragement.

The coat cushioning Anton's shapely ass rucked up with each movement, the fur trim tickling him in places he never thought he'd want to be tickled. "Yes," Anton sighed, nails bruising against Cullen's broad back. Maker, if all templars had shoulders like these and blushed so sweetly, he'd have joined the Order himself!

Well... that was a lie, but he would've kept his brothers from setting that last one on fire.

Cullen and Anton settled into a rhythm, one delightfully rougher than Anton had expected, especially after that stuttering display earlier. One broad hand held Anton's hips for leverage, and Anton laid back and let Ser Templar do his 'magic'.

And to think his brothers were in the middle of that boring party. Ha!

* * *

Cormac was on the cellar stairs when he heard what sounded like someone having a good time. The way the voices echoed off the stone didn't give him much of a clue as to who, but probably some Orlesians. Maybe he'd get the bottle he'd come down here for, and stay for the entertainment. He'd always wondered if the rumours about Orlesian erotic arts were true -- if nothing else, maybe he could learn something that would finally get Anders to make noise. Any noise. That man was uncannily quiet, once he got going.

And then he came to the end of a rack, and saw what he'd been hearing, another couple of racks down and over. It took a minute to sink in. At least a minute. That... was very definitely Anders, kneeling, but still tall and dead silent, still half-dressed, one hand on the rack behind him and the other on... was that _Fenris_? No, couldn't be. There was no way.

Cormac slid into the shadows of the next rack, still watching, and ... if that wasn't Fenris, he was going to be extremely surprised, and terribly curious which of the guests was Tevinter and whether Fenris had killed them yet. Those lines, even if they were lines he'd never actually seen, were pretty unmistakeable. Ok, that was Fenris. And Fenris and Anders appeared to be clutching each others' wrists over someone else, who was bent between them, almost invisible at this angle.

One more rack, and Cormac could finally make out the third figure, stripped bare and dripping on the cellar floor. That was his _brother_. That was Artemis, blowing Anders while Fenris fucked him. This shouldn't have been so inspiring, but he couldn't take his eyes off them. Hard enough to get stupid, he stepped out into the light.

"Oh, Anders, really!?" Cormac clutched at his chest, dramatically. "You come down here to have a threesome with my brother and Fenris, and you don't _invite me_? How could you! Oh, my throbbing knob!"

Anders looked up at Cormac, hips stilling in his surprise. "I'd say this isn't what it looks like, but I'd be lying," he said.

Artemis stiffened, squeaking around the knob in his throat before spitting it out and scrambling to sit up. Fenris stilled behind him, knuckles white on the hand holding Artemis's hip. He swore in Tevene. "I have had enough of mages interrupting me," he growled, pulling Artemis tight against him and swivelling his hips. Artemis stuttered out a breath, clutching Fenris's arm around him.

"Cormac?" His voice cracked, his throat feeling well-used. Oh fuck. Not again. His face and chest were flushed as much with embarrassment as from arousal. "What are you doing here?" He tried to cover his fun bits with his hand, but it was something of a lost cause, considering his handsome, dick-wielding bookends.

"I just came down for a bottle, to spice up the party, but it looks like there's a better party down here." Cormac's eyes lingered pointedly on Anders's lap. "Don't worry, Artie. I'm not here to ruin the fun."

Fenris glowered intently, shoulders lifting and pulling forward. Anders thought if the elf had been a cat, he'd be all puffed up. And that was not a laugh. He was not laughing. Not if he wanted to keep all his body parts attached.

"Then stop looming, you prick." Anders had had about enough of not getting off. Especially since he meant to do it more than once. Several several times more than once, and the longer it took to get to the first one, the less likely he was to have the time to enjoy the rest.

"Get back up off your ass, and I'll take up lurking behind you, instead," Cormac cracked, hiking up his robes and tucking the cloth into his belt, so the skirts stopped just above his knees. His head twisted so he was obviously addressing Artemis, without actually looking. "He's delicious, isn't he? Just wait until he gets back up, so you don't choke on that utterly unreasonable flagpole."

"I'm an entire head taller than you, Cormac! It's proportional!" Anders complained.

"Cormac," Artemis groaned, covering his eyes with one hand. If he blushed any harder he'd spontaneously combust. He shouldn't be surprised, not with how shameless he knew his brother to be, not with all the nights he'd laid awake with a pillow over his ears and an erection in his smalls listening to his asshole of a brother getting laid.

But the worst part -- the absolute worst part -- was that Artemis's knob was no less interested in the proceedings with his brother in the room. If anything, it was _more_ interested, the perverse bastard. He tried to will it to calm down, but his knob wasn't listening.

Fenris certainly wasn't helping, with his teeth worrying Artemis's ear and his hips taking up a delightfully harsh rhythm. Artemis made a note to get Fenris frustrated more often.

Cormac settled to his knees behind Anders, teasing the healer into lifting his ass off his heels, with a few sharp nudges and a very talented hand. "If you'd only told me, I'd have brought down some butter."

Anders nearly sat right back down as all the blood rushed out of his head. _He'd_ taught Cormac the thing with the butter. That was so unfair. His grip on the wine rack tightened as he struggled to find his voice, and Cormac struggled to keep both of their clothes out of the grease spell. Anders offered Artemis an almost apologetic smile. "I'm really tall. He can't see over my shoulder."

"Drink more," came Cormac's voice, from behind that shoulder. "I've heard it helps. Carver told me all about the thing at Ostagar, right before he punched me in the face and told me it was my fault."

Cormac's fingers worked Anders open, and Anders fell silent, a radiant joy emanating from him, as his head tipped back to rest against the wine rack, baring that long, pale, stubbled throat. Cormac's other hand untied his hair, and it fell in a dark gold curtain, just past Anders's shoulders.

Fenris watched the blatant debauchery, across from where he continued to grind into Artemis's warm body. The abomination seemed to have fallen into a meditative state, and given what he assumed Cormac was doing, Fenris wondered how that was even _possible_. Abomination. Right. Weird demon nonsense.

Speaking of magic, Artemis was starting to make those little noises he liked so much, groans choked off in his throat. He nuzzled behind Artemis's ear, his eyes never leaving the mage tableau in front of him as he wrung more shuddery breaths from the gorgeous man in his arms.

Anders, in contrast was much too silent and still, as though to make up for the whorish noises that were sure to come out of Cormac soon.

Artemis seemed to agree, the way he was watching Anders, eyeing the impressive knob still glistening with his spit. Artemis twisted to give Fenris a sloppy, awkward kiss, and then he bent over Anders again, breath hitching at the change in angle, the rush of breath on his knob making Anders's toes curl.

Then Anders found himself at the mercy of two Hawkes, filled and surrounded by heat and warmth. Fenris's thrusts rocked Artemis into him, almost making Artemis choke, and he paused and stroked a hand down Artemis's spine in apology.

"Venhedis," Fenris cursed. Three mages. Three unfairly gorgeous, troublesome mages. They would be the death of him.

Anders's hand settled, eventually, on Artemis's shoulder, angled to serve as a break point. This was good. This was, in fact, breathtakingly good, to judge by his own ragged breathing, but it would stop being good very quickly if Artemis threw up on him. Still, two Hawke brothers -- what had he ever done in his life to deserve this? Whatever it was, he was going to make a point to do it again. He tilted his head to the side and managed to rub his cheek against the top of Cormac's head. Why were Fereldans so short? It just wasn't right.

Paying close attention to how Anders's hips rocked, Cormac picked a rhythm that put him just slightly off from Fenris -- something that would shove Artemis back onto the elf a split second after the end of Fenris's thrust. Anders had a hand in the right place, and Cormac reached around the other way, to brace Artemis's other shoulder. As interested as Cormac always was in his own enjoyment, he took a certain devilish pride in pleasing those he was with, even to the point of abusing the laws of physics and the tolerances of the human body, to get where he meant to end up -- in this case, that would be with all four of them in a sweaty, exhausted heap of 'whose what is that on my something', on the floor of the cellar.

Fenris couldn't quite find it in himself to care whose what was where, as long as he stayed buried in Artemis. The Fade glimmered and sparkled down his arms, flickered across his chest, as his hands clutched at the sharp points of Artemis's hips. Somehow, Cormac had taken control of the entire affair, again. It had been Cormac, in the tent, he decided. For all that Anders was unsubtle, he was ... well even less subtle than that, when he had a plan. So, Fenris rolled his hips and changed his pace, pushing in as Cormac pulled out of Anders.

Artemis didn't have the mental capacity to think, let alone count. All he knew was that there were hands on his shoulders, hands on his hips, and knobs in his... everywhere. There wasn't, however, a hand on his knob yet, and his hands were much too busy bracing himself and digging lines in the floor to change that. He hummed around Anders, sounding as pleading as he could with his mouth full.

Add scraped knees to the list of dubious injuries Anders would have to heal later. Handy that, bedding a healer. Or... flooring, he supposed.

Anders sucked in a breath as Artemis started doing something truly lovely with his tongue. Leave it to a mage to know how to wield a staff. Either that or the Amell line were genetically predisposed to giving good head. Perhaps he'd have to test out the other three. You know, for science.

He didn't see Fenris eyeing the line of his throat, but he could feel Fenris pick up the pace. So could Artemis, judging by the way he started to shake.

Fenris's hands travelled in and down from Artemis's hips, as he leaned forward over the mage's back, one warm hand cupping Artemis's balls and the other closing around his knob. The grip tilted Artemis's hips up, and lessened the forward shift from his thrusts. But, more than that, he could feel the radiant heat from Artemis's back against his chest and every beat of Artemis's heart in his fingers. A few strangled sounds escaped his throat as he tried to hold himself back, at least until the abomination had finished. He meant to let the mages wear themselves out, before allowing himself to surrender, but he hadn't considered what he'd heard on the other side of the tent, that night.

Anders whispered something inaudible to Cormac, and Cormac's free arm wrapped up around Anders's chest, clutching at his collarbone. Shifting his weight, Anders leaned back onto Cormac, spreading his knees further for Artemis and sinking down further onto Cormac, who responded with a stream of reverent expletive. Trousers shoved down to the tops of his boots, but otherwise still dressed, silent, flushed, and so inviting, Anders was the very image of decadent debauchery.

Artemis adjusted the spread of his knees to alleviate the ache growing there, in sweet contrast to the aches he was feeling everywhere else. Fenris's hand was beautiful on his knob, as was Fenris's voice in his ear, and Anders's knob stoppered the sounds his own throat was trying to make. Maker. He'd never felt so consumed and surrounded, and he wasn't sure if he was going to burst or collapse. It was a good thing there were so many hands keeping him upright even as they were pulling him apart. He'd lost count again, but he was certain at least one of them was his brother's.

Fenris's breaths were becoming more ragged, tickling Artemis's spine, and his hips were pumping on just this side of wild. It was all driving him crazy. He wished he could see more of Anders at this angle, and there he was, wanting 'more' when it was all already 'too much'. He made some shaky sounds around Anders, warning him he was close.

Oddly, Cormac was the one who correctly interpreted the sounds his brother was making -- probably because they were a much quieter version of the sounds he made in similar conditions. He managed to knock down the volume of his own nearly-incoherent praise of Anders's incredible ass enough to whisper something encouraging to Anders. Just a nudge.

Anders called up a bit of electricity, letting it spill down into Artemis's shoulder, warm and vibrant, and Cormac matched it on the other side. "Come for us, Artemis," Anders choked out, and across from him, Fenris snarled, much too far gone for words.

Fenris continued to growl, thighs shaking as he continued to pound into Artemis. This mage was his. His mage. And he would not have the abomination seducing his mage away from him. The closer he got, the more he wanted, and it felt like nothing would ever be enough. And then the electricity crackled across the ends of his hair, skipping off of Artemis's back. Stupid mage tricks. Stupid mage tricks that would probably feel incredible, if they were a little closer to his body, as he recalled.

Artemis didn't know if it was Anders's voice, Fenris's growls, or the spark of magic down his spine that pushed 'more' past 'too much' and into the land of non-coherence. He arched back, hips shaking against Fenris, and came with a choked scream around Anders, fingernails scrabbling against stone. He was too far gone to feel the floor shake or to hear the crash of wine bottles shattering.

Fenris noticed, however, and swore in a language he didn't even know, curling around Artemis on instinct and shielding him, even as he held him up with an arm around his hips. Anders raised his eyebrows and bit back a laugh at the look on Fenris's face. Artemis was all but purring around him, eyes closed and tongue moving lazily, oblivious to the mess, the rivers of wine catching in the seams of the floor.

Fucking mages.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jizz! On! Everything!
> 
> Apparently we broke this in such a way that it's the orgasm chapter. For everyone except Artemis, who came first.

Anders leaned back further, draping himself on Cormac, who continued to thrust into him, albeit at a substantially quicker pace, now that they were both wearing wine. The tunic was going to be a loss, he thought, but that thought vanished, as Fenris caught his eye, glaring. He licked his lip and smiled wantonly at the elf, because for once, it was extremely unlikely to end in him getting punched in his very pretty face.

It wasn't so much that Fenris growled again as that he'd never actually stopped growling, and he'd just gotten audible again. His hands smoothed over Artemis's warm body, but his eyes never left Anders's, and there was some terrible sense in the pit of his stomach that three mages in a room in which he had his knob out was at least two mages too many. At least. But, there was also the extremely luscious sense pooling in the bowl of his hips that not enough of these mages were touching him, not enough of them were serving his lusts -- the lusts he wouldn't even have noticed, had it not been for this mage, right here, grabbing his ass.

And that memory lit his brands, as it raced through him. A glimmer of blue that started in the centre of his chest and flickered and danced outward. His fingers sunk into Artemis's flesh.

Artemis squeaked around Anders, eyes popping wide. Fenris was inside him. Well, Fenris had _been_ inside him, but only the usual bits so far in the usual places. Fingers fondling him through his skin was certainly not 'usual' and usually served as a precursor to having one's internal organs ripped apart. Since Fenris's hips were still pistoning, Artemis assumed the elf wanted him intact, at least for a few more minutes.

_Maker_. Fade-lit fingers were tracing the lines of his hip bones, and somehow that was more intimate than anything else they'd done yet. Anders's knob stoppered two syllables that sounded suspiciously like 'Fenris'.

The sound made Fenris _smile,_ his growling somehow sounding like less of a warning and more of a victory. He was the only one who could touch Artemis like this, who could make him tremble by stroking the lines of his vertebrae. Screw mages and their alluring lightning tricks. 

Anders found that wicked smile turned his way. It was a smile that taunted, 'don't you wish I was touching you this way?' And Maker, Anders knew Fenris was more likely to rip out his intestines than fondle them, but _yes_. 

Artemis blinked down at the wine on his palms and wondered how it'd gotten there.

Cormac was not disturbed by the wine. He'd hoisted his skirts far enough to introduce himself to Anders's ass, and that was well clear of the smashed glass and the puddles around them. Also fortunately, he seemed to have been closer to the white side of this rack. And thank the Maker for all the times he'd done stupid things, in his life, and the muscle he'd gained from doing them, because he was supporting nearly all of Anders's weight and propping up his brother, and he still had the balance to keep thrusting. Mostly. Cormac wobbled a bit, and then Anders slumped hard, a raspy inhale following him down, as he emptied himself into Artemis's mouth.

"Fuck, Cormac, don't stop." Anders tried to stop leaning so heavily back, pulling himself up with the hand he'd forgotten was on the wine rack. And, no, he hadn't dislocated any fingers when Artemis had almost dropped the cellar on them. Good. As he rose up, Cormac followed. Better.

"Mine," Fenris hissed against Artemis's back, offended at the thought of the Abomination having left _anything_ in _his_ mage, despite having been waiting for exactly that.

Artemis finally pulled off of Anders and panted for breath, jaw aching. He balanced himself on one hand and wiped away what he hadn't swallowed, dizzy from the taste and stink of sex and wine. If he wasn't drunk before, he certainly would be now, drunk off the taste of Anders and the possessive way Fenris was growling and holding him from the inside out.

"Yours," he agreed, reaching behind him to grasp what he could of Fenris, grabbing a handful of glowy, Fade-tinted flesh. He was starting to see patterns now, in the way Fenris growled and moved and shook, that made him think of that night in the tent, that told him that Fenris was getting close too. Artemis twisted, wanting to see his face, to kiss him, but the angle was too awkward. He'd rather not pitch them over into wine and broken glass.

"Mage," Fenris growled against Artemis's skin, his rhythm stuttering.

Artemis was tempted to ask 'which one?' but he doubted Fenris appreciate the reminder that he was, in fact, the only non-mage member of this party.

Fenris's hands clenched, gripping the bones of Artemis's hips as muscle and warm organs slid over the backs of his fingers. This was not how this was supposed to go, he was sure, but it was how he would mean for it to go, in the future. He didn't figure they'd be able to deny it, after this, so there was probably going to be a future. Assuming the mages didn't accidentally kill them all. But, he wasn't sure if he'd care if he died, right that moment, because everything was perfect. Everything was amazing and wonderful and full of stars.

"Mane mecum," he choked out, his entire body tensing.

Anders's eyebrows nearly left his face, they went up so fast. That, from the mage-hating broody death elf, who apparently didn't hate mages nearly as much as he'd thought.

Artemis would ask him what that meant later. It clearly meant _something_ , from the look on Anders's face, and he hoped it was the good kind of something.

Fenris's hands on his bones were another good kind of something, as was the way he shuddered against him, over him and behind him. "Fenris," Artemis sighed, finally slumping, breathing hard and his ass still in the air. The stone was wet and sticky under his cheek, mostly from the wine, enough wine that he was sure he could get drunk all over again just by licking it, and he was sore in places he didn't know he had. He almost lamented the loss of Fenris's fingers when he pulled them out and laid them on his skin the usual way.

Fenris was still reeling, still seeing sparks behind his eyes when he found himself on his ass with his arms full of mage. It was the right mage at least, he decided when Artemis kissed him. He growled on principle but held him close, ignoring the stickiness of wine on his knees and ass and on Artemis's hands, focusing instead on the hammering of his heart and the similar, leaping pulse he could feel under Artemis's skin. For that moment, all was well, and he forgot about the other mage presences in the room. He forgot about everything else altogether, and that was a frightening thing.

"You're still hard, you're probably still sloppy-wet, and now you don't have my brother's face in your crotch," Cormac purred, from behind Anders. "What if we turn this around a bit?"

A few feet away, the tips of Fenris's ears turned vibrantly red.

* * *

"Yes! That! Right there!" What was the Templar's name again? Killian? Kieran? Fffff... "Cullen! More!"

Hearing his name from Anton's mouth, hearing it in that tone, these were the kind of pleasures nothing could have prepared him for. And the way the man clutched and clawed at him, spreading himself open for every thrust, while never moving his legs from Cullen's back -- if he wasn't completely sure this wasn't a mage or a demon, he'd have suspected magic. 

He thrust in harder, already ramming in hard enough to shake the coat rails above them, hangers clattering against the wood every few thrusts. And still Anton wanted more. Cullen could feel a warmth in the base of his spine, a liquid heat that seemed to slosh delightfully with every motion of his hips. Sensation darted through his body, clinging to the tips of his fingers, his tongue, and other appendages. 

"Maker," Cullen breathed. "Anton!" 

It took a few tries before Bodhan's knocks were loud enough to be heard over Anton's encouragements, and Cullen stilled. "Uh, I hate to interrupt, Messere Anton," called Bodhan through the door. Maker, but Cullen could hear his embarrassment. "But the Lady de Launcet would like her coat."

Cullen's wide eyes found Anton's, and then suddenly Anton was laughing, shaking them both with the force of it. Through another blush, Cullen found himself smiling in response. Without moving, Anton called through the door, "I don't suppose it's green with fur trim, by any chance?" Too bad, if it was. Anton was growing rather fond of it.

There was a pause and some stuttering, and then Bodhan replied, "...I will go ask her, Messere."

"Oh, Maker," Cullen groaned.

"Hurry up!" Anton hissed. "It'll take him a few minutes to figure it out. We can do this."

Cullen's hips responded before his brain even processed the sentence, rolling ardently against Anton's ass. And that didn't help him think _at all_. Perhaps he'd leave the thinking to Anton, who both lived here and seemed to be quite good at thinking under extreme circumstances. 

"And once we're done in here, I've got a bottle of some exceptional Orlesian honey-wine back in my room, if you want to lie around naked and help me drink it. The naked is an essential part of enjoying the vintage." Anton worked his hips, bucking and rolling, wringing Cullen's flesh inside him.

Somewhere around the word 'naked', Cullen lost track of a few parts of his body that were deemed non-essential. Like his brain. He was a good Fereldan, born and raised, and the very idea of such decadence actually existing and being offered to him, by the man whose hot, tight ass was currently squeezing pleasure into his body -- it was all a bit much.

Cullen bent forward to kiss him. It was little more than a breathy passing of lips, the way they were moving. It was for the best that Cullen had lost the capacity to think or he would have thought something sappy, like how Anton's lips were sweeter than any Orlesian wine. Worse, he would have _said_ it. And meant it. 

As it was, the roll of their bodies said plenty. Right now it said that Cullen was in danger of shaking apart at the seams if he _felt_ anymore.

But there was space still for one word in his mind, on his lips: " _Anton_."

"Yes, that's it!" In contrast, Anton's vocabulary was far more extensive, much to his own annoyance.

Everything was wet, or at least that was Cullen's last impression of it, as he lost control of his body, one elbow cracking soundly against the floor, as the space between them echoed with the squelching sounds of every irresistible, shaking thrust.

" _Maker_!" The strangled start of a prayer heaved out of him as he collapsed onto Anton, who squeezed a hand between them, in the last desperate moment there was still space for air.

Anton's middle finger shoved back the edge of his foreskin, and his thumb came down hard against the edge of the slit, in a sharp pinch. _Thought he came for your sister, but came in your ass, instead._ Clearly a success. And a win that tipped him over the edge.

Reality reasserted itself in fragments, like shards of a broken mirror. The longer Cullen stared at that mirror the less it made sense, and he wondered how he'd ended up here, naked and sweaty and tangled with the middle Hawke son. The middle Hawke son who was definitely Not a Mage but no less dangerous because of it. Cullen blinked down at Anton, at the lax, sated smile on his lips that made him look a little drunk, and he wondered if he regretted this. He _should_ regret this -- he was on duty, for the Maker's sake -- _but_.

But the man wrapped around him was charming and gorgeous and just the right side of dangerous. 

"Well, handsome," Anton said, laying a hand on Cullen's chest. "Was it good for you?"

And there he was, blushing again. It was a line -- even he knew that -- and a terribly impersonal, clichéd one. Maker, he was a fool.

"It was..." Cullen fished for the right word. His vocabulary was slowly returning to him, but there was still enough skin on skin contact to make him stupid. "It was lovely," he decided, though that word didn't seem to fit either.

Bodhan knocked on the door again. "Messere Anton? Yes. It's the green one with the fur."

Anton laughed and wiped his hand on... something that wasn't the coat under his back. He hoped. "Help me get off this nice woman's coat, Cullen, and then we can go back to my room and practice some other kinds of getting off. If you're interested, of course. If not, it's been, as you say, lovely."

Fishing through the infinite cloth for his smalls, Cullen didn't answer for a while. This wasn't right. It didn't make sense. It was good and wrong, and he'd been invited to do more of it. With fancy Orlesian wine and a bed. He shouldn't, and he knew he shouldn't, and maybe that should mean something.

But, he pulled on his smalls, and helped Anton off the pile of coats, watching the muscles of the man's back and legs, as Anton picked up the coat and offered it to Bodhan, around the edge of the door, while Cullen, himself, struggled to stay out of view. Somewhere, in all of this, were his clothes. Regardless of his choice on the matter at hand, he was going to need to wear them to get out of this closet.

Oh look, there was part of his armour, buried under something intricate and heavy (and likely wool, from the way it itched). And there was another piece, over there. And another. And -- Sweet Maker, what a mess.

Cullen would deal with the armour later, he decided. Once his head was screwed back on right and he wasn't so distracted by the thought of miles of skin and sweet wine under his tongue. Yes. Armour later. Pants now.

Speaking of... "Hmm," Anton hummed, drawing Cullen's attention. He had Cullen's pants in hand, a mischievous smile on his face. He held them behind his back when Cullen reached for them, and there was all that naked skin in his way again. "You haven't answered my question, Ser Cullen."

_Ser Cullen_. People called him that all the time but never with that sinful purr. "Can I have my pants back, please?" he asked, stalling.

"Perhaps. Can I have my answer?"

"Er." He shouldn't. He'd been over that in his head. He really, really shouldn't, and yet he really, really wanted. Then again, he'd already done 'shouldn't', so how much worse could he make it. "Orlesian wine, you say?"

"Orlesian wine," Anton agreed, grinning.

"And the room in which we would be drinking this wine is less public than our current situation?" Cullen eyed his pants longingly.

"With the party going on, no one will even know we're there. Just you, me, some Orlesian honey-wine, and the blessed silence of the thick, stone walls. We can take the servants' stairs. We'll be invisible." Anton cocked his hip and looked Cullen right in the eye. "Come on, Ser Cullen. Give me something more interesting to do than this stuffy affair."

Terrible idea. Possibly the worst he'd had since that horrible night in the tower. But, this was different. There was no demon, here. He chewed on his lip, indecisively. He'd just done unspeakable things in a coat closet, with one of the Amell heirs, and the man was inviting him to do more unspeakable things. Unspeakably enjoyable things. He was, he reasoned, Knight-Captain. He was here under his own direction, and there was no one to reprimand him for his choices, as long as Meredith didn't find out. And he wasn't going to tell her. He doubted the Amells had much to gain by so doing, either. And however bad he was in it, unless it came to involve demons or blood magic, it was unlikely to get any worse.

"Yes?" Cullen cleared his throat and tried again. "I don't think I've tried Orlesian honey-wine. It's a very kind offer, and I'm... er... pleased to accept?"

"Excellent." Anton grinned. "You have earned your pants. For the moment." He handed over said pants, and Cullen pulled them on more hastily than he should have, nearly getting his foot caught in one pant-leg.

They threw on just enough clothes to qualify as Not Naked (Cullen hoped the clothes he was wearing were his, but he couldn't be sure), and then Anton was taking Cullen's hand and sneaking him out of the closet. He wasn't sure how they made it upstairs without being seen, after a few minutes of running and ducking and breathless laughter, Cullen found himself pinned to a closed door, a tongue down his throat and a literal knob sticking into his back.

Cullen was breathless and dizzy by the time Anton pulled back. "You said something about wine?" he asked just to give him a chance to breathe.

Anton chuckled. "It wouldn't be a party without wine." He squeezed Cullen through his trousers before pulling away to rummage through the cabinet by his bed.

Staggering away from the door knob that was pointedly disagreeing with his kidney, Cullen walked straight into Anton's hand, and wound up sprawled on the bed, feet still on the floor. "Going to be like that, is it?" he asked, blinking up at the man straddling his hips, two glasses in one hand and a bottle in the other, much like when they'd first been introduced, but more horizontal.

"And that's just to start." A teasing smile hung on Anton's lips as he poured, just filling the glasses, for now. There would be time enough for other applications, once there were less clothes in the way. He offered both glasses to Cullen.

Cullen sat up just enough not to pour wine on his face, when he tried to drink it, propping himself up on an elbow. "Bloody Orlesians and their exotic wine," he muttered, not entirely displeased with the taste. It seemed overwhelmingly sweet and burned a bit going down.

"It's better when you don't drink it straight," Anton assured him, leaning back to set the bottle atop the cabinet it had come out of. "In fact, it's much better on things and sometimes in things."

Cullen could guess what 'things' it tasted good on. The word 'in', however, made his brain short-circuit. "Why do I have a feeling you'll be demonstrating that shortly?" he asked, bolder now with wine on his tongue. He preferred Fereldan wine himself, but this? This was never really about the wine, was it?

"I'm all about practical application," Anton replied, wriggling his hips more than necessary as he settled atop him. He took back one of the wine glasses, leaving Cullen with one free hand he didn't know what to do with. Eventually he rested that hand on Anton's thigh, tracing lines of muscle he'd seen bare minutes before.

Cullen pulled him down for a kiss between sips, keeping the caress as sweet as the wine. "Are all your parties like this?" he asked, lying back, his touch almost reverent against Anton's flank.

Anton smirked into his wine glass. "Well," he said. "This _is_ our first party, but I'll let you know."


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At last, the party comes to an end... More shenanigans to follow.

In the rest of the house, the celebrations continued. People came and went, dancing and music occupied a great many guests and politics a great many more. But, the one thing Carver hadn't seen in a while was any of his brothers. His sister was easy enough to find, the way she'd latched onto that annoying git with the accent, but Cormac and Artemis, most importantly, were nowhere to be seen. He was accustomed to not seeing Anton -- that was just Anton's way.

He made his way over to Bethany, dodging the army of fawning noblemen who surrounded her prince charming. "Beth? Have you seen Cormac? I'm worried."

"Cormac? No." Bethany stepped back, her eyes scanning the balconies and corners. "Are you worried about him, or about the rest of us?"

Carver squinted through the legions of spangled Orlesians. "You know mum's going to have a fit if he--"

"Oh, no. He wouldn't. Would he? I mean, here? We're not in Lothering any more." Bethany's hand fluttered up to cover her mouth. "Maybe you should ask Anton."

"Have you seen him?"

"Wearing a lovely golden cloak and running up the servants' stairs with a man clutching some platemail. I have no idea what he's up to, and I'm not sure I want to -- but if Cormac's up to something, I think he'd know." Bethany pointed with her mask. "Do you see the three women there? Enchanters! I know he was chatting them up, earlier, but..."

"Right," said Carver, following where she pointed. He had a bad feeling, the kind of bad feeling that meant tonight was likely to end in fratricide. "Excuse me, ladies," he said with as much charm as he had the patience for. They stopped whispering behind their hands to smile at him. "But have you seen Cormac recently?"

The enchanters exchanged glances. The one on the left answered. "We were going to ask you the same," she said. "He said was going to get some more wine, and we haven't seen him since."

Carver glanced at the table of refreshments and saw that it was suspiciously lacking in wine. He didn't like where this was going. "Thank you, ladies," he said before ducking away.

The wine cellar seemed the most likely option, but Carver suspected he wouldn't like what he'd find. Maybe he should just stay here and pretend he hadn't noticed anything. He tried to convince himself that was a viable answer, that he could continue to ignore whatever idiocy his oldest brothers might be up to. After all, Artemis was probably with Cormac, and Artemis was not in the habit of doing outrageous things. Well, except that one time. And that other time. But, Artemis had been extremely drunk, both times, and Carver still blamed Cormac for both of those, even if he hadn't been there for one. If Artemis was making trouble, it was Cormac's fault.

And that thought was almost enough to send him into the cellar, in search of them, right there. Anton and platemail, two out of three mage-siblings missing... In fact, the count was coming up short one other apostate, as well. An uncanny sense crept down his spine and he went back to Bethany. 

"Put your mask back on, and don't take it off for anyone. Something's wrong, here."

"Carver? Don't make a scene."

"Me? Me, make a scene? _ME_!?" Carver's voice remained quiet, but the offense was clear. "Worry about Cormac making a scene, not me."

Too bad strapping a greatsword onto his back would alarm their guests. That was probably for the best, because if Carver found what he thought he was going to find, the temptation to rid Cormac of certain appendages would be too great. He pursed his lips and clomped down the stairs, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the torchlit gloom.

Carver heard the sounds he'd been expecting before he saw them, the slap of skin and Cormac's whorish groanings. The blood rushed to his head, and he reached for a sword that wasn't there. " _Maker dammit, Cormac_!" he shouted. On the last step, his foot splashed in wine. Torchlight glittered on shards of glass at his feet. "What in the --?"

" _Fasta vass_!"

That stopped Carver up short even more than the wine. " _Fenris_!?" Through the wine racks he could see a pair of shapes scrambling for clothing, while another pair matched up with the sounds he'd heard earlier. "Andraste's _cooch_! Artemis, is that you? _Cormac, what did you do_?" 

"Maker suck a golden dragon dick, what the fuck are you doing down here, Carver? There are enough of my siblings in this room, with just Artie here!" Cormac's volume didn't alter in the slightest, but his tone shifted dramatically down the scale toward murderously frustrated. "Is it Bethy?"

"No..."

"Is it mum?"

"No. Cor--"

"Then get the fuck out!"

There was this presumption that whatever trouble Anton could get himself into, he could also get himself out of.

"Cormac, what in the name of Andraste's sweet ass are you _doing_?" Carver was all set to apply blame for whatever was going on with Artemis. Artemis didn't make his own trouble, he just borrowed Cormac's.

"Anders," Cormac deadpanned. "I'm doing Anders. What the fuck does it look like I'm doing?" He made no mention of the other two, hoping the wine rack would shield them from the worst of whatever Carver was considering.

Thank the Maker he was wearing leather, Fenris decided. Leather that would stink of wine for a while, certainly, but that was no different than any other weeknight. Artemis, on the other hand, was looking mournfully at his clothing, at the fine-stitched tunic and trousers now stained in splotches of maroon. There was something ridiculous about it, watching a grown man grimace at his clothes while his naked ass was planted in an inch of wine. At least Carver was busy shouting at Cormac.

"You could pretend it's the new Orlesian fashion," Fenris suggested, flicking a hand at the ruined clothing.

The look Artemis sent him was pained. "We're at a party full of Orlesians. I think they would suspect something." 

"Then you can _start_ a new Orlesian fashion." 

That made Artemis's lips twitch in a thin smile. Maker, he was sobering up too fast to deal with all of this. He wished he hadn't destroyed all that wine (and he knew that was him, now). Maker, what if he had accidentally hurt the others? Hurt Fenris?

No. No thinking right now. Thinking led to panicking, which led to fretful cleaning, and this cellar was in dire need of cleaning in the same way he was in dire need of some pants. Artemis sighed and shrugged and pulled on the sodden trousers, wincing when he stepped on a splinter of glass. "Well," he decided. "This is uncomfortable."

Fenris wasn't sure if he was talking about the pants, the glass, or the fact that his brothers were arguing while Cormac was being buggered. This was quite the party.

"Andraste's flaming knickers, you gawking twunt, go get your other brother another pair of trousers," Cormac strongly suggested, pointing toward the stairs.

Fenris attempted to get Anders's attention. "Healer, there is something you could be doing that is much more useful than Cormac."

Anders held up one finger, and then the other. _Fuck off and wait._

"I am extremely useful," Cormac argued, trying to keep the skirts of his robe out of the wine. He'd managed so far. "Which you would know, if you could be bothered to use me."

Fenris blinked at Carver. "Pants. Please."

"Please don't use or misuse any of my brothers while I'm gone. I don't -- anything. Cormac's more than enough of that for one day." A look of exasperation passed between Carver and Fenris. They understood one another. Bloody stupid mage shenanigans.

Fenris wrapped his arms around Artemis, recognising that slow descent into disillusionment and possible panic. 

Carver let himself out, off to find something else Artemis could wear and a servant to clean the cellar floor, once Cormac was done jizzing on it. He'd tell them to wait until his brother surfaced. There was no sense in traumatising the help. He'd joined the King's army to get away from this shit, but no, he was one of a tiny handful of survivors of a giant massacre, just so he'd have to come back home to it. The Maker hated him, and he hoped whatever he'd done to deserve this was worth it.

Carver passed by the coat closet on his quest for pants, pausing when he saw the harried look on Bodhan's face and caught a glimpse of the mess past the door. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "What in the Maker's name happened here?" he asked, nudging the door open a hair, blocking the mess from view with his body.

"I'm... not quite sure what to say, Messere," Bodhan replied, stringing up rumbled coats one by one. Sandal helped, putting what looked like a belt, pieces of plate, and a pair of smalls into a pile. Carver remembered what Bethany had said about Anton and his plate-mail-clad companion. He gritted his teeth around a scream.

"Enchantment?" Sandal offered helpfully. He handed Carver a breastplate emblazoned with what looked like the templar insignia.

Maker save him from his brothers.

  



	11. PART III: THE CLEANING OF THE CELLAR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cleaning of the cellar begins. You knew this was coming.

Anton let himself in to the house, late, carrying a bag from the one shop that stayed open all night, and trailing his closest friend, who was still dressed from a day at the Blooming Rose, what looked like miles of silks and taffeta hanging from her. Serendipity giggled, quietly, at the care Anton took closing the door, and he waved at her to keep it down.

Too late. "Anton? Are you bringing prostitutes into the house again?" Leandra called out, pulling on her dressing gown as she stepped out of her room, onto the landing.

"She's my friend, mother." Anton looked like this conversation was the last thing he wanted to have, now or ever.

"Good evening, Lady Amell," Serendipity offered almost demurely, curtsying as if she were at some grand Orlesian ball. "I promise not to debauch your son, this evening, and certainly not here. If I were going to do any such thing, it would have been before I left work." She paused. "Sorry, Anton, but you're just not that cute."

"Only you, Dips." Anton chucked her under the chin and looked up at his mum, holding up the bag. "Cakes and wine. Varric's got a new book out, and I promised her we'd get it as soon as it was out, and read it together. I got the first copy unloaded from the crate, and I spent all evening sitting at the Rose, just waiting for her. And flashing the book. Had a man offer me two sovereigns for it, just so he wouldn't have to walk down the road for it, but knowing how Varric's books go, I told him to go get his own, if there were any left."

"It's a very small book club, my lady." Serendipity smiled and tapped her fan against her chin. "If you catch up with the series, you can join us for the next one. Varric's tales are just excellently outrageous. I can't stop reading."

Leandra looked torn. "Well. I--" She huffed and turned on her heel. "Thank you for the invitation, but I must decline. I'm going to bed. Don't wake your sister, Anton."

* * *

It was their fault the cellar had ended up trashed, and in more ways and on more occasions than just that thing with the wine. There had been, after all, the matter of removing the previous occupants of the house. But, none of them had ventured down so far, since. There had been no real need to go beyond the carved stone vaults, into the less finished rooms and tunnels beyond. But, after weeks of cleaning, all that remained was beyond that heavy iron door. And Artemis insisted they open the thing.

"Let us go in first," Cormac suggested. "We'll make it less terrible for you."

Less terrible was the best one could promise, once Artemis got himself into a state, and after this many years, Cormac knew it.

"Fenris? Why don't you help him ... wash the door?" Anders suggested, remembering the rest of what lay below. He'd come through with the brothers, when they'd taken the place back, and he wasn't sure they'd hauled out the remains of the slave camp that had been beyond the door.

The stink was awful, like rotting meat, and Anders pressed a sleeve to his face. "Ugh," he groaned. They'd definitely missed a few corpses, and it would take forever to get that smell out. His eyes watered. "Does Fenris's mansion smell like this?" he asked Cormac. "With all those bodies? Or has Artemis spruced up the place since the last time I saw it?"

"We can still hear you, mage," Fenris growled from the other side of the door. Anders noted he didn't say anything about the corpses or the state of his mansion.

Artemis was conspicuously silent on the subject of cleaning, especially on cleaning Fenris's home, which he had begged to do on more occasions than Anders cared to count. The sound of vigorous scrubbing told him Artemis was definitely in hearing range.

Cormac hauled the under-layer of his robe up over the bottom of his face, holding it with one hand as he examined the extraordinary amount of death before them. "How bad would it be if we just burned it all?"

"Oh. Don't." Anders shook his head. "That's not an improvement. That's just burning rotten meat."

"And then Artemis will want to wash the soot off of everything, and it'll still stink." Cormac sighed and started looking for an effective way to remove the body parts from his cellar. He wasn't sure he wanted to know why Anders knew what burning rotten meat smelt like. There were no answers that weren't going to make him want to set someone, probably still living someones, on fire.

"You could freeze them," Anders suggested. "They'd be less drippy."

"Genius." Cormac held his breath and lifted his head, robe sliding back down as he pressed a kiss to Anders's cheek. "And once we get them out, we fumigate."

"Please, yes."

Fenris frowned. He didn't like the sound of the conversation floating back to him through the door. He certainly didn't want to know how the abomination knew so much about disposing of corpses. Either way, he suspected all this moving of dead bodies would result in another headache for Aveline. At long as she aimed her shouting at Cormac's ears, Fenris could not care less. Simpler just to leave the bodies and pretend they weren't there. Maybe give them names when he was drunk. Oh wait, that's what _he_ did.

Next to him, Artemis was scrubbing the door hard enough to strip the metal. He moved with an almost possessed amount of concentration. Since that night at the party, they'd made eye-contact all of twice, and Fenris wondered if this was what it felt like when he squeezed someone's heart.

"You are quiet," he said. Because had to say _something,_ and he wasn't even going to try scrubbing as hard as Artemis.

Scrub, scrub, scrub. "Am I?" Barely a response, and still no eye-contact. There was that invisible hand, still squeezing.

Anders found some crates among the wreckage that were still mostly intact, and he dragged them back to where Cormac was freezing corpse goo. "If we throw these into the actual sewer, I don't think anyone will notice the stench," he pointed out.

"An actual sewer. The only thing that smells worse than my basement." Cormac punctuated the sentence by lobbing a frosted chunk of torso into a crate.

"I found something else you'll want to freeze, while I was looking for boxes. There's ... chamber pots." Anders did not look at all pleased with this discovery. "I think I'm going to start hauling things out, while you pack them up. Let me know when you want a breath of Darktown air, and I'll trade you."

Chamber pots. There would be. Cormac waved Anders off and kept loading frozen filth into the crates. There had been slaves kept down here for Maker only knew how many years, and he supposed he was lucky no one had bothered to dig a latrine. Of course, it would probably take a dwarven contingent to dig a latrine _here_. Much less trouble and probably less stench to haul the buckets every few days.

Someone had been keeping slaves in his house. _In his house_. If he hadn't already killed them, he'd kill them. If he could kill them twice, he'd do it. In. His. House. _Slaves_. The loading of crates became significantly louder as he slammed frozen body parts together and kicked metal furniture he didn't want to think too much about.

Anders kicked a full crate in front of him, smiling through his sleeve at the sounds behind him, the sounds of a pissy Cormac taking his pissiness out on the world around him. Anders didn't want to think about what he'd do if he found slavers squatting in his house. Not that he had a house to squat in, per se, but he had a place. A corner of a place. In which no slavers would be squatting, thank you.

Anders glanced in the direction of the Dysfunctional Duo as he headed downstairs with his crate of frozen slaver-bits. It was convenient, this stairway. Led almost right to his doorstep, which certainly made getting laid much easier. It was their very own secret passageway to Bootytown.

Fenris was starting to wonder if he'd be better off moving dead bodies. In fact... "Do you want me to take that? Where is it going?"

"Sewer. Right next to you, on the other side. Just drop it in and listen for the splash." Anders went back in for another crate, listening to the sounds of destruction continue from ahead of him.

That wasn't just frost. That was _force_ , or something very much like it. Anders came around the corner to find Cormac amid a heap of twisted metal that compacted further as he watched.

"Not in my house," Cormac insisted, lashing out again and crushing a cage into a brick of iron. "Not in my Maker-damned _house_!"

Fenris stopped behind Anders, watching Cormac with interest. He could still make out what some things had been, before Cormac had started, but not finished, crushing them. This was why he'd been told to wait outside, he gathered. The mages had wanted to shield him from what had gone on here -- and this mage was just about as offended as he, himself, was with the whole thing. In that moment, he found a new appreciation for magic, watching Cormac wreak destruction on the implements of enslavement in this final room of the cellar. Horrifically dangerous, yes. But, beautiful.

Artemis finally stopped scrubbing long enough to listen. He didn't often hear his brother like this, and a part of him felt like he was intruding just by being there to witness it. He looked up at Fenris, at the unfriendly smile on his face, and he forgot for a moment that they weren't doing eye-contact. He cleared his throat and affected a crooked smile. "Well, that's one way to clean," he said.

Fenris blinked at him, the words surprising a chuckle out of him. Artemis smiled at him again, sheepishly, and he bent back over his task. The invisible hand on his heart unclenched just a little.

"Cormac," Anders murmured, walking slowly back into the room. "They're dead, as they deserved. Thanks to you, I might add."

"They're not fucking dead enough!" Cormac laid ice across the remaining crates full of body parts. "Why can't I kill them more?"

Anders took his shaking hands and just held them. "Come outside and have a potion, before you pass out. You'll kill _yourself_ , if you keep on like that."

"Shit," Cormac sighed, staring at the floor between them. "Shit."

"That's the box Fenris just took out," Anders joked, wrapping an arm around Cormac's shoulders and leading him out. "How about we stop for lunch? You're always on my case that I don't eat, so let's eat."

Anders shot a questioning look at Artemis, as they passed. What was he supposed to do with this? He knew the answer as a healer, but... this was Cormac, and the fallout was going to be more than just 'eat something, have a potion, and go have a few drinks'. He hoped Artemis had dealt with his brother like this, before.

Artemis caught the helpless look on Anders's face. He twisted the rag in his hand for a moment before dropping it with a curse and following his fellow mages, no more certain of how to handle this than Anders. 

"Look at us Hawke brothers, trashing cellars one room at a time," he quipped, because making inappropriate jokes was the Hawke thing to do. Expression softening, he slung an arm around Cormac on the other side, arm crossing over Anders's. "There are plenty of other slavers out there, waiting to be made just as dead, you know. Think of all the terrible things you can do to _them_."

Fenris listened and tried not to smile.

"Fenris. You, me, and the Wounded Coast, tomorrow night? I want to go hunting." The smile that crossed Cormac's face was not pretty. It might be said to border on deranged, and it was a smile Anders recognised instantly. He'd worn it, enough times.

"I suspect we will require more than just you and I," Fenris pointed out, "but, yes. I will go with you."

"You need a healer," Anders volunteered, nudging Cormac until the man sat down on the rail just past the door. "You want to tell me what that was?"

"Exactly what it looked like," Cormac deadpanned, and then sighed. "I was born in this house. Mum and dad weren't even married, yet. Mind you, they got married before Artemis -- and that's when we left. It wasn't safe for a mage's family, in Kirkwall, even then. Dad used to say that mum and I were the last good things to come out of Kirkwall, and everything after us was shite -- of course he counted Artie as having come out of Highever, so that was all right. But, we come back, and everyone's dead except mum's asshole brother -- that's going to be Carver, you know -- and we've lost everything. More than everything, because there are people selling elves out of my Maker-damned cellar. My cellar. Mine. I'm the Maker-damned heir, and that is my cellar, and there should not be Maker-damned slavers selling elves in _my fucking cellar_!"

Cormac took a moment to catch his breath, and Fenris covered his mouth to hide a smile.

"Anyway, I killed them all. You were there for that. We killed them all. And now, they're still stinking up my cellar, being inconveniently dead and bloated."

"Cormac?" Anders tapped under Cormac's chin with one finger, until he looked up. "I'm not sure there's such a thing as conveniently dead and bloated."

"Prick."

"All night, every night, for as long as you'll have me!" Anders grinned.

  



	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A matter of keys. Signs of affection, among broody death elves. A distinct lack of Anders.

Artemis watched the two of them, the easy way Anders spoke to Cormac and lightened the mood, the way they _looked_ at each other. 'It's not serious,' Anders had said. His head was so far up his own ass in denial, it was a wonder Cormac could fit his prick in next to it.

Artemis squeezed his brother's shoulder. "Dead and bloated, whether conveniently or not, we'll have all that slaver stink out of there in no time. And then we'll rid the world of some more slaver stink and teach them all not to mess with the Hawkes." It wasn't his home quite the way it was Cormac's, but it was still _home_ , where their mother grew up, where their parents had met. He would do whatever he could to erase that black history from these walls, even if he had to scrub until his fingers bled.

Anders pressed a potion into Cormac's hand. "Drink this," he said. "And try to save your energy for crushing slavers who aren't already dead."

Fenris hummed in agreement. Then again, he _always_ had energy to crush slavers. Or stab them. Maybe both.

"Thanks." Cormac still radiated fury, but there seemed to be a lot less seething, as he knocked back the potion and handed back the empty bottle. He knew Anders re-used them.

After a long moment of staring into Anders's belt buckle, he looked up at his brother. "Hey, Artie? I gotta ask you something. And it's not just because you're the best brother ever to come out of Highever."

Cormac slid off the rail and crossed the few steps between them, resting his hand on Artemis's shoulder as he asked something inaudible to anyone else. He tapped his chest and shrugged.

Artemis's eyebrows shot up towards his hairline. He glanced at Anders and didn't bother to hide his smug smile. He nodded and leaned in to murmur something teasing but affectionate in Cormac's ear.

Fenris watched the pair with narrowed eyes. Mages. Mages talking in hushed whispers. "What are you two plotting over there?" he asked.

"Ask Cormac," Artemis said sweetly.

"Your demise. Obviously." Cormac stared at Fenris, for a long moment and then laughed. "No, don't worry, it's not about you. It's... well..."

Cormac pulled a chain out from under his robe, with a couple of keys hung from it, just far enough apart not to jingle when he moved. He untied one of the keys and held it out to Anders. "This is the key to that door. If you need to run, you run to us."

Not 'to me', 'to us'.

"And if I just need a warm body and a soft bed?" Anders asked hand hesitating just above the key.

"You're welcome to me, but you'll have to work out the details with him. And if I find out you made a pass at my sister, you'll wish the Templars had gotten to you first." Cormac grinned.

"What about Anton?" Anders teased, taking the key.

"He sleeps with a dagger and the dog in his bed. How lucky are you feeling?"

"No, I suppose I know who to run to if I want to _get_ lucky," Anders quipped, winking at Artemis to hide how much he wanted to kiss Cormac right now.

Fenris growled, ears twitching in annoyance. He coughed and cleared his throat when he realized the mages were looking at him. Now it was his turn to avoid eye-contact with Artemis.

Anders rolled his eyes and looped the chain around his neck, tucking the keys under his tunic. Maker, those two were so obvious. "No need to get all growly," he said. "You know you're welcome to join us."

If anything that just made Fenris even _more_ growly. Artemis flushed up to the tips of his ears. He wasn't drunk enough for this. Where had he put that rag? He needed to clean.

"Gentlemen, please, there's enough Hawke to go around." Cormac flashed a smile at Fenris and followed his brother back inside. "I think we still have a few more slavers to toss down the shitter. Who's helping me carry these?"

"He is." Anders pointed at Fenris, who growled even more irately in his general direction. "Because if I don't go get something to burn in there, we will never be rid of that stench. Also, lunch. What do you eat, your wrathfulness?"

"Something with nug ham?" Cormac called back, not turning around.

"I wasn't talking to you, Cormac! I was talking to Fenris!"

"Be more specific!"

"Nug ham does sound good," Fenris conceded, finally making his way past the abomination, to help carry crates of sundered corpse parts. Something about that almost put him in a better mood. Sundered corpse parts, from dead slavers, that were going to be namelessly disposed of in the sewer. "But, apple turnovers sound better. Or tarts, I suppose. Something with pastry and apples."

"Artemis, what do you eat?" Anders figured he could leave off the obvious gibe, seeing as Fenris would probably relieve him of an internal organ or three, if he mentioned that, right now.

Even Cormac let that one lie. Artemis could tell they were all thinking it, regardless, and he grimaced. "Honestly?" he said. "Whatever's in front of me." And, okay, but just made it worse. One look at Anders, and he could tell the healer was fighting not to say anything. He really, _really_ didn't need to be reminded of that night. "Anyway," he said, clearing his throat. "I doubt we'll be finding nug ham and tarts in the sewers. Or at least, no predigested nug ham and tarts."

Anders made a face. "Thanks for that."

"The grossness makes my point no less valid." Speaking of, he wondered if Bodhan had remembered to stock the pantry.

Fenris shook his head. Nothing worked up an appetite quite like disposing of frozen slaver bits, rotten meat stench or no. Except, perhaps, killing them. He wished he'd been here for that part, but he hadn't met the Hawkes, yet. Hadn't even known the cellar came down this far, until Artemis opened the door.

"I'm going to the market," Anders announced, in case it hadn't been obvious, which it clearly hadn't been to at least one of them. "The one _upstairs_."

Cormac pressed a couple of sovereigns into his hand as he passed, heading back toward the stairs in question, and Anders tried to hand them back. "Take it. I know where you spend your coin. And look for the little elf girl, up there. She wanders the market with a basket of resins. Tell her I want all the 'Breath of Falon'Din' she can sell me. Maybe if I call the dead gods, it won't be so... ugly, down here."

And that was the sound of Cormac still not being quite right. It would, however, get rid of the stench. The incense in question was a powerful one, and the alienage smelled of it for days, when one of the residents died. "She knows you?"

"She knows me. I'll let you introduce yourself, but tell her I said hello and yes to Satinday." Cormac slung a twisted metal something in the direction of the door, clearing his brother's head by a few feet. "I've got something on order."

"Something." Fenris picked up the ... he thought it used to be a rack of some sort, as it skidded to a stop near his feet.

"Yes. Something. I'm not having a discussion about my incense choices in public."

"Yet you will do plenty of other things in public," Artemis remarked, though he wondered if he should. Technically, that last time had been _his_ fault, no matter how hard Carver glared at Cormac. Anders's parting smirk said as much before he was waving cheekily and heading up to Lowtown. Artemis cleared his throat. "But yes. Incense. Incense is a good idea, Cormac."

"I'm always concerned when the words 'Cormac' and 'good idea' are used in the same sentence," Fenris rumbled, hefting the twisted metal ex-rack and throwing it into the sewer, perhaps more gleefully than necessary. It made a few satisfying _clangs_ on the way down.

Artemis went back to scrubbing, ducking each time Cormac appeared with new cargo, no matter how far it flew over his head. He didn't trust his brother to miss his skull _every_ time. "So what do you think we should do with these rooms when we're done?" he called out to Cormac as the three of them worked. "Think we could lock Carver down here?"

Fenris snorted. "And position him between your brother and the abomination? Someone will end up either dead or castrated."

"Mm. Likely both," Artemis agreed, cringing. 

"Let's not make me castrate and kill my own brother, hm?" Cormac actually carried the next piece out. Whatever it had been, it had been very large, and bits of chain and gears still jutted from the wreckage. He couldn't justify trying to throw something quite that heavy. His shoulders were nice, but they weren't _that_ nice.

"I believe the concern was for you or the abomination," Fenris pointed out, as if he hadn't been the one concerned.

Cormac just stared. "Please. That's my baby brother you're talking about. You really think Anders couldn't take him in a fight?"

"I think you still think of him as a child, and that's going to get you killed." Fenris smirked. "And for the record, I can only hope I'm there to laugh."

" _You_!? Laughing!? That might be worth all the stabbing!" Cormac returned from the sewer entrance and clapped Fenris on the shoulder as he walked past.

"There's going to be some stabbing right now if you touch me again," Fenris said with the _friendliest_ smile. 

Funny that Fenris didn't seem to mind when Artemis touched him. Then again, Artemis had been drunk in every Fenris-fondling instance, and he vaguely remembered some growling taking place. There was a part of him that was desperate to know what would happen if he touched Fenris while sober. 

But not right now. No while they were dealing with frozen slaver-bits and sewers and Anders was shopping for tarts. The door Artemis was scrubbing was almost shiny enough to give off its own light.

"Maybe we could open a bar in the basement," Artemis mused aloud, tone wry to let them know he wasn't serious. "Put the Hanged Man out of business."

"Yes, because you, cellars, and bottles of alcohol are a great combination," Fenris muttered. He stilled, frozen chamberpot in hand, and tossed Artemis a look over his shoulder. His face was red enough to rival the wine stains they'd only just gotten out of the floor.

"That's a fucking amazing combination," Cormac cut in, "and you don't get to start about it, because as I recall, you were too busy taking advantage of the situation to do any complaining at the time."

Defending his brother's sex life was not something Cormac had ever really seen himself doing, unless Carver was involved, in which case it was less 'defending' and more 'accepting the blame for'. Still, Fenris was so the fuck far out of line, he'd gone orbital with that comment, and no one was allowed to talk that kind of shit about the Hawke brothers except the Hawke brothers.

Fenris opened his mouth to say something about Cormac's role in the whole thing, how he'd actively assisted in getting his own brother off, but one look at Artemis, and he reconsidered, backing down to a safer point. "At least I didn't invite myself to someone else's orgy."

"Hardly an orgy. There were only three of you," Cormac scoffed. "It's not an orgy until you get to five."

"I cannot imagine there are five people in all of Kirkwall that would want to see you naked," Fenris shot back.

"Good thing I was in Lothering, at the time." Cormac grinned a little too broadly, borderline antagonistically.

Artemis knew that smile. That was his 'I'm feeling fucking dangerous' smile, and Cormac was already wound up after tossing around slaver goo. This was the part where Artemis should stand up and calm them down, remind them they had work to do before someone lost an appendage. Too bad he was standing on the far side of 'pissed off', himself. 

"Are we really talking about this?" he snapped. He had his own watered-down version of Cormac's crazy-smile, though he didn't realize it. "Right here? Like this? Because if you are, I'd rather not." He straightened and threw his rag at Fenris's feet. "Maybe I'll go help Anders with lunch. That will be one less mage for you to worry about."

Fenris winced. This wasn't what he had meant or how he'd wanted this to go.

Cormac's shoulders shifted back as he pulled himself up to his full height, looking down his cheekbones at Fenris. He wasn't as tall as Anders, but he was a whole lot wider and less amusing. 

"C'mere, Artie." Like when they were younger. He held out his arm to his brother. "The broody elf didn't mean it. And the broody elf had better start explaining what he did mean, or the furniture's not the only thing I'll be bending."

"Like you could," Fenris huffed, knowing there was no way out of this one. "It was supposed to be funny, Artemis. I thought you'd throw a rag at me and make that face."

And then maybe he could have gotten something going about abuse at the hands of mages. 'Oh, rags, is it!? Stupid mages throwing stupid mage-rags at the elf!' and so on. But, that wasn't how this had gone at all, and maybe he hadn't been expecting Cormac, good-times-and-bad-lines Cormac, to quite have this in him.

"I guess you did throw a rag at me." Fenris examined the vile heap of wet cloth at his feet.

"Because it was so hilarious," Artemis said flatly. This? This was why he'd been avoiding everyone. He didn't need this. 

Maker. Without alcohol, he was a neurotic mess. With it, he was the slut to end all sluts. There had to be a happy medium in there somewhere. 

Artemis wiped a hand over his face and ducked out from under his brother's arm. "Can we just... get back to work, please?" This was the part where he distracted himself with cleaning and organizing and generally avoiding the world. Or dying of mortification. Either worked.

Fenris watched him turn away, his own shoulders sagging. Mages. He didn't know why this particular mage's opinion mattered so much more than the others'. It was always one step forward, two steps back with him.

Maybe a bar would be a good idea. If there were a bar down here already, Fenris would be too drunk to care.

"You didn't hit. Maybe that's the problem." Cormac offered his brother another rag. "Just tag him one in the face, Artie. You'll feel better, he'll feel better, and we can all move on."

"I would certainly feel more damp," Fenris muttered, bending down to pick up the rag at his feet. He also held it out to Artemis.

Cormac's eyes widened. "I think that's a sign of affection among broody death elves."

Fenris glared at him. It _was_ a sign of affection, but he wasn't about to announce that to the world, what little of it was in this room. He wasn't in the habit of volunteering to get struck with disgusting cleaning implements by mages. He wasn't in the habit of volunteering to get struck by mages. He wasn't in the habit of volunteering, when mages were involved at all, unless it involved _killing_ them. It occurred to him that he might have regrets, if he ever killed Artemis, and he wasn't entirely sure he was comfortable with that development.

Artemis stared at Fenris, at the submissive cast of his eyes and the rag outstretched in his hand. The anger leaked out of him like water through a sieve. "Dammit," he grumbled, snatching the rag. Fenris looked up at him, tensing in anticipation of the blow. "I can't throw the rag in his face like this. Not when he's giving me those damn puppy eyes." He pressed the rag into Cormac's hand and used Cormac's sleeve to wipe off the filth it left behind on his hand. All while smiling sweetly at his dear brother, of course.

"There are no puppy eyes," Fenris muttered, scowling. 

"Well, not anymore," Artemis replied. "Now you're back to that 'I'm going to murder someone' look you've perfected so well. There were definitely puppy eyes, though. Big ones."

"Lies."

"Never."

It was unfair how quickly one spiky, broody elf could disarm him.


	13. Chapter 13

It was about that time Anders reappeared, carrying baskets of stuff. "Take this basket from me, Cormac. No funerals, lately, she says, and the stuff's been gathering. Amazing what benefits come from a little late-night setting Lowtown's worst on fire."

"Speaking of setting things on fire." Cormac took the basket and sniffed at the contents. "The two of you think you can find enough non-flammable things to put fire in, so I can get this going?"

Fenris took a very long moment to tear his eyes away from Artemis. "Only if you didn't bend or break everything."

Cormac snorted and pointed further in the direction of the house. "I didn't make it all the way across the room, yet. There's probably something over there."

Anders unpacked the other basket onto one of the tables Cormac hadn't been offended by. Nug ham, apple turnovers, three bottles of wine, elderberry jam tarts, a wheel of some exotic cheese from afar, a cabbage salad that reminded him of ... somewhere else, boiled eggs -- he knew better than to try to buy food while he was hungry, but he'd done it, and he just kept unpacking layer after layer of edibles from the basket. He could do this, because it wasn't just for him. It wasn't even his money -- Cormac had put coin in his hand for food, and he'd spent _all of it_. They'd eat well. He'd eat well, for a change.

While Anders was opening packages of food, Artemis was opening the door to the room of death. "Oh, Maker," he choked. Much of the smell had left with the bodies, but it still didn't smell like potpourri. "Can I go back to cleaning the door? That was much more pleasant." Eating didn't sound like such an appetising idea any more.

Fenris held a hand to his nose and walked past the mage. It occurred to both of them that this was the first time they'd been alone together since the night of that infamous party. Neither mentioned it. The smell of dead bodies and piss didn't usually lend itself to romance, so it was probably for the best.

Fenris poked at the scraps Cormac had left behind. "Does this look flammable to you?" he asked, turning over a lump of... something.

Artemis didn't mention that magic could make anything flammable.

Cormac squeezed Anders's ass as he walked past, heading back in to help find things he could set on fire on top of things that wouldn't burn. "You're so good to me."

"You're easy. It helps." The words were out before Anders could think too hard about them, and then he stopped talking, because the first tart was going in his mouth. He was sure he'd have to share them with the elf, and that meant the first one was _his_.

"Artie! Anders says I'm easy!" Cormac called into the room. "I think you should convey to him all of your opinions on what a difficult prick I am."

"Your prick may be hard, but I doubt it's difficult." Fenris appeared at Cormac's shoulder, smirking, and pressed something that might once have been a bowl into his hand.

"I _am_ , not I _have_." Cormac scraped something questionable off the floor with the edge of the bowl and set it aflame with a flick of his fingers, before sprinkling a few chunks of resinous incense onto it. The smoke billowed outward, as the powder dusted onto the outside caught first, and there was quickly a circle around Cormac that smelled of something other than death.

"I can corroborate his state of being as a difficult prick," Artemis said, following the smell of not-death over to his brother. "As for the state _of_ his prick, I would defer to Anders's judgment." That was territory it was best he didn't venture down.

He followed Fenris to Anders and the basket of food. Fenris narrowed his eyes at the healer, who was busily munching. "Are you eating my tarts?" he growled.

"Of course not," Anders said through his mouthful, and Fenris made a face at the lack of manners. "I'm eating _my_ tarts. The ones I bought. Myself. That I might be inclined to share."

Artemis picked at the nug ham and didn't mention that he'd bought said tarts with Cormac's money. "There's a joke there, about a tart eating a tart," he said.

"Only one joke?" Anders countered. "You disappoint me, Artemis."

Cormac wandered out, after a bit, smelling of elven funerals, and shut the door behind him. "Well, I know which tart I want to eat."

Anders waited, with a teasing grin on his face, but Cormac reached past him for the dessert food. The grin shifted into something between horrified and offended, and he elbowed Cormac in the back of the head.

"What?" Cormac whined around the pastry in his mouth. "I'm hungry! I'll get to you after I eat actual food. When I'm not in danger of fainting from starvation. I'm no fun when I'm fainted."

"That depends on your definition of 'fun'. You'd certainly be quieter." Fenris squinted between mages until he spotted what were probably apple turnovers. That or they were meat pies. Some days one couldn't be sure. Still, he grabbed one and was rewarded in the first bite with the flavour of spiced apple.

"Quiet and fun went hand in hand, in the Circle," Anders noted, peeling an egg. "Usually with a side of 'nobody's wearing any smalls' and 'wow, it's draughty in here'. Fainted and fun, on the other hand, a little less so."

"The Circle really knows how to put the 'fun' in dysfunctional," Artemis muttered before stuffing his face with nug ham. It was a tad saltier than he usually liked, but it was food. That was the main thing.

He tried not to think what it would have been like, growing up in the Tower, surrounded by stone and water and helmeted templars. He certainly couldn't picture _Cormac_ there, though 'fun' and 'silent' would be a refreshing change. The two of them together would have destroyed the place within a week. Likely by accident.

"I like to keep the good memories alive by still wearing no smalls," Anders supplied through a smirk. It was the sort of thing Artemis would consider 'too much information', if he weren't already familiar with Anders's smalls.

"If Anton were here, he'd call your bluff," Artemis replied. "As I recall, he spent a couple of hours with your smalls on his face in the Deep Roads." Slowly, memories of that night were turning from 'embarrassing' to 'embarrassingly funny', especially in light of their more recent... shenanigans. Maybe in a year or so he could look at Fenris without his ears turning red.

"That was the Deep Roads. It's different. One, it's draughty. Worse than the tower. Two, the more layers between the important parts of my anatomy and the darkspawn, the better." The grin that followed didn't make it all the way onto his face before it turned into a grimace. "Especially after that one time, with the brood mothers. They have tentacles. You should be aware of that fact. And no description I give will do them justice, or you mercy."

Anders stuffed an egg into his mouth to shut himself up. Much to Fenris's surprise, he could still shut his mouth around it, and a look of abject disgust twisted the elf's face.

"Iffr tllnt," Anders failed to clarify.

Fenris took a few moments to translate that. "I wonder if any of your 'talents' are actually useful, or if they're all just completely disgusting sex jokes made real."

"I promise, he fucks quite seriously. No jokes there." Cormac reached for one of the turnovers and Fenris slapped his hand, without a second thought. "Ow! It's a good thing he's a healer, because I need one in the morning."

"So, if you weren't getting laid, more lives would be saved in the darkest corners of Kirkwall?" Fenris smiled smugly.

"He doesn't need _that much_ healing. Although, if you keep on like this, I'm going to take my dick more seriously than the next time you get stabbed."

Ah. Anders had finally managed to swallow the egg. Charming.

Artemis watched the display with his mouth open, a slice of nug ham halfway to his lips. He cleared his throat. "Wow."

Anders waggled his eyebrows at him, and Artemis shoved the food in his own mouth around a laugh, looking away before Fenris could start growling. Speaking of... "Are you going to slap _my_ hand if I take a turnover?" He waited until he'd swallowed the ham before asking, and yes, maybe there were some puppy eyes involved. Fair was fair.

Fenris narrowed his eyes at the damnable mage, but Artemis could see the moment Fenris gave in. The elf flicked a turnover in his direction with one clawed finger, and Artemis snatched it, hiding his smirk behind it as he took as bite.

"Greedy mages," Fenris grumbled without rancor.

"Hungry mages," Anders corrected him. "Hungry mages feeding hungry, spiky elves."

Fenris was back to growling.

"Jam tart?" Cormac held out the plate to Fenris.

"Wine?" Anders offered a bottle, with one hand, while rolling another egg on the table to crack it.

Fenris very nearly smiled at Artemis, eyes glimmering with amusement, as he took a tart and the bottle. "I could get used to this."

Anders opened his mouth, and Cormac could just tell where that was going to end, so he stepped firmly on Anders's toes. "Ow! Cormac! What?!"

"Oh, sorry. Was that your foot? I'll just have to kiss it better, later." Cormac batted his eyes and smiled up at Anders in a terrible impression of innocence.

"You'll be kissing more than that," Anders grumbled, taking a bite of the egg, before realising he hadn't finished peeling it.

As Anders peeled eggshell off his tongue, Cormac returned his attention to his brother. "We have a lot of cellar. Any thoughts on what to do with it, other than just an escape route? Everything mum wants is already handled in the older parts -- the wine cellar, the vault. Which means we, as in you and I, have an awful lot of cellar."

Artemis hummed around his turnover, considering as he chewed. "We _do_ have a lot of cellar," he murmured. "Quite a bit more than I realised. It's like another mansion under our mansion. Only with... more death and chains than I generally prefer." He patted Cormac's arm and pressed on before his brother went red in the face thinking about slavers in his basement again. "It connects rather well to the clinic of our industrious healer, however."

Anders made a sound that could be interpreted as agreement before spitting out a last bit of eggshell. "Easy access, as Cormac so helpfully pointed out." He popped the now-peeled egg into his mouth.

"Easy access. Yes," said Artemis, staring at the healer's bulging cheeks. He cleared his throat again and tore his eyes away to indicate he was addressing both Anders and his brother. "I was thinking... perhaps we could use a few of the rooms to expand the clinic? Would that be feasible?"

Anders stopped chewing, eyes as round as his cheeks. "Mmwuh?" he asked.

Artemis sighed at this display and reached for the wine, drinking directly from the bottle.

"I suspect that could be arranged." Cormac nodded. "Or, we could just move the healer in, so he's got the extra space where he is, now. Which keeps Darktown on the other side of the large, iron door, and makes it much harder for angry gentlemen in platemail to raid our home. I wonder how long it will take Carver to figure out we have an apostate we're not related to living in the cellar..."

Anders stared silently at Cormac for a long few moments, trying to figure out what to do with this suggestion. Other than accept it. Accepting it was very high on the list. But, it put him in a position where he might be considered to owe people things, and that was something he very much tried to avoid. He'd earn it. Which might even actually be possible, once he started _sleeping_ again. A door. A door with a lock on it. A big, iron door, with a lock on it, to which he held the key. And he could work right next door.

He blinked and spotted Cormac's fingers snapping in front of his face.

"Anders? Swallow. C'mon, how tired are you?" Cormac nudged him. "You weren't even with me, last night, so I know you must have slept at least a little... unless you were enjoying some other company..."

Anders choked down the half-chewed egg. "No. Not tired. Just ... surprised?" Sort of a lie. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept through a night, but that didn't really qualify as 'tired' after this long.

Fenris stuffed his face with food to keep any rude words from spilling out. Just what the Hawke Estate needed: _another_ apostate. If the templars discovered one of them, they'd all be at risk of discovery. Which wasn't his problem. If the mages wanted to form their own mage cabal in their basement, it was their choice. He wasn't concerned, certainly not about Cormac and Bethany being slapped in irons or Anders being made Tranquil or Artemis being...

He thought of Artemis being locked up, pictured a sunburst brand on his forehead. He didn't realise he was growling until three mages were staring at him. Again.

"Do you have an objection?" Anders asked, one eyebrow quirked.

"I have many objections," Fenris hedged. "Mostly, at the moment, to do with your disgusting eating habits." He turned a glare on Cormac. "Don't say it. I know you're thinking it and that's more than enough."

He was better off stuffing his mouth with wine, Fenris decided. Drink wine and screw mages. Or perhaps drink wine and _screw_ mages if he wasn't careful. One mage in particular, at least.

"Should I have offered you the other room? There's more than enough space for both of you." Cormac blinked at Artemis and shrugged. Maybe the elf just wanted to be closer to his brother. All the Hawkes had fantastic asses, after all. Except maybe Carver, who was built more like the Amell side of the family. Still, nothing to take lightly.

"I have an entire house to myself. Why would I want to share some dark and dingy tunnels with a mage. _This_ mage, in particular." Fenris jabbed a finger at Anders, who draped a slice of nug ham over it.

"Eat more. You'll be less bitchy," Anders suggested, grabbing another slice for himself. "Trust me, it works."

"Is that the secret? Hmm. A few more sandwiches, and maybe you'll stop whining about oppression." Fenris debated whether the ham was still food, after Anders had touched it. Probably wasn't any worse than anything he'd likely already gotten in his own mouth, that day, given the amount of corpse-hauling that had gone on.

"How is your house holding up?" Cormac asked. "The last time I saw it, it was showing signs of battle and extended neglect -- I do wonder how long it had been without an owner, proper, before we went through and carved up the current residents."

"It has a roof and walls," Fenris said. "It will suffice."

"Is a roof still a roof when there are enough holes in it that when it rains, it rains _inside_?" Anders asked, looking up and tapping his chin as though asking a deeply philosophical question.

"Is a mage still a mage if I stab him full of the same amount of holes?" Fenris asked with a dangerous smile.

"Save your stabbing for the slavers tomorrow," Artemis suggested, distracting Fenris by stealing a bite of his ham and giving it back. Fenris growled.

"There's plenty of ham right there!" the elf complained.

"But I wanted yours."

Elf ears twitched, and Artemis smiled sweetly. He reached for Fenris's ham again, but Fenris growled and snatched it away.

Cormac reached around Anders and swiped the remaining ham from Fenris's finger, folding it up and stuffing it into his mouth.

"Ham-stealing mage!" Fenris snarled.

"You weren't actually eating it! You were just gesticulating wildly with it, while my brother tried to eat it. Me? I'm much less patient. You want another slice, there's more on the table." Cormac licked his fingers clean and pinched Anders's ass with the other hand.

Anders squeaked, blinked, and wrapped up some cabbage salad in a slice of cheese. He was pretty sure no one was going to fight him for the cabbage. "Don't steal the broody elf's food, Cormac. I'm trying to make him less broody."

"He has to actually put the food in his mouth, for that to work. I thought a little encouragement might help." Cormac shrugged. "So, what are we doing? Are you moving in? Do I need to buy furniture?"

Anders toyed with the new chain around his neck as he munched on cabbage and cheese. "I... suppose I am," he said. If Cormac hadn't just pinched him, Anders would have pinched himself. Not dreaming. Not the Fade. No demons here. Just men with gorgeous asses offering him a home and stuffing him with food. "As for furniture? I... hmm. I need to think about it." Not for him but for his patients. He owed Cormac enough as it was, and the last thing he needed was the man _buying_ him things he didn't need.

He wondered when things had moved from 'nothing serious' to 'here's a key, do you want to move in'? These were all great and wonderful, generous things he was being offered, yet the first thing that came to mind was panic. Panic he tried to hide under more cabbage and cheese.

"Wonderful," Fenris grumbled into the wine bottle he had claimed. "You should rename it the Mage Estate."

"Apostate Apartments?" Artemis suggested.

"The Magic Mansion," Cormac threw in. "Best kept secret in Kirkwall."

"There are no secrets in Kirkwall, but if you know the right people, the city will pretend," Anders muttered around a mouthful of cabbage. "Cormac, what are you doing?"

"If there are hands, it's not me." Cormac held his hands up, and Fenris snagged the tart he was holding. "Andraste's tits!"

"Fair is fair, mage."

Cormac just looked outraged and grabbed another tart. Perhaps the Hawkes weren't magister material, after all, Fenris thought. They huffed and sulked, but none of them had struck out at him. Nothing more than the occasional elbow or a sharp poke, and even that was less for him than they gave to each other.

"I'm pretty sure I know where all the hands are. I just... this..." Anders tried to find a way not to sound ungrateful. "It's sudden."

"I suddenly have a cellar, and I know a man who needs a safe place to sleep. Anything else I might or might not be doing with that man is incidental. I'd do the same for Varric, in a pinch, and it would have nothing to do with my appreciation of his chest hair. You just saw me offer the other room to Fenris. But, you're the one of us without a door. You're the one of us living behind a curtain, in a sewer." Cormac clapped a hand on Anders's upper arm. "I have, and you need. It's that simple."

"And maybe now Cormac can be fulfilling your needs," Artemis muttered, " _downstairs_." He roomed down the hall with his brother. Damn right there were no secrets in Kirkwall.

"Stone echoes," Fenris reminded him before finishing off Cormac's tart without remorse.

Artemis grimaced. "Right."

Anders looked at the hand on his arm, a hand he was coming to know as well as his own. He covered Cormac's fingers with his, pale, freckled skin a stark contrast to his. "Thank you then," he said, "for always keeping my needs in mind." He kept his smile crooked, just this side of coy to hide the genuine affection they held.

"Some of us are trying to eat, here," Fenris grumbled. Artemis hummed and offered the elf the rest of his tart. Fenris smiled and popped it in his mouth.

"Two sovereigns says we can make the elf vomit," Cormac challenged, grinning.

"Two sovereigns says your brother goes over, first," Anders shot back, and then Cormac's mouth was on the side of his neck. His hands fluttered stupidly, partially in surprise and partially trying to figure out if he had sauce from the salad on his hands before he grabbed any of Cormac's clothing.

Fenris made a few exaggerated noises of revulsion.

"Does retching count?" Cormac murmured against Anders's skin.

"Mmm, nope. Actual puke only." Anders reached down and lifted Cormac by his ass, until they were the same height.

"Oh, shit!" Cormac lifted away from Anders's neck and looked down, fending off a wave of dizziness. "That's ... a floor. Down there."

"Your brother's intelligence is questionable at the best of times, and this is clearly not the best of times," Fenris remarked quietly to Artemis, as he helped himself to the last turnover.

Recovering from the shock, Cormac dove right back in, this time with even more fervour and a great deal more nibbling, as Anders nipped at his shoulder and kneaded his ass, making a few intentionally loud encouraging noises, just to wind up the other two.

"If I force myself to vomit, do you think they'll stop?" Artemis asked, making a face around the lip of the wine bottle as he took a drink. "I'd be willing to make that sacrifice."

"Please no vomiting," Fenris replied, "unless it's going to be _on_ them, and we established that last time with the bandits that your aim is not that great."

Artemis huffed. "He ducked!"

"All three times?"

Artemis muttered under his breath. The two mages across from him were going to get drool all over the food. Artemis nudged Fenris with his elbow. "Hey," he said, leaning in to whisper. Fenris's ear twitched at the feel of mage-breath. "Wanna steal the food and run off?"

He was going to ask 'wanna go make out in the clinic?' but that just sounded unsanitary. He wasn't nearly drunk enough to suggest it anyway.

Fenris hummed and eyed what was left of the food, including the cabbage he hated but the abomination seemed to like. He slid a smirk in Artemis's direction and nodded, quickly piling more stuff onto fewer plates.

  



	14. PART IV: THE WOOING OF ANTON HAWKE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen decides he needs more thinging in his life. Because things. And Anton. And things with Anton would be best. Thing. Yes.

"Mum, please, nothing too political. Nothing too religious. He's a Chantry brother. And for all that he's strongly considering going home to Starkhaven, he's very much got the Chantry on his mind. He can be terribly uptight about some things, yet." Bethany folded another napkin and watched her mother unpack the jam cakes and the tea sandwiches from the bakery across the plaza. They were going to need to hire a cook, soon, just to keep pace with the way Leandra entertained.

"Well, what does one discuss with a prince, if not the glory of his principality?" Leandra carried the first tray to the table, angling it just so, beside that lovely flower arrangement Bodhan had found for the occasion. She hoped Cormac was paying the dwarf well enough.

"You're welcome to chat about the glory of Starkhaven, mum. Just keep it cultural and artsy. Like you talk to your Orlesian friends." Bethany rolled her eyes. "If you want me to be the princess of Starkhaven, his politics aren't of issue. He's a devout Andrastian -- all about doing good things and right things, even if I think he's a little confused on the subjects."

"How confused?" Leandra looked concerned.

"Well, he doesn't know I'm a mage, yet, or he'd be whining for me to submit myself to the Circle, for my own good. It'll be good to expand his horizons, a little, but not too quickly, or we'll all be in trouble." Sighing, Bethany slipped a tiny sandwich out of the pile and adjusted it to cover the gap. "His heart's in the right place and he's likely to become very powerful, soon. He just needs a little guidance."

"And you think you're the one to do it?" It wasn't intended to be cruel, but Bethany was just barely twenty.

"I think it's best that someone else doesn't get the opportunity. There are three of us in this family, mother, and Kirkwall is terribly tense, between the trouble with the Circle and the Qunari. We are running out of places to run." Bethany popped the sandwich in her mouth and continued around it. "Besides, he's adorable! And he knows all the most terrible things, from before he joined the Brotherhood. My toes tingle when he smiles. You'll see."

"Perhaps I should be more concerned about him than I am about you..." 

They were interrupted by the sound of Bodhan answering the door.

* * *

Time passed, and the more of it that passed, the more of it Cullen spent thinking about that night he spent at the Amell estate. He'd meant to go in and come back with a mage. Instead, he went in and wound up getting introduced to some extremely erotic arts by the mage's brother. Her _brother_. Her surprisingly handsome and very talented brother, he was willing to admit, if only to himself. He hadn't been back to the estate since, despite the standing invitation. Anton had seemed interested in doing more of the same, at a later date, and this was... this was absolutely the opposite of how these things were supposed to go, Cullen was sure. He was supposed to _end up_ naked with someone, not ... start there. But, that could be overcome. If he wanted to overcome it. If he meant to do something about this... thing. That might not even be a thing. Because who was going to have a thing with him? He was creeping up toward twenty-five -- slowly, but surely -- and there had been no thinging in his life, thus far.

But, Anton Hawke had seemed interested. Or at least interested in getting him naked again, which usually went with other things. Unless it was at the Rose, but that was different. Anton was quite a man, obviously, and had very likely done a great deal of thinging in his time, both the naked kind and the non-naked kind. If Cullen expected to get anywhere, he was going to have to make the right impression. Somehow. Maybe he'd ask Emeric. There was a handsome knight. Surely he knew how to go about wooing people.

"Ser Emeric!" Cullen called out in his best Knight-Captain voice. Emeric stood at attention, breaking off the conversation he was having with a well-dressed, older woman. Yes. Emeric was exactly who he should be talking to. 

"Yes, Ser Cullen?"

"I have a problem. _Well_ , not so much a problem as a _situation_. A dilemma. An instance." His best Knight-Captain voice was deteriorating into his awkward, stuttering voice. Emeric was polite enough to not say anything, but Cullen could see his frustration mounting.

"And how might I help you with this... instance, Captain?" he asked when Cullen finally stopped rambling.

"I, er, well..." Cullen rubbed his gauntleted hands together. They made a grating sound, so he dropped his hands back to his side. "I suppose I should clarify. This is a _personal_ problem. Instance. Dilemma."

"I see," said Emeric, who clearly didn't.

"It's, well ... You seem to be a man of great worldly experience." Cullen nodded at his own words. Yes, that sounded good. "And I, well... There's this ... person I'd like to ... um..."

"A person you'd like to um!" Emeric got it immediately. "Well, I suppose the next step depends on what kind of person and what kind of um. By and large, though, I suggest orchids."

"The noble kind of person," Cullen clarified.

"Ah, wooing the daughter of some noble house! Good for you, Captain!" Emeric patted the young man on the arm, gauntlets clanking against the plate.

"Er, yes. Daughter. Right." Cullen turned a few shades of pink.

"Well, you'll want a chaperone -- one of her friends -- to go with you, so no one can say anything untoward happened. That's very important. Start with something simple -- ask her to supper or to see a performance with you. Maybe a walk in the arbour, in the Gallows, if you think you can get her past Meredith and Orsino. I understand the arbour is very romantic." Emeric smiled easily and watched as Cullen started to relax. Good. The kid was going to need to remember how to breathe, if he was going to get through the asking part without fainting on the doorstep. "So, bring her some flowers, ask her to go somewhere with you -- not right away -- maybe three days or a week out, and let her know that you're willing to pick up the price if she'd like to bring a friend, because you know how the rumours can get."

Cullen took a deep breath, committing all this to memory. It all sounded so very simple when outlined like that. "Thank you, Ser Emeric," he said, smiling politely if distractedly. 

Right. Flowers. Flowers, first. He headed to the market.

* * *

Something was rattling. It took Cullen ridiculously long to figure out it was him, his foot bouncing nervously, making the plates of his armour clack against each other. He straightened, cleared his throat, and forced himself to hold still, balancing the bouquet with one hand and knocking on the door with the other. Petals flopped over onto his face.

Maybe he shouldn't be doing this in armour. He was already baking inside of it. He could feel sweat sliding down the back of his neck, could feel it lining his palms. 

Maker. He would rather face a dragon than do this.

The door creaked open, and Cullen straightened, holding his breath.

"Hello, Messere," said a balding dwarf. Right. Why would Anton be answering the door.

"Hello," Cullen replied awkwardly.

"Can I help you?" the dwarf prompted.

"Anton. I, er, that is. I'm... I'm here to -- to see Anton," Cullen sputtered.

"Of course, Messere. Please step in. Is he expecting you?" The dwarf stepped back and held the door open, and Cullen nervously took the last few steps into the house.

Expecting? Was Anton supposed to have been expecting him? Should he have sent a messenger first? A letter? His eyes sprung open in panic. "Expecting? Uh, n-- no, he's not expecting me. It's, um, I just thought I'd stop by?"

The look on his face triggered some memory for the dwarf, who suddenly smiled. "Of course! You're his friend from the party! Ser... Cullen, wasn't it?"

Cullen flushed. He'd hoped no one would remember that. Ever. At all. He cleared his throat. "I... yes. That -- that was me. I, um, I'm sorry about the..." He gestured at the closet door.

"Oh, it's quite all right, Messere. It was less a mess than the wine cellar, truth be told." Cullen suspected there was a story there he didn't want to know. "So I'll just go fetch young Messere Hawke, shall I?"

"I... yes, please."

Bodhan bowed his head politely and shuffled out of the vestibule, leaving a nervous Cullen rattling in the doorway.

Bethany poked her head out of the library. "Do we have a visitor?" she asked Bodhan.

"A gentleman caller for Messere Anton," Bodhan answered on the way by. She could have sworn his eyes glittered in amusement. Bethany smirked behind her hand and looked about for a good place to eavesdrop. 

Cullen continued to fidget, in the vestibule, imagining the very worst. He'd be laughed out. In the mean time, Anton had become a blood mage. Anton had become a blood mage and was going to laugh him out. Yes, he'd be laughed out by the son of some Fereldan refugee family, who would then tell the Knight-Commander about everything that had happened in the coat closet and after it.

He'd worked himself into quite a state, by the time Anton's voice cut in to the reverie of terror. "Well, well! Ser Cullen! Back for more?"

Cullen blinked and stared, flushing and sweating, as he held out the orchids, wordlessly sputtering. Anton still moved like he'd been hand-crafted by the Maker from pure, unadulterated sexy, which meant that hadn't just been for the night, and the man really was just that enthrallingly wanton. And dangerous, he recalled, thinking of the pile of daggers.

"This isn't-- I mean, oh Maker, I... Flowers." What had Emeric said to him? "I brought you flowers. And I, er, I wanted to ask -- to ask -- You know, there's a new Fereldan restaurant off the plaza? One of our countrymen finally made it. No, but, what I mean to ask--"

Anton stepped forward and seemed to wind himself around the bouquet of orchids, without removing them from Cullen's hand, as behind him, Bodhan struggled to keep a straight face. He inhaled deeply. "Are you asking me to dinner, Ser Cullen?"

"Maker, yes! Yes. I _am_ asking you to dinner." Cullen's breath rushed out in relief. "And if you'd like to bring a friend, so there won't be rumours, er, so no one will imagine anything untoward--"

"Anything untoward, like what's already happened between us? Oh, yes, what an excellent idea to protect against such allegations of lechery and ill-intent." Anton looked terribly amused. "Yes, Ser Cullen. I will go to dinner with you, at the new Fereldan restaurant on the plaza, and I will bring a friend, to save you from the rumour mill. When would you like to do this?"

"Satinday?" Cullen nearly swallowed his tongue.

"Satinday it is," Anton replied, finally taking the orchids from Cullen's hands, voice and smile smooth enough for the both of them, smooth enough to counteract Cullen's bumbling.

"Satinday," Cullen said again, nodding. Satinday might possibly be his new favourite day of the week. "I will see you then. On Satinday." Without the orchids, he didn't know what to do with his hands. He offered Anton one last, shy smile and made his retreat as elegantly as he could. Which was more frantic than elegant.

Anton watched the door close behind him, orchids in hand and a bemused smile on his face. He turned at the sound of laughter to see Bethany in the doorframe, her hand barely stifling her giggles.

"Shall I put those in water for you, Messere?" Bodhan indicated the orchids in Anton's hands.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some lovely, fluffy Anton/Cullen. Two chapters, today, because Maggie needs some fluff after shovelling the last few chapters of Fevered Dreams.

Satinday was no longer Cullen's favourite day of the week. In fact, he was rather hoping he could skip right over it into Washday, every week, so that Satinday would never come. He was going to make a fool of himself. He was going to screw this up. He was going to sweat through his nice clothes if he kept fretting over this.

He left the Circle, fiddling with his cuffs, and passed Emeric on his way out the door. The older Templar offered him a knowing smile. "Good luck, Captain," he said.

Cullen smiled thinly. He was going to need it.

The restaurant was surprisingly crowded, and the smell of the greasy Fereldan cuisine wafted out into the street. Cullen hoped they'd have those pork pasties he'd always loved. They didn't have pork pasties in Kirkwall, it seemed, and it had bothered him since he'd gotten to this Maker-forsaken armpit of the Marches. He hoped he'd be able to find a table. It hadn't even occurred to him that might be important. It hadn't even occurred to him how many Fereldans could afford to eat at a restaurant in Hightown. Of course, maybe if he'd been in the habit of getting food in Lowtown, he'd have found pork pasties, by now. He filed that thought for future reference, in case he couldn't get them here.

And there, that was someone getting up from a table! As soon as the dishes were cleared, he dropped into one of the seats. A bit of a small table, but it would -- Oh, Maker. Was that Anton? That was Anton, in some ... complicated Orlesian-looking outfit. With a mask. And a dwarf at his side. A shaven dwarf. Cullen waved and offered a completely terrified smile.

Anton bowed, elegantly, before dropping into the seat opposite Cullen and kicking out the other chair, for his friend. "Good evening, Ser Cullen! And what a lovely evening it is. May I introduce my companion? Varric, this is Ser Cullen, a Templar. Cullen, this is Varric, of the Merchants' Guild."

" _Knight-Captain_ Cullen? Oh, an _honour_ to meet you." Varric stuck out his hand and grinned almost predatorily. "Anton meets all the best people, don't you, Anton."

"Don't I just," Anton replied as Cullen shook Varric's hand. 

"So how did you two lovebirds meet?" Varric asked, chair scraping against the floor as he made himself comfortable. There was that predatory smile again, and Cullen found himself missing his armour. Especially his helmet. Helmets were wonderful for hiding behind.

"I, er..." No one could tell how hard he was blushing behind a helmet.

"Why, at the party, of course," Anton answered without a trace of embarrassment. It was rather unfair that Anton was wearing a mask. Cullen felt exposed in comparison and, really, pretty as the mask was, it just hid Anton's even prettier face. "We shared a bottle of Orlesian wine and had the most _intimate_ conversation."

"Ah, yes," Varric said around a smirk. "Now _that_ was quite the party!"

If Cullen blushed any harder, his skin would catch fire. Luckily a waiter saved him from spontaneous combustion. "Can I get you anything--?"

"Wine," Cullen blurted. "Oh, so much wine. Please."

"An Amaranthine 8:89, if you have it. If not, the house red," Anton clarified, sounding more Fereldan than he had in quite some time. Better to let the waiter know not to spit in his food, early on. "And fairy cakes, while my companions decipher your offerings. My man, here, I'm afraid, has never been across the sea." He clapped a hand on Varric's shoulder.

"And if I'd gone, what then? I'd have spent a week by the sea and got caught up in the Blight. Nope. Born in Kirkwall, staying in Kirkwall." Varric squinted at the page tucked between the vinegar and the salt cellar. "What's a kidney pie?"

"See?" Anton shrugged. "Cakes, for now."

"As you wish, gentlemen." And the waiter was gone.

"Don't kidney pie," Cullen cut in, tapping another line. He could talk about food. Yes. Food was safe. He could talk to the dwarf about food, until he'd had enough wine to face Anton. "If you have to kidney, steak and kidney pudding."

"How is that a pudding?" Varric demanded. "Steak is not a dessert food."

"Different kind of pudding," Anton said. "I'm thinking of cauliflower cheese, myself. There's so little good veg in this town."

"Your problem is that you eat veg," Varric pointed out. "You're on the sea. Eat fish."

"What do you think, Cullen? Where's the line for good Fereldan-Kirkwaller fusion cuisine?" Anton asked, unfastening the edge of his mask, so he could set it aside for the actual meal.

"Well," Cullen said, "like you said, we're on the sea. There's always the fish. Most of that should be recognizable to you." He pointed at the seafood section of the menu. "If you're looking for comfort food, you can't go wrong with chowder."

All this talk of Fereldan food was making Cullen ache for his home. He looked across the table at an unmasked Anton, and from the wistful look on his face, Cullen suspected he was thinking much the same thing. Something in his chest eased at the thought, and he relaxed. It was going well. They were barely five minutes in, but he was going to look on the bright side.

The waiter returned with their wine and took their orders, but by then Cullen didn't feel like he needed a drink quite so badly.

"So, Anton," he asked, after wetting his throat, "what part of Ferelden were you from?" It had seemed like a safe question. Or it had, until Cullen remembered why Anton and his family had fled to Kirkwall in the first place.

"Oh, here and there," was Anton's vague answer. His smile had a bitter edge. 

Varric caught on and turned the question on Cullen. "What about you? Did you come over on the boat like half of Ferelden?" 

And, oh, that hadn't been the question to ask. Cullen looked even more distraught, one hand twisting the edge of the tablecloth and the other clutching his wine.

"I came over on a different boat. I was out of Kinloch Hold. Once a Templar, always a Templar, except that one jerk who ran off with the Wardens and made us all look fools." The rest of the wine went down his throat, and Varric was quick to pour him another glass.

Anton sucked in a sharp breath. He'd heard what happened at the tower. "Good time to get out," he offered with a smile, holding up his glass.

"Not good enough," Cullen muttered, but took the toast, anyway.

And that answered questions Anton hadn't even known he'd had. 

"Oh, look, cakes. Thank you." Varric grinned up at the waiter, glad for the distraction. He wasn't much for sweet, but if it kept the Blight off the table, he'd try one. Spongy and sticky, but mostly lacking in any bold flavours. Not the worst thing he'd put in his mouth, that was for sure.

Anton groaned around a mouthful of cake. "There's that Redcliffe flavour."

Cullen was eager to stuff his face with cake. The ease from a few minutes ago was gone, and tension thickened the air again. Ferelden was a sore subject for them both, it seemed, however much they might miss it. At least the cakes were delicious. He licked icing off his thumb.

Conversation drifted to easier topics, alighting eventually on family and the many joys and annoyances of being a middle sibling. "And there I was," Anton said, laughing, "flat on my ass, with Cormac licking my face and proclaiming 'dog kisses'! If that is not the most Fereldan sibling idiocy, I don't know what is!"

Cullen chuckled into his wine, warmed as much by Anton's crooked smile as he was by the alcohol. "Well, I can't say any of my siblings ever licked _my_ face. Thank the Maker." But really, the wedgies were bad enough.

"Siblings?" Anton's eyebrows rose. "How many do you have?"

Cullen gave him a wry, long-suffering look and took a deep drink, more for dramatic effect than anything. "Three," he said. "An older brother and two younger sisters we spoiled to bits."

"Well, that sounds familiar. Our Bethy's the baby, but I think she's going to be the first of us to wed." Anton laughed easily, as he slipped another layer of protection for his sister into the conversation. "She's being courted by the Prince of Starkhaven, if you can believe it. Mum's all aflutter. She'll do well, you know. Not like the rest of us randy old men."

"You can't be that old. Not with that face." Maker, where had that line come from!? Cullen blinked and stuck another half a cake into his mouth.

Anton just laughed. "I'm the pretty one, but I'm dead centre. Twenty-five, this year."

"Damn kids," Varric grumbled, looking for the waiter.

"Oh, come on, Varric, you can't be that --"

"That's not something we're discussing." Varric helped himself to the wine. "You don't ask a dwarf, and you don't ask a woman."

Anton thought about it. He got as far as opening his mouth and lifting a finger, before Varric's eyebrow stopped him cold. "What about you?" he asked Cullen. "You can't be much older than me. And Knight-Captain already!"

"I'm..." Cullen coughed. "Not older than you. I'm twenty-two?"

"Might as well be twelve, the both of you," Varric insisted.

"Nonsense. I was much less dashing at twelve, if just as determined." Anton managed to look entirely too smug. "And is that why you shave your beard? To hide all the greys?"

"Don't you start," Varric scolded, wagging a warning finger the rogue's way. "I have all manner of blackmail material on you Hawkes. Don't make me bring out the embarrassing childhood stories."

Anton pouted, pretending to look properly chastened. His brothers talked too much when they drank. In fact, his brothers drank too much, but that was another issue.

"I wouldn't mind hearing those stories," Cullen said, emboldened enough to offer Anton a smile and a wink. Maker, did he just wink? Really?

"Stick around a while," Varric said. "The Hawkes are constantly adding new embarrassing stories to the list."

"Mostly, I blame Cormac," Anton huffed. "And Carver. In fact, I blame everything on Carver."

"Sound reasoning," Varric agreed.

"And I blame a whole lot more on wine. Artemis gets drunk, and then Carver punches Cormac. Every time." Anton shook his head. "Of course, Cormac has it coming, every single time."

"Your brother sounds like a challenging individual." Cullen sympathised. He had a brother like that.

"They're all challenging. Where do you think I got all this charm? I've been talking them out of drowning me in a chamber pot for years." Anton shrugged dramatically, as the waiter returned with their food.

"Most people think Cormac's the charming one," Varric pointed out, getting a plate out of the way of his plate.

"I don't introduce myself to most people." Anton levelled a flirtatious smile at Cullen and knocked his ankle against Varric's under the table, acknowledging the delivery of the perfect straight line for the occasion.

Cullen sputtered and flushed, any calm he might have achieved going straight out the window. Maker, he was the Knight-Captain of Kirkwall, and in a public place! He had to get it together!

Varric hid a smirk behind his wine glass. He'd been concerned about Anton fraternising with a Templar, but it was Ser Cullen who was out of his depth. Barely through one date, and Anton already had the man wrapped around his little finger. Rather fortuitous, considering his standing in the Order and the mage-count of the Hawke family.

Cullen wisely took a bite of food to avoid talking for a moment. Food goes in, otherwise stuttering comes out. All in all, he'd that coy smile as the mother of all good signs. 

Anton tucked into his own food, but he was eyeing Cullen as _he_ if were the meal on his plate. He had to know how that simple look was affecting him, had to be doing it on purpose. Maker. The next time he was going to come in full plate. Next time. _Next time_. He was getting ahead of himself.

"How are you enjoying your taste of Ferelden?" Cullen asked Varric, eager to divert Anton's stare long enough to get himself back under control.

"It's not bad. Seafood is the same anywhere, I guess. And I have no idea what this vegetable is, but it's an improvement on what you get around here." Varric squinted at something on his spoon.

Anton grabbed the chunk of veg and popped it in his mouth. "Parsnip. It's a parsnip. Like a turnip, but better."

"Keep your damn barbarian fingers out of my food, if you want them to stay attached," Varric grumbled, taking another spoonful of chowder. "Maybe I should start importing parsnips. I could probably make a killing."

"You do it right, and you could push the turnip out of Kirkwall, entire." It was impossible to tell if Anton was joking.

"I never understood turnips," Cullen said, between bites. "They don't taste like anything. Why would I eat something that doesn't taste like anything?"

"Nevarran food." Anton nodded sagely. "It's all in the sauce."

"You like Nevarran food?" Cullen's face lit up. "I love Nevarran food! The leaf things with the barley and mint in them? And those fried bean-flour things I can't pronounce?"

"Nobody can pronounce Nevarran food except Nevarrans." Anton grinned, lopsidedly. "But, the sandwiches, with the cucumber sauce and the bean sauce and that cheese..."

"The cheese!" Cullen looked like he might swoon.

Varric had a feeling he knew what they were going to eat for date number two. He almost said as much to make Cullen turn that wonderful shade of red again, but he decided to take pity. 

"Anything but Orlesian food," Varric muttered into his chowder. "'These olives taste of despair'," he said, affecting a rather terrible Orlesian accent. "Who wants to eat depressing food?"

"I hear the chicken is especially sorrowful," Cullen added.

"One could almost say the chicken is ' _foul_ '," Anton said, still wearing that cocky, crooked grin. Cullen and Varric groaned in unison at the pun.

"In his defence, you left that one wide open," Varric sighed.

Anton smirked and took another bite of cauliflower, looking thoroughly unapologetic. The look he sent Cullen had him grinning like an idiot around another sip of wine.

"So, Nevarran, next Marketday?" Anton asked. "And afterward, I'll show you eight dozen things that can be done with honey and walnuts, none of which I will detail in front of my fine dwarven companion?"

"I thank you for that, but I could have done without even that much detail," Varric complained between spoonfuls of chowder.

And that was when Cullen finally fumbled his glass. Badly. The wine ended up all over him, all over his food, the tablecloth, Varric's sleeve. "Whoop! Drat! Andraste's sword!" He could not get a grip on the glass again, and in the end, it exploded across the floor. "I, er..."

Anton looked across the table in some combination of confusion, amusement, and mild concern. "Watch the glasses. They're tricky."

Varric absorbed every splash and every fumble, saving them for later. This would be amazing in print.

Cullen cleared his throat, trying to pretend he hadn't just thrown wine on everything. "Nevarran?"

"On Marketday." Anton had never really gone for the fumbling virgin type, but he was starting to see the appeal, at least from the comedic perspective. "I know a nice place in Lowtown with clay cups."

A joke. Anton was joking about the wine. And still asking. _Actually asking_. No flowers, no showing up on his doorstep, just ... asking. In the middle of supper. "Marketday. Yes. I -- I can Marketday. I mean, I have time, Marketday. I can go with you. For food. Marketday."

"Breathe," Varric suggested. And this man was the Knight-Captain. The Order was doomed.

Marketday was fast becoming Cullen's favourite day of the week. Satinday was high in the running again. In fact, all days ending in "day" were looking good from this perspective.

And this was after Cullen had spilled all his wine. The waiter appeared at his side with a rag and another glass. Cullen took the glass with a sheepish smile, which the waiter returned politely. At least it was too late for him to spit in Cullen's food. He hoped.

"Of course," said Anton blithely, "we don't have to wait until Marketday for all of that. I can teach you a couple of tricks early to give you a taste of what to expect." The look Anton gave Cullen was sin incarnate. 

Varric waited and -- yep. There went Cullen fumbling with his wine glass again. 

"I, er... that is..." Luckily he managed to keep most of the wine in the glass before he righted it this time. What were a few more stains on his nice shirt?

Maker, Anton was going to eat this man alive.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Artemis makes a minor miscalculation. Fenris makes an actual mistake.
> 
> This is the angst chapter of angst and angst. If you don't like angsty cliffhangers, there's more fluff due tomorrow, with Anton and Cullen.

Bethany sat in the library, translating an ancient Nevarran text on the construction of the tomb of Caspar the Magnificent and listening to her brother carry on a discussion with their mother, through a closed door. Mum had probably started with him when she heard him walk by. Cormac did not walk softly, unless he meant to.

"Well, I presume you told them where they could stuff tha-- No, mother, I will not consider it!"

Cormac was getting shouty again. Of all of them, he could really maintain volume for the longest. Which was why Bethany owned earplugs. There were, after all, some things one only wanted to know about one's brother once or twice, before they got tiresome.

"Yes, fine. I can pretend to have considered it for a week, but I'm not--" Cormac punched the wall. "I'm not actually considering it! It's bullshit! It's political self-serving bullshit, and the self it's serving isn't anyone in this family!"

"No, I will absolutely not! I will not 'be seen' with her. I will not give anyone the wrong idea about her chances." Cormac's irritation started to strain the urn by the top of the stairs, from the sound of it, and presumably he put a stop to that, since the sounds ceased, without a crash.

"I will not be marrying one of the de Launcet girls, and that is final!"

Cormac punched the wall again. "I know I haven't met them! They'll be at some party eventually, and I'll have to, and maybe one of them will impress me, but I'm not making an effort to woo some Orlesian cre ampuff for the sake of a political marriage! You didn't have a political marriage, did you?"

"I'm already an apostate! It's not like it's going to get any worse for me!" Cormac shouted. "You didn't even like the guy! I'm not marrying his daughter!"

Cormac stormed down the stairs into the library, slamming the door behind him, before he noticed Bethany. "So, ah, sorry about that. I'm just... book. I'm going to go read. Over there."

"Please don't slam anything else, Cormac, it makes the desk jump, and then I end up having to re-write things." Bethany smiled amusedly, without looking up, but her voice left no room for argument. Cormac knew what happened when one argued with Bethany. Dad's lessons about not tormenting one's siblings with one's fantastical cosmic power had never quite sunk in with her, not the way he and Artemis had gotten them.

"Why no, I think I'm just going to slide a bookcase down the stairs," Cormac drawled, climbing up to the second level. "I said I was sorry once. Don't push your luck."

* * *

It was not, by most people's standards, an unreasonable hour of the day. Fenris, on the other hand, was not most people, and it was still before noon. What values of stupidity would lead anyone to bang on his door like that, at this hour, were beyond him. He dragged himself out of bed, still dressed from the night before, picked up his sword, and went to answer the door.

And that was a pair of Hawkes. "Mage. Mage." He nodded at them both, before noticing the extremely uncomfortable position in which Cormac held his brother by the collar. He'd seen people hold cats like that, and the cats were rarely any happier about it than Artemis appeared to be. "Cormac? Why are you strangling --" _my mage_ "--your brother, on my doorstep?"

Cormac held Artemis off the ground, fist a little higher than his shoulder, and thrust his brother toward the extremely confused broody death elf. "He has something to tell you."

"No, no he doesn't," Artemis muttered, gaze skittering about. He grappled with the hand in his collar but half-heartedly, already looking resigned to whatever it was he was supposed to be doing. He certainly looked like a miserable cat but also a little like a dog with its tail between its legs, which was, Fenris mused, more fitting for a Fereldan.

Fenris narrowed his eyes at the pair of them. Artemis had clearly done something. Something even Cormac didn't approve of, which was quite a feat. What had he done? More importantly, what had he done that had to do with Fenris?

Blood magic was the first thought that came to mind, but Fenris didn't want to think about that.

"Do come in," he said dryly, stepping back to hold the door open for them. Maybe the mess would torture Artemis into saying something.

Cormac stepped across the threshold, hauling Artemis with him. His arm was starting to get sore. He was a mage, after all, not a warrior, and however much hiking up and down the coast, setting slavers on fire, he did in his spare time, carrying his brother across Hightown in one hand was a bit much. Following Fenris out of the vestibule, he tossed Artemis into the front room, just hard enough to be sure his brother would stumble. It would keep him from bolting for at least a second or two.

"I want to be completely clear it's not what he's done that I disagree with. It's the part where he wasn't going to _tell you_ he did it." Cormac lingered in the doorway, arms crossed. "And now, he's going to. Because you should know."

"I would like to be completely clear that I have no idea what's going on beyond the fact that you've gotten me out of bed, and there are now two mages standing in my house. Start talking, before I become any less pleasant." Fenris tapped the end of his sword against the ground, as he looked back and forth between the brothers.

Artemis eyed the door behind Cormac longingly. Mages and running seemed to go hand in hand, and running was exactly what Artemis looked like he wanted to do. "Could we maybe put the sword away first?" he asked, his smile aiming for casual but looking pained. "Pointy things. All pointy things put away, please."

And there he was, avoiding eye-contact again. Fenris leaned his sword against the wall without a word. He was plenty dangerous without it, even against two mages... one of whom was currently straightening the dusty books on a shelf Fenris didn't know was there. Irritation was an itch between his shoulderblades.

"Mage," Fenris growled impatiently. "I would like to know what this is about."

Artemis flinched, fingers still flitting over book spines. Dust. Everywhere. "It has to do with your mansion," he said to the books. "This mansion. On the bright side, you don't have to worry about being evicted."

Fenris's eyes narrowed. That was an odd thing to say. "I wasn't worried," he said. "That's why I answer the door with my sword." He waited, but Artemis didn't elaborate. "What did you do?"

"I... I may have bought the mansion."

"See! That wasn't so hard!" Cormac chimed in from the doorway.

"You bought my house." Fenris blinked. "I have gone from living in a house owned by my former master to living in a house owned by ... what, my new master? Mages. All the same."

"Whoa, no. Not like that." Cormac held up his hands. " _You_ can't own the house. You don't have the standing. We do. I'm the heir, so our place is assumed to be mine, by default. It's not that weird for a second son to take another place in town, though, and this one's been sitting empty for... longer than we've been here, from the looks of it."

"So, this is some unasked charity, then?" Fenris demanded. "It was my house, and I needed nothing."

"Except a roof that doesn't leak," Cormac pointed out. "You can have that, now. It's a favour for a friend."

"I didn't ask for anything!" Fenris insisted, fingertips scraping against his palms as his fingers curled and uncurled. He wished he'd put on the gauntlets, when he got up.

"And this is why he didn't want to tell you."

"Look, Fenris, nothing has changed!" Artemis was quick to sputter. He turned pleading eyes Fenris's way, but all he got was a cold stare in reply. "Absolutely nothing! This place is yours and always has been. I just... I just wanted to keep the vultures from circling, so that you wouldn't have to hide the fact that you were living here. I won't touch a thing you don't want me to. I won't even clean. I--" Artemis realized he was still straightening books as he said this. "I... er. I won't even clean starting now." He crossed his arms across his chest to keep from touching anything.

He wished Fenris had kept the sword after all. It couldn't cut half as well as his glare. "I did not run away from Tevinter to become bound by another mage," he said, voice dangerously soft in a way that made Artemis's hackles raise. He turned away from both mages, and from this angle Artemis could see his jaw muscles clenching. "I suggest you both leave before I do something I might regret."

Artemis hadn't felt this small since he was a child, his mother scolding him for making Bethany cry. "Fenris..." He reached for the elf's spiky shoulder, but Fenris caught his wrist before it could touch him. Those green eyes were close, dangerously close, and sharp as glass.

The mage was making those sad eyes at him again, and Fenris could feel the invisible hand clutching at his heart again. His hand clenched tighter around Artemis's wrist, and he found himself unsure if he could push him away, now that they were touching. Which had been the whole point of grabbing that wrist -- so Artemis wouldn't be touching him. It was poorly thought out, but in his defence he'd just gotten out of bed.

Cormac's hands clenched into fists. He wanted to call his brother back to him, and walk away from all this. Sort it out over cakes and cream, like when they were younger. But, it wasn't going to be that easy, this time. This was between the two of them, and he was just here to make sure his brother didn't get killed.

Even from the door, he could see that look on Artemis's face, and it broke his heart. For the first time, he actually suspected whatever this was, it was a whole lot more serious than either of them were letting on. Yes, most people would have assumed that somewhere around the petition for and purchase of the _house_ , but that didn't even register with him. Of course Artemis would do that. _He_ would have done it. The mine was enough to pay for them all to live reasonably well, by _Orlesian_ standards, and the disposal of most of this year's extraneous income to provide security for a friend was ... exactly the sort of behaviour their father would have approved of.

Fenris's grip was even tighter, his knuckles whitening, as he stared into Artemis's eyes, confused, betrayed, and more afraid than he'd been in a long time. He didn't say anything. He didn't know what to say. His fingers still clawed at his other palm, finally loudly enough to be heard in the vacant stillness of the room.

Fenris's grip was just this side of painful and starting to cut off circulation, making Artemis's fingertips tingle. He wasn't sure if he winced somewhere in there, but he didn't pull away or tell Fenris to stop. If hurting him in any way, physically, verbally, made Fenris feel better, Artemis would let him do it and gladly. But Fenris was just _staring_ at him, and somehow that was worse.

They were standing close enough to kiss if Artemis wanted to -- he _always_ wanted to -- but he didn't dare. Not now. Not like this.

"Fenris," he said, voice nearly cracking. He could feel bones grinding as Fenris adjusted his grip. Artemis definitely winced that time. "I am sorry. I just wanted to make sure you were safe."

"I don't need a mage's help to be safe."

"What about a friend's?" Artemis murmured, letting the sting of _mage_ pass over him.

"I don't have any friends," Fenris snapped, eyes glimmering strangely, as an extremely unpleasant smile wormed its way across his face. "The last time I had friends, I was compelled to murder all of them. So, now, I have none. They're all dead."

"We're your friends, you prick," Cormac declared, still leaning on the doorframe.

"Are you? All I see are two more mages taking control of my life." The hand in his chest gripped even tighter than his hand around Artemis's wrist, tight enough that his next breath made _sound_. But, still, he didn't let go. He didn't want to let go. And at the same time, he wanted to throw them both out of his house, bodily, pick up what little he had, and set out for southern Ferelden. The darkspawn had already destroyed everything of value, there. It would be miles of burned out wasteland, and him. Just him. No mages, no magisters, no hunters. But, to do that, he'd have to let go of Artemis, and the mage -- his mage -- this mage was giving him that look again. It pissed him off. He hated it. And he didn't want to let go. He hoped someone, somewhere, understood, because he sure as shit didn't.

A mage. Artemis wondered if that's all he'd ever been to Fenris. That night in the tent, then in the cellar... hot breath, hot skin and touch and _need_. And with all the heated glances and stolen touches in between, he'd thought... he'd _hoped_...

He was a fool.

There was going to be a bruise in the shape of Fenris's hand later, the skin itching where lyrium lines touched, and Artemis reflected, a touch hysterically, that at least Fenris wasn't wearing his gauntlets.

Artemis's throat worked around a swallow. "If that's all I am to you," he said, voice raw, "then maybe I should go." Dangerously close to saying what was on the tip of his tongue and had been sitting there for weeks, maybe months. It felt like Fenris was squeezing his lungs alongside his wrist, and he had to look down to check that there wasn't a glowing fist there, sticking out of his chest.

Fenris couldn't even manage to look furious any more, just betrayed. This had all been a terrible idea, right from the word go. This was what happened when he let himself want things -- they came to him and took away from him. There was no good of wanting. His eyes closed and his hand relaxed, fingers sliding over Artemis's hand one more time, before he let go. There were a hundred things he could say. A hundred ways to stop this, and all of them would end the same way. He couldn't surrender himself to another mage.

"Go," he breathed, so quietly he wasn't sure Artemis could even hear him. "Just go."

"Shit," Cormac grumbled, standing up straighter and holding out his hand. "Come on, Artie. Leave him be. And _you_ , when you're done being a prick, you know where to find us."

Artemis had to pull himself away from Fenris, had to remember how to breathe. He backed up a few steps and then fled out the door, ignoring Cormac's proffered hand and pushing past him with a cold glance. Outside, the air was warm in contrast, the air heavy with humidity, and Artemis didn't need the sun glaring down at him. Fuck the sun.

"Thanks, Cormac," he grated out without looking. "Brilliant plan, that. You're a _great_ help."

And, alright, so it might not be fair to take his hurt out on his brother, but he was so conveniently _there_ and Artemis could still feel Fenris's hand on his wrist.

"You did right. He'll get over it." Cormac sounded so sure of himself. "He's... he's in love with you, Artie. He'll come around."

Artemis rounded on Cormac. "In _love_?" Alright, that may have come out a bit shrieky, but all the blood was rushing to his head and all he could hear was his pulse. "Really? With a _mage_?" _Don't shout that in the streets of Kirkwall_ , a little voice in the back of his head said. "It seems to me that he thinks mages are only useful for two things: killing and f..."

He couldn't say it. He couldn't. He also didn't think he'd be able to hold himself together after this.

"I fucked up, didn't I?" he whispered.

"Nope. He's a prick." Cormac shrugged and wrapped an arm around Artemis's shoulders. "But, you like him, and I am completely sure, after what I just witnessed, that he's madly, stupidly in love with you. So, he's a mad stupid prick, right now. He'll get over it, Artie. You're irresistible. So, here's what we do. I'm going to walk you home, and when we pass through the market, I'm going to stop and get those little cakes you like and a big bottle of Antivan brandy, and we're going to go home and eat cake and get very drunk. We can be very drunk together. We have a healer downstairs. And he's only invited if you tell me you want him there."

Cormac hugged his brother awkwardly, in the middle of the street, mostly awkward because it had been years since he'd been in a position to do any such thing. But, if ever there had been a time for it, now was that time. Because he was not allowed to turn around and walk back in there, to slap the damned sense into that elf. This was his little brother, and nobody outside the family was allowed to put that look on his little brother's face.

"And I will totally look the other way if you want to force push Carver down the stairs. You know the dog thinks it's funny."

Artemis's lips twitched as though trying to smile. "I might need to," he said. "When he realizes you're getting me drunk, he'll probably try to punch you again. I think I might let him this time. _Then_ force push him down the stairs." The dog thought Carver punching Cormac was funny too. "And if you think you're only buying me one bottle of Antivan brandy, you'd better think again." He planned to drink until he couldn't see straight, until there was no room in his head for thinking about broody elves and unsanitary houses. He considered his bruising wrist and murmured, "Inviting the healer might not be a bad idea."

"Carver is welcome to punch me in the face. Twice." Cormac patted his brother's cheek and headed in the direction of home, leading Artemis with the arm still wrapped around his shoulders. "And I will buy you one bottle at the market, so we can start drinking, while I send Bodhan out to get enough to keep us drunk for a week. Sorry, Aveline, no cleanup on the coast this week! I need to keep my brother drunk."

The patter went on, as he led the way across Hightown.

  



	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen meets Bethany at last!

"Those elves you're friends with, they're... Rather strange, aren't they?" Leandra asked, looking up from the accounts, as Carver and Bethany came in, strangely not shoving each other, for once.

"He's an asshole, but she's pretty nice," Carver said, with a shrug.

"She's a--" Bethany started, and then shifted gears entirely. One didn't admit to having friends who were blood mages and consorting with demons, in front of one's mother. "--very nice girl. Just... a little Dalish, sometimes, you know?"

"She gets lost a lot," Carver admitted. "I had to walk her home from the docks, the other night. She'd been out with Anders and Varric, and somehow ended up there, from the Hanged Man, instead of back at the Alienage."

Bethany covered her face and laughed. "But, he's definitely weird. And an asshole. And he hates mages!"

"Sometimes, I worry about Artie," Carver sighed. "It's like Cormac's bulletproof stupidity is rubbing off on him. What is he even _doing_ with an elf who _hates mages_?"

The door slammed again, this time followed by Artemis making unmistakeably distressed sounds, in the hall, and some sort of soothing patter from Cormac.

Carver looked at Bethany, but she just shrugged. He sighed, again. "I have to go punch Cormac, again. Maybe this time it'll help."

"Carver!" Leandra complained. "Leave your brother alone!"

"You know, doing the exact same thing and expecting a different result is the definition of insanity," Bethany pointed out, as Carver stalked off in the direction of the front of the house.

* * *

Marketday had arrived quicker than usual. Well. That wasn't right. Marketday had arrived at the usual time, right after Hopeday, but for Cullen, it felt like the days of the week were playing tricks on him. He'd blame it on magic, but even _he_ wasn't that paranoid. 

Cullen arrived at the Nevarran restaurant a tad early so as not to repeat Satinday's flailing for a table. That left him sitting alone at said table and fidgeting with the cutlery. When Anton arrived in another dashing Orlesian outfit, Cullen almost capsized the table in his haste to stand. _Maker_. 

"Anton!" he said, unable to contain his smile. "It... it's good to see you. You look..."

"Handsome? Dashing? Ravishing?"

Cullen looked up at him coyly. "Yes," he said. Clearly the right answer, judging from Anton's smile. It was only when she cleared her throat that Cullen realized there was a woman next to Anton. "Oh! Hello. Varric, you look different."

"Would you believe, the man has a sense of humour, too. I am so fortunate." Anton laughed and put an arm around the woman's waist. "No, no. This is my sister, Bethany, scholar and spearwoman. Bethy, this is Knight-Captain Cullen, my Templar... friend. She's been wanting to meet you, ever since she heard."

"And oh, what I heard." Bethany batted her eyes and grinned wickedly at Cullen. "I'm surprised you two didn't take down that door!"

Anton's other hand shot up to span his cheekbones, and a surprised laugh escaped him. "Bethy! Public!"

"You do it all the time, Anton." She pulled out a chair for herself and sat, unshouldering the monstrous spear she carried and leaning it against the wall, beside the table. It was barbed and engraved, and from the look of it, based on an old Avvar design. Definitely enchanted, but all the good weapons were, these days.

"I'm also not a teenage girl." Anton sat across from Cullen, and shrugged. "Sisters."

"Brothers." Bethany retorted, picking up a stained menu.

"You remind me of my sister, Mia," Cullen said, finally, when the banter had died down a bit. "Very outspoken."

"Really?" said Bethany with a smile. "She must be a charming woman."

"She has... many admirable qualities," Cullen said diplomatically. He chuckled. His gaze flit to Anton, who was smiling behind his menu. "Your brother speaks very highly of you."

"Of course he does," Bethany replied. "He's a smart man."

"I see the sharp tongue is genetic."

Anton and Bethany exchanged commiserating glances. "Oh yes," said Anton. "But I got all the looks. We," he amended at a narrowed look from Bethany. "We got all the looks."

"You'll hear no arguments from me," Cullen said, surprising himself. No wine yet, and he was already flirting. He'd only stuttered once so far and avoided knocking over the table. This was a good start.

A waiter came over, and Anton let Bethany order, since she was the only one of the three of them who spoke Nevarran, and she did so passably well, he thought. Of course, he probably shouldn't be thinking about it, since he couldn't string together enough words of Nevarran to order a cup of coffee -- yet another delightful Nevarran delicacy. And that one, he could pronounce.

"I trust her judgement," he told Cullen, listening to his sister chat about the details of ingredients and sauces with the waiter.

"As will I. She seems a great deal more competent with the language than I. I tend to resort to pointing to things on the menu." Cullen chuckled nervously. "Oh, a pot of that mint tea!"

Bethany pointed at him, and kept talking to the waiter. He thought he could make out enough hand gestures to gather that she was ordering tea for all of them, which was even better. Perhaps they would make it through the meal without any wine, which would mean he couldn't drop any wine on anyone, including himself. Tea wouldn't stain like wine did. It would be a lot hotter, though. Maybe tea wasn't quite as brilliant an idea as he thought.

"You seem quiet, today, Ser Cullen." Anton stretched an arm along the table and stroked the side of Cullen's hand with one finger.

"What? No. I -- that is, I -- I like the sound of the language. I'm trying to learn a few important words by listening." Cullen had, in fact, been completely distracted, but there was no sense in saying that.

"It is a lovely language," Anton said, dropping his voice into something like a purr. That voice, coupled with that look, was simply not fair. "I know a few phrases myself." His finger was still tracing patterns along the side and back of Cullen's hand, leaving trails of sensation in its wake. 

"Oh?" Cullen prompted. He didn't care what language Anton spoke as long as he kept talking.

Anton's smile turned wicked. He glanced at the waiter and said, "I'll whisper them in your ear later."

All the heat in Cullen's body rushed to his face and his crotch.

"Anton, don't scandalise the poor man," Bethany sighed, as the waiter left the table.

"I don't think the poor man minds a little scandal, do you, Ser Cullen?" Anton affected innocence, which was, overall, profoundly ineffective. In fact, it conveyed much the opposite effect.

Cullen sputtered, wholeheartedly and halfassedly. "I-- scandal--? I mean-- that is--"

"My brother is incorrigible. You can't let him push you around, Ser Cullen. Unless, of course, you're into that sort of thing. Which is between you and him, and please don't tell me about it."

"Bethy!" And now Anton looked scandalised. "Is that what prince charming is teaching you? Am I going to need to have words?"

"I think you should be much more concerned with what I am teaching Sebastian, than with what he's teaching me. And hold on to your words, Anton. You'll need them."

Cullen wondered if all the Hawke siblings were like this. If so, their mother must have the fortitude of Andraste herself. "I like her," Cullen decided of Bethany, earning him a grin from Anton and a preening look from Bethany.

"And to think," said Bethany with a devilish smirk uncannily like Anton's, "I could have bowed out and left you two alone. How bored you boys would have been."

And that had Cullen thinking about Orlesian coats, soft skin, and other kinds of entertainment, which had him squirming and blushing again. Though saying "again" was a bit misleading, considering all the blushing and the squirming were part of his natural state around these two.

There was some movement under the table, and Bethany jumped, giggling into her hand. Anton narrowed his eyes at her in a playful imitation of a glare.

The waiter arrived with their tea, the smell of mint sharp and refreshing. Calming. This was really rather lovely, Cullen decided, nerves aside. So long as he didn't spill the tea.

"So, Bethany," Cullen said, "Anton says you are a scholar?"

"Oh, yes. I'm a student of Nevarran tomb architecture and, by extension, beliefs surrounding death and the Mortalitasi. There's some fascinating history, there." Bethany smiled brightly. 

"And that is why you speak Nevarran," Cullen intuited, quite proud of himself for having stopped staring at Anton long enough to recognise the obvious. But, there was something on his ankle. Something that felt distinctly like a pointed boot.

Anton sipped tea and watched his sister, both hands above the table. He wondered how long Cullen could keep putting one word after another, under the circumstances, and making this Templar blush had become Anton's new hobby. He'd see how long he could keep things interesting, but not so interesting as to catch Bethany's attention.

"That is why I speak Nevarran." Bethany poured herself a cup of tea. "I'm certain I could bore you to tears with stories of Nevarran necromancers, but if you really want..."

"Oh, I doubt I could be bored in you or your brother's presence," Cullen said politely. And yes, that was definitely a boot. A boot tracing tiny circles along the inside of his ankle and trying to sneak under the hem of his trousers. Cullen coughed into his fist. "Definitely... definitely not bored." 

Anton smiled, again too sweetly to make Cullen anything but suspicious. 

"Flatterer," cooed Bethany between sips of mint tea. She hummed and licked her lips. "Oh, this is lovely. Anton, how come you've never taken me to this restaurant before?"

"Because I am a terribly neglectful older brother," Anton replied, hand over his heart in mock solemnity. "You have my apologies."

"I might forgive you," she sniffed, "depending on what dessert you get me later."

Anton chuckled. "I think I already know what my dessert is going to be," he said, gaze sliding Cullen's way. He was starting to wonder if those rosy cheeks were part of his natural complexion. "Something with... what was it? Honey and walnuts? What do you think, Captain?"

"Do walnuts really--" Cullen's eyes snapped to Bethany. "What I mean to say is, er... Honey. Yes. I think-- a nice ... sweet accent."

"And you're paying the laundress on the plaza an extra sovereign for that, I hope, Anton?" Bethany looked terribly disapproving.

"What I pay that laundress is between she and me, but I assure you it is more than enough for the trouble." Anton's eyes never left Cullen. "Not much for the walnuts? Perhaps a nice stiffened cream, maybe a hint of rose syrup and orange."

Cullen looked like he might combust. _Felt_ like he might combust. Maker, what was this man even doing in a room with him, never mind on a second -- third? -- date with him. Surely Anton could have half of Kirkwall eating out of his hand, but no, he was sitting in a Nevarran restaurant with Cullen, who couldn't even keep up his half -- third -- of the conversation, because, well, because Anton. What man outside the Blooming Rose -- and that was just from rumour! -- was so dedicatedly, divinely indecent, in a public place? This one. Obviously. Cullen was in so far over his head, and he wasn't sure he minded that a whit. 

"I like oranges." _Because that was intelligent, Cullen_. His cheeks had actually started to ache from holding the blush so long. 

"You know," Bethany saved him, looking at the menu again, "there is a lovely orange pastry, here. I've always wanted to try one of these. Maybe you should have one too, Ser Cullen."

Bless that girl.

Just when he remembered how to breathe, the foot on his ankle grew a bit friendlier, and there he went, choking on nothing. Cullen reached under the table to remove the foot from his inner thigh, shooting Anton a look that was only mildly disapproving. As much as he regretted its loss, there was no way he was going to make it through dinner with a foot there, even -- especially -- Anton's foot. And that was something he needed to do, make it through dinner, if Anton was going to make good on his promise of 'dessert'.

Anton pouted, and his booted foot went back to nudging Cullen's ankle. All the while, Bethany looked over the dessert menu, blessedly oblivious.

Maker. And they'd barely started on their tea.

Their waiter returned, arms laden with full plates, and Cullen's stomach growled in greeting. Anton sat up, his foot finally leaving his ankle. Regrettably.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anton and Cullen get creative with dessert, part 1.

Lunch had been just as good as Cullen remembered the food at that place being, and Bethany had been an exceptional example of all things Hawke, checking her brother when he got too far out of line, but usually with enough bite to start a whole other skirmish across the tea and the table. Bethany had left them when they got back to the house -- to the Amell estate -- with a warning not to break anything _serious_.

"I didn't break it!" Anton had replied. "I just knocked it over!"

And then Anton's hands were on him, right there in the hall. And then Anton's lips. And then things got a little fuzzy around the edges, but here he was, pantsless -- and shirtless, entirely bare, in fact -- stretched across Anton's blessedly soft bed, while Anton unpacked a few bottles he'd picked up when they crossed the market. Syrups and essences, mostly in Nevarran styles, almond, orange, rose -- those were the ones he'd noticed, but there were more than three bottles, now. And the honey, of course. Three different kinds of honey, all with bits of shredded flowers in them. Anton had chosen those like he knew what he was doing, and Bethany had a few words of advice about the third.

"I'm... wow," Cullen stuttered as he counted the bottles. "You weren't kidding earlier, were you?"

And this? All this? This was evidence that Anton had been thinking about this, had been preparing for this and _wanting_ this. Cullen had no idea what he'd done to deserve Anton, whether he was a blessing from the Maker or a temptation from a demon, but he vowed to find out so he could do more of it.

"I never joke about dessert," Anton said with a velvet voice and a wicked smile, all while looking at Cullen like he planned to swallow him whole. He set the bottles next to the bed and bent over Cullen for a kiss. It was a languorous, savouring kind of kiss, a contrast to their frantic fumblings in the closet. Cullen wasn't sure which kind of kiss he liked more. All he knew was that he liked them both, that he liked this man, _desired_ this man, and still didn't quite know what to do with his hands.

That didn't matter for long, as Anton climbed up onto the bed, still thoroughly engaged in that kiss, and pulled Cullen's hands up over his head, holding them there, leaning with just enough pressure to make a point. And then Anton didn't so much break the kiss as slide it sideways off Cullen's face -- lips pressing against his cheek, tongue flicking behind his ear -- and Cullen writhed. Every nerve in his body started paying very close attention, as Anton's teeth nibbled a path down his neck, tugging gently at the skin.

There was, Cullen reflected, a certain freedom in being held down, however loosely. He didn't have to figure out what to do with his hands, because Anton had decided for him. He could work with that, he decided, as Anton bit and licked his way down from the collarbone. And then all of Cullen's reflections were dashed by a single point of sensation, as Anton's teeth closed around his nipple.

He gasped and sputtered like he might have something to say about that, but no words were forthcoming, and then Anton's tongue darted over his skin, and he surrendered to the gasp that put a stop to any word that may have considered surfacing.

He could feel Anton smile against his skin, could feel the warm chuckle vibrating in his chest. Anton's skin was warm against his where their bodies touched, and Cullen made a note to thank Emeric later. Profusely. Possibly with flowers.

Anton sat back on Cullen's thighs, admiring his handiwork. So the blush went all the way down to his chest. How endearing.

"Well, Captain," Anton said with a crooked smile, "shall we start on that dessert?" He plucked one of the bottles off the nightstand and opened it.

Cullen lay there at his mercy, dazed and willing to agree to anything Anton asked of him. 

"Almond, I think." Anton looked speculative, tilting the bottle and watching the cool syrup drizzle onto Cullen's chest.

It was a high-density syrup, thick and with decent surface tension, and Anton used it to draw... something. Cullen couldn't tell what, but the drops of syrup were much colder than his skin, and he ... well ... he squeaked every time Anton started a new line. And with every squeak, Anton smiled just a little more. It was really nearly an affectionate smile. Not quite, but in that neighbourhood.

And then he set the bottle aside, and that smile wasn't affectionate at all, it was wolfish and hungry. Cullen shivered, and then lifted his head a little to squint down his chest. He couldn't make it out, whatever the shape was, but some of it almost looked familiar, like maybe he'd seen it somewhere, once. Anton dipped a finger in the syrup, right over Cullen's heart, and took a moment to lick his finger clean.

"Mmm, yes. Almond. It's very nice on you." Anton shifted back, working himself off the bed again, so he could begin licking at the bottom of the design and work his way up. Less chance of ending up crushed onto it, that way. He picked a line and touched his tongue to the end of it, with a low and exaggerated sound of satisfaction.

The puff of air on syrupy skin made Cullen shiver, and the swipe of a tongue that followed made him squirm. The air felt cold on the lines Anton traced, and Cullen's skin flushed with heat as though to compensate. He clutched at the sheets above his head, worrying the fabric between his fingers, as Anton's tongue travelled higher, twisting over the dip of his muscles, over his chest and frantically-beating heart. Anton hummed all the while, eyes half-lidded in pleasure.

Almond. Cullen never would have guessed.

"Maker," Cullen breathed, eyes slipping shut as he squirmed. 

"Flattering, but no," Anton murmured, at Cullen's lips now. "Just me." Cullen nearly rolled his eyes at the line, but then Anton was sealing lips over his. Hmm. Yes, the almond was quite delicious.

Cullen's hands moved of their own volition, which was probably for the best, hesitantly pawing at Anton's back. Anton hummed encouragingly into the kiss, and the hesitance was gone, Cullen's hands clutching, squeezing, and kneading his flesh, and Anton very nearly purred. He twisted to offer more of himself to those wandering hands, pressing back against Cullen's palms and fingers, completely clear in his desire for more.

Anton rolled onto his back, pulling Cullen with him, and unfortunately, trapping those hands beneath him. Cullen didn't seem to be bothered by the challenge, thankfully, his hands still groping just as intently. With a bit of a stretch, Anton managed to lay hand to another bottle, fingers checking the shape and texture of it, since he couldn't see past Cullen. It seemed the young Templar was getting the hang of kissing, and really, Anton had no complaints. Ah, yes. That was the bottle he wanted -- saffron syrup. It was a good thing the sheets were already gold, because they'd be a loss after this, otherwise. On the other hand, this was exactly why Anton kept gold sheets on his bed.

He tilted his head to the side, out from under Cullen's lips, and whispered into his ear. "Would you like to try?"

Cullen smiled, a lopsided, coy smile against Anton's cheek. "What fool would say no to that?" he whispered against the soft skin there, offering it one last kiss before pulling back. 

He accepted the bottle Anton pressed into his hand and opened it, peering inside at the golden contents. He took a moment to enjoy the view of Anton laid out in front of him, the miles of smooth skin. He poured the syrup onto Anton's chest, wincing when he poured too much at first and he left a glob in the hollow between pectorals. 

"Sorry."

"Don't be," Anton chuckled. "You'll be cleaning it up either way, won't you?"

This was a fair point. Cullen traced shapes of his own in the syrup, nonsensical patterns highlighting a delectable body. Runes in the language of the flesh, he thought. Okay, maybe that was a bit much, but he was sure Anton's skin would be delicious either way.

Cullen followed Anton's example, touching his tongue to the bottom of his design and sighing in contentment at the taste.

While Anton was perfectly able to maintain his silence under far more entertaining conditions than these, he also knew how to play these games, and what would win him the most enjoyable evening. While he might never exceed Cormac's ... exceptional talents for triumphant praise, he could rival them, when he had a mind to. For now, he stuck to rich, wordless sounds, from the bottom of his chest, interspersed with sharp little gasps. Encouraging sounds.

Cullen found himself profoundly encouraged by every sound out of Anton. Maker, was this man even real? Oh. Oh, no. That was not a good line of inquiry. He pushed that thought away, with a shiver, and lapped syrup out of Anton's navel. He'd never much thought on the taste of saffron, but he found his opinion of the flavour improving with every passing second. Or maybe that was just his opinion of Anton, who had an equally appealing flavour. As it went, he was mostly absorbed in just licking, with little mind to whether he followed the lines. If he licked every bit of Anton he could reach, he'd still get all the syrup off, he thought. Tongues, he decided, were an excellent idea, and he'd be thanking the Maker for this particularly divine design, once he got home.

Anton's belly jumped under Cullen's tongue as he laughed. "I think you've gotten all the syrup," he said. 

Cullen licked over the curve of one hip, looking up at Anton over his body. "I'm just being thorough," he said, eyes crinkling with mischief. Anton decided he liked this side of Cullen as much as the blushing, stuttering side. The man was much too endearing to be a templar, let alone _Knight-Captain_.

There was almost enough templar saliva on him to make him glisten. Anton bet Isabela would appreciate that. 

"Well," Anton purred, digging his fingers into Cullen's curls, "whatever shall we do next, I wonder?"

"You did buy a lot of syrup," Cullen pointed out. "And we've only tried two flavours."

"Would you like to see what we can think of to do with the rest?" Anton asked, a wicked smile teasing at the corners of his lips. "I could show you some very adventurous uses for them, if you haven't any in mind."

Cullen had one in mind. Well, a few, but mostly that one. And he had absolutely no idea how to ask for what he wanted. There were no polite words for that, not that he figured Anton was too much in the habit of polite words, but _he_ was. Especially when asking for things. Especially things like that, that he'd never had a reason or a desire to ask for, before.

Of course, he could always just be vague and trust Anton to fill in the blanks. Anton seemed to be terribly good at that.

"I could think of somewhere I'd like you to lick clean." The heat flashed across his cheeks and the tips of his ears burned red. And Anton got that wicked smile in all its glory. Oh, no.

"I bet you could. The tips of your toes, perhaps? Just something about you. You strike me as a toes man." Anton leaned in some way Cullen couldn't have resisted, if he wanted to, and they rolled over, again.

Anton picked one of the pots of honey, dipping his finger into it and letting it drip onto his tongue. "Bergamot, I think. An offset to boot-leather."

He sounded like he'd done this before, Cullen reflected, sputtering like a fool. No, in fact, his toes were not what he meant at all. He'd rather hoped Anton would guess his _knob_ , but ... Oh, Maker, the man was going to make him _say it_. Or he could just not. One never knew, right? Maybe he really was a toes man.

Anton trailed a hand down Cullen's leg, slow as you please, and he scooted down the bed to kneel at his feet. Was he really...? Oh he was. He _was_ really.

"Which foot, do you think?" Anton hummed, tapping his chin. 

"Er..."

"Left foot it is." Fitting, as Cullen often felt like he had two of those. 

Anton lifted his foot off the bed, long fingers wrapped around the heel, and Cullen bunched his toes together on instinct. Still wearing that damnable smile, Anton licked a broad stripe up the length of his big toe and coaxed the toes into unclenching. Okay, that... sort of tickled a little, but it wasn't unpleasant. Eyes on his, Anton suckled each toe in turn, starting with the smallest, and Cullen bit his lip against any ticklish squirming. The last thing he wanted to do was kick this man in the face.

Then Anton took Cullen's big toe into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it, and the whole thing became incredibly suggestive. Suggestive of where Cullen most desperately wanted some licking to happen. Maker preserve him.

This time, Anton licked the honey onto him, before licking it back off. Long, broad, sticky strokes that almost tickled, and then intent, nearly reverent kissing and sucking, to clear it off, again. The soles of Cullen's feet tingled warmly, and he'd never heard of a lust that rose up from the feet, before, but he'd begun to think the people who wrote such things might need to get more creative, because he'd clearly been missing out. Not that he read those sorts of books. Usually. Maybe if he'd read more of them, he'd have been better prepared for this eventuality. He'd heard good things about that 'Hard in Hightown' series.

Anton kept licking, leaving no inch of foot untended, his thumbs digging in to some spots on the sole that had Cullen squirming and making terribly unmanful sounds. A toes man. He'd called it. Of course, Anton figured, he hadn't told Cullen he could turn any man on to the charm of toes, but he was already _professionally_ a liar and a cheat, so he didn't figure neglecting to mention it really counted against him. One foot attended, and Cullen reduced to a squeaking pile of goo, Anton turned his attentions to the other foot, compounding the effect. Bergamot, he thought, really was the correct offset to bootleather, however much Isabela argued in favour of butter-rum.

Anton was no less thorough with foot number two, and by the time he was finished, Cullen ached for Anton to touch him. Somewhere. Anywhere.

  



	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A great lot more licking.

"So what do you think, Ser Cullen?" Anton kissed the top of Cullen's foot, nipped his toe playfully before setting it back down on the bed. "Is there a part of you I haven't licked well enough yet?"

Cullen tried to answer, he really did. All that came out of his mouth was a squeak and something that sounded like " _hnnguh_ ". So much for intelligent conversation. It was unfair of Anton to be asking all these questions after all that licking.

"What's that?" Anton asked sweetly. "Your knees? Your elbows?"

"You tease," Cullen growled, finally gathering together enough braincells to form two syllables. Yes. He could do two syllables. "Come here." He all but lunged for Anton, grabbing him about the waist and pulling him down onto the bed, lips meeting in a furious kiss that stifled Anton's laughter.

"Oh, I know," Anton murmured into the kiss. "But, I want to hear you say it."

Two syllables at a time. Cullen could do this. "My knob," he growled, flushing vividly. "Lick it."

And he'd been concerned about asking politely. In all likelihood, he should have been ashamed those words even came out of his mouth in that order, but there wasn't really a better order for them, and at least it saved him the indignity of getting his elbows worshipped with an unhealthy amount of tongue. 

"Oh," Anton purred, fingers ghosting lightly over the knob in question. "This? You want me to put this in my mouth?" His fingers danced along the length. "Maybe lick right here? Kiss there? This bit's good for nibbling, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

"Yes!" Cullen gasped. "Please!"

"Say it. Full sentence." And there was that wicked grin again.

A full sentence. Cullen had to take a moment to remember what that sounded like. He had to take another to work out more than two syllables. "I want..." he began, voice still this side of growly. "I want you. To lick. My knob."

"I didn't hear a please."

" _Please_ lick my knob!" Cullen all but squeaked, and that just made Anton laugh again. 

Anton bit his lip playfully before pulling back. Desperation sounded good on Cullen. "Oh, alright," he said. "Since you asked so nicely." 

He pushed his templar bedmate back to lie flat, palm smoothing over his chest, down his stomach, followed by a teasing tongue. Anton paused to nibble at one hip, pressing his lips into the curve, licking along the bone, and then biting at the point, before giving the other hip the same treatment. He was in no rush, and every moment he procrastinated, nuzzling the inside of Cullen's thighs, for instance, was another moment he could enjoy those delightful sounds of excitement and frustration.

Pressing his face into Cullen's balls, Anton reached down and picked up the orange syrup from beside the bed and nuzzled the base of that throbbing knob. He liked the smell of Cullen, he decided. He was sure he'd decided that before, but he was deciding it again, in this particular moment in which Cullen was all he could smell. He put out the tip of his tongue and licked slowly upward, as he drizzled the syrup down to meet him in the middle. Perhaps not quite as well thought out as it could have been, but he followed the orange trail up to the tip, and lifted his head with a flick of tongue.

Finally that sharp tongue was where Cullen had wanted it, proving once again that Anton was clever in more ways than he could count. He pushed himself up onto his elbows so he could see Anton, and the sight that met him was sin personified. Anton smiled up at him through his lashes, tongue sweeping over his knob, catching orange dribbles and making him shudder.

"Maker," Cullen breathed. This man was beautiful and dangerous and so painfully, completely out of his league. 

Anton continued to take his time, continued to tease, to make Cullen squirm. He savoured every hitch of his breath, every curl of his toes. He considered them his accolades for a job well done. Finally he wrapped his lips around his knob, suckling at the tip and pressing just so with his tongue. 

Cullen had been entirely unaware that sound was anywhere in his vocabulary, until it ripped out of him. His hips bucked, and his hands grabbed, one untucking the corner of the sheet, and the other pulling at Anton's hair. Liars. _Liars_ wrote those books. Or, again, maybe he'd read the wrong ones. Either way, Anton's mouth would be his unmaking, at this rate.

A finger dipped into the puddle of drool at the base of his knob, and then that same finger circled and daubed at somewhere he was entirely certain fingers did not go. It dimly occurred to him that this was an entirely hypocritical thought, seeing as he'd had his entire knob inside Anton, and on the night they met. But, that was Anton, and Anton was depraved! Anton was depravedly sucking his knob, all too well, exactly as he'd asked, and better than he could have dreamed. Anton did, after all, know what he was doing.

Slowly, Cullen relaxed, but the finger didn't push into him, just stroked and teased, toying with his flesh. He was terribly certain Anton was going to work him into a state and make him ask for it, again. But, he'd win this round, because that wasn't something he was going to ask for. Still, Maker, the way that finger worked him, it was tempting. And with Anton's mouth on him, he'd say yes to anything.

Anton let Cullen's knob drop from his mouth before bending to lick another broad stripe from base to tip. Maker. These sheets were going to tear if Cullen gripped them any harder. "So tell me, Captain," said that devilish man, lips and breath teasing along his balls. "Is this what you wanted?"

Cullen grasped for a coherent answer to that. He'd never thought sex would involve so many _questions_ \-- he'd have prepared, had he known -- though with Anton's noisy encouragements in the closet, maybe he shouldn't have been surprised. At least the answer to most of these questions were, "Yes. Sweet Maker, _yes_." That was simple enough to remember, and it was an answer Cullen was willing to give even when Anton wasn't asking any questions.

And there was Anton's mouth again, taking him in, some delicious sound vibrating in his throat and making Cullen tingle. And there were his fingers, every bit as clever as his tongue, touching Cullen where he never thought he'd want to be touched. And there was Cullen, flushed and panting, and wishing he'd known such decadence existed.

Well, he knew it now, and it was going to take demonic intervention to part him from it. He writhed and pleaded, under Anton's outrageous talents, until the whole world got ripply and white. It was like kissing the Fade. He'd gotten close enough to do that, once, not that it had been nearly this pleasant, that time. And he just lost track of everything except the waves of pleasure washing over him.

As the world began to filter back into his senses, he became aware of Anton still lazily licking him, in long, slow stripes, along his softening flesh. Oh, blight. That wasn't what he meant to do at all. He was sure he was supposed to have been inside Anton, when that happened. Well, somewhere else in Anton, anyway. The flush crept back up his cheeks as Anton moved back to nibbling his hips.

Cullen groaned. "I -- I'm sorry. I didn't--"

"Sorry for what?" Anton actually looked a little confused.

"Well, I mean... I just... In your mouth." Ah, there was the sputtering. So quick to return, even after such an excellent sequence of events.

"Of course you did. I'd have been a little put out, if you hadn't!" Anton laughed and nuzzled the top of one of Cullen's thighs.

Cullen was fairly certain he was looking his death in the eyes. A gorgeous man was going to be the death of him, and his name was Anton Hawke. He always knew a templar shouldn't fear death, but he never thought he'd embrace his with open arms. While naked.

Since words weren't cooperating with Cullen just then, he conveyed his adoration by sitting up, cradling the back of Anton's head and pulling him into another kiss. And there was another thing Cullen never thought he'd do: taste himself on another's man's lips, and -- mm, oranges.

There were hands in Cullen's curls, nails scraping beautifully against his scalp, and Cullen kissed Anton's lips until he remembered air was something they both needed. "Is it..." Cullen cleared his throat. "Is it my turn to lick you, then?" He was aiming for sexy and coming out shy, but Anton didn't seem to mind, going by the grin on his kiss-swollen lips.

"My, Ser Cullen," Anton murmured. "You sure know how to spoil a man."

Cullen awkwardly manhandled Anton into a somewhat more appropriately horizontal position. He could do this. He had no idea what he was doing, but Anton had just done it to him, so he could do it. He looked determined as he reached for a bottle. Hibiscus? He wasn't sure he even knew what that was, but the syrup was bright red. That would be easy to see, and whatever it tasted like, it couldn't be bad. Anton had excellent taste in food.

With Anton smiling curiously at him, Cullen kissed his way down the man's chest, over the taut muscle of his belly, down to... Oh, Maker. That was a knob. That was a knob, and it wasn't his knob, and he'd never been this close to anyone's knob before. He took a deep breath and the smell of Anton and sex filled his lungs. And that did not help. This was really really a man, that he kept really really getting naked with. This was also really not the time for a crisis. Things had been enjoyable. Things could continue to be enjoyable.

He closed his eyes and tried to remember what Anton had done to him. Kisses on the hips. That part was easy. Nuzzling the thighs. And there were balls against his cheek. That gave him pause, but he could get used to this. It was just Anton, and Anton was beautiful, delicious, and terribly dangerous to anything resembling his morality or good sense. Determinedly, he tipped his head and rubbed his cheek against Anton's balls, only to be rewarded with an encouraging hum. That was in, then. That was a good idea. He could do this.

Follow Anton's lead. Drizzle syrup on Anton's knob and apply tongue. He hardly needed an instruction manual for this, and Anton was providing his own instruction in the form of encouraging gasps and groans. So this... this was what another man's knob tasted like, what _Anton's_ knob tasted like. Plus hibiscus. He could get used to this.

Cullen continued to lick Anton's knob until it shone, mapping every contour with his tongue. He held Anton by the thighs, thumbs kneading the taut muscles there and feeling them twitch under his ministrations. By then Anton was breathing heavily, and Cullen peeked up at him to see his chest rising and falling. "Maker, yes," Anton purred, and there was that word again -- yes -- and that voice, making Cullen smile against hibiscus-flavoured skin. 

Cautiously, Cullen tried the next step, wrapping his lips around Anton and seeing how far he could take him. Not that far, apparently. _Maker_. He vaguely wondered if it was a natural talent, for Anton, or a whole lot of practice. If the latter, maybe one day Cullen would learn to keep up.

Still, Anton was making the most delightfully sharp sounds, gasps and strained groans. Delicious little whimpers, between extended strings of praise and expletive. And most of it had some sort of internal logic to it. Cullen only wished he was that coherent with Anton _anywhere near_ him. He flicked his tongue under the foreskin, and circled the head. That actually felt good against his tongue, so he did it again, and then Anton's hands were on him, pulling him up and off, and he wondered what he'd done wrong, but Anton just folded forward and clung to him, panting against the back of his head.

"Didn't want to choke you on your first time," Anton panted, stroking Cullen's hair. "Wouldn't be polite."

Was it that obvious it was his first time? Or had he said as much aloud somewhere in all his incoherence? Either way, it couldn't have been _too_ bad if all his oratory fumbling had Anton shivering this beautifully.

"You didn't strike me as someone overly concerned with 'politeness'," Cullen murmured. He had no idea where he'd gotten the brain cells for that quip. He traced Anton's knob with the tips of his fingers as he spoke, tentative at first, then growing bolder as Anton arched against him.

Anton chuckled breathlessly against Cullen's curls. "No, indeed," he said, "but I'd rather not put you off a repeat performance."

Repeat. Performance. Anton was already thinking of doing this again, Maker help him.

"So, how long can you get away from the pressing duties of your captaincy?" Anton asked, tugging Cullen up the bed with him, as he lay down again. "Would you like to spend the night with me and all these wonderful dessert toppings?"

Cullen groaned quietly. "Not long enough. Not tonight." His leg wound around Anton's, as he curled around the man's side. "But, I can spare you a few more hours."

"Busy, busy!" Anton teased, stealing a quick kiss. "I suppose I'll take what I can get, then! If not tonight, perhaps another night? A night with better planning, on which no one expects you back until morning, or maybe mid-afternoon? I'm sure I can get you back before supper."

An entire night and half another day. Cullen's brain shorted out, in short order. Anton wanted to spend most of two consecutive days with him. Probably in bed. This man who knew he was dealing with a clueless oaf who barely knew how to work his own knob wanted to spend two days in bed with him. Demons. Blood magic.

He dropped a Smite, just to be sure, and Anton shivered, but nothing changed. "Still not a demon. Still not a mage. Was that a no?"

"What--? No! No, it's not a no. I just... I had to be sure." Cullen fidgeted.

"I heard what happened, there. It's good you got out." Anton kissed Cullen's forehead. "So, if that's not a no...?"

"It's a yes. I -- yes. I'm sure I have a sick day I could use. Shall I send a messenger, when I know?"

"Or you could just bring me orchids, again," Anton teased, smiling.

That smile, this man... Maker's breath, but Cullen was out of his depth, and more than happy to drown.


	20. PART V: INTRODUCING THE FLAGPOLE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Artemis is not coping well, and has decided that 'shitfaced on Anders's floor' is an appropriate state of being. Anders disagrees, at least with the shitfaced and on the floor parts.

Not having slept much, the night before, Cormac had passed out in the library, again, and dropped a book on his face. It was not an entirely unusual position to find him in, and Leandra was less than entirely surprised, even as she picked up the book, to mark his place and set it on the table.

"Hmmf? Mum? What?" Cormac struggled to sit up properly, still warm and dazed from sleep.

"I always thought my first son would give me grandchildren, but you're not really interested in girls, are you?" She put down the book and gazed into the fire.

"What? Of course I am. I'm not that picky." _Because that's what you say to your mother, Cormac. Way to sound like an intelligent individual, and not make her worry._

Leaning on the back of the chair, Leandra sighed. "I've seen how you look at that apostate boy. You think I don't know? I used to look at your father like that."

"What? No. It's not like that. It's not." Cormac scowled. This was not a conversation he meant to have at all. This was not something he even meant to consider. It was just Anders. They were just how they were, and that wasn't any of it.

"It's been 'not like that' for an awful long time, don't you think? Might be time to consider it might be like that, whether you like it or not." Leandra pinched the tip of his nose, before she walked out of the room. "Pheasant salad tonight. Don't miss supper, or you'll be up in the middle of the night. And get your feet off that table, before your brother has an aneurysm."

* * *

Anders padded down the stairs to the Hawkes' cellar and his new rooms, a box of supplies for the clinic tucked under one arm: some new vials for his potions, dried elfroot and embrium, bandages, more bandages... He nearly tripped over Artemis, new vials clinking together as he came up short.

"Oh. Hello."

"Hello," Artemis replied, and yep, that was definitely his drunk voice. Anders would know because that drunk voice was all he had heard from Artemis in the past week. And there, in Artemis's hand, was the maker of that drunk voice, a rather large and mostly empty bottle of rum. He was sitting on the steps, drinking. The cellar steps, not so far away from the wine cellar and memories of that infamous night.

Anders sidled past Artemis. "You aren't still brooding over Broody, are you?"

Artemis mumbled something unintelligible into his bottle.

The situation did not seem to be improving. Artemis had been hiding in the cellar and drinking for _days_. The drinking had started upstairs, but Cormac had gotten worried about Artemis and those stairs, after the first couple of wobbling stumbles down them, and he'd sent Artie to the cellar, to spend some quality time with the wine, up close and personal. But, somewhere in there, he'd ended up all the way down the cellar, in Anders's rooms, and the healer didn't have it in him to put him out.

Anders had gotten the gist of what had happened, on that first night. Artemis had bought the mansion, to keep Fenris safe, and Fenris, like the abject shithead he had always been, had flipped out and threatened him. He could empathise, to a point. But, the elf had clearly missed the first rule -- if any of it's in your favour, grab what you can and run. Hadn't the sense the maker gave a sack of turnips, some days, Anders thought.

But, understanding the situation did not make Artemis any less drunk, or get him off the stone steps. Anders put the box on a nearby table and came back. "Hey, you look like you've been chewed up, shit out, and pissed on. You want to let me look you over? Make sure you're not going to die of melancholy or malnutrition?"

Artemis eyed Anders over the lip of his bottle. Everything around his fellow mage was blurred colours, but he was past caring. "If you want," he said, his lips and tongue working twice as hard to form words.

He could use the company, really, and Anders was good company, once he got past the Glowy Spirit of Grumpiness. He was a good a lot of things, Artemis was drunk enough to admit to himself. And he wasn't Fenris.

Artemis pushed himself to his feet, the bottle of rum dangling from his fingertips, and watched the cellar floor sway. Luckily the wall was in one direction and Anders in the other, or he would have fallen over.

With a sigh, Anders wrapped his arm around Artemis's waist and lifted him down to the floor. He let the most general healing he could muster seep out into the drunken mage in his arms. And, as he thought, from this close he was seeing the signs of someone who'd been drinking too much booze and not enough water. Not how he meant to spend the day, but it would be a charitable work, so Justice would probably at least leave him alone about it.

"You weigh a lot less than your brother," Anders joked, carrying Artemis into the bedroom. The bedroom where only he and Cormac had been. The bedroom he usually wasn't sharing.

Gently depositing the slumping lump of drunkenness onto the bed, he reached for the glass and the urn on the side table, first, offering Artemis a glass of water. "Drink this slowly. I'll be right back."

Anders stepped back out to gather a few more things: a couple of potions, a jar of vegetable broth, some salt, and a couple of limes. One couldn't just go dumping water into a drunk, willy-nilly. That would lead to most of it coming back out, the hard way. Oh. And a spare chamber pot, for just that eventuality.

Anders returned with these supplies and noted that Artemis was sitting back against the headboard, sipping water as instructed. He set down his burdens, placing the chamber pot strategically close to the bed. The last thing he wanted was vomit on his sheets.

Anders had told him to drink, and that was one thing Artemis was good at. Drinking. He wasn't sure where his rum had gone, but it wasn't in his hand. He wasn't even quite sure how he'd ended up here.

"Is this your bed?" Artemis asked Anders, words tripping over one another. "I'm in your bed, aren't I?"

"It's not much, but it's mine. I didn't want you falling down on the floor, out there, and cracking your head. You fall down on my bed, and maybe it'll creak a little, but I don't think you or the bed will break." Anders mixed some things together in a glass that he set aside, and then offered a potion to Artemis. "This won't make you not drunk, but it will make you less drunk. I know you don't think you want to be less drunk, but your body needs a break. You're way past the fun kind of drunk and into the I'm not entirely sure how you're even faking coherence kind of drunk. And since my instructions were to make sure you didn't die, as your healer, I'm going to strongly recommend drinking this. I'm also going to warn you that drinking this is going to make you piss like the pageboy fountain in the Viscount's gardens. Chamber pot's next to the bed, and any water that comes out of you, we can replace."

Anders sat down at the foot of the bed, still holding the potion. "And I don't advise standing up. Just aim off the edge of the bed, and I'll make sure you hit the pot, when it comes to that."

Artemis only heard about every third word of that, but he understood the gist of 'piss' and 'chamberpot'. He thought it best not to remind Anders that his aim was terrible. He blinked a few times at the potion held out to him before taking it. Again, drinking was something he could do. He swallowed it down and made a face at the taste.

"You know, Anders," Artemis slurred. Anders took the vial from him before he dropped it. "If you wanted me in your bed, all you had to do was ask." Or get him drunk, really, he admitted to himself with a giggle. Goodness knows he was drunk often enough these days.

"I'm not asking you much, while you're this drunk, and sure as shit not about that. It's Andraste's blessing you even remember my name. Or yours. We'll get you back to 'amusingly drunk', and then see how you feel about my bed." For all that Anders was willing to get himself two hundred percent too drunk to remember his name, and then let whoever wanted some take it, he wasn't the sort to do that to someone else. And sure as hell not to Cormac's little brother. He was pretty sure Cormac wouldn't mind, as long as Artemis was sober enough to remember it, later. Anders, however, was probably going to mind until Artemis was back to easily stringing coherent sentences together, without slurring. People didn't get to say yes to him, unless he was absolutely sure they had a good grip on what they were asking for. That was a lesson he'd learnt quickly.

He put the next glass in Artemis's hand, this one salted vegetable broth with a squeeze of lime. "This one will make sure you don't throw up the next glass of water. It's sweet and salty."

Artemis squinted down at the newest drink. Still not rum, but he would trust Anders. "You're a good friend," he said, though the way his words were slurring, it came out more as, "y'guffin". Anders patted his hand.

Down the drink, hand back the glass. Artemis had gotten the hang of it by now. "Need me to drink anything else?" he asked.

Anders poured him another glass of water. "And now, we wait. First, you'll feel as bad as you look, but that'll only be a couple of minutes. You should be a lot better after that. And then, maybe we'll talk about getting you a bath and something clean to wear. Maybe a shave. Have you seen yourself, recently? You look like an overgrown dwarf."

Okay, that last might've been a bit of an exaggeration, but... a bit. Artemis was starting to look like he had a dead squirrel stuck to his face. It'd take a couple of weeks to finish filling out, but Anders could see the shape, already. He'd get Artemis less drunk, cleaner, and tucked into bed, where he could check on him, throughout the day. If he was still passed out when Anders meant to go to bed? Well, he hoped Cormac's family had invested in earplugs, by now, because he was going back upstairs.

Artemis frowned, reaching up to feel the scruff on his jaw. How long had it been since he'd last shaved? Probably not since he started drinking. Drunken shaving was not something he would recommend. Drunken _anything_ with blades was not something he would recommend.

Maker. The last days -- weeks? -- had passed in a haze of drunken brooding that would have put Fenris to shame. Except, no. Not Fenris. He was certainly not thinking about Fenris. He preferred it when he was too drunk to think about anything at all.

"I'm a mess, aren't I?" Artemis murmured, staring down at Anders's faded sheets, fingers still absently tracing lines of scruff.

"You're recoverable." Anders nodded. "A little water, a bit of a wash, maybe some breakfast. You'll be a whole mage again in no time."

He patted Artemis's ankle and smiled. He'd scraped worse than this off the ground, more than once. Including several times it had been himself, and those like ... six times Oghren had completely misjudged his own tolerance for foreign liqueurs. Those had been the worst. Anything Artemis might put him through wouldn't hold a candle to those long and horrifying nights. He'd drunk himself into a stupor immediately after each one, desperately trying to blot it out of his memory.

"And I meant to ask you... was that the sound of your dog... laughing, when you guys got into that fight with Carver?"

That startled a chuckle out of Artemis. "Yes, he... he loves it when Carver tumbles down the stairs." He giggled again at the memory, at the _thunk, thunk, thunk_ sound Carver's ass had made on the staircase. But he knew Anders was a cat person. "Know any cat that would do that?"

"Well," Anders replied, "I suspect any cat in your house would push Carver down the stairs himself and _then_ laugh."

"And make it look like the dog did it," Artemis agreed. Cats. Fur-demons, the lot of them. Artemis looked around him, at the small, spare room that Anders now called his. "This room could use a fur-demon, you know. A cat, I mean. Or dog. Something fuzzy to pee everywhere and yell at you when it's hungry."

"But that's what I have you for."

That earned Anders another smile from Artemis, amid all the scruff.

"I'm a little worried you haven't been complaining about the lack of food, though. Especially since all of mine appears to be where I left it, and there are way too many stairs for me to imagine you making it to the kitchen upstairs and back." Anders reached out and brushed the hair out of Artemis's face. "Of course, I shouldn't be surprised you're not eating my food. It's mostly cheese, jerky, and dried fruit. Some broths I keep for emergencies. Like this one."

He hadn't thought about getting another cat. Not really, anyway. He'd been setting cream out, when he still didn't have a proper door, but any cat that wandered into Darktown was likely to end up as someone's supper. But, now he had a door. And Artemis said he could. He didn't think Cormac would complain, however determinedly Fereldan he was. A cat. He could have a cat. And nobody would make him give it away, this time. And if he was terribly lucky, it wouldn't get possessed, either. So maybe he should keep it away from Merrill... Still. Real home. Real cat. ... Real family, even if he was just borrowing that.

Speaking of cats, Artemis was leaning into his touch like one, eyes drifting shut. It was a simple thing, a brush of fingertips through hair, but it was warm and gentle, something Artemis didn't realize he'd been aching for.

"Haven't been hungry," Artemis said softly, and that was mostly true. Really, he hadn't cared enough to do anything about his hunger, and rum filled his stomach as well as anything else. He remembered Bethany bringing him something at one point, some sort of sweet bread, the kind he liked. He remembered her teasing him gently, eyes too soft to be anything but concerned.

"Er." Artemis squirmed. "You said something about a chamberpot?"

Anders leaned forward, nudging Artemis toward the edge of the bed with one hand and picking up the chamberpot in the other. "Do you have hands enough to get your pants?" he finally remembered to ask.

Artemis blinked, trying to count limbs. "Um," he answered helpfully. "Maybe?" Two hands. He had two. Were they functioning correctly to undo his laces? No, apparently not, but not for lack of trying.

"Andraste's flaming ass," Anders muttered, clutching the chamberpot between his knees as he quickly untied Artemis's pants. "Tell me you can at least hold your own knob and aim roughly in the direction of the floor?"

He grabbed the hip of Artemis's pants, holding tight not to let him fall off the bed, and put the chamberpot roughly back where it would need to go, with the other hand. Artemis probably wouldn't hit the bed, in this position. Probably. Anders prayed under his breath.

"Aim. Roughly. Yes." Artemis let Anders manhandle him in whatever way he liked. "The floor is down, right?" One could never be sure after that much drinking. This made it, what, the third time Anders had seen his knob?

Luckily for everyone involved, Artemis managed to hit his target. Mostly. When he was done, he slumped against Anders, body sagging in relief. Some of the cottony fuzziness had left his brain, and Artemis wondered if that was a good thing.

Anders counted in his favour how many times he'd done this before. Nothing on the floor, but Artemis had hit his hand. He'd had worse. He'd live. Drunk piss was a mild inconvenience, compared to some of he things that came through his clinic fairly regularly. "Had a man piss up my ass, but never yet on my floor," he congratulated himself, leaning over to stick the chamberpot under the bed, where Artemis would be unlikely to kick it over.

And his hand was still wet. He sighed and wiped it off on the bottom of Artemis's shirt. There was a change of clothes in his near future, anyway.

"How's your head? You need another glass of water?"

"Murrgh," Artemis answered, laying his cheek on Anders's shoulder. The feathers were soft if a bit tickly. Nothing at all like spiky armour.

Either Anders spoke drunk or he guessed correctly, since he pressed a glass of water into Artemis's hand right after. Artemis tried to figure out if there was a way to drink said water without moving his head from the soft, tickly feathers. He tried, but gravity was not in his favour. After dribbling water on his chin, he sat up and took a long gulp. He didn't realise how shaky and wrung-out he was feeling until some more sips of water made him feel almost human. Then he dropped his head back to Anders's shoulder.

"You know, if you're going to keep getting me all wet like this, we can just skip to the bath," Anders teased, gently stroking Artemis's hair. Artemis's greasy hair. Ah, well, his hand would get clean when he had to wash that hair, anyway. Cormac should be doing this, a voice in the back of his head insisted, but at the same time, no, Cormac really should not be doing this. This had gotten far enough to require a healer. He'd done worse. He'd been stabbed by worse - and that was just counting patients.

  



	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Artemis needs a bath. Fortunately for him, Anders is there to help with that.

Maybe he did need a cat, he reflected, realising he was still petting Artemis, scratching behind his ears. "What do you say, hm? Should I go fill the bath for you? I'll even warm it, and get you the good soap. It smells of embrium and basil."

Artemis all but purred under his touches, eyes drifting shut as he nuzzled into Anders's shoulder. A feather tickled his nose, and he reached up in time to block a sneeze. "You spoil me," he said, enjoying the warmth, the comfort of a body next to his. "And you just want me naked," he teased half-heartedly.

A bath sounded lovely. But so did not moving and sitting here with his nose pressed to Anders's neck and talented fingers combing through his hair.

"If I just wanted you naked, I'd have taken you up on it, the first time you offered," Anders pointed out. "Mostly, I want you not to leave a big, greasy stain on my pillow."

He scratched under Artemis's chin and along his jaw. "But, if you want to get naked for me, after you're all clean and warm and tucked into bed, I'd be happy to discuss it, then."

Extracting himself from under Artemis, without knocking him over, proved an interesting puzzle, but one Anders managed to solve, much to Artemis's dismay. There had been a pump put in, at some point, in the corner of the next room -- near where the cages used to be. It was all laid out for potionry, now. His very own lab, with no one sneezing or coughing or touching any of his work. He could get used to this, he thought, filling a bucket and hauling it through the room several times. He seriously considered getting a hose for things like this. A touch of fire, the good soap, a towel, a relatively clean washrag.

"Can you walk, or shall I come carry you? You're lighter than your brother. I can definitely sweep you up and carry you off."

More questions about his limbs and their functionality. Artemis blinked down at his legs for a long moment and decided it was worth a try. Not that the thought of a tall, handsome mage sweeping him off his feet was a bad one, but he would save that for Plan B. 

Plan A went off to a wobbly start. Anders wrapped an arm around his waist, and Artemis held onto Anders's coat. The floor didn't rock as terribly this time, though it still took some manoeuvring to get him near the tub. This time, as Anders helped him peel off his rather-ripe clothing, Artemis didn't bother with a flirtatious comment. It was best to concentrate on one task at a time, anyway, and as it was he nearly got his foot caught in his trousers.

Anders stepped on the trousers and lifted Artemis out of them. It was just easier than watching the struggle of man vs. pants. After checking for extraneous cloth and making sure they'd really gotten all the clothes off, he helped Artemis into the bath, making sure the man sat down, before he let go. 

"Introduce yourself to some soap," he suggested, handing it to Artemis. "I'm going to go take my coat off, so I can wash your hair. Yes, I'm washing it. That's so you don't drunkenly drown yourself in my bath. If there's anything you think I forgot, just let me know. It's probably safer if I get things than if you try to get up, in your current condition."

The noise Artemis made was either a sound of agreement or a hum of contentment. Maybe something in between. He sat back in the tub and wriggled until he was comfortable. Washing oneself was, it turned out, easier than walking, and Artemis found his limbs functional enough for that.

Anders returned sans coat, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Artemis craned his neck back to look at him. "You really don't have to do all this, you know," he said. There was a touch of gratitude in his words, and a touch of self-loathing. Maker, he wondered what Cormac would say if he saw all this.

"Of course I do." Anders looked at him blankly, like the thought of doing anything else had never even crossed his mind. "You've been drinking yourself into a stupor in what is effectively my living room for the better part of a week. I can't watch you do this to yourself, any more."

Anders wet his hands and worked them through Artemis's hair a couple of times, before picking the soap out of his hands. "Besides, you're right, it's an excellent excuse to get a good look at a Hawke other than your brother. You're a lot less dark than he is. I've always wondered about that. I'd think he was adopted, but you definitely have his ass."

Artemis's chuckle turned into another purr at the rub of fingers in his hair. "Cormac takes after our father," he explained. "Though we both inherited the famed Hawke ass. The twins take after the Amell side, mostly. Complexion-wise, anyway. I have no comments on Carver's ass." 

Anders quirked an eyebrow. "Yet you'll comment on Cormac's?"

"We're closer," Artemis replied wryly. "And in case you haven't noticed, it's hard _not_ to have an opinion on Cormac's ass, especially when that opinion is 'please put it in some pants, I'm trying to eat'." Amazing. Anders had managed to make him undrunk enough to form coherent sentences. Sentences about his brothers' asses. 

"I don't know, I think your brother's pants should definitely be off if I'm trying to eat. Assuming it's his ass I'm eating." Anders was checking for comprehension and coherence, and being ridiculously offensive was usually the quickest way to figure that out. If he got decked, it wouldn't be the first time, but it would be a quick and easy answer. "I can see where your opinions on the subject might be a little different."

He worked the soap into Artemis's hair, scratching lightly at the scalp, tugging just a little. It was soothing, having someone else to look after -- someone else he had time to look after, as opposed to the ten minutes here, fifteen minutes there of the clinic. He really should get out there at some point today, but Artemis first. 

Artemis's nose crinkled. "You had to say that, didn't you?" he groaned. "Thanks for that. Can... can you wash my brain while you have the soap?" Not that he was particularly shocked, but it was more the principle of the thing.

"I'm sorry, but you really made it too easy," Anders countered, not sounding sorry at all. 

Artemis huffed and rubbed away a bit of soap trickling towards his eye. Anders's fingers were fast turning him into a puddle of goo. Anders was going to have to pour him out of the bathtub along with the water.

"Here, close your eyes and tip your head back. Move forward just a little." A bit of nudging and shoving, and then Anders poured a bowl of water over Artemis's hair, wringing it out with one hand, and then rinsing it again. He ran his hand through it. Probably as un-soapy as it was going to get without changing the water. Definitely less greasy.

"Feeling a little more alive?" Anders asked, standing to get one of his robes. The Chasind one was tempting, but that wasn't going to fly. Not the Tevinter one. Or the other Tevinter one. Not on Artemis. Not _now_. And then he found his old Warden robe, almost never worn... and put it right back in the wardrobe. Ah, here, this one. Deep green and some sort of fluffy goat-wool or something. He wore it under things, sometimes, to keep his knees warm, on the mountain. "You had me worried for a bit."

"Mm?" Artemis, formerly a mage and now a puddle of goo, struggled to remember how to speak. "Worried?" He hadn't thought about anyone worrying about him. He hadn't thought about much at all. That was rather the point. He was fast becoming just sober enough to be embarrassed by that. "Oh, you know me. Takes more than that to take me down." The words and their accompanying smile came out weaker than he would have liked.

His fingers were getting pruny. Anders helped him to his feet and out of the tub. Water tended to make everything more slippery and difficult, but no one was harmed in the endeavour.

Anders, however, came away a great deal more damp. Which was to be expected at some point in all of this. He crouched down and grabbed the towel, which was thankfully dry, and started to work his way up Artemis's legs, working the blood back into the extremities as he went. Legs, that gorgeous ass, back... And that was where he realised he was standing in the middle of his bedroom, holding his lover's naked brother in his arms, with nothing but a towel. A dim smile touched his face as he took a moment to appreciate that, and then went back to drying, before he tried to help Artemis into the robe. Perhaps he should have gone with something with front or side fastenings. Something that wasn't an over the head and pray sort of affair.

"You could just leave it off, you know," Artemis said, half teasing, with a half smile, even as he slid his arms through the sleeves. He'd underestimated how much better he'd feel clean and dry with fresh clothes against his skin. Clothes that smelled like Anders, like the herbs he used, and Artemis found himself pressing his nose into the collar.

Artemis fidgeted with his still-damp hair, brushing it back with his fingers and twisting at the ends. "I, er..." He felt more clear-headed than he had in days, more aware of himself and his behaviour than he'd wanted to be. "Thank you. Anders."

For helping. For _worrying_. He rather liked having someone worrying over him.

"Come lie down," Anders invited, taking Artemis's hands and leading him slowly toward the bed. He climbed up onto it and pulled back the tattered blanket and the worn sheet. "Just let yourself relax. You've been through some shit, this week, haven't you. Just lie down and be warm for a little while. It helps. There is nothing that needs you right now, except you."

And how many times had he said exactly that to Cormac, in the last year? Worked every time, too. Cormac would grumble about it, but he'd eventually lie down, and he'd be passed out in a couple of minutes. Worked on one Hawke, why not try it on another? Maybe he'd throw in one of those completely devastating back massages that had earned him such a name, back at the keep.

Artemis did as he was told, climbing under the blankets and all but allowing himself to be tucked in. The sheets were a bit scratchy, but they were warm. Artemis tried to remember how to relax without alcohol, without...

He clutched Anders's wrist before he could pull away. He throat worked around words, around a question he didn't ask. All he did was _look_ at Anders, eyes large and blue and fragile. "Stay with me?" he asked, finally.

The words echoed uncomfortably through Anders's memory, but he simply smiled and slid into the bed behind Artemis, wrapping his arms around the man. "Like this?"

For the first time in months, he was wrapped around a living body that wasn't Cormac. It wasn't that he'd given up on getting around so much as that he just hadn't had time. And before Cormac, he hadn't had time. He hadn't had much time at all, since Justice. But, here was Artemis -- Artemis who had once taken an interest in him -- curled up in his bed, asking him to stay. Tempting? Oh, yes. But, he'd wait and see. If he kept giving, maybe Artemis would keep taking.

  



	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders had never been able to resist a pretty face for long. And Artemis really is the pretty one of the Hawke brothers.

Anders's body was a line of heat against his back. Artemis pressed back into him for a moment before turning to face him, ignoring the way his robes twisted uncomfortably. "Or we could do this," he said, voice rough. He pressed as close to Anders as he could and nuzzled under his throat, brushing the lightest kiss to the soft skin under his chin. It was both a statement and a question, a plea to drown out his thoughts a little while longer.

He was going to ache all day, if he let this go on. It was going to be the ammunition Justice needed to keep talking him out of things like this. This was a bad idea. He'd said that to Cormac, too, and look where it got him. But, this was Artemis, with his short trigger and his earthquakes. But, there hadn't been an earthquake in the Deep Roads.

There was a time when he wouldn't have had to talk himself into this. He reached around Artemis and firmly squeezed his ass. "Will you be as unhappy with this, this time, as you were the last time I did it?"

The hand on his ass was an encouraging sign, but Anders's question brought Artemis up short. "It's... it's not that," Artemis stammered. Maker. Is that how it had looked? "I... have a tendency to overthink things." Understatement, but surely Anders was familiar with some of his... idiosyncrasies. He choked back the angry lump in his throat and continued to talk to Anders's neck. "I don't really know how to do this sort of thing sober."

And Maker, he wanted to. He wanted to be able to let go on his own. With Fenris, he...

Artemis's thoughts shut down at that. What he had wanted with Fenris was irrelevant.

"Then, let's play a bit of a game. I'll think for both of us, and all you have to do is tell me yes or no. No reasons. No explanations. Your word is final, until you tell me otherwise." Anders smiled like nothing in the world was wrong, while all the while everything was wrong. He'd done this before, but from the other side, and he'd been... he'd been someone else, then. The cold ran through his bones, as he finally understood how hard this had been, but it was much too late, and he'd never have the chance to apologise to a dead man. "You're welcome to change your mind, but you're equally welcome to make a single decision and just push it aside. No worries. Your wish is my command, and you don't even have to think up the commands. Does that sound good to you?"

Artemis nodded, one hand twisting in Anders's shirt. "Yes," he said, voice rough. "Yes, it does." Anders was being far more patient than he deserved, even if he wasn't the one Artemis would have liked to share this with. Do nothing unless told. _Think_ nothing. He could try that.

"This?" Anders asked, hand squeezing again, where it had rested motionless against Artemis's bottom. Might as well start where they'd left off.

"Yes," Artemis sighed, forcing himself to relax. 

For a while, that was all Anders did, just kneading Artemis's ass, squeezing and stroking it in all the ways he knew Cormac loved. It was almost the same ass, if on a very different brother. "What about your neck? What if I were to kiss it? Maybe nibble it?"

Artemis arched into the hand on his backside. "Yes," he said a little enthusiastically, "to all the above." 

Anders let Artemis's flexing and hip motions guide his hand, as he lowered his mouth to that pale neck. Pale in comparison to Cormac's anyway. Most things were pale in comparison to Cormac. But, he nibbled at the bit of bone behind Artemis's ear, licking just beneath it, nearly worshipping that tiny spur of bone with his mouth, before he moved on, showering gentle kisses and sharp bites down the length of Artemis's neck, following the line of the muscle until he was licking into the divot at the front of the collarbone. 

"You are welcome to put your hands on me anywhere it suits you. Anything you think you would like," Anders breathed across Artemis's neck. He didn't expect serious harm. Not this time. "Would you let my hand beneath this robe, to touch your legs? Just a bit of massage. Nothing more or less."

Artemis swallowed, adam's apple bobbing against Anders's lips. He tilted his head back to give Anders free rein, breath quickening. "Yes," he sighed. Maker, yes. 

He ran his hands over Anders, across his flanks, up his back to curl his nails into the meat of shoulder there. One hand continued up to cradle Anders's head, fingers sifting through blond hair and shaking loose his tie. Artemis wanted to kiss him, desperately wanted to, but he knew Anders needed to be able to speak for this to work. 

Anders continued to kiss and lick Artemis's neck, occasionally catching a bit of skin in his teeth and holding it for just a second, before moving on. His hand moved down, pulling up the thick, green robe until his fingers connected with skin. This was almost second nature for him. He traced the lines of the muscles first, getting a feel for the way Artemis's flesh sat, before he began to press and squeeze, feeling the muscles begin to relax into his hand, subtly softening as he worked his way up and down one thigh. This was important. This needed to happen first. 

He tried not to move away from Artemis's hands, dropping his shoulder and stretching down to reach the top of Artemis's calf, working the same not-quite magic, there. His fingers rubbed to either side of the shin bone, kneading at little imperfections. For a long while, he spoke not at all.

Finally, when he'd worked most of a leg into a softened and probably slightly sore state, he dragged his hand up and stopped just below Artemis's hip. "And may I take your bare ass in my hand and squeeze?"

For the second time that night, Anders had reduced Artemis to a puddle of goo, albeit a puddle of panting, lightly trembling goo. By then, he wanted to tell Anders that he could do whatever he wanted with his bare ass, but the game was important, so he played his part. "Yes," he breathed. Then, on the next breath, "Anders."

Artemis's hands resumed their search, mapping out the contours of Anders's back, nape, and ass. Anders was larger than Fenris in nearly every way, taller, broader, and he could feel Anders's muscles bunch and slide under his palms. Stubble rasped pleasantly against his skin, another layer of sensation, reminding him where he was and who he was with. It was better this way, to be grounded here, in this moment, instead of a fantasy of what could have been, instead of finding something else to hide behind.

Sliding his hand up to cup that ass that would never cease to be incredible, however many Hawkes he found it on, Anders pulled back to look at Artemis's face, again, to take stock of the situation. "Do you want to tell me what I missed?" he asked, noticing something a little off in Artemis's eyes. Either that was some unvoiced desire, or it was something Artemis didn't need to be thinking about, right now. Either way, the question would acknowledge that it was _there_. He remembered that being the first question he'd answered in the negative, once upon a time. The question he kept answering in the negative, for weeks.

Artemis shut his eyes, unable to meet Anders's stare and the patient concern he found there. He shook his head and whispered, "No." It wasn't something Anders needed to know, not right now, and it wasn't something Artemis wanted to dwell on. He opened his eyes again and brushed Anders's lips with his, feathering a kiss down along the curve of his jaw, tasting the salt of his skin and feeling the prickle of stubble on his lips.

"Then what if I pull you ever so close to me and work your back and ass as I did your legs? Close enough that I can feel your heart beat." That wouldn't be the only thing either of them could feel at that ... lack of distance. Anders wasn't going to offer that, but he'd offer himself in other ways. This needed to end well, and ... that probably wouldn't.

His hand caressed Artemis's ass in much the same way it had over the robe, but each lingering touch seemed to hold so much more, against bare skin. There were a hundred things he wouldn't say, because they weren't questions, and they were probably also spectacularly offensive.

Artemis panted against Anders's skin, hips moving in small circles of their own accord, in time to Anders's kneading hand. "Yes," Artemis said, scooting even closer to Anders, pressing them together from thigh to chest. Against his stomach, he could feel Anders's... oh. Well. Calling it a 'knob' would be a misnomer, wouldn't it?

"Maker," he breathed, reaching down between them to brush his fingers against it through Anders's trousers. 

Anders squeezed his other arm under Artemis in the least uncomfortable place he could find, hands moving, as promised, along his back kneading the muscles, squeezing and pressing, pushing his fingers into knots Artemis had probably forgotten used to feel different. Minutes passed, and the hand on his staff kept stroking, as he continued to work, trickling healing magic in, as he cleared up the easiest spots and started to open the worst. Finally, his mouth got the better of him. "Am I wearing too much for you?"

"Yes," Artemis eagerly agreed, "far too much." Anders's hands alone were incredible. Artemis was eager for the rest of him, to see the shapes his hands had mapped out earlier. He tugged at the ties to Anders's trousers in a question of his own.

"Go ahead. My hands are full." Anders shifted, trying to kick his boots off, under the covers, so he wouldn't have to take his hands off Artemis's back. Finally, the pleats at the seam on one opened up, and he fought it off him, hands still discovering and rediscovering all the years of unfortunate things Artemis carried with him, on his back. In his back, to be more accurate. He wondered what Artemis would be like without this tension, here, or that one, there. A force mage might lack finesse, but he could move the weight of the world.

Artemis pressed a kiss to Anders's chin, to his throat, lips and tongue tracing the line of an artery and tasting the pulse underneath. All the while, his fingers worked, undoing Anders's laces, and Artemis thanked the Maker he had sobered enough to do that. He pushed up the hem of Anders's shirt, rucked it up over his stomach as far as all the tangling limbs would let him, hands clutching at the newly discovered skin before trailing back down to work leather trousers off his hips. He kept his lips at Anders's throat, following it up to an ear, where he paused to nibble at the lobe. 

But Anders's hands were the real magic, tracing lines of heat across his back, sinking in in places he didn't know he had.

Anders squirmed out of his trousers, after kicking off the other boot. He wanted those hands on his skin -- some of his skin, anyway. More than half of it, at least. And there were places he wasn't sure counted as 'skin' that he wouldn't mind those fingers, either. One hand darted back down, breaking the pattern he had going, to squeeze Artemis's fabulous ass again, pulling him close all over again, this time with one less layer between them. "What if I say I want to get you naked?" he asked, echoing their earlier banter.

"I'd say you should say 'please'," Artemis quipped before he could stop himself. Smiling against Anders's skin, he said, "But for you? Alright." 

Artemis nipped at the corner of Anders's jaw before pulling back so he could pull off his robe. He'd told Anders he should have just left it off, but it was worth it for the way Anders looked at him now, as though he hadn't just seen him naked minutes before. When Artemis laid back down, they were skin to skin, Anders's shirt the only thing separating them. His heart pounding in his chest, Artemis pressed a shy kiss to Anders's lips. They could kiss for a moment, he thought. Anders could talk after that.

Anders could have done without the kiss. It was like getting kicked in the ribs, the way the memories washed over him. These are the things you do not, and so on. But, this wasn't about him, it was about Artemis, and he recovered quickly, passing it easily off as surprise, as his hands squeezed Artemis's bare flesh, lustily. He kissed back like he hadn't been kissed in a very long time, forcing that one memory to the front, and trying to recreate it, here and now. Just for this, and then he'd put it away, again. Just for this, he couldn't be here. 

Limits. He'd almost forgotten what they were, how to have them, and that he did still need some of them. At least he'd kept his shirt on, thus far.

His hands wandered Artemis's body, stroking and caressing, and he rested his staff against Artemis's thigh. "Do you want to be inside me?" he asked, at last, tearing himself away from the kiss.

And Artemis may have actually _whimpered_ at that question, still relearning to breathe after that kiss. Words. Yes. He needed them to answer. He considered Anders and all the pale skin under his hands, considered his need pressed to Anders's hip, considered Anders's... mage staff against his thigh. "No," he decided after a beat. "I want you in _me_." Maybe he was being too ambitious, but, well, his mother had always told him to aim high.

There was a pause in which Anders stared blankly at the mage in his arms. Oh, no. That was not how this was supposed to go. He tilted his head back and huffed out a deep breath. "If you want that, we have to talk about that. You are not your brother, the last time I checked."

Another awkward pause. "So, let me start with the easy one, first. I'm a Grey Warden. You know that. What you may or may not have noticed, that night in the cellar, is that this leaves me ... Perhaps you've heard the phrase 'legendary Warden stamina'? It doesn't go down. Or, it does, but I don't expect you to be responsible for that. Again, you are not your brother, and he is ... crazed. To put it politely."

Artemis tried not to bristle at that. He knew this wasn't about sibling rivalry or keeping up with his big brother, but there was certainly a part of him that believed he could do whatever -- or in this case, whomever -- his brother could. "Warden stamina? Gee. Never heard that," Artemis said dryly. "I mean, it's not like my brother bleats like a cow when you two get going or like I can hear absolutely _everything_ you two do to each other in the middle of the night." He gave Anders a pained look. "Hard to miss all that, you know. Or you know, _sleep_ through it." 

He softened the sarcasm with a chuckle, reaching up to toy with Anders's hair, twisting gold strands around his finger. "Now, if only we had a healer to make sure I'd be okay..." he said with a crooked, mischievous smile. "Magic is a wonderful thing."

"You can hear that? Andraste's flaming knickers. I will never be able to look your mother in the face again." Anders turned several shades of red and tried to bury his face under Artemis's. "Pardon me. I'm just going to curl up and die of mortification."

Artemis bit his lip hard to keep from laughing. "I can hear it, because I never sleep. Mother takes sleeping draughts every night. The house could be on fire, and she wouldn't know. Rather dangerous, really, considering the number of mages in the building and our usual combustible levels of stress." He kissed Anders's forehead and pulled back to look at him.

"So, you've heard all that, and you still want to do me. I'm sure that should be flattering, so I think I'll just take it that way, and move on." Anders kept his eyes squeezed shut. "Are you actually combustible? I knew a mage who was actually combustible. It was horrible." Another deep breath, and he actually moved on, pointing at his... staff. "The other point. That? is probably not going to fit. It is not a decent or reasonable size by anyone's standards, unless one is banging Qunari, or so I'm told. I knew a Warden who acquainted himself with it on several occasions and went on to refer to it as 'the flagpole', compounded by jokes about running his ass up the flagpole. One day, I got tired of the jokes and I didn't clean up after us, and the next morning I woke up tied to the roof, with a storm coming in. Naked. The flagpole is not to be taken lightly."

Artemis's shoulders shook with stifled laughter. "The flagpole," he said, glancing down at it. "Glad I finally got to know its title. As for fitting? Well, only one way to find out." He was, perhaps, far too curious for his own good. All the Hawkes had more balls than sense. Speaking of... "And didn't we already establish that my brother and I inherited the same ass?"

"Well, if you really want to find out how far that goes..." Anders ran a finger full of healing magic up Artemis's side, from his hip to his ribs, then up around his nipple. "I'll clean up after it. But, don't say I didn't warn you."

He rolled onto his back, one arm across his belly and the other one still under Artemis and casually groping his ass. "First of all, the next question in this entirely degenerated game is 'do you want me to eat your ass, first?' The question after that is 'where and how do you want me?' I'm not sure of your preferences for this sort of thing, but I'd _suggest_ you introducing yourself to it, rather than me introducing it to you. At least the first time. But, we all know what you think of my suggestions." He grinned lazily.

Artemis was usually much drunker whenever he had to answer these kinds of questions. Or, rather, he was much drunker and then he and his partner would just let things fall where they may. Drunkenly. "Er." He went over his options, each one more lewd than the next, then tried to remember which question was first. "To question one, yes," he said, and now he was the one who wanted to hide his face in mortification. The thought of Anders... "As for question two..." Don't overthink it, he reminded himself. He thought of Fenris on top of him, behind him, but he supposed he ought to follow at least _some_ of Anders's advice. "What you suggest should be, er... fine."

Anders pulled his arm out from under Artemis, carefully heaving himself into a sitting position, and when had he gotten this close to the edge of the bed? He moved over, knees spread across Artemis's legs, with just enough room for Artemis to get out from under them. "You should be on your knees, for this first part," he pointed out, tracing a finger down the inside of one of Artemis's thighs.

On his knees. Sure, he could do that. He was already on his knees for this man in a metaphorical sense. Might as well make it literal. Artemis bit his tongue to keep from saying any of this aloud. His mind was gibbering the way it did when he was nervous, and the weight of what they were doing, what Artemis had asked for, hit him. But he sure as fuck wouldn't back out of _this_.

  



	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SUPER HAPPY FUNTIMES. By which I mean 'smut'.

Artemis rolled over and hitched himself up on his knees, folding a pillow under his chest for leverage and comfort. He looked over his shoulder at Anders and offered him a cheeky smile, his body one tight coil of anticipation as he all but told his nerves to fuck off.

Anders's hands smoothed down Artemis's back, thumbs pressing in to either side of his spine, between his hips. He worked tiny circles there, leaning down to press his lips to one cheek. For a while, that was all of it, kissing and massaging, until Artemis stopped looking like he was expecting something to go wrong. And then Anders moved his hands down, squeezing and kneading that gorgeous ass some more, as he nibbled at the end of Artemis's tailbone. 

It occurred to Anders, as he buried his face in Artemis's ass, that he probably should have shaved -- that he _would_ have shaved, this morning, if he'd have any idea he was going to spend the morning eating ass -- but, he hadn't, so he let a trickle of healing flow through his fingers as he nuzzled and licked. Artemis did not taste like Cormac, and to be honest, Anders would have been surprised if he had, but there was some part of him relieved to discover the Hawke ass was genetic, and not a single instance in multiple places sort of thing, like some old Elven ruins he'd read about.

Anders's scruff tickled. That was the first thing Artemis thought and the last thing for a while. It was a struggle to keep still, to keep his hips from twitching under Anders's ministrations, and his fingers dug furrows in the pillow. He could safely say this was one thing he hadn't done, drunk or otherwise, so he was taking careful notes. He closed his eyes and sighed something that could have been Anders's name.

Humming contentedly, Anders toyed with the hole, lapping at the rim and darting his tongue against the opening, never quite pushing in. One couldn't get a tongue that far in, and he'd generally found it better to leave that to other body parts. Still, he kissed passionately, intently, as if the world had shrunk to this tiny space his tongue occupied. One hand continued to knead Artemis's devastatingly shapely ass, and the other moved down, stroking and squeezing the inside of his thigh.

After several minutes, Anders pulled back a bit. "Enjoying yourself?"

Artemis let out a noise that was somewhere between a hum and a purr, vibrating in his throat. "Yes," he sighed, because that had been part of their game. "You?"

It seemed the polite thing to ask, and Artemis genuinely wished to know. It was painfully obvious how much Anders was doing for him, and Artemis thought... well, Artemis thought he just needed to stop thinking.

"Enjoying _myself_? No. Enjoying you? Oh, yes." Anders dragged a nail down the inside of Artemis's thigh and then concentrated for a moment. Just a bit of grease, this time, no need for an oil slick. He pressed the tip of one finger into Artemis and bit his lip, contemplatively. "And wondering if I can work you open enough that you don't skin me and I don't gut you."

A nervous, self-deprecating laugh crept out of him and he cut it off with a swallow, slowly stroking Artemis's insides. Healing still radiated from his hands, unnecessary as it was, just to keep the muscles relaxed. He pressed a kiss to one ass cheek and slipped in a second finger. "Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?"

"Doesn't hurt to remind me now and then," Artemis replied with a crooked smile, words a bit breathy and breath a bit ragged. The touch of magic helped. It was soothing and familiar and sang with a note that was distinctly _Anders_. Anders the mage, the healer, his friend. He could understand the affection his brother had for this man, however long Cormac denied it.

He was distinctly not thinking of the last man who touched him like this, not with Anders's magic around him, on and in his skin. He started to rock back into Anders's touch, biting his lip against the sounds that wanted to escape. 

There was the reaction Anders had been waiting for. His free hand stroked Artemis's lower back, keeping a slightly different pace to the fingers he thrust in and out. He flexed his hand, tugging at the edges of the hole a little, stretching a little bit at a time. He expected this might take a while, but he had all day. And Justice could shut the fuck up. That latter point might be more difficult to achieve, with images of the clinic clattering through his head.

"What about this?" Anders asked, a tiny crackle dancing between his fingertips, as he stroked the softness of Artemis's insides. "Are you interested in a bit of a spark?"

Artemis remembered the light show Anders and Cormac had put on in the Deep Roads. "Yes to magic," he said with an anticipatory shiver. He stilled for a moment and added, "Your magic, that is. Yes to _your_ magic." He didn't mention the earthquake or the wine cellar, but he knew he didn't need to. The memory had him flushing to his hairline, and he wondered if that was one of the things they should have discussed before starting this. Artemis had no way of knowing whether something like that would happen again, especially without alcohol dulling his sense of his surroundings.

There was a strong possibility that this was going to end with one of them doing damage to the other.

"Yes to my magic, but not to yours? Hmm... A shame. I was looking forward to learning what sorts of unusual applications were flourishing outside the tower." Another jolt shot across Anders's fingertips, this one followed by a trickle of grease. His other hand still rubbed Artemis's back, soothingly, smoothing away the sudden twinge.

His third finger toyed with the rim of the hole, too soon, but he'd get there. After each jolt, it seemed Artemis relaxed a little more, the muscles more inclined to give. It was a matter of timing, because if Anders screwed this up, he'd be lucky to get his fingers _out_ , for a bit, never mind get anything larger in. Electricity and grease, again and again, until he finally slid his fingers most of the way out, and then worked on getting three of them in, fingertips pulled together, tightly. "Do you know how soft and warm you are, inside? How incredible it feels to be inside you, to have you against my fingertips?"

Artemis's reply was incoherent, a soft, bitten-off groan to punctuate gasping breaths. Artemis had never thought about it until now, but Anders had a nice voice. It wasn't the deep, growly kind that trembled down his spine but the kind that poured over his skin. "Tell me," Artemis panted, deciding he liked to hear him speak.

He was out of his mind with need by then, knuckles white where they fisted in the sheets, in the pillow. He wasn't used to being so determinedly cared for. In the past, he was prepared for maybe a minute or two, maybe with grease, and then he was holding on for dear life. But he knew he couldn't rush this, for Anders's sake as well as his.

"More," he panted anyway, just to see what Anders would give him.

"More?" Anders purred. "Oh, you greedy thing."

He nipped the curve of Artemis's ass and added even more grease to the increasingly noisy slide of fingers and ass. The last of his fingers teased around the stretched rim. "You feel like damp Orlesian silk, of the finest grade. Steamed to relieve the tension in the cloth, like they do in Orlais. Warm and silky-soft, and I can feel your pulse, underneath. Every beat of your heart around my fingers, pressing gently against me, as I open you up wider and wider."

His fingers shifted, so they were no longer crossed over one another, and he slowly twisted his wrist. This should be enough. He knew it, but another memory tugged at him. He pushed it away, even as his last finger prodded at the hole. "Tell me what you want, Artemis."

Artemis shivered, sweat beading at his hairline. He couldn't think of his own power, but his answer was primal, instinctive. "You," he pleaded. "Fuck me. Please. I need..." He was past the point of 'want'. He felt stretched full already but knew Anders held the promise of 'more'.

It took every ounce of self-control Anders had to slowly and gently ease his fingers out, pausing for one last kiss, before he stretched out, flat on his back, next to Artemis. The only sign of tension in him was the way his thigh vibrated, twitching, clenching, unclenching, but he _wanted_. Wanted to throw Artemis down and ravish him, to satisfy every aching instant of his lust inside that body. But, that wasn't what he was here for. He'd take it out of Cormac, later, he reassured himself.

With his best approximation of a lazy smile, under the circumstances, Anders called up a bit more grease and stroked it over himself. "Take what you want," he offered.

Artemis looked at the long body next to his, at the impressive knob that was his for the taking, and decided that this was certainly better than being drunk. And Anders... he could see the want in Anders's eyes, in the stare that trailed over his body, lingering on his ass.

Artemis's heart pounded in his ears, in his throat, as he crawled over Anders, settling on hands and knees over him. Faces inches apart, Artemis offered him an awkward smile before looking behind him. Balanced on one hand, he fumbled behind him for Anders's knob and closed his fingers around it for the first time. He gave it a few experimental strokes -- awkward at this angle -- and lined it up.

"I feel like there should be a drum roll or something," Artemis quipped, just to undercut his own nervous tension.

Anders squeezed his eyes shut and completely failed to choke back a laugh that rode the line between nervous and hysterical. This was not going to end well. This almost never ended well. And even if Artemis didn't blame him, he'd blame himself. He'd hear Justice go on about it every time he even thought about his knob, for weeks. But, he'd done as right as he could do, without just outright saying no. Which he probably should have. On the other hand, Cormac, and the Hawke ass was genetic.

Failing to quite get his act together, he approximated a drumroll with his hands on Artemis's thigh.

This was a horrible mistake. He'd been on his way to _work_. What if there was another accident at the mine? There were things he was supposed to be doing, that didn't include _causing pain_ to himself or Cormac's brother. But, he'd done what he could do. Artemis seemed smart enough not to do anything _too_ stupid, for certain values of stupid that didn't include bitchy elves, and if that wasn't the cattiest thought that had gone through his head all year...

And then his breathing dropped, slow and easy, and he became perfectly aware of everything he was touching, everything that touched him -- the texture of the sheets, Artemis's hand on him, where the tip of his knob sat against that slick hole he'd just taken his fingers out of, Artemis's breath against his cheek...This would be what it was, nothing more and nothing less. His cleaner hand rose up to cradle Artemis's scruffy cheek.

Artemis nuzzled into the hand on his cheek, eyelashes brushing Anders's palm as he let his eyes drift shut. He let the touch relax him alongside the nervous humour, and unwittingly matched his breathing to Anders. And then Artemis sat up on his knees, steadying himself with a hand on Anders's chest as he sank down, slowly, slowly. Anders's knob felt even larger than it looked, spearing him open and stretching him deliciously wide.

Nails scraped faint trails down the shirt Anders was still wearing (and that was something Artemis wasn't going to ask about, not right now, no matter how much he'd like to map out the territory of skin underneath) as Artemis choked out another groan, one that sounded loud to his ears and had him flushing, but one that was nothing like Cormac's. 

"Maker," Artemis panted, sinking down one inch and then another. He was going to be feeling Anders's knob in his throat by the time he was done. With a cheeky, possibly dangerous smile, Artemis said, "And to think you wanted to talk me out of this."

Anders saw stars -- some of them the pleasurable sparks any man would expect at a time like this, and some of them the glittering aftershocks of the pulling, squeezing pain of trying to get a very large object into a very small space. His breath hitched a few times and his fingers dug in to Artemis's thighs. The tension along his frenulum was dizzying, but that would let up in a minute or two, as they adjusted to one another. He shuddered, shuddered again, and pressed a hand to Artemis's belly, stroking healing magic into him.

Words existed, and after a bit, he managed to string a few of them together. "You -- you're all right? I haven't displaced your spleen or anything, yet?"

The stretch was turning just this side of painful, but the wash of healing magic took off the edge. Artemis kept going determinedly, bowing his head to try to hide the pinched look on his face.

He soothed a hand down Anders's chest and looked up again, conjuring a smile for him. "I'm all right," he said gently, honestly. He rather liked things with an edge of pain, and he was far from his breaking point just yet. "How about you?"

"You're tight." Anders managed something between a grin and a grimace. "I don't know if that's a complaint, yet. Probably my fault for not taking more time, though."

His hands wandered over Artemis's body, absently healing and soothing. He wanted to remember this, just for the utter strangeness of the whole thing. It wasn't the first time he'd been the rebound fuck. That was actually pretty normal. But, this was the first time in a very long time he'd been with two siblings in as many days. And definitely the only time he could be pretty sure neither of them _minded_ that fact. And one of the very few times the first comment from someone sitting on his knob hadn't been a complaint.

"You're still so soft and warm, inside, but it feels like you're going to squeeze the life out of me through my knob. A minute or two more, and I think we're going to have synchronised heartbeats, because there's no way I can compete with that pressure." His hand slid up Artemis's arm, and his eyes shone in the dim light of the room. "It's good. I want this. I want you."

"It's a good thing, that," Artemis said with a smile that was just this side of giddy. "Because you're not going anywhere, right now." That was Artemis-speak for: _I want this too_. There was a moment where he wondered how far Cormac could take him before it occurred to him that he probably shouldn't be thinking of his brother right now.

A little bit more, and Artemis was shaking, grip tight on Anders's arm. He could practically feel the man in his lungs, and that was a new one for him. New in a way that was as dangerous as it was addicting. He was determined to take as much of Anders as he could, even if it was far past the point of comfort. He wasn't sure if it was pride or self-destruction or a desire to please the man in front of him that drove him, but he kept going, more, more, until Anders was seated as deep as he was going to go. Artemis was feeling a little light-headed by that point, his headspace a bit floaty, but he gave Anders another crooked, triumphant smile. 

"You feel..." he began only to stop and laugh breathlessly. He had no words. It was like he had to get rid of most of his vocabulary to make room for Anders's knob.

"Oh, Maker, save me from these, your most dangerous divine creations, the Hawkes," Anders choked out, a delirious smile tugging at his face. He choked on a laugh, and his knob twitched inside Artemis, leaving him breathless and dizzy.

He rolled his hips slowly, leaving time for Artemis to move with him, hands still in constant motion over Artemis's skin, clutching and kneading. This was very different, he reflected. Cormac disliked slow and gentle, didn't have the patience to wait for what he wanted, and had the fortitude to demand that Anders cram it all into him and heal him as they went. That, Anders figured, was an enormous part of why Cormac was so loud. He'd felt terrible about the first time, even after Cormac had kissed him everywhere there was room for lips and begged him to do it again. But, after the sixth or eighth night of it, Anders was willing to believe Cormac meant every word.

But, here, with Artemis, this was quiet and slow. He had time to be wonderstruck, to watch Artemis writhe and tremble on him, so intent to have him -- all of him. And even with the way his skin pulled tighter than he liked, his nerves stretched just as taut, the sight of this man on him, _enjoying_ him, made it all worthwhile. 

Thigh muscles flexed as Artemis started to move, hips swiveling in a slow grind as he adjusted to the weight and length inside of him. His hands fisted in Anders's shirt when he found an angle he liked, resting his weight on Anders's chest as his breaths shivered out of him. "Trust a mage to know how to wield a staff," Artemis quipped, because the line was obvious, because he never quite knew when to shut up, and he because he liked the way it felt when Anders chuckled while inside him. 

And that was something else he'd never experienced: mage sex. He'd had tree sex and tent sex and _organ-fondling_ sex, but not this. At least he was better equipped to remember this later.

Artemis's movements grew bolder as he learned to anticipate the sparks of pain and pleasure, hips rising and falling in a more confident rhythm. He watched Anders's face as he moved, looking out for any sign of discomfort, drinking in any sign of pleasure.

Times like this, Anders was almost glad he'd become a Warden, because he didn't have to hold back until he pleased the one he was with. He could just... keep going. And he was going to go, if Artemis kept doing that, at that angle, right there. His hands gripped tighter, and what was left of his brain reminded him to check for bruises, later. His breaths grew longer and deeper; his head tipped back against the pillow. A faint tremor ran through his body, as his pulse raced, lighting every nerve in his body, and then he was throbbing hard against Artemis's vise-tight insides. 

Panting, he licked his lips and stroked his fingers against the divots he'd left in Artemis's skin. He continued to meet Artemis at the bottom of every stroke, and after a minute, he found enough of his sense to stop staring at the headboard. "I thought you could use a little more slick," he joked.

"That's a good look on you," Artemis purred, giving Anders the smirk of the self-satisfied and eyeing the miles of pale throat in front of him. It was a look he wanted to see again, one he was glad he was sober enough to remember. There was something far more intoxicating about wringing that kind of reaction from someone. 

Artemis bent to nip at that long throat as he moved. It was an awkward angle, one he didn't think he could maintain, but he couldn't resist, dipping his tongue in and mouthing at the hollow of Anders's throat. His own knob was aching for attention, but he was determined to hold off as long as he could, to wring out as much pleasure from Anders as he could first. But when Anders pressed just _so_ , it was hard to remember that. 

"Fuck," he cursed against Anders's skin. "If you keep doing that, I..."

"Fuck, yes, that's the idea," Anders panted, following it with a breathy laugh. He not only kept doing it, but added a bit of a twitch near the end, just to keep things interesting. One hand crept in from Artemis's thigh, fingers brushing lightly along the length of Artemis's knob, never quite firmly enough to be more than a distraction. 

"Do you want me to hold you as tight as you've got me? To squeeze you in time with our pulse?" Because at that point, it was _their_ pulse. 

He kept missing every third or fourth stroke, screwing up the timing just enough to hold Artemis right on the edge, at least for a little while.

"Nngh," Artemis answered eloquently, gripping Anders's arms hard enough to bruise. His thighs started to shake, hips stuttering in their rhythm. "Anders. _Anders_." There was Anders, screwing away even more of Artemis's vocabulary, until all he had were nonsensical sounds and those two syllables.

And then Artemis realized it wasn't just him shaking but the whole bed, and his eyes snapped open. He stopped suddenly, flustered and disoriented, and his -- their -- heartbeat filling the silence. He forced himself to calm down, just for a moment, and the bed stopped moving. 

"Oh fuck," he muttered in a groan that wasn't the happy kind.

"Did I hurt you?" It was the first thought in Anders's head. He'd pushed too much, too hard, too far. Healing leapt to his fingertips, and he ran his hands over Artemis, trying to soothe away any damage he might have done. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I just got carried away."

The idea that the room shaking could have anything to do with Artemis's distress didn't even occur to him. As far as he was concerned, it was a sign he was doing something _right_. So the fact that it had stopped, and that Artemis was now distraught seemed to indicate that he had done something _wrong_.

"No, no, no, you're fine," Artemis rushed to stammer. "You were doing fine. More... more than fine. Incredibly. I..." Artemis rubbed soothing circles across Anders's chest, still shaky and lightheaded from wrenching himself back from the edge so suddenly. He didn't know how to explain, but Anders was a mage, a mage with similar hang-ups, apparently. "My magic was..." Where had all his words gone? He rubbed his forehead, hid his eyes behind his hand. "I... I never really know what it's going to do, in... _situations_ like this. I didn't -- _don't_ \-- want to hurt you."

Now this part was so much easier to do drunk. He was a fool to think he could have this, that he could...

His breathing was turning a bit ragged.

"Wait, wait. I fucked you so hard the earth moved, and you expect me to think that's a _bad_ thing?" Anders laughed and wrapped his arms around Artemis. "Don't worry about it. I was expecting that. And more than that, you've been drunk in my living room for a week. I already moved anything you might knock over and break, so unless you manage to collapse the cellar, no loss."

He laughed even harder, hands caressing Artemis's back. "And if you kill me with your gorgeous ass? What a way to go. The bards would sing of it for generations to come. We'd be legendary."

Reaching between them, Anders pulled one of Artemis's hands down, spreading it over the large and very unpleasant scar that sat in the curve of his hip. "I'm a healer. It takes an awful lot to put me down. As long as you're good, I'm good."

"And as long as I don't bring the house down," Artemis said with a strained smile that said he was only half joking. Still, his fingers traced the ragged curve of Anders's scar. He'd ask Anders for the story to that one later, and maybe, just maybe, Anders would consider telling him. 

Anders had a way of saying the right thing to him, the right words to calm him down before his brain got caught in that loop of nervous tension he knew so well.

"Alright," Artemis said, still with that smile that hid nothing at all. "No harm in trying again, hmm?" He started shifting his hips again as he spoke, eager to put this moment behind them, to bury it in sensation. 

"I consider myself a harm mitigation expert," Anders joked, trying to recreate that motion Artemis had so enjoyed. This time, he tapped the tip of Artemis's knob, passing along a tiny spark, before he closed his fingers around it, hoping to stroke it back to that ecstatic thickness from before this little interruption. He switched back and forth between healing and electricity, two very different kinds of tingling sensation, as he squeezed and stroked.

"Like this?" There was no fear in his eyes, when he smiled. Nothing but warm desire. And thank the Maker for that, or Artemis wouldn't have been able to continue.

This was one thing, Artemis decided, that Fenris would not have been so accepting of.

He shivered and arched at another touch of magic from Anders, at the spark that tingled over his skin and down his spine, at the healing warmth that followed. His hips were moving of their own accord by then, picking up their earlier tempo. "More," Artemis gasped, because he was a greedy bastard and because he wanted -- _needed_ \-- to feel until it hurt, until there was nothing else in his world.

And Anders was happy to provide, to keep giving as long and as much as Artemis wanted. His hips rolled, grinding in a little deeper, and his hand clutched tighter, wringing Artemis's flesh. The other hand tucked between them as well, cupping Artemis's balls, one finger stroking from where they joined forward, stopping in the middle of one stroke to press firmly upward, with another jolt of electricity.

The best place for magic, Anders had thought, for a long time, was in bed. Of course, he had to stop accidentally setting things on fire, before he came to that conclusion, but once he got there, it stuck with him, and he meant to pass that wisdom on to Artemis.

Artemis doubted this was what Andraste meant when she said that magic was meant to serve mankind, but he was far from complaining. All his life he'd been surrounded by magic but never knew it could make him _feel_ like this. That made him feel cheated, but Anders was helping him make up for lost time.

Then Anders was moving just right, the electricity sparking just so, and the bed started to shake again, the headboard clattering against the wall. Artemis looked at Anders, watching desperately for any sign of discomfort or worry, but forced himself to keep going. 

Anders caught that look. The uncertainty in Artemis's eyes. Only one thing for it. "Artemis." He waited until he had what attention could be spared from the matter at hand, at knob, at arse. "Fuck me."

He punctuated the sentence with another jolt between Artemis's legs, right up through the core of him. Just enough spark that he could feel it run the length of his own knob, and Maker, but that was good -- hot and cold and tingling.

There was a quip for that somewhere, but it wasn't in Artemis's head, not with Anders and magic and that giant knob filling all the hollows of his brain and body. What came out instead was a short shout, the kind he usually bit his lip bloody to avoid making. He kept his eyes on Anders as he writhed and shook, kept watching his face until one more spark had his eyes rolling back, his body tensing around and over Anders as he spilled. Another shout echoed around the room, one he didn't even realize he was making.

The floor shook hard enough to dislodge some dust, but the house didn't collapse on them.

Artemis kept moving over Anders, hips stuttering and slowing. "I'm..." Words came back, one at a time. "Are you...?"

"Just a little more," Anders pleaded, hand stretching down further, cracking his knuckles between them, as he reached for himself, pressing an intense jolt just behind his own balls. His body clenched with the shock, and the air rushed out of him, but his other hand kept gently stroking Artemis. That hand kept track of itself as his jaw clacked shut and his eyes squeezed closed. 

A sharp little 'Ah!' escaped him, almost a pained sound, and then he was spurting into Artemis, again.

He came back more slowly, this time, the electricity having scrambled him a little more than he'd intended, but it wasn't the kind of thing he tended to do while the room was shaking. "Mmmmf. Having fun, yet?"

"Mhmm," Artemis purred, nuzzling under Anders's chin. "You know how to show a man a good time." Something like relief bloomed in his chest, and he wanted to laugh, at absolutely nothing and everything. He settled for a lazy smile and a puff of air against Anders's skin. 

He knew from long nights listening to Cormac and glaring at the wall that Anders would be far from finished. Pressing his legs tight around Anders, he rolled them as gracefully as he could with a knob up his ass -- which wasn't very -- until he was lying comfortably back against the pillows and smirking up at his bedmate. "Now, what was it you said about Warden stamina?" he teased, wriggling his hips experimentally. It would be a few minutes before he'd be ready for his second round, but there were pleasant ways to pass the time.

"You're... still all right?" Anders asked, hands stroking Artemis's skin, a self-deprecating smile on his face. "No ruptured organs? No internal bleeding?"

Artemis considered, taking stock of everything now that some of the blood had rushed back to his head. He was a bit sore, but, "No, I think I'm still intact."

"Well, if you change your mind, let me know. I don't want to do any more damage than I've already done." Anders reached under the pillow and cursed, thoroughly, in another language. With a bit of awkward twisting, he fit his hand between the headboard and the mattress, eventually coming up with what appeared to be a knob carved out of polished stone.

"So, you seem to have a talent with shaking stone..." A wicked grin crept across his face. "I have, here, some exquisitely wrought stone, that I intend to put somewhere extremely pleasing. I wanted _you_ inside me, but you had better ideas, so now I'll settle for this inside me, and you on me, which might even be better than my original plan. But, the question is, are you willing to try? I'd really like to feel you shake me up, inside."

Artemis blinked at the stone phallus for a moment before a laugh stuttered out of him. "It's like you prepared for this eventuality," he said, taking the stone in hand and looking it over curiously. "This looks like dwarven craftsmanship," he said, biting his lip against another laugh. "Do I want to know where you got it? And if you say 'enchantment' I will be shoving this somewhere other than your shapely ass."

Artemis never thought his magical 'problem' would be considered a bonus. Then again, he never thought that Anders might have a stone dildo. He supposed he really shouldn't be surprised.

"I knew a very nice girl in the Dead Legion. She got it for me for my birthday. And it's stone so I don't... have any unfortunate accidents with it. Strictly incidental, but terribly convenient!" Anders stretched. "You want to play with it for a bit? Get the feel of it, before you try to wind me up with it?"

Artemis waggled the stone knob in Anders's face. "Try? Please." The smirk he gave Anders was the devilish kind. "I think I know exactly what to do with this."


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after. Anton goes to get Fenris to help him stab things, and Cormac congratulates Artemis.

Once again, Aveline didn't have the time to go check on something unpleasant that was going on, up the coast. More slavers, she thought, or maybe it was just smugglers this time, but the reports didn't sound good. So, she handed it off to Anton, when he dropped by to ask if anyone had been 'looking for him', in the kill or capture sense of 'looking'. He was, as usual, inappropriately flirtatious, and she dragged him out of the keep by the ear and kicked him precariously close to the top of that very long flight of stone stairs back down to Hightown. He blew kisses and fucked off, before she decided to do worse.

Fenris was an obvious choice, for this venture. Stabbing assholes along the coast was one of the elf's favourite things to do, as far as Anton could tell. And maybe he'd drag Varric and Isabela along, as well. Nothing like a team of underhanded bastards to take out the underhanded bastards you didn't want lurking.

He picked up an appropriate bribe, as he passed that Orlesian bakery, and then pounded on Fenris's door. He could have just let himself in, but he figured it would take a much more substantial bribe to excuse that.

The door was wrenched open with a force that no door deserved. "What?" snapped the growly elf holding the doorknob. He blinked, eyes narrowing, when he saw Anton, and he looked over Anton's shoulder and around them as though expecting someone else.

Anton, knowing that was Growly Elf for "hello", smiled and waved, holding up the package of pastry. "Good morning!" he chirped.

Fenris growled in reply. Likely not a 'good' morning for him, then. Anton wondered if any mornings were. "If this is about your brother, he can go fuck himself."

Anton squinted at the elf. He had quite a few brothers, and it was difficult to tell which brother was most likely to piss off Fenris on any given day. "Which brother? What did they do this time?"

"You mean to tell me you don't know?" Fenris scoffed, contemplatively eyeing the box of pastry.

"I don't know shit. I've been up to my balls in my own business for a week and a half. I know Cormac's not getting laid, because I can hear that when it happens. I think Artie might be pissed about something, because the dishes rattled, the other night, and I think Carver's been out with some girl or something, because I haven't seen him all week." Anton opened the box of pastry and helped himself to the first one, in exactly the way one should, when bringing gifts of food. Always helped to demonstrate it wasn't poisoned. He offered the open box, and Fenris grudgingly accepted an apple tart.

"Yes, I'm sure Artie is pissed. I hope he has the sense enough for that to be at himself." Half the tart disappeared into Fenris's mouth, and he muttered something that might have been, "Wretched mages always sticking their mage-fingers in other people's mage-free affairs."

He swallowed and tried again. "If you're not here about that, what are you doing here, and why am I being bribed?"

"Bribed? No! Please. That's a gift, from one friend to another." Anton nudged Fenris's ribs with his elbow in a way that would likely get that arm torn off if he continued. "A friend who would help another friend. By killing people." That was, as far as Anton was concerned, the very definition of friendship.

Fenris hummed and narrowed his eyes at the Hawke in front of him. "So you buying me apple pastry is on the same level as me killing people for you?"

"This is correct."

"And you see no fault in this logic?"

"Not at all."

Fenris sighed and took another bite of apple tart. "Fine," he mumbled. "Who am I killing?"

"We -- you, me, Varric, and Isabela -- are going on an all-expenses-paid tour of the Wounded Coast, to sweep up some garbage suspected of smuggling elven slaves." Anton smiled like a Rivaini carnival barker. "And this is why I bring you apple tarts. In a just world, showing up on your doorstep with a job like this would be considered tribute, but this is not a just world."

"Do not speak to me of justice," Fenris snarled, grabbing another tart and storming into his house -- Artemis's house -- the house in which Fenris lived, no thanks to meddling mages. He left the door open in that way that suggested he intended Anton to follow him.

"Shall I speak to you of Anders, instead?" Anton joked.

"Not if you expect me to travel up the coast with you, at this hour," Fenris grumbled, finding the few bits of his armour he wasn't already wearing, and strapping them on. He picked up his sword and then eyed the pile of weapons beside the bed, contemplatively. "Sword or axe?"

He laid the sword aside and hefted an axe, before tossing it aside and picking up another one. That one didn't suit him, either, and he went back to the sword. "Sword."

While Fenris muttered over his weapons, Anton munched on his tart and used his foot to poke at a decomposing body by the door. "Still decorating with corpses, I see," he said through a bite of pastry. "What did you call this one? Harry?"

"Darius," Fenris replied distractedly, strapping on his sword of choice and flexing, making sure it sat at the right angle. There may or may not have been wine involved in the naming of said corpses, but Anton already knew that.

"I'm surprised Artie hasn't manhandled you into cleaning them out yet," said Anton, looking around. "It's the sort of thing that would drive him _nuts_."

Fenris wheeled on Anton with a growl, fingers twitching for his sword. "This is _my house_ and not his, and I will not be ' _manhandled_ ' into anything!"

"Whoa, hey." Anton held up his hands and took a step back. "That must've been some hell of a fight you two had, if he's rattling the dishes and you're still shouting about it. I know Artie's a neurotic disaster area, and I know what a blighted pain in the ass he is -- he's my older brother, after all. So, you know, if you want to talk about it, I'll hear you. I'll even throw for drinks."

"It was not a fight. If it were a fight, you would be lacking a brother." Possibly two brothers, if Fenris were honest with himself, and he had no doubt he'd have stabbed Cormac first, on principle. "I do not need him, nor anyone else, mucking about in my personal affairs. I do not need a _mage_ to run my life for me."

Fenris patted himself down, checking for the essentials, and then pushed past Anton and headed back downstairs.

"You may not need it, but he does. It's not personal. He does that shit to everyone he likes. He can't help it." Anton followed Fenris down and out.

"Perhaps he should learn to," Fenris growled, fingers flexing in their gauntlets.

Anton eyed the stiff line of Fenris's back as he followed, shaking his head. Well. At least Fenris was plenty fired-up enough to kill some slavers.

* * *

Cormac had been camped out in the library, for a couple of days, just to keep track of Artemis. If he didn't hear from Artie or Anders shortly, he was going to go down there, he decided. And then the floor vibrated. Ah, Artie was fine. And if he read that right, Anders was probably having a great time, too.

He fetched himself another piece of cake and sprawled out in that grand green chair, with his feet up on the table, reading some trashy romance novel he'd found in one of the shelves. Something utterly ludicrous involving 'love that wouldn't die' and reanimated corpses. Nevarran trash. He'd have to pass it to Bethany, later. She'd never stop laughing.

And there went the floor, again. Wow. They were really getting up to something, weren't they? Eventually, Cormac fell asleep in the chair, book on his face, plate in his lap. He'd know if Artemis came upstairs, if only because his feet were still on the table, and that could not stand.

Artemis shuffled upstairs hours later, hair mussed and gait stiff. He'd worked up an appetite and headed for the pantry, only to spot his older brother passed out in the chair, his feet where they didn't belong. He set aside his quest for food for the moment to shove Cormac's feet off the table, sighing in frustration at the smear of dirt he'd left behind. He grabbed the plate off of Cormac's lap while he was at it. He'd drop it off in the kitchen while he looked about for a rag with which to clean off the table.

"Hmrf?" Cormac woke up as his feet hit the floor. Right. Artemis. "Hey. I see you're still standing, after that. Good time?"

Cormac pulled the book off his face and leaned forward to wipe off the table with his sleeve. It wasn't like he meant to go out further than the back garden wearing that. Artemis looked a little rough, but after the amount of drinking he expected was involved, that probably wasn't too surprising. Still, his cheeks looked a little thin and he was moving like an old man.

Artemis's face flushed red to the tips of his ears. It occurred to him that the rest of the house would have noticed the 'earthquakes' and that Cormac would know exactly what that meant. It seemed he didn't need to be as loud as Cormac to broadcast what he was doing. "Er... I don't know what you're talking about," he told the plate in his hand, because denial had worked for him well enough so far.

Food. Right. He'd come up here for food. Not to be prodded by his nosy older brother who apparently knew everything he'd just done. Well. Maybe not _everything_ , he decided, thinking about the stone knob and the way it had made Anders squirm. The thought made him smirk as he turned back towards the pantry. It had been a very educational day.

"Don't give me that. You did Anders. Either that or you found his collection of toys, but I'm betting you did him, and given that you're standing up under your own power, I'm also guessing you were the one doing the doing. Not to cast aspersions on his skills or anything, of course." Cormac laughed. "Congratulations. You needed it, and he's ... well, you know what I think of him. Did he show you the electricity trick?"

All right, so escape to the pantry wasn't an option, not after that. Artemis stopped and turned back around. "You underestimate me, brother-dear," he said. "You think you're the only one who can handle the flagpole?" He was still just this side of 'fucked stupid' to say something like that.

Cormac's eyes got big. He looked like they might fall out of his head, if he opened them any wider. "You... seriously?" An astonished and somewhat reverent grin cracked his face, as he stood up and hugged Artemis, clapping him on the back. "Maker's aching balls. My little brother sat on the flagpole, and is still standing. I'm impressed. I'm proud. Good for you."

"Standing is a relative term," Artemis said, teetering a bit when Cormac clapped him on the back. "And so is sitting. Sitting is not a thing I'll be doing for a while." It was more than a little awkward to think that he and his brother had sat on the same knob, but he was tired enough to let it go. "Did... did you feel the floor shaking? Did I break anything?"

"The floor? Yeah, some. That's how I knew." Cormac shrugged, keeping a hand on Artemis's arm, just in case. "Nothing's broken. Nothing even fell. I probably wouldn't have noticed if I wasn't in one of the rooms over the cellar."

He looked at the cellar door and then back at Artemis, contemplatively. "Tell me you made him send you up here in this condition, or I'm going to go down there and kick his ass. ... After I get you something to eat. I'd say sit, but don't. Here, lean by the fire, where it's warm. I think this is a celebratory moment, so I'm advising cake. Possibly also some of the roast chicken, because you look like you haven't eaten all week, and you could probably use something a little heavier. I know what passes for food, down there, and even if you were eating it, it still wouldn't count as eating."

"I slipped away while he was sleeping. You don't need to fuss over me, Cormac," Artemis muttered, even as he smiled tiredly. Yet he set the plate back down, on the table, and did as Cormac suggested, leaning against the mantle, cheek pressed to stone. He rather liked the idea of food coming to him rather than the other way around. "Mm. Chicken. Chicken does sound good."

"I'm your brother. Who the fuck else is going to fuss over you?"

Cormac grabbed the plate and stepped out, returning a few minutes later with a different plate, loaded with chicken and potatoes and a large slice of cake. His other hand contained a recognisable vial, which he held out, first. "In case you'd like to sit down, some time, today."

He was, after all, entirely too familiar with that whole not sitting down thing. And the not standing up thing. And the waking Anders up in the middle of the night because okay, that was just a little worse than he'd thought, and it had just gone from a pleasant ache to bloody murder thing.

Artemis smiled tiredly and took the vial first, uncorking it and swallowing the potion in one go. He could still _feel_ Anders, a dull ache inside in the form of his knob. He wished he knew some healing spells of his own, but he supposed that's what older brothers and abominations were for.

Still leaning against the mantle, he took the plate from Cormac's hand. It was far more food than he felt he could stomach just then, but there was something sweet in the gesture. As he chewed his chicken, Artemis wondered what he had missed this past week or so. Or however much time had passed. It was all a bit hazy. He opened his mouth to ask about Fenris, only to snap it shut the next moment. Dangerous line of questioning, that.

"How is... everyone?" he asked instead, awkwardly.

"Anton's up the coast, according to Aveline, and that means he's probably got Isabela with him. Bethy's been hanging around the Chantry, mooning over that holy dipshit from Starkhaven. Mum hopes she marries him. I hope he falls off a cliff. Carver's been ... out. Girlfriend or something, probably. He's doing that moody 'it's none of your business' and 'you wouldn't understand' shit, again, like that one time with that girl from Redcliffe. I'd say I haven't been getting any, because you're hogging my lover, but I'd be lying." Cormac shrugged. "Aveline's pissed off, Varric's writing another book, Mum's ... trying to reclaim the grandeur of her youth, or something. I haven't seen Merrill around, lately. I should probably check on her, and make sure she hasn't been dragged off to the Gallows or something."

Artemis noticed that he didn't mention Fenris. Unsaid, his name still hung there awkwardly in the air. "So, the usual," he said, poking at his potatoes. "Good to know I didn't miss too much."

He didn't realize how empty his stomach was until he'd had a few bites of food. His stomach gurgled at him, finally voicing its complaint as he demolished the chicken. He was going to collapse after this, he just knew it. It was a good thing Cormac was there to keep him from falling over.

"Nah, everything's about where you left it. Nothing's on fire, nobody died. I made sure nobody was looking for you, mostly because I didn't want to have to answer any questions that might arise if they found you." Cormac snickered quietly and rubbed his cheek.

"Okay, I have to ask. Did you get his shirt off? Tell me you got his shirt off. I'm dying, here. The only time he took it off for me, we were drunk and it was dark, and I just ... don't remember. I get the feeling he's got a horrible tattoo or something." He sat on the arm of a nearby chair, keeping an eye on how much wobbling Artemis was doing. "Sure as shit can't be a scar, with the way he talks about the one on his leg."

Artemis frowned, nibbling at the cake. "No, the shirt stayed on," he said, and wasn't _that_ a disappointment. "I wasn't about to ask, not after..." He coughed into his hand. Not after awkward conversations about flagpoles and earthquakes. If Cormac didn't know, he doubted _he_ was ever going to. "Oh well. I was naked enough for the both of us."

Yep, he was tired. Definitely tired. He was in serious danger of falling asleep with cake in his mouth, and that was something he doubted Cormac would let him live down. He set the half empty plate down on the table before he dropped it.

Cormac got up and hefted Artemis over his shoulder, without asking. He'd done it enough times, over the years, to one or another sibling. Passed out sibling over one shoulder, everything else in the other hand. Crouching, instead of bending, he picked up the cake. "You're going to bed. You look like you've been trampled by a full team of oxen, and I'm not letting you sleep it off on the floor, however hilarious it might be to watch you fall on your face. I can watch you fall on your face, later, when you're drunk."

He headed for the stairs to the floor above.

"Cormac!" Artemis squawked, wriggling in his brother's grip. "I do have legs, you know!" Legs that weren't likely to hold him up for long, but he had his pride, after all. He grumbled and watched the floor recede behind them as his brother carried him up the stairs.

"Knock it off! If I drop you on the stairs, neither of us is going to be happy."

They made it to Artemis's room with little further incident, but a great lot of grumbling, and Cormac dumped his brother on the bed, setting the plate on the reading table. "Cake's for breakfast. Eat it before you try to stand up. Trust me."

"Bossy bastard," Artemis grumbled, even as he burrowed into his pillow. Maker, but he could sleep for a week. If Cormac said anything in response, Artemis didn't hear it. He was asleep before he finished pulling up the covers.

  



	25. PART VI: THE WOOING OF ANTON CONTINUES

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen's got ideas. Cullen's got a plan. Anton's... well... Anton.
> 
> Also, oh shit, I passed out cold instead of posting, this morning. *laughs* LATE BUT STILL DELIVERED!

"Andraste's ass! Bethany!" Carver slammed a door, somewhere upstairs, and Anton could hear his sister laughing.

"If you don't want to see things like that, you shouldn't open doors without knocking, Carver!" Bethany cackled with glee, obviously up to something questionable.

"How was I supposed to expect your Chantry boy's bare ass!?" Carver raved. "Doesn't that violate his vows or something?"

"How would that violate his vows? Did you see any of my skin?"

"I don't know! I was trying not to see anyone's skin! What in the void are you even doing?" Carver paused, as the implications of that question made themselves clear. " _Don't tell me!_ "

Sebastian's reply was loud, but incomprehensible, and suddenly Anton wondered exactly what his little sister was getting up to. Whatever it was, Chantry boy was in for a real fuck of a ride, with her and her _ideas_ and her freaky nightmare magic.

Carver howled in frustration and stomped down the stairs. "What are you looking at?" he snapped at Anton.

"Not what you were, that's for damn sure." Anton's eyebrows hiked up.

"Shut up," Carver snarled, heading out. "Just shut up."

* * *

Cullen had taken Hopeday off. He wasn't entirely sure how he got away with it, or how bad this was going to look, later, but he'd done it. He'd promised Anton Makersday and Hopeday, and he was going to deliver. (And Maker, how Anton had smiled at him, when he showed up with orchids in his hand, to deliver the news. The man was going to ruin him!)

He was going to do this right. He was going to do this actually right, instead of something that roughly approximated right, he decided, and made a few stops before showing up at Anton's door: Nevarran takeout, Fereldan whiskey, and not just any orchids, this time, but fresh-cut embrium. And then he passed the bakery in Hightown, and made one more stop, because showing up without those divine lemon cream duchess cakes would be a terrible sin.

At last, he made his way to the door, trying to decide if he'd forgotten anything, or if he was somehow going to make a fool of himself in any of his choices. He'd brought clean clothes, supper, and gifts. That should cover everything, he thought.

The dwarf remembered him, this time. "Ah, Ser Cullen! Come in. Messere Hawke is expecting you. I'll fetch him."

Bethany passed Bodhan in the hall, and stepped in to see who'd come to the door. "Ser Cullen! What a lovely surprise!"

She hurried over to him, curious. "What's all this? Have you come to woo my brother? You have, haven't you?" Bethany poked and prodded and examined everything. "Oh, you're so sweet! I'm sure he'll love it!"

And there was Cullen's first blush of the night. "Er, thank you," he said with a nervous chuckle. "It's not too much, is it? Maker, it's too much. I knew it."

Bethany's eyes crinkled, lips pressing together in a way that said she was fighting not to laugh. "It's perfect, Cullen," she reassured him, patting his shoulder. "Anton deserves to be spoiled now and then."

"Anton should definitely be spoiled and spoiled often," said the man in question, coming out of the library with Bodhan in tow. He turned a smile on Cullen that was as much warm as devious. Maker. How many times would Cullen see the man before he'd stop setting his heart aflutter?

Aflutter. Now that just made him sound like a blushing maiden. He may have the blushing part down, but he was certainly no maiden. He cleared his throat. "Hello, Anton," he said, his tone aiming for smooth and coming out reverent. It just made Anton smile wider.

"Walk with me. Talk with me. And as soon as we're out of my sister's all-too-curious sight, show me how you're going to spoil me rotten, all night long." Linking his arm through Cullen's, Anton winked at Bethany, before leading him out of the room. "If anyone's looking for me before Marketday, tell them I'm dead!"

"I'm telling mum you brought home a boy to make kissy-faces with!" Bethany called after them.

Anton offered his sister a single-finger salute, over his shoulder.

"So what's all this?" Anton asked, finally gazing into the basket Cullen carried. "Andraste's tits, those are embrium, aren't they?"

No one had ever gotten him embrium, before. Shit, it was rare enough that he got flowers at all, the bulk of flowers he'd received in his life having been orchids from Cullen. And orchids were posh as all get out, sure, but embrium... embrium was serious. Still, this was Cullen. He probably didn't know any better.

"Yes." And there Cullen stalled out for a long, awkward moment. "I, um... What I mean to say... it just seemed like... I should... I heard they're what you get for someone you really enjoy."

Anton laughed. "They're what you get for someone you love, or, sometimes, someone who's dying. I heard in some parts of Orlais, they're what you get for someone you're going to kill."

"Oh, I... Well, it's a good thing we're not in Orlais, isn't it." He'd screwed this up, already. He was sure of it. Maker's breath, what was he even doing?

"No, indeed," Anton replied. "And not just for that reason. My Orlesian accent is terrible, and their food is much too melancholy for my taste-buds." Anton noticed Cullen wasn't denying the 'in love' or 'dying' reasons for getting the orchids, and the thought settled uncomfortably on his shoulders. Maybe he was dying and didn't know it.

Cullen laughed nervously. "Yes, and I don't think I could pull off an Orlesian mask half as well as you."

"Darling, no one can."

Cullen didn't argue that, and he was looking at Anton like the sun shone out of his ass. As glorious as Anton's ass was, that was another realisation that made him squirm. He rifled through the basket hooked over Cullen's arm to distract himself. He hummed in pleasure at what he found there. "Are those duchess cakes?" he asked. "Oh, I _love_ duchess cakes!"

"And takeout from that Nevarran place in Lowtown. I remembered what you ordered, last time." Cullen blushed and tried to decide if that made him sound romantic or just creepy.

"Bethy's right. You're so sweet," Anton mangled out around a bite of cream-filled pastry, before kissing Cullen on the cheek, right there in the hall. "What are you, really? Spy? Assassin? No one's this ..." romantic, adoring, soppy "...sweet unless they're angling for something!"

"I've got everything I want right here." Cullen had no idea how the words made it out of his mouth without his whole face bursting into flame. "Just... Just you."

"Pfft. Charmer. You been reading those old Orlesian novels?" Anton led the way into his room, closing the door behind hem. "Don't get me wrong, there's some fantastically dirty stuff in those, and that's what you want to come away with, but the rest -- we're grown men, not swooning teenage girls."

"No, certainly not," Cullen said perhaps too quickly. He was certainly not a teenager or a girl, and Knight-Captains do not swoon. If he read those novels, it was certainly to mock them. Yes. "I'm not... trying to _charm_ you." Well, okay, he was. "I'm just being honest."

That was a good line, Anton would give him that. He chuckled and took the basket from Cullen, setting down on the end table, where he'd set up his array of syrups the last time he was alone with Cullen. The look on the templar's face said he was thinking of exactly that. "Well, you're welcome to continue not charming me then, Ser Cullen," he said, sauntering back over to the blushing man. Anton wondered how long it would take for Cullen to stop blushing every time he teased him. Hopefully quite a bit longer. He rather liked watching the red spread across his cheeks in splotches.

"Not charming," Cullen said with a self-deprecating laugh. "That is something I can certainly be."

Anton begged to differ, but he wasn't about to say so.

"I, er, I thought we might start with supper?" Cullen suggested. He'd been so nervous he hadn't eaten all day, and the idea of Anton's naked body wrapped around him before he'd gotten something down just sounded like a recipe for fainting. All the blood would rush out of his head and there would be nothing to sustain him.

"Of course! You've been all over town, today, haven't you? Need a little rest before your next round of ... exertions." There was that deliciously wicked smile again. Anton rifled through the boxes from the restaurant. "Ah, you got the things with the leaves and the barley again! Excellent. And the duchess cakes, of course. Hmm... Come lie with me, and you can eat from my fingers. Supper in bed."

Eat. From his fingers. Anton stretched out on the bed, lazing like a cat, and patted the spot next to him. That was it. Cullen had died, and the Maker had taken him unto his bosom. There was no other explanation for this that wasn't blood magic, and he'd already ruled that out.

Cullen tried to think of something clever to say, only to decide he'd just end up stuttering anyway. He unbuckled and kicked off his boots and stretched out next to Anton. If only he had this waiting for him every night.

Anton smiled that coy, lazy smile and and pulled Cullen closer by the lapels. Cullen held his breath anticipating a kiss, but Anton smiled and pressed a bite of food against his lips.

Cullen tried to take it without dropping bits on the sheets or slobbering all over Anton's hand, and he mostly succeeded in both regards, a small happy sound rising from him as his mouth closed. Oh, yes. Food. That was a thing, and he was supposed to be eating a great deal more of it than he'd managed to get into himself, since he skipped breakfast. He could do this. Just think about the food, and don't look too much at the gorgeous man holding it, until after. Okay, that last part might be a little more difficult.

Working his way through an assortment of bite-sized Nevarran foods, Anton split them sensibly and evenly -- one for Cullen, then one for himself. Cullen seemed to be determined to keep the eroticism to a minimum, possibly so he wouldn't choke, but Anton was devotedly perverse and licked his own fingers clean, when Cullen wouldn't. He suspected Cullen would, with prompting, but he'd rather demonstrate, and just watch that blush creep up, again. He wondered how many simultaneous shades of red and pink Cullen's skin would support at one time, and made it his mission to find out.

Anton added humming to the finger-licking, and Cullen wondered if he'd ever be able to eat Nevarran again without getting an erection. Probably not -- he already couldn't look at oranges without squirming -- and wouldn't that be fun to explain. Thank the Maker templar armour hid a multitude of sins.

"It's good, isn't it?" he asked, words tumbling out. "The food."

"Delicious," Anton agreed in a purr, making a show of the next bite while Cullen was looking at him, flashing quite a bit more teeth and tongue than was strictly necessary.

"So are you," Cullen choked out. Maker, what was wrong with him, tonight?

"Is your memory so good? You haven't licked me once, tonight. I was starting to think you didn't mean to do it again," Anton teased, all sharp edges and sleek lines. He punched his finger through the top of one of the duchess cakes and brought it back covered in lemon cream, offering it to Cullen.

Cullen, who paled and then blushed harder, hesitantly putting out his tongue and licking the tip of that lemon cream covered finger. Concentrate on the lemon cream. He had to keep his mind on the lemon cream, as his tongue slid over the tip of that finger, and he fought off thoughts of all the ways and places that finger had touched him.

"Come on, it's just a little lemon cream..." Anton petted Cullen's tongue.

Cullen tried to talk around the finger in his mouth but just ended up whimpering instead. There was no 'just', not with this man. Anton slid his finger out of Cullen's mouth, spit-slick finger lingering over his lips before scooping out more lemon cream. He moved as though to press it to Cullen's tongue again, only to slide his finger into his own mouth instead. He hummed at the taste, the sound just this side of obscene, and Cullen added lemon cream to the list of food that would make him blush.

"Maker, you're gorgeous," he said, stupidly if honestly, only to clear his throat and look away.

"And you," said Anton, pulling his finger out with a pop, "are adorable." Whatever Cullen was about to say ended up swallowed in a lemon-cream-flavoured kiss.

The very little bit of sense Cullen retained was largely focused on not leaning in the food or flipping it onto the bed. Just don't move, unless it's your face, he told himself. He still wasn't fantastic at kissing, but the more times he did it, the better he got, he thought. Mostly he tried to do things he'd felt Anton do.

And Maferath's cavity-ridden left testicle, was that weird for Anton. It was getting to be like kissing himself. Most of the time, he knew exactly what Cullen was going to do next, because it was what he would have done on that side of the kiss. Frankly, it was oddly erotic, actually, and Anton considered that if he ever had the chance, he would fuck the daylights out of himself. In the mean time, however, he had Cullen, to whom he was getting oddly attached. Those weird worshipful looks, all those stupidly charming sentences, the way he blushed so easily... Anton was hooked. He liked this one. Wanted to keep it for a while, which was dangerously stupid, in some ways, and possibly the best idea he'd ever had, in so many others.

This was for his brothers and sister, he told himself. Keep your enemies close and all that. It was a sacrifice he was willing to make.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Anton. Get a grip... Not on that... Well... That works too...

They hadn't even opened the whiskey yet. Cullen caught on to that and clung. Yes. Whiskey. That would distract Anton for a moment, keep his mouth occupied with something other than templar tongue. "I, er..." Cullen pulled back, clearing his throat again. "Drinks. We should. Drink, that is. If you want to. I brought... I brought whiskey."

Maker. Subject, verb, object, that's how sentences were supposed to go.

"Oh, I'd love to drink. I'll even settle for whiskey, for now." Anton stretched out, moving the food back onto the table, a clear indication of where he expected drinking would lead. Which, to be fair, it usually did, for him.

He took the bottle down, moving up the bed and folding himself over Cullen to reach it, and Cullen tried his best not to consider that Anton's crotch was almost directly in his face. Cullen closed his eyes and swallowed hard, as memories of taking Anton into his mouth washed over him. The taste, the smell, that warm throbbing against his tongue...

And then the bed moved and Anton's finger traced down the bridge of his nose. "Looking a little lost there, Captain."

All of the words Cullen meant to say compressed into a single sound. "Eep?" He cleared his throat and tried again. "Oh, uh, just... laces. My eye."

Anton pursed his lips against a laugh. There was something so endearingly sweet about this fumbling man, something heady in knowing that he could affect someone this way, the Knight-Captain, no less. "Do these laces offend you?" Anton asked with mock concern. "Shall I be rid of them?" Long fingers toyed with the laces in question, and Cullen watched them as though hypnotized.

"I, er... um." Cullen had rehearsed this, talking to Anton. He'd been determined to sound sexy, not to stutter, but the damned man knocked all sense from his brain.

"What about the pants as a whole?" Anton teased. "Are they bothersome too?"

"You're holding whiskey." Cullen failed to answer the question, entirely. "We should drink whiskey."

"With or without my bothersome pants?" Anton asked, opening the bottle. "Or maybe you'd like to be rid of your own bothersome pants as well... We could drink whiskey with no pants at all, if you like."

Cullen felt light-headed. Maybe whiskey was a bad idea, if he was already getting dizzy just being in Anton's presence. Or maybe he'd feel a little less drunk if he had a few drinks. He'd heard that helped. And somehow, in the middle of this, his mouth got away from him, entirely, and said the thing he'd been trying to avoid even thinking. "If you unlace your pants, I'm going to be drinking more than whiskey."

The words drifted back to his ears. Maker! Who said things like that? It didn't matter that it had passed through his head. That he'd tried not to giggle hysterically at the thought. That was just... No. He couldn't have. He was just nervous and imagining things. Didn't happen. Didn't say it. Oh, Maker, the way Anton was looking at him...

"Oh, that sounds like an incentive to me," Anton replied, looking fiendishly delighted. He handed Cullen the bottle, and Cullen somehow had the presence of mind not to drop it as Anton started unlacing his trousers. And it was ridiculous, the slow, sensual way he was doing it. No one took that long untying their pants.

"All right, Captain?"

Cullen realized he hadn't been blinking. "Er." Whiskey. Right. He opened the bottle and took what he was sure was an impolitely large drink. "Fine," he choked. "I'm just... fine. Better than, actually. You are just..."

And there was that reverent look again, shining out of Cullen's eyes. "I am just...?" Anton prompted, lips curling. Cullen struggled to find an adequate word with which to finish that sentence.

"... ideal. Perfect. The Maker's own image of good and right." Cullen was rambling and he couldn't seem to stop himself. Maybe he'd just get it out of his system. "I never understood what a man could see in another man, and then I met you. And everything else... it just seems so ... shallow? dim? empty? There's just you. All you. I can't stop thinking about you. I don't want to stop thinking about you. Anton Hawke, you're a beautiful man and I love you."

His face was burning. He wondered how he hadn't spontaneously combusted, yet. He'd hoped the embrium would say it for him, but _Maker_ , Anton was obtuse. Probably intentionally obtuse, remembering how Anton had made him _ask_ for obvious things.

Anton blinked. Cullen looked so sincere, a determined line to his jaw, that flaming blush that reached from his collar to his hairline, and Anton knew exactly how far down his chest it stretched. He smiled, confused and amused, and stroked Cullen's cheek.

"You're ridiculous." And then Anton leaned in and pressed his lips to Cullen's. Flattery, after all, would get one pretty far with Anton.

But not Anton's heart, Cullen realised even as he kissed back, one hand reaching up to cup the back of Anton's head. Best to keep his mouth occupied before he said anything else embarrassingly stupid. Of course Anton didn't love him. He didn't expect that, not yet, but he'd been hoping for _something_. 

Ridiculous. That was exactly what he was.

He pushed Anton back gently, a hand on his chest. "Anton," he started to say, only to let the name stand alone. _Anton, am I fooling myself here?_ But he couldn't ask, couldn't bring himself to hear the answer he suspected. If he was fooling himself, let him keep on being fooled.

"That's me," Anton replied, with a cocky smile, tracing the line of Cullen's jaw with one finger. That wasn't a happy look, on Cullen, and Anton couldn't figure it out. "Too quick? Whiskey before kissing?"

Anton just kept joking, and Cullen couldn't figure out where things had gone so awry. Yes, he could. It was the first night he set foot in this house. It was the first time Anton kissed him. Everything he knew stopped making sense. He was in so far over his head, lost and finally frightened. But, he'd just hold on and hope for the best, as long as Anton would let him.

There was still a bottle in his hand, and Cullen took another large swallow of whiskey, before handing it to Anton. "Whiskey before kissing," he agreed, caressing Anton's chest with the hand he'd just used to push the man back.

Anton grinned at him over the bottle's lip and took a swig. He sat back against the headboard, his shoulder brushing Cullen's. His pants gaped open, and Anton tilted his hips in a way that made sure Cullen was aware of that. And there was Cullen, gaze lingering right where Anton wanted it to but still not looking entirely happy.

Between sips passed back and forth, Cullen was quiet, drawn inward. Anton wanted to hear him stutter again. "So, how much whiskey, do you think, before the kissing?" he teased, just to fill the silence.

Cullen looked at him as though deliberating. "At least one more sip," he said, taking said sip and kissing Anton.

Somehow, the bottle made it back onto the table, as Cullen tried to drown himself in Anton. The kiss was a little too desperate, but Cullen's hands wandered in that way it usually took Anton a whole lot more teasing and kissing to incite. Anton, though, was not going to complain. Yes, he liked blushing, shy Cullen, but adventurous Cullen could also be exciting.

Anton pulled Cullen tight against him, kiss sliding sideways to land on Cullen's neck. Cullen always smelled faintly metallic, with an undertone of wet leather, like all the years in armour had soaked into his skin, and Anton never got tired of it, never got tired of pressing his face against Cullen, and just breathing deeply. Maybe one day he would, but he had no sense it would be soon. Maybe as he aged, he was getting a taste for templars and soldiers -- he considered trying out a guardsman, to see.

"Touch me," he breathed in Cullen's ear, just to see if he could spark a stutter.

But, Cullen surprised him. "I'm already touching you," Cullen said, lips curling in a way that said he was being purposefully obtuse. And he was not wrong. His hands were definitely on Anton's body. "You might have to be more specific."

Suddenly Anton was the one stuttering, surprised to see Cullen playing his game. He laughed, delighted. "You're cheeky tonight, Captain," he purred, lips brushing one ear, mouthing the lobe. "I approve."

Cheeky or not, Cullen was still blushing furiously, and that reassured Anton that this _was_ Cullen and not a trick of the Fade.

"Elbows," Cullen murmured, sliding one hand up Anton's arm. "You must have meant your elbows. I'm sure I haven't given those enough attention."

If Anton could play this game, so could he. He could be just as awful about it, he assured himself, trying not to be distracted by the way Anton's thigh pressed against his knob. Which was becoming increasingly difficult. And increasingly hard. No, maybe he didn't need Anton to love him. Maybe he just needed Anton to want him. That could be enough, couldn't it?

"I meant," Anton started, pausing to duck down and nibble under Cullen's chin, "that you said something about drinking more than just whiskey, if I unlaced my pants. My pants which are wide open and sliding down."

Cullen knew looking would be his undoing, but he looked anyway, staring down between them at the slice of skin Anton had bared, the lines of his hipbones begging to be touched and tasted. He was a fool for thinking he could keep up with the man, but he could certainly follow.

"These pants?" Cullen said, caressing Anton's thigh and powering through a stutter. "The bothersome ones?" His fingers traced the waistline, dipping in to press fingers to skin and hitch Anton's pants lower still.

"The very same," Anton hummed against Cullen's throat. "Though not so bothersome as yours."

"You find my pants bothersome?" That was Anton's ass in Cullen's hand.

"I find all your clothes bothersome. Offensive, even. You should be rid of them immediately."

Cullen blushed vibrantly, but kept on. "Oh, how thoughtless of me to have arrived clothed. I thought-- thought--" and there was the stutter, again "thought you might like to unwrap my package, yourself."

He blamed the terrible Orlesian novels. Cullen had always been a fast reader, and after last time, he'd picked up a stack of the awful things, just to see if maybe he had been reading the wrong sorts of books. And definitely to see if he could pick up some ideas to use on Anton. He couldn't get all his ideas straight from Anton, that would get predictable. And there was no way he was asking Emeric about _this_. He could have done without the one about the horses, though. He tossed that one in the fire straightaway, and sat to make sure it burned.

Anton choked out a sharp laugh. "Andraste's tits, you _have_ been reading dirty books, haven't you!"

Of course Anton would know. Cullen sighed.

"Bethy's right. You're sweet. You're just ridiculously sweet." Anton followed that with a kiss that might almost have been affectionate. Or maybe Cullen just wanted it to be. "I like it. Don't ever change."

And then Anton's hands slid down to Cullen's pants, and his smile crossed from fond to wicked. "You want me to unwrap your package, Ser Templar? Oh! All these _complicated_ knots!"

Cullen bent to kiss that wicked smile and swallowed Anton's laughter. He was tempted to tell Anton to just tear the laces, for Maker's sake, but these were his nice trousers, bothersome or not, and trousers he'd worn specifically for Anton. Rather silly that, he supposed, since they would end up crumpled on the floor with everything else.

Somewhere in the kiss, someone got Cullen's pants open. Then there were hands on Cullen's hips and pants bunching at Anton's knees, and they pulled apart long enough to kick the bothersome articles aside.

"Much better," Anton purred, pulling the templar back down into another kiss, then another and another, until all Cullen could taste was whiskey and Anton.

Anton wrapped a hand around them both. Yes, knobs were meant for licking, and he'd certainly intended to get some licking in, but they had all night. And if Cullen decided he had better ideas, Anton didn't doubt he'd share. That was new and different, but good, he decided. The blushing and teasing was great, always would be great, but there was something about hearing Cullen say things Anton was dead sure he'd picked up from dirty books that just went straight to Anton's knob. Anyone else, he'd have rolled his eyes and put his pants _on_. But, Cullen... Cullen was just adorable. Ridiculously adorable and adorably ridiculous. He did not speculate on whether this meant he adored Cullen, but he certainly wanted to continue to enjoy every minute of that ridiculously sexy man's presence.

And so, he gripped them together, stroking the knobs in his fist slowly, listening to Cullen's breathing change, feeling the way Cullen's tongue always flicked in just that way, when he stroked right there.

"That is a lovely gift you've brought me," Anton murmured against Cullen's lips.

Cullen looked down at the hand on his knob, blushed and stuttered and pulled enough brain cells together to quip, "I-I see you brought me one too."

Anton traced Cullen's jawline with his teeth. "Why not? You spoil me, ser."

Cullen felt like the one spoiled in that moment, with clever fingers on his knob and hot skin against his. Cullen pulled Anton closer by the hip, wanted to press as close as he could to this man until he couldn't tell one body from the other. They were barely a few minutes in, and he had a full night of this to look forward to. This, surely, was the definition of decadence.

"Anton," he sighed, the name heavy with his want, his affection for this man.

"The one and only," Anton replied, with a sparkling grin.

The one and only, indeed. Thank the Maker, because Cullen wasn't sure the world could handle more than one. He certainly couldn't. Two of Anton would be the death of him, he was sure. And then Anton was asking him something, and he wasn't paying attention.

"What?"

"Oh, am I distracting you?" Anton's thumb skated across the ends of their knobs. "I said if you reach back, there should be some oil on the shelf, there. The blue one."

Cullen, of course, couldn't see a damned thing, because it was, as Anton so helpfully pointed out, behind him. He groped bottles as Anton watched, until Anton told him he had the right one.

He handed the bottle to Anton and went back to kissing him, smearing a kiss down his throat. He heard Anton fiddling with the bottle and suddenly there was oil, cold and slick, against their knobs. It startled a breath out of him which Anton bent to swallow.

"Better?" Anton purred against him, teeth pulling playfully at Cullen's lower lip.

"It's... not bothersome," he said. Not bothersome? Did he really say that?

But Anton was chuckling breathlessly and touching them both in a way that made sparks flare at the base of Cullen's spine.

"It's perfect," he amended with a sigh.

And still, or maybe again, Cullen had no idea what to do with his hands. _Maker_ , one of these days he was going to have to pay more attention to the hands in those books. He touched Anton's face, stroking his cheek, sliding a finger along his lips, which was suddenly bitten and licked, and there was that devilish eyebrow twitch. Cullen could feel the heat rising in his cheeks, and not just in his knob. The hand moved down, tugging at Anton's shirt, and then Anton caught his wrist, smoothed his fingers open, and pressed his palm flat against the tops of their knobs.

Cullen sucked in a breath. Apparently the palm was an erogenous zone. Add another thing to the list of things that weren't in the books. He'd found ladies with horses in those books, but not this. He pressed down a little harder, just to feel the hot, damp slide of flesh against his palm, and Anton purred warmly.

But maybe he didn't need a book or an instruction manual when he had Anton, making those lovely sounds and arching that lovely body against his. When he moved his hand just so, he had to be doing something right, judging from the breath that shivered through Anton's lips.

"Cullen," Anton sighed, the sound going straight to Cullen's knob.

"I... yes, the one and only," Cullen quipped in return, less smooth in his delivery than Anton had been. But Anton's smile said he had done something right there as well.

Anton felt the twitch against his fingers and went for more. He moaned lasciviously against Cullen's lips. "Yes. Oh, _yes_ , Cullen. _Just_ like that."

It was so easy to perform for an appreciative audience, Anton had found, and when that appreciative audience was polishing his knob and flattering him with impressions of himself, it almost wasn't a performance at all, any more. He really did enjoy Cullen, even if the man was hopelessly confused. Actually, he kind of liked the hopelessly confused part, too. There was something to be said for those with more talent and a less optimistic outlook, but it was a nice change, and Cullen's charming innocence never failed to make him smile. And as that innocence fell away, well... if Cullen kept doing that, Anton would be doing a lot more than just smiling, soon.

Cullen eagerly repeated everything he had done in the last few seconds, hoping to hear those words again or words like them, in that voice. He kept one hand on their joined knobs, panting at the slide of Anton's hand, the friction of his, and he reached up with his other hand to cup Anton's cheek. Thumb smoothing over Anton's cheekbone, Cullen shuddered and gasped, spurting between them, letting this gorgeous man fill his senses.

"Anton," he breathed again, sure the man would answer with another quip to his exasperation and adoration.

"Still me," Anton replied, but his crooked smile had a dazed edge as he continued touching them both, his breaths hot and ragged against Cullen's cheek.

That dazed smile might have been the most delicious thing Cullen had seen on Anton's face, yet. How could one man be so devastatingly appealing? His hips rocked in time with Anton's hand, and that wonderful slide of flesh on flesh erased most of the thoughts from his head. The occasional single word flickered through at the end of a thrust. Anton. Perfect. Wonderful. Love.

Anton saw Cullen's eyes get hazy, heard his breath catch, and pushed himself to catch up. He closed his eyes and thought of all the things he had yet to introduce Cullen to the joys of, focused on the feeling of Cullen sliding against him, through his fist. And there was an idea. Oh, what a delightfully wicked idea. He wondered what it would be like to slide against Cullen inside someone else. He made a note to ask Serendipity, later, if she could suggest someone. For, well, after Cullen had stopped stuttering and blushing at the idea of Anton's usual repertoire. But, that would be amazing. If he thought about it, he could almost feel it.

"Cullen," he gasped, and that was all it took.

If Anton's face was the most delicious sight, Cullen's name on his lips was the most delicious sound. Cullen pulled Anton close against him as he shuddered, lips and free hand tracing every plane and edge of Anton's face, the jut of his chin, the cut of his cheekbone, the curve of his brow, expressing again his love for this man without stuttering the words.

"What have I ever done to deserve you?" Cullen murmured, brushing back Anton's hair as their breathing slowed.

"Mm, either something very good or very wicked, I suspect," Anton replied. There was that dazed smile again, which Cullen had to kiss.

"But not as wicked as some of the things y-you have planned for me tonight, _I_ suspect."

The dazed smile turned devilish told Cullen everything he needed to know.

  



	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonus chapter, today, because we're almost 100,000 words ahead of ourselves.
> 
> Cullen has nightmares. Cullen also has a tightly wound smite reflex. This building also contains Anders.

It was like an explosion. The ripple of emptiness blew through the house, and terrified screaming followed in its wake. Cormac was out of bed before he even registered having gotten up. Smite. Templars. He grabbed the glaive, instead of his staff -- man cannot be dependent upon magic, in the face of Templars. Running down the hall, he spotted the dog pressed up against Anton's door. Screaming from... Anton's room? Screaming that didn't sound like Anton? Any minute he was going to wake up again, and this was all going to have been some bizarrely stupid dream. Still, just in case...

Cormac threw the door open, only to find Anton naked in bed, with another man. Not that unusual, really. Another man who was curled up into a ball, shaking and wailing. "Andraste's blessed tits," he sighed, leaning against the doorframe, as the dog pushed past him into the room and climbed up on the bed. "Scared the fuck right out of me."

Still, there was the matter of that absurdly massive wave of smite...

Carver's door burst open, and his youngest brother appeared in hall with a sword in his hand and murder in his eyes. Bethany's door cracked open, and Carver murmured something to her before pushing her gently back inside and shutting the door.

"What happened?" Artemis came running up the stairs, shirtless and unlaced pants low on his hips, hair sticking every which way. He was holding Anders's stone dildo aloft like a weapon. "I heard screaming that wasn't Cormac!"

"Will all of you fuck off?" Anton snapped from the vicinity of the bed.

"It's all right, Artie. Looks like Anton's _Templar_ boyfriend has nightmares." Cormac started putting the pieces together, and the picture he was coming up with was not a pretty one.

"Yes, okay? Yes. He has nightmares. I didn't know, or I'd have _warned_ you." Anton stroked Cullen's back, as the Templar curled closer to the mabari that had appeared at his side. "Now just--" He flapped a hand at the door.

Cormac wasn't sure whether to be more concerned about the fact the whole house had just eaten a smite, or the fact that _doing that_ couldn't possibly be good for a person. And certainly not at that intensity. Well, if Artie was standing here, holding that, Anders was already awake. Not that Anders slept well, either. "Herbalist? Sleeping potion?"

"Herbalist," Artemis repeated. "Right." He suddenly realised he was still holding Anders's dildo. He coughed and shoved the thing down the back of his pants while Carver made a disgusted noise. "I'll get him."

The Smite had hit them both in the basement, and Anders had turned ten different shades of pale. Artemis should probably check on him, anyway, to make sure he was all right.

Anton continued to glare half-heartedly at his remaining brothers while Cullen's breathing started to even out, his stare looking less glazed and terrified. "Are you with me, Cullen?" he asked, hand still rubbing circles into his back, sliding up to squeeze his nape. The Templar was sticky with sweat.

The dog licked Cullen's cheek and made an inquisitive sound.

"Anton?" Cullen blinked and looked even more confused than usual. "You're not real. How--?"

"Not real? Pfft. Ask your ass if I'm real. I can see the teeth marks from here." Anton grinned boldly. "Sorry about that, by the way. Didn't think you'd bruise that easy."

Cormac slowly got his head out of all the times he'd heard Anders say things like that. 'You're not real', 'I won't be tempted', 'you can't make me believe'. He leaned the glaive on the wall and stepped into the room. "Wherever you were, Ser ... Cullen, is it? You're back now. Anton's very much the real thing, to my lasting and regular regret." The next words, he nearly choked on, but said them anyway, because they always seemed to help Anders, even if he couldn't quite guarantee the truth of them, in this case. "You're safe here. Whatever it was, it's gone. It can't get to you, here."

All the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He was comforting a Templar. A Templar he'd just found naked in his brother's bed. But, Anton had made every indication that he intended this Templar to live, that this was somehow something he _wanted_. And, frankly, after all the things Cormac had done in his life, there was very little he could say about it. And none he'd say right now.

Cullen pet the dog's back the way Anton was petting his. He still looked pale and shaky, eyes drawn inward. Anton hated that he'd seen that look on so many people, people he cared about.

Artemis returned sans dildo with Anders in tow. Anders who was, thankfully (or regrettably) more clothed and looking considerably more pissed. There was a Templar here. A Templar sleeping under the same roof he was, while he and Artemis were up to all sorts of magical naughtiness. There would be Words later, assuming he could keep Justice from rattling his cage any harder.

Except Anders stopped in the doorway, face going horribly pale again. He _knew_ that Templar. "I can't..." he breathed, and Cormac and Cullen looked up at the same time.

Cullen looked even less good than he had. " _Maleficar_."

"Whoa, no. Stop." Cormac stepped directly in the way. There would be none of this, in his house. "That's no maleficar. That's a Grey Warden. There is no blood magic in _my_ house. The Hawkes do not stand for that sort of thing." Well, except Merrill, but she wasn't _in_ his house.

"Kinloch Hold," Anders said from behind him. "I was in the hole. It was never about blood magic."

"They warned me about you." Cullen started to hyperventilate.

"Did they warn you about what they did to me?" Anders demanded, pushing Cormac aside and peeling his shirt off with the other hand. "I left. I joined the Wardens. I was at the Battle of Amaranthine, and now I'm here. But, I'm not an apostate, and I'm sure as shit not a maleficar. I'm a Warden, like the man says."

A faint blue glow danced across Anders's skin, and he struggled to keep Justice in check. The Templar wasn't dangerous, _yet_. But, fear led to violence, with most of them.

"Oh, shit," Artemis muttered. Maybe they would have been better off with the dildo instead of Anders. "Oh, _shit_ ," he said again when he got a good look at Anders shirtless for the first time. He, Cormac, and Carver stared at one end of the scar over his heart while Cullen and Anton stared at the other. Cullen looked like he was trying to swallow his tongue.

"Okay, this?" said Anton, smile a touch hysterical as he stood up, putting himself between Anders and Cullen. " _Not helping_. Will all of you please just _get out_? We can discuss this at length later when no one is glowing or freaking out!"

"Okay. Okay, he's right," Artemis said, hands hovering over Anders's bare shoulders but pulling them back when scarred skin flashed blue again. He sent a pleading look Cormac's way.

Cormac winked at Anton and stepped back up. "Artie, get Carver out of here. I got this."

"Got this? Get it out of my room," Anton demanded.

"Listen the fuck up, all both of you, and you too, Anton. I said no one was getting hurt, here, and I meant it. This is our house, yours and mine, and I don't see either of us standing for it, from or at either of these two. I don't know what the fuck went on at Kinloch Hold, not _really_ , but somebody's telling me at a time other than now, because I only know two people out of that tower and neither of you sleep right, and that tells me the problem goes a whole lot further than some one-off."

It killed him to drop that, but if he could paint Cullen and Anders with the same brush, there was a chance they'd all walk out of here, and Cullen wouldn't come back with a whole lot more gentlemen in platemail.

"I was at Amaranthine," Anders said, again. "You can send a message to the Warden-Commander, there. Just do it quietly."

"Uldred?" Cullen asked, squinting suspiciously.

"Wynne. I heard, but I was already gone. I'm sorry." The glow finally broke. Anders had always wondered what would have happened if he hadn't gotten out before that. He liked to think he'd have helped Enchanter Wynne.

He let Cormac lead him toward the door, before remembering why he'd come up here in the first place. "Sleeping potion, if you think it'll help," he said, leaving it on a shelf and walking out without his shirt. "I'm not who you think I am."

Artemis shut the door behind them, leaving Anton, Cullen, and the dog to work things out in the dark. He'd coerced Carver into going back to bed after an empty threat to Force push him down the stairs. It might have gotten him sent to the Gallows, but at least the dog would be laughing.

He waved Cormac and Anders away from the door, fighting not to stare at the mess of scars on Anders's chest. "By Andraste's supple buttcheeks," he cursed, running a hand through his hair, "what are we going to do about this?"

There was a Templar here. A Templar who recognized Anders. A Templar who now knew they were consorting with mages and had almost been in the building when Artemis had made the floor shake. This was not the time to panic. He was trying to _lessen_ the overall panic, not add to it.

"As little as possible. Anton's got it. All it takes is a letter from the Warden-Commander, and everything will be fine. Amaranthine's not that far from here." Cormac was determinedly optimistic.

"The Commander will confirm I'm a Warden," Anders muttered, arms wrapping around his chest. "I should really send a letter, myself. I should really apologise. She thinks I'm dead. I'm sure she thinks I'm dead."

"Possibly because you should be dead," Cormac pointed out, rubbing Anders's back. "You want to tell me why you're still alive?"

"No." Anders grinned, but it didn't reach his eyes. "But, if you get me a shirt and a very large glass of ale, I will." He paused. " _And you can shut up about it_ ," he hissed. "A _very_ large glass of ale."

Artemis didn't have as much faith in Anton as Cormac did, but he swallowed his protests for now. Knowing Anton, this was likely a one-off thing, anyway. Maybe he didn't even know he was a Templar. Or maybe not, as he thought of his little brother shielding what's-his-name from Anders and Justice.

"Downstairs, then," he said, indicating the cellar with a jerk of his thumb. "Plenty of shirts and drinks there." Well, not _plenty_ of shirts, but Anders's shirts. The man was too tall to fit into theirs comfortably.

Artemis doubted he was invited to Anders's 'storytime', but then he could just fret in the wine cellar. Maybe he'd organize the bottles by size this time instead of alphabetically.

Anders nodded, still with that stiff smile, and followed the younger mage.

  



	28. PART VII: LOOSE ENDS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What was that about Anders and a death wish? a.k.a, the chapter where Anders hands Fenris his ass over Artemis.

Breakfast, the next morning, was completely surreal. Anton, not unexpectedly, did not appear.

"Pass the cream, would you, Artemis?" Leandra held out her hand. "I'm wondering if the Blight weakened the ground under Kirkwall, somehow. Are we on a fault? Is there some dwarven mining project going on? The house keeps shaking, at the oddest times. I don't remember it doing that when I was a child."

Cormac guzzled tea, to avoid laughing hysterically. Artemis choked on his, accidentally spilling the cream as he was handing it to her.

"Mines," he coughed, dabbing at the spill with his napkin. "Yes. There is mining going on. Mining of... tunnels." Oh Maker. That was making it worse. He glared at Cormac through another cough.

"Artemis, darling, are you all right?" asked Leandra.

"Fine," Artemis insisted, once the choking had stopped.

* * *

"Stop staring at me, Abomination." Fenris looked up from the fire, glaring at Anders.

"I'm just wondering what Artemis sees in you." Anders shrugged and shook his head.

'Sees'. Present tense. Well, wasn't _that_ interesting. "I'm not sure I care. What need have I for some mage's infatuation?"

"You really don't see it, Anders?" Isabela asked, stretching her feet closer to the fire. "Just look at him! So little and pretty and _strong_! Do you see the way he swings that sword around? That's hot. And the brooding just adds to the appeal."

"I do not brood, Isabela. For the hundredth time."

"Fine. You sulk. It still looks good on you." Isabela grinned. "And I'm going to ask Artie all about how far down those lines go, just to watch that adorable blush he gets! And because I'd love to know, and I don't think you're going to be sweet enough to show me... are you?"

 _"I_ could always tell you," Anders said with a dangerous grin. "We didn't need a lantern in the cellar, if you know what I mean."

 _"Mage_ ," Fenris growled, hand curling around his sword hilt in a warning. That had been Artemis's idea, an idea he knew he shouldn't have gone along with. The only thing worse than one mage was two. He glared at Cormac. Or three.

Isabela looked positively gleeful. "Ohh, what's this?" she asked, leaning forward and giving them all quite the view. "Anders and Broody? Have you all been holding out on me?"

"You already know _all_ about me, Izzy." Anders grinned and held up his hand, sparks dancing between the fingers. "But, I might have gotten a very good, long look at our friend, here. Might. Maybe."

"Mages," Fenris spat, leaping to his feet. "All the same."

"Now, now." Isabela frowned up at Fenris. "It's not because he's a mage. It's because he likes getting under your skin. Me? I'd settle for just getting under your clothes. But, I do see the appeal. You get even sexier when you're angry."

Fenris wanted to be flattered. He did. But, she was just doing it to defend the abomination. Who, apparently, she had slept with. Of course. His hands clenched. Everyone around here was fucking everyone else. Except him. And that was just fine.

"Is there anyone here who _hasn't_ slept with the abomination?" Fenris sighed.

Bethany and Anton raised their hands.

"Don't worry, you two. You're next." Anders winked at the pair of them. Bethany tittered into her hand while Anton looked speculative.

"Isn't one Hawke enough?" Fenris growled. He wasn't going to think about the night of the party, with Anders touching _his_ \-- no, not his, certainly not his -- Hawke.

Fenris didn't like the sly smile Anders gave him. "There's no such thing as too much Hawke," Anders said. "Don't you think, Cormac?"

"There's more than enough Hawke to go around. I support getting as much as you can, whenever you can. But, Anders, if you so much as touch my sister, I will break all of your fingers." Cormac grinned lazily. "I know how dangerous you are."

"And you know how dangerous I am," Bethany pointed out.

"In a very, very different way." Cormac pointed at Anders, still addressing his sister. "For your own sake, don't. Hell, if you don't believe me, ask Artie."

Bethany groaned. "I knew it! He has _got_ to stop doing that, or the house is going to fall in on us!" She paused and looked at Anders. "Not you, but you know what I'm talking about."

Anders grinned at her but watched Fenris's reaction. "Technically," he said, "I _would_ have to stop, in that instance. At least with Artie."

"Stop?" Fenris echoed. No. No, you didn't tell someone to 'stop' something that had already happened. 'Stop' implied something continuous.

Firelight wasn't the only light reflecting off their faces then, and Fenris realised he was growling deep in his throat, his lyrium brands lit.

"Ooh, he's glowing at you, Anders!" Isabela purred. She was getting _so_ much inspiration for her friend-fiction tonight!

"What do you even care?" Anders asked, looking up at Fenris. "You made it pretty clear you were done. You broke his heart. You don't really get a say, any more."

Cormac could not have planned that if he'd tried. Perfect. Fenris just needed a nudge in the right direction, and he'd come back around. Well, assuming the whole thing didn't get Anders killed, of course. He'd be pretty sad if he sacrificed the healer for the sake of his brother's love life.

Fenris froze, and his eyes did not leave Anders's face. He seemed to fade in and out with every breath. 'Broke his heart'. That was... he supposed he'd known that. But, Artemis had-- "Stop talking, abomination, or I will end your miserable, whining existence."

"You know, I might let you," Anders replied, because he didn't need lyrium tattoos to get under someone's skin, "assuming you squeeze my soft bits some more, first. Speaking of soft bits, you know when you touch Artie's--"

Fenris's growl turned into a snarl, and then he was lunging at Anders from across the fire.

"Oh, shit!" Anton tried to intercept him. Isabela was gleefully taking notes.

Bethany raised a hand and Fenris dropped, screaming, hands clutching at his head. Anton rolled him off the fire, just a little too slow to get him before he dropped. He'd been aiming for the space between the fire and Anders.

"Shit." Anders was on his feet at once, crouching down next to Fenris. "Get the plate off him, before it gets worse. Or at least throw water on that."

Bethany tossed her waterskin to Anders, and he set about healing the burns.

Cormac sighed. "Bethy, really?"

"You can fix the elf. You can't fix the healer." She shrugged. "Tell me when it's safe to let him up, you guys?"

"Mages," Fenris spat, curling in on himself and still clutching his head. He whimpered as Anders knit healing magic through his skin.

"Yes, mages," Anders sighed. "This is why lunging at one is a bad idea. Especially around fire."

" _Especially_ around Bethy," Anton muttered. His sister gave him a look that said 'damn right'.

Somehow through the shaking and whimpering, Fenris still managed to throw them the finger.

"I think he's fine," Anders said.

Bethany let up and tossed a bottle of wine to Anders, who _didn't_ drop it. "For him. He's going to need it."

Fenris finally relaxed, still not moving, but a lot less tense. "You healed me," he grumbled at Anders's feet.

"That being what I do. I am the healer." Anders pried the wine open.

"I was going to kill you." Fenris slowly straightened his legs, looking like he expected spiders to run up them.

"That's never stopped me before." Anders laughed and offered the bottle.

"There is something very wrong with you." Fenris rolled onto his back and took the bottle.

"There is," Anders agreed cheerfully.

Fenris had no idea how the man was still alive. He took a long drink and stared up at the stars. All these mages were going to be the death of him.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some pleasantly amusing fucking around at home...

Anton squinted at his opponent over his hand. He had the last Song card up his sleeve, but the dog growled every time his finger twitched for it. "Oh, come on," he huffed. "You've won the last three hands! You could at least give me one."

Growl.

"I'm almost out of dog treats, here." The dog's winnings would be far more impressive if he didn't keep eating them. "Throw me a bone, will you?"

The dog gave him a flat look.

"Hello, Anton," said Leandra, drifting into the library. She paused to pet the dog, whose tail thumped hard against the carpet. "So tell me. When am I going to meet him?"

"Meet who, Mother?" Anton asked, rearranging his cards. The dog growled again, and Anton sighed, putting the Song back up his sleeve.

"The boy. The nice one who brought you the flowers."

"Mother!" Anton sighed. "What has Bethany been telling you?"

"Bethany's met him, and I haven't? Are you ashamed of your old mother? Is that it?" Leandra patted at her forehead. "At least tell me his name. Any young man who brings my son _embrium_ must be someone special."

"Ser Cullen. He's a Templar." Anton failed to rearrange his hand one more time, as the dog took offence.

"Ser Cullen?" Leandra thought for a moment, and then gasped. " _Knight-Captain_ Cullen Rutherford?"

"Yes?" Anton blinked up at his mother.

"That's my boy. Ah! Why couldn't you have been a daughter, too?"

Anton's eyebrow twitched up. "Ask the Maker. I think he was more involved in that decision than I was."

Leandra swatted his arm playfully. "You boys are so much like your father. I could never get a straight answer out of him either."

Anton locked eyes with the dog one more time, but the bastard was giving him nothing.

"Knight-Captain," Leandra sighed. Anton rolled his eyes, and the dog started to laugh. "Your very own knight in shining armour!"

Anton bit back the 'knight without his shining armour' comment on the tip of his tongue. "Careful, Mother. You're starting to swoon more than he is."

* * *

Cormac ran his fingers over the enormous scar in the middle of Anders's chest, again, completely fascinated. Ever since Anders had started taking his shirt off, Cormac had just been entranced by the scars. A hundred questions, of which Anders had answered maybe six.

But, Anders hissed and grabbed his wrist, this time. "Knock it off."

"Sorry. Does it still hurt?" Cormac moved his hand up to stroke Anders's shoulder, instead.

"Yes." Which wasn't entirely true, but it was close enough not to invite more questions. He could feel it all the way through his chest, and every time Cormac touched it, it was like there was still a sword in him, and not the fun kind.

"I don't care how it happened or why, _I'm_ glad you're alive," Cormac declared. "There would be this hole in the world, if you died, and if I'd never met you, it would have driven me mad that something was missing, and I'd never know what."

A phantom sword in his chest, and now a phantom sword in his gut, at those words. The breath Anders had been holding punched out of him in an awkward laugh. They didn't say those things. Not to each other. Cormac shouldn't even be _thinking_ \--

"That was sappy," Anders said. "You're starting to sound like your brother."

"Oh, shit. Does Artie say shit like that?" Cormac laughed against Anders's shoulder. "I meant the world would be a very different place without your _unreasonable flagpole_ to prop me up. I love your _giant dick_. Don't you dare die before me; I'll never be satisfied again."

Moving down the bed, Cormac buried his face against Anders's side, kissing and biting.

"So that's what you meant, about a hole that couldn't be filled," Anders replied. He still hated how nervous his laugh sounded. Best not to look at Cormac's face right now. "The Hawke ass is truly a magnificent thing." He reached down to squeeze the aforementioned part of Cormac's anatomy.

Best to keep it general. Hawke, not Cormac. As much as Anders _liked_ Artemis, he wasn't Cormac, but Anders wasn't about to admit that, least of all to himself.

"The Hawke ass is a legendary treasure of Rivain." Cormac kept on licking and kissing his way down, until his face was pressed against that unreasonable flagpole, and he nuzzled it affectionately. "It's only right that the possessor of what I can only assume is the legendary flagpole of the Anderfels should come into contact with the mighty ass of the Hawkes."

Cormac was really just flattering himself-- or so he told himself. Couldn't be that he actually thought Anders was made for him, no matter how often he joked about it. There was just something about the way they fit together -- Cormac had never had better, and he doubted he ever would. Didn't stop him from trying.

"Legendary," Anders agreed, grinning as he writhed under Cormac's touches. "Yes. Every Wintersend, my people carve sculptures of it out of the ice and dedicate them to Urthemiel. You, Cormac Hawke, are truly blessed. But what ancient god have _I_ appeased that I get to plunder such riches as yours?"

"Didn't you guys just _kill_ Urthemiel?" Cormac asked, burying his face between Anders's balls and his thigh. "Still, your vanity is both accurate and reassuring. You _are_ beautiful, and so is your gorgeous knob. I'm pretty sure we're the prize of Dirthamen. You do not know the might of the ass until it is revealed."

"Ah, I see," said Anders, parting his legs wider for Cormac's exploration. "Allow me to sing Dirthamen's praises then, later and at length." Though he suspected it would be Cormac singing praises before long. "As for Urthemiel, what better way to kill him than with the very flagpole consecrated by him? The Wardens chose wisely." Even if, technically, he'd been recruited afterwards. As Varric always said, a good storyteller embellishes.

"Mmm. Are you telling me--" Cormac licked a long stripe along the inside of the joint. "--you killed the archdemon with your dick? 'Cause I might believe you. But, what does that say about me? I take you at least twice a week, and you haven't killed me yet."

"Well, it means," Anders sighed, hooking a leg over Cormac's shoulder and all but purring at the attention, "that your ass is more deadly than an Archdemon. Clearly. There should be ballads written in its honour. Monuments erected." He considered his turn of phrase and smirked. "Aside from _this_ monument, that is."

"I do so enjoy raising your monument to my ass. One of these days, you're going to push it in, and we're just going to get stuck like that, and it's going to bring about the end of the world. Fire falling from the sky, Fade spirits rising from the earth, the whole thing." Cormac continued to worship that little corner of Anders's flesh with his tongue. "And they will sing ballads to appease our gods, until there is nothing left but for the Maker to start fresh, and create in our image. And he would, too, you know. We're pretty hot."

Anders chuckled breathlessly, looking down over his stomach to catch Cormac's eye. "Imagine that," he said. "A pair of apostates as a template for a new world. Gorgeous ones, granted, but..." The teasing smile turned wry and reflective, and he laid back, wondering if those thoughts had been his or Justice's, if there was even a difference, any more.

And that? That was why this couldn't be any more than it was.

"Shit damn it, Anders," Cormac swore, fondly. "I think I just _came_. You can't just _say_ shit like that."

Anders answered Cormac's fond tone with a fond smile, and he knew they were both in well over their heads.

  



	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, okay, I jumped an Act III quest into the space between Act I and Act II. It doesn't actually fuck up anything else in the timeline, so... *shrugs* We just needed to make Charade available for later mayhem. Also, ANDERS AND CULLEN HAVE A CIVILISED CONVERSATION! ... Almost. Ish. NOBODY GETS KILLED.
> 
> (Holy shiiiiiit. Thirty chapters, you guys!)

"So, mum, what if I told you you've got a niece?" Carver leaned on the table, flakes of mud and dried blood peeling off his armour.

"That's no way to tell her!" Bethany followed him in, sighing, looking just as clean as when she'd left the house, despite having traipsed across half of Darktown and crushed the life out of a few bandits. "Uncle Gamlen's got a daughter. Her name's Charade. And before you get on his case for not telling you, he didn't know, either. She seems like a nice enough girl."

"Nice enough? Nice enough to almost get us killed, you mean!" Carver complained.

"She wasn't trying to get us killed! It's not really her fault, she just picked a bad team to man the scavenger hunt." Bethany shook her head. "Honestly, Carver, you're just determined not to like her."

"She's Gamlen's get. What's to like?"

Leandra stared at the two of them, across her tea, unmoving. "Begin at the beginning. Gamlen has a daughter? How old is she? How did you meet her?"

"She set us up, that's how," Carver grumbled.

"She's about our age, mum. I guess her mum didn't tell Uncle Gamlen what was going on -- she just disappeared. Something about a jewel?"

"The Gem of Keroshek?" Leandra looked surprised. "He spent years looking for that thing. Ever since he heard about it as a teenager. I'm sure he thought he could pay his debts with it, later, but he just wanted it for the glamour, when we were young."

"Well, she found the stupid thing, and sent him a note," Carver explained, picking at a bloodstain. "And he didn't want anything to do with it. Thought it was a trap. Which it was. But, Beth, here, wouldn't let it go. So we went on this stupid scavenger hunt all across the worst of Kirkwall--"

"Oh, the Alienage wasn't so bad! We got to stop and have tea with Merrill." Bethany smiled. "I think she's sweet on you, Carver."

"What? Don't say stupid things." Carver flushed. "Anyway, some guys decided to kill us for the gem, because they thought we had it for some stupid reason. Why we would have it when they were supposed to give us the next clue to find it is beyond me."

"Obviously, they failed," Bethany pointed out. "They were expecting Gamlen, not us. I almost feel sorry for them."

"And finally after slogging through sewers and fish-guts, we find the damned girl, and she has the damned gem, and she tells us what's going on. Why couldn't she just go knock on his door, like a normal person?" Huffing, Carver ran a hand through his hair and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Have you met our family?" Bethany asked, amused. "Since when are any of us normal people?"

"Me, okay? Me. _I'm_ normal people," Carver insisted.

"Of course you are, dear," Leandra reassured him. "How do you know she's not...?"

"Please, mum, who would go to Uncle Gamlen, _now_?" Bethany pointed out, quite sensibly. "She'd have come to us, if it was about money or title. Besides, Uncle Gamlen says she looks just like her mother, and the Maker's grace for that."

"Bethy!"

"His words, mum." She shrugged.

"Her friends are all back-stabbing sewer-rats. I should know. They tried to stab me in the back," Carver complained. "Nothing good will come of her, and keep her away from Anton, or Aveline will have our heads!"

"Oh, come on, Carver, I think Anton's got enough in him to escape notice! He's kept up this long!" Bethany winked over Carver's shoulder, and Anton swaggered into the room.

"Someone taking my name in vain, again?" he asked, kissing Leandra on the cheek, as he leaned over to steal a tea cake.

"Vain's the only way to take your name, Anton, and your vanity will be the death of all of us." Bethany grinned.

"Bethany! Don't speak to your brother like that!" Leandra scolded, before noticing she'd been relieved of a cake and Anton was suspiciously quiet. She squinted suspiciously at Anton, whose cheeks bulged around his determinedly innocent smile. "I take it back. Speak to your brother however you like."

Leandra pinched Anton just above the hip and he bent to the side, choking and laughing, cake crumbs falling from his mouth. She did it again, and he cursed her.

"Shit! Mum! Ow!" Anton laughed, spraying cake crumbs across the carpet.

"When you're done making Artie cry, I should tell you about your cousin. Our cousin." Bethany smiled in that way Anton had learnt to fear.

"What's the price?" he asked, stumbling away from their mother.

"Lunch at that Nevarran place."

Leandra opened her mouth, but Anton cut her off. "Yes, mum, the orange pastries you like. I promise."

"You see that?" she said to Carver. "At least one of you boys knows what's going on."

Carver rubbed his face, irritatedly, and then headed back toward the door. "You're all crazed. I'm going to go play cards with Donnic. If I'm not home tonight, assume I drank myself into a stupor and it's your fault."

"Poor bastard," Anton said, holding his arm out to Bethany, "you'd think he'd have got the hang of us by now."

"Not really. He's my twin, remember? All the best got saved for last." Bethany wrapped her arm through Anton's and led him in the direction of the door. "How are things with you and Cullen? Tell me _everything_!"

* * *

Cullen had sent the letter off weeks ago. A nice missive to the Warden-Commander in Amaranthine, inquiring about the presumed apostate, Anders. He'd still been seeing Anton, since, but things had been a little strained. He wasn't sure how to handle the idea of dating a man who consorted with an apostate. Of course, if a positive response came back, then he could push his reservations aside. 

Anders wouldn't be the first mage from Kinloch Hold to become a Warden. After that nonsense with the blood mage and the sister, that Amell girl he'd liked had been taken away by the Wardens. And Anders had disappeared around the same time, so maybe that was it. Maybe the Wardens had taken him, too, just to rid the tower of responsibility for him. After all, a Warden was just as likely to be killed in battle, and that battle at Ostagar was still ahead. They'd sent so many mages down, but the only one who came back, he thought, had been Enchanter Wynne. Anders had been Wynne's student, hadn't he? He thought that was right. So much had happened so fast, right in there, though, and so little of it good.

Cullen was so deep in thought he almost walked into the squire jogging his way. "A letter arrived for you, Captain," she said, cheeks red from the wind and exertion. It bore the seal of Amaranthine. Cullen swallowed and nodded, taking the letter from her.

"Thank you," he said. "You may go about your duties."

The squire saluted and jogged back the way she had come. Cullen tapped the letter against his palm nervously before opening it. He was making his armour rattle again.

There was something familiar about the handwriting, he decided. The forward slant. The small letters. It was writing used to being crammed into margins of books or small notes passed in the hallway. It was... it was _Solona Amell's_ handwriting, he realised, skimming to the signature, seeing her name written boldly, proudly, after the title Warden-Commander.

Warden-Commander Solona Amell, the Hero of Ferelden. He'd... spent too much time at Greenfell. They made sure he hadn't gotten much news, with the state he'd been in, but somehow, he'd just assumed she hadn't lived. That was how the stories went, weren't they?

But, here she was, Arlessa of Amaranthine, writing him a letter that -- Oh. She'd thought he'd killed himself, when they wouldn't tell her what happened to him. Poor girl. Had she really cared? And now she was married to an elf and looking after the Wardens. Good for her. They'd never have worked out -- a Templar and a mage, and from the same circle -- someone would have put a stop to that, eventually. And look, someone had.

And yes, she knew Anders -- she'd worked with him for a few months, in Amaranthine, before sending him to Kirkwall, which she'd heard was badly short of Wardens, to hold back the tide and protect the refugees. He was, in fact, a Warden, and in Kirkwall on Warden business. Well. Not an apostate after all. Cullen would have to apologise for his assumptions.

And what a relief that was. He had enough nightmares from Kinloch Hold. He didn't need to be digging up past ghosts, and he didn't need anything to come between him and Anton. Anton, who'd be relieved to hear the news. Anton who... had the same dark hair and roguish smile as his cousin, now that Cullen stopped to think about it.

"Huh." Turned out he had a type.

Cullen passed Emeric on the way to his chambers, planning to get changed and head over to the Amell -- Hawke -- Estate. "Greetings, Captain," said the older Templar. He was looking a bit worn, cheeks thin and eyes determined, but he conjured a smile for Cullen. "Going to see your lady friend?"

"I... er... yes. Lady friend." Bethany counted as a friend, didn't she? "You're not looking well. Is there trouble? Do you need some time off?"

"I keep looking at these murders. I'm sure they're all the same killer, but the guards don't see it that way, and I'm just one man," Emeric sighed. "Would you take a look for me, Captain? Maybe if you find the same thing, they'll listen to you."

"Show me what you've got, and I'll take it to the Commander for you. If there's someone on a murder spree in this town, we'll get it sorted out. It's not really our job, but if people are getting killed, we can definitely get the guard involved." Cullen shrugged. "Leave what you've got on my desk, and I'll take a look, when I get back. And take tomorrow for yourself. You can't do anyone much good if you're stumbling around half-alive."

Emeric nodded, and Cullen couldn't tell if the smile he gave him was grateful or resigned. A death in Kirkwall was hardly a shock, though a handful raised some eyebrows. Either way, he owed it to the man to check it out.

First, however, came Anton and the -- and _Anders_. Once out of his plate, Cullen marched to the Hawke Estate and knocked on the door. He remembered the first and second time he'd knocked on that door, first to the party, second with an orchid balanced on one arm. How nervous he had been that second time. How much had changed since the first.

Bodhan answered, as always. "Ah, good afternoon, Knight-Captain! Do come in! I shall fetch Messere Anton right away."

Leandra bustled into the front hall. "Did you say 'Knight-Captain'? Is that my son's beau? Oh! What a handsome young man! How dashing!"

Cullen blushed profusely. Anton's mother. Maker. He'd never been introduced. "Lady Amell?" he assumed, bowing.

"And so _polite_!" Leandra smiled brightly. "Come in, Knight-Captain! Have a cup of tea with me, while we wait for Anton. Tell me, how did you meet my son? What brought you two together?"

Cullen hadn't been aware he could turn any redder than he was, but he was relatively sure his face was going to combust. "I-I, er... that is..."

"The party, Mother." Cullen sagged in relief when Anton came to his rescue, sauntering in to put a hand on his shoulder. "He came on behalf of the Order." He offered Cullen his most pleasant smile, and somehow that just made Cullen blush harder. "He looked so dashing in his Templar armour."

If Leandra looked any more gleeful, she would start to vibrate.

Cullen cleared his throat. "I, er. Anton." Words. In the correct order. He should be familiar with the concept by now. "The letter... the letter has arrived. From the Warden-Commander."

"And what has the Warden-Commander of Amaranthine got to tell us, hm?" Anton's hand slid down, arm wrapping around Cullen's waist.

"I, that is, I mean to say-- I'm sorry."

For a moment, Anton couldn't tell if that was good news or bad news. "Sorry?"

"For calling your friend a maleficar." Cullen rubbed his forehead and looked at the floor.

"A maleficar!? Here?" Leandra looked like she might faint, and Anton just gave her the driest look in his facial vocabulary. Because she had room to talk.

"No, mum, he got upset about Anders. Our Grey Warden friend." He left out any mention of Cormac, if only because making this more complicated was quite possibly the worst possible idea. 

"Oh," breathed Leandra, brow knitting. " _Oh_. Oh dear."

"It's... it's fine, Lady Amell," Cullen insisted, fidgeting with the letter in his hand. He'd already given himself a papercut doing that. "I-I just misunderstood the situation."

Anton plucked the letter from Cullen's fingers and read it himself, eyebrows raising. "She certainly vouches for him," he said, cutting a look to Cullen. "Did you know her? My cousin?"

Blushing. Cullen swore he was always blushing when he was in this room. Or this house. Or... anywhere around Anton. "Er. That is..."

"It sounds here like you did," Anton said with a mischievous smile.

"I, er, we..." Cullen coughed and tried again. "I was at her Harrowing. When she, er, became a proper mage. It was, you know, kind of a big thing."

"Not a coat-closet affair, then?" Anton teased. "Anders tells me a lot of that went on at Kinloch Hold."

Cullen looked like he might melt through the floor. "What? No. I-- that is -- no, nothing like that. She was a mage. That-- no. That would never--..."

Leandra swatted Anton on the shoulder. "Anton! Don't embarrass the man!"

"Why would I not? It's adorable!" Anton laughed.

Cullen tried to hide the worst of his blush behind his hand. Maker. He was not having this discussion in front of Anton's _mother_. "Anton, do you think we could, er -- is Anders around, do you think?"

Anton gave Cullen a speculative look. He wasn't sure it was a good idea for a Templar to be around Anders, even just to apologize, but... "Mum, have you felt the house shake at all in the last few hours?"

Leandra gave him a puzzled look. "I don't believe so. Why?"

"No reason." That was one brother likely not naked in the basement. As for the other... "Have you seen Cormac?"

"He's in the library, I think. He's been reading an awful lot of terrible Orlesian novels about Nevarra. Should I be concerned?" Leandra raised an eyebrow.

"He's just practising to give Bethy a hard time. Don't worry about it. You know how she gets about _actual_ Nevarran history." Anton shrugged. "Cormac usually knows where Anders is. Let's go disrupt his sleeping under books."

"And tell him to get his feet off the table," Leandra threw in. "A pleasure to meet you, Ser Cullen. You'll have to join us for dinner, one night."

Maker. The thought of all these Hawkes under one roof, surrounding one table... "I-I would be delighted, Lady Amell," he said. And terrified, but she didn't need to know that.

" _Cormac_!" Anton shouted from the library doorway, poking his head inside. "Wake up!" Leandra tutted at the lack of manners and offered Cullen an apologetic smile before taking her leave.

"Fwhat!?" Cormac sat up and dumped the book in his lap, blinking owlishly. "Oh. You. What?"

"Go find Anders. Cullen wants to apologise." Anton leaned in the doorway in such a way as to display Cullen, behind him.

"I-- er -- what I mean to say is... thank you." Cullen rubbed at his face and stepped back behind Anton. "I remember what you said, the other night, and thank you. And, I'm sorry I called your friend a maleficar."

"So am I. He's still pretty bent out of shape about that, you know. And I imagine you _know_ why." Cormac stood, giving Cullen a hard look. "I'll go get him. I might give him one free swing, if he decides to punch you, though. Just the one."

" _Punch_?" Cullen sputtered. Oh dammit. Maybe he should have stayed in the plate mail. 

"Just one," Anton reassured him, patting his arm. "Though I have to warn you, he has a surprisingly good right hook for a mage. Keep an eye out for that."

Cullen gave Anton a resigned look, but the man chuckled and kissed his cheek. He didn't think he deserved to be _punched_. He was merely doing his duty.

Minutes passed, and then some more minutes, and finally, Cormac returned leading an extremely reluctant Anders, who was still complaining, when they stepped into the library.

"Fine, great, he's made a mistake and Solona straightened him out. What the fuck else does that have to do with me?" Anders looked terrified, when he laid eyes on Cullen, a dreadful spackle-white shade.

"Be kind, sweet thing. He's just trying to apologise for being a horse's ass." Cormac's arm was wrapped around Anders's waist, and it looked like he might be in some way either supporting or restraining the taller man.

"Might as well apologise for being a _Templar_ ," Anders spat.

"He wakes up screaming, just like you," Cormac pointed out.

"I don't scream," Anders protested.

"Which is even more terrifying."

Cullen cleared his throat. He didn't quite know what to do with his hands in this situation either. "Er, hello, Anders."

"Hello, ser." 

Cullen didn't know two words could hold such contempt. But at least Anton's hand was still on his arm, his thumb tracing soothing circles. "I wanted to apologise for, as Cormac put it, 'being a horse's ass'." He gave the Hawke brother in question a bland look. "I'm... I'm sorry for calling you a maleficar. It's... just what I learned in the Circle."

Anders stared him down stonily, and Cullen could have sworn he saw blue flash across his eyes.

"Er, I'm... that is, I'll make sure the other Templars leave you alone in the future as well. So you can focus on your... Warden duties. Whatever they are."

"Funny, the last time someone told me that, I got stabbed in the chest." Anders tried so hard to ignore the rush he felt listening to this Templar stutter. "How did you even end up here? You were _new_. You were nearly no-one, the last time I saw you, and here we are not three years later, and you're suddenly the Knight-Captain of Kirkwall. I'd never accuse the Order of making sense, but that's a step out even for you guys."

"I, er, I have a bad feeling they wanted someone who would sit down and shut up. I, well... I always trusted, you know?" Cullen laughed and looked at anything that wasn't Anders. "I guess they forgot they picked the guy who survived the demons."

And that shut Anders up for a minute.

Anton looked back and forth between the two men. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife, but no one had been punched and there had been a minimum amount of glowing. He was impressed.

"Anyway. There you have it," said Cullen. "I misjudged you, and I apologise." He wondered if Anders would have done the same but was far too polite to say so. "So... I might as well take my leave. Anton, m-may I call on you tonight?"

"You may call on me right here on this desk, if you like."

Cullen coughed and smirked through another blush. "I'll take that as a yes."

"Whatever you do on the desk, don't get it on Bethany's notes. She'll come after me, first!" Cormac protested.

Anders had one more thing to say. "Ser Cullen, I--" This was utterly insane, and he knew it, thank you Justice, but he was sure it was the right thing to do. "I would hear about the demons. Another time. I passed my Harrowing. I survived them, too."

Cullen held out his hand. "Another time, Warden."

  



	31. PART VIII: LEARNING TO SHARE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First, Anders gets very unlucky. Then Anders gets very lucky.

Anders had no idea how he got roped into this. Despite being in the Hanged Man, he couldn't blame it on the alcohol (thanks, Justice), but maybe blood magic. Yes. Blood magic. That would make sense with Merrill around.

"Try not to blink, Anders," she was saying as she swept a stick of kohl along his lower lashline. She pulled her hand back. "Like that. See, you're blinking."

"Most of us do that from time to time," Anders said, eyes watering where she'd accidentally poked him.

Isabela clucked and took the stick from Merrill. "Let me try," she said, bending over him. Having that kind of cleavage to stare at made it easier to not blink. "There we go. Oh, this is looking lovely. What do you think? Should we go for a nice smoky look?"

"Oh, I don't know. Don't you think that might be a little heavy?" Merrill leaned back for a better look. "Maybe if he shaved, but won't it make his face look too thick?"

"I was thinking the thin lines didn't give quite enough oomph." Isabela tapped the wrapped end of the stick against her lip. "I can't tell. Aveline, what do you think? Fine or smoky?"

Aveline sat across the table determinedly studying her pint. "I think you should leave me out of this. He looks like a whore."

"Considering how often I get offers, I don't think that's got anything to do with them poking me in the eye," Anders retorted.

"And everything to do with them wanting to poke you somewhere else," Isabela quipped. She studied her handiwork, taking Anders by the chin and tilting his head back and forth in the light. "Alright. We'll keep it light for now, but we can always dress it up later. But what do you think about a bit of rouge?"

Merrill hummed speculatively, but Anders was shaking his head in Isabela's hand. "No," he said. "I think I draw the line, there."

"Well, if you could actually _draw_ a line, you could have applied your own make-up," Merrill replied.

"Fair point."

"What do you think we should do with his hair?" Merrill asked Isabela, who hummed and ran her fingers through his blond locks.

"What's wrong with my hair?"

"The dork-knob has to go," Isabela decided.

"The _what_? You never say that to Varric! I wear my hair exactly the way he does!" Anders started to work himself into a right state.

"That is because Varric is a dwarf. You, serah, are anything but. It puts a whole other angle on it, and darling, it is not flattering." Isabela sat on the edge of the table and crossed her legs, tapping her chin thoughtfully.

"Hot-crimp?" Merrill suggested. "I bet we could borrow a press from Edwina. She looks like she uses one."

"A hot what?" Anders asked, voice a bit squeaky. "Now you're just making up words. Or is that something else you plan to poke me in the eye with?"

"Ooh! I'll go ask her!" Isabela said as though Anders hadn't opened his mouth. She scampered off to find Edwina, her grin far too gleeful for anyone's comfort.

Anders gave Aveline a plaintive look. "Don't look at me," she said. "You're on your own."

Merrill patted Anders on the cheek. "You look so sweet. You'll see."

"I'm amazingly good looking to begin with! I hardly see why any of this is necessary!" Anders was starting to look a bit whiffy.

"You should stop playing card games you can't win," Aveline pointed out. "That's why this is necessary. You did this to yourself. And? I'm not involved, so you still owe me six silver."

"I -- _what_?" Anders's blood ran cold as Isabela came back with a wavy metal thing in two parts.

Merrill jumped up and headed for the bar. "I'll get the water. You'll singe the ends, otherwise!"

After a few minutes and much panicked yowling, by the fire, Anders had wavy hair that was parted a little to the side. It hung down into his face, a bit, and he blew irritatedly at it. And that was when Cormac and Anton walked in.

"I still say you cheated," Cormac insisted, handing his brother a sovereign.

"Of course I did. And when you can tell me how, I'll consider giving this back." Anton looked entirely unrepentant. He clinked his tankard with Cormac's and took a drink...

...only to spit it out when he saw Anders.

Anders crossed his arms and glared at him through crimped hair. "Shut up," he said. "I look pretty."

"Yes, you do!" Merrill agreed, still fussing with his hair. He swatted her hands away and tried to get his hair out of his eyes.

Anton was still struggling to remember how to breathe. "Sweet Maker," he choked, eyes tearing. "I don't know what Corff put in this drink, but I'm getting another after this!"

"Is Varric doing puppet shows again?" Cormac asked, before he looked where Anton was looking and... "By the profound and mercifully squishy tits of Our Lady... _Anders_? What-- I just... How? Merrill, what did you _do_ to him? And _why_?"

"He's owed me eight silver for three weeks. He should stop losing at Wicked Grace." Merrill's fingers darted back to Anders's hair, and she finished weaving a plait along the side of the part, keeping the hair from falling quite so obnoxiously forward. Instead, it fell just to the side of Anders's eye.

Cormac looked like his brain might leak out his ear. It should have been ridiculous, this unshaven apostate in crimped hair and kohl, but... the world was lucky they were both men, Cormac decided, or the next generation of Hawkes would be even deadlier than the sons of his father. And where the fuck had that thought come from? Vanity. Strictly vanity.

"Merrill insists a smoky eye would have been too much," Isabela was nattering on. "He does have such pretty eyes, though."

"Oh, I disagree," said Anton, crouching in front of Anders to get a better look, wearing a devilish grin that made Anders nervous. "I think you should go all out. Smoky eye, lipstick. The whole thing!"

Isabela clucked her tongue. "Now, Anton, everyone knows that you only play up one feature at a time. Eyes _or_ lips, not both. Unless you want to look like a whore."

"He already looks like a whore," Aveline said into her drink. "And so do you."

"Thank you, everyone, for the input," Anders sighed. He reached up to rub his eyes, but Merrill smacked his hand away. He looked up to see Cormac still staring at him with that odd look on his face. "And you look like you just got kicked in the head. It's that bad, isn't it."

"Bad? What?" Cormac blinked. "I didn't say that!"

"You didn't have to." Anders stood up, nearly bowling Merrill and Anton over. "And now, since you won't let me wipe it off, here, I'm going to walk through Darktown like this, so I can go wash my face. Thank you, my debt is paid."

"Why don't you walk home with me, instead?" Cormac offered, guzzling his drink and leaving the tankard on the table.

"I really don't want to hear it from you, either," Anders grumbled.

"I'm sure I can find something you want to hear." Whatever that was on Cormac's face, it wasn't disgust.

Anton squinted at his brother. "Really?" he said. "The frizzy-haired raccoon look does it for you?"

"I do not look like a raccoon!" Anders sputtered. It was a hollow protest, since he didn't know _what_ he looked like, exactly. He glanced about for a looking-glass. "I don't. Do I?"

"A sexy raccoon," Isabela said with an unreassuring eyebrow waggle.

"A whorish raccoon," Aveline muttered.

Merrill pressed a hand-mirror into Anders's hand.

"Yes," Anton said dryly, "the next time I see a raccoon flashing some leg on a street corner, I will think of Anders."

"Maker," Anders groaned, looking at his reflection.

"If raccoons looked like you, I'd have some much bigger problems than I already do," Cormac reassured him. "Besides, you're much too tall, you don't have a fluffy tail, and I have never known a raccoon to be ... beloved of Urthemiel."

It had become something of an ongoing joke, between them.

"I would hope you haven't, or I would have some serious questions about you, Cormac." Anders rose up on the next inhale, spine straightening, shoulders lifting. He raised one eyebrow and peered down at Cormac, as he handed the mirror back to Merrill.

"Oh, _nice_ ," Isabela breathed, taking in the shift. " _Yeah_! Shave and you'll be giving Serendipity lessons! We dress you up a little more and we can tell people you're the Empress of Orlais!"

"I haven't been checking out raccoons," Cormac muttered. "Which was my entire point. I'm not into raccoons. I'm into you. Therefore..."

"Therefore, get me out of here so I can take off this ridiculous make-up," Anders said.

With the way Cormac was looking at him, he suspected make-up wasn't the only thing he'd be taking off. Well. Wasn't _that_ interesting.

"Still playing Wicked Grace?" asked Anton as he pulled up a chair. He put his feet on the table and wondered if, somewhere, Artemis was twitching. "Deal me in! I've been practising." His grin was the dangerous kind.

"With the dog?" Isabela asked, eyebrow quirking. "Again?"

* * *

"So, six days in, and I'm sure it was six, because I remember the clank of the flags going up, every morning -- six days in, I'm sick of it. I told him if he didn't shut up, we were going to get caught, but Howe had the memory of a geriatric nug, after about the seventh drink. I'd call him the bastard son of a bastard son, if I didn't know the man who killed his father." Anders settled his head more closely against Cormac's shoulder and flexed his thigh against Artemis's lap. They'd been drinking for hours, and with every story Anders told, he sprawled a little further across the two brothers at opposite ends of his new couch. The couch, of course, being how this all started. The brothers had moved the ornate green couch into the cellar with a combination of well-placed shields, repulsion fields, and force pushes, finally settling it on the wall between the two doors to Anders's bedroom, which is where he'd found them on it, already halfway through the first bottle of wine.

"But, I showed up to breakfast wearing nothing but a flag tied to my knob, and demanded to know if they were quite through."

Cormac laughed so hard Anders's face slid down his chest. "Only you, Anders. Only you..."

"I don't know. In that crowd, I'm not sure it was that unusual of a decision." Anders shifted, putting his ass in Artemis's lap and his head in Cormac's. He bit Cormac's thigh, before he went on. "So, there's the Commander, laughing hysterically into her porridge, and her pet assassin and the Dead Legion girl just look at each other, stand up, and salute."

Cormac couldn't breathe, he was laughing so hard. It took three tries to choke out, "But, did it look good on you?"

Artemis's face was red with suppressed laughter, his shoulders shaking.

"Oh Cormac. You know everything looks good on me."

"Not as good as everything looks off you," Artemis slurred. He hiccuped and covered his mouth. "Did I just say that out loud?"

"Yes, you did," Anders said, patting Artemis's hand, the one holding the neck of a half-empty bottle. "But you're not wrong." Artemis grinned at him and patted one of the thighs in his lap.

"And that's why it's the flagpole, and yes, I've run a flag up it," Anders concluded, rubbing the back of his head against Cormac. He looked thoughtfully up at both brothers. "Two Hawkes and a brand new couch. I'm feeling lucky, here."

"Feeling anything about getting lucky?" Cormac asked, setting the bottle he'd been holding next to the couch, before he could manage to drop it on anything important. Like Anders.

Anders squirmed in Artemis's lap. "Oh, I might be. Maybe. Might be feeling something about getting lucky poking me in the cheek, or the other cheek."

"Hey," Artemis whined. "S'my turn with the flagpole." He threw an arm across Anders's hips as though to guard said flagpole from his brother. Anders smirked and wriggled some more, making the younger brother squeak. Two Hawkes laying claim to his body? He'd have to get more couches, if this is how it ended.

"Now, now," Anders said, "didn't you ever learn to share with your brother?"

He was travelling uncharted territory there, he knew from the look on Artemis's face. They may have stumbled dangerously close to that territory, maybe dipped a toe or an ankle into it, but.

Artemis made an indecipherable noise into his bottle, cheeks and ears flushing red.

"Hey, if Artie's into it, I'm game." Cormac shrugged. He knew they could put Anders to good use, between the two of them. Shit, each of them had already put Anders to some fantastic uses, alone, and there was no doubt in his mind that two Hawkes were better than one. And two _mage_ Hawkes? Good thing Anders had a talent for healing and that Warden stamina.

Anders licked his lips and smiled coyly at Artemis. "If you get your turn with the flagpole, will you share the rest of me with Cormac?"

He wasn't sure how this would go -- if Artie was drunk enough, if maybe he should be _less_ drunk for something like this, but this was an opportunity Anders would kick himself if he didn't at least _try_ for. Strongly encourage in favour of. He might even consider getting down on his knees and pleading for it, but he'd save that stunt for plan B.

Without removing his lips from the bottle at hand, Artemis eyed the man half in his lap. Anders noted the look and arched and wriggled invitingly in a way that was certainly cheating. Getting him drunk was cheating. Telling him funny stories about the flagpole was cheating.

Anders waited for Artemis to stutter an excuse and leave, but Artie made a noise that wasn't a no before he set his bottle down too. His other hand was still on Anders's thigh and kneading. Well, that was promising.

"It would take a bit more persuading than that," Artemis said, drunk enough for his smile to be just this side of wicked.

Cormac watched this unfold, wishing there was someone he could bet on the results with. Almost a pity Anton wasn't here, if only for the fifty silver he had no doubt he could take off his brother, finally. He was smarter than to say anything, at this point, unless Anders addressed him. Which he didn't.

Instead, Anders rolled off the couch and landed on his knees at Artemis's feet. Nudging those feet apart, he positioned himself between them and rubbed his face against Artemis's thigh. "Please, Artie? Oh, please, won't you share me with Cormac? I promise I'll be good." He leaned forward and pressed his lips to a particular bulge of increasing size. "I'll do whatever you want, Artie. Anything. Just let me have you both."

He was a little too good at that, and for reasons he'd probably never admit. Still, he managed to cram the few tendrils of memory back into the black heaps of shit he tried not to remember, and made desperate little sounds against Artemis's lap.

Those sounds went straight to the tail of Artemis's spine. He reflected that, in the state he was in, it was either this or making some more lonely earthquakes upstairs. And he'd be lying if he hadn't thought about it, not with the way Cormac talked, and it wouldn't be all that different from the night of the party, would it? Yes. Justification was the word of the night, a word that had too many syllables for his drunk and aroused brain to handle.

Artemis tucked a lock of blond hair behind Anders's ear, the touch and his smile affectionate even as his hips nudged forward.

"Hard to say no to that," he murmured, and Anders grinned against him.

"Then don't."

Artemis nodded desperately, breathlessly.

  



	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slightly awkward, but totally hot. Two Hawkes and Anders, making with the naked fun.

Cormac reflected that this would be amazing, and then, when it was over -- or possibly before that if his mother actually did have a stupid child -- Carver would punch him in the face. It would be worth it. He'd even let the kid finish the shot, and then use the black eye as an excuse to tell Varric everything.

Anders stood, shrugging off his shirt as he moved, and peeling the rest of his clothes off immediately after. It wasn't a strip-tease; it was just efficient. Standing naked before two Hawke brothers, he untied his hair and lowered his eyes to the cushion between them. "What if..." he started, voice barely above a whisper. "What if Cormac stretches out against the arm of the couch, and I turn my back to him, and then Artemis comes and sits in my lap? Do you think your hips will take it, Cormac?"

"You're a healer," was Cormac's reflexive response. "Who cares? If I'm wrong, it'll only be horrible for a minute. And I really doubt the two of you are going to break my hips. You're still older than me, Anders. Maybe it's your hips I should worry about."

"Oh, we're down to the old man jokes, are we?" The submissive posture was gone as if it had never been, with nothing more than a slight shift of the shoulders and the eyes. "You're not that much younger."

Cormac laughed and reached down to unlace his boots. "I'm for it. Do we have any objections?"

Any objections would likely come tomorrow in the form of sober Artemis, but right now Artemis was drunk and his drunk self loved to screw over his sober self. He sifted through a few nonsense noises before landing on ones that made sense. "Sure. That's... sure." Best to let Anders and Cormac direct this, he thought. Thinking and staring at a naked Anders weren't things he could do at the same time.

Anders smiled and tugged at Artemis's shirt, reminding him that both Hawkes were wearing far too much clothing. He pulled the tunic over Artemis's head, bent to nip his throat. Artemis needed a gentler touch, he found, while Cormac always seemed to know what he wanted without being asked. They were so very different, these two, and for once Anders found himself thanking the Maker for Warden stamina.

While Artemis fumbled with the ties to his pants, Anders turned to Cormac, who was pantsless and peeling off his shirt, already. "You just keep getting quicker, every time. One of these nights, I'm going to blink, and you'll be naked."

"Hey, I'm trying to learn to keep up with the best." Cormac grinned and sat his bare ass down on that brand new couch. "Oooh. We picked a nice one. I'm suddenly loving this fabric even more. Good choice, Artie. Excellent forethought."

Anders laughed and waited until Cormac had mostly gotten settled, knees still bent until Artemis got up. There was just enough room, and Anders occupied that space, settling onto Cormac's lap, leaning back against that warm, coarsely-fuzzy chest. He bit the angle of Cormac's jaw. "Hey, sexy. You miss me?"

"Mmm, nope. Every time I think I might, you're already there." Wrapping his hand around Anders's, Cormac took the handful of grease he knew would be there, and reached down as Anders lifted his hips to give him the room. "You want to play, or do you want me to skip to it?"

"Let's not leave your brother waiting."

Said brother took a bit to fumble out of his pants, thanks to the distracting tableau on the couch. Pale and dark limbs sprawled and tangled, a delicious contrast to green fabric, and oh, he hoped that fabric was stain-resistant.

Once free from his pantsy burden, Artemis climbed back onto the couch, kneeling between Anders's spread legs and, yep, that was his brother's hand. And his brother's legs. And his brother's -- okay, best to stop with that. He was blushing again, the red spilling down his cheeks onto his chest, but his hands were steady on Anders's legs, one hand tracing the curve of that puckered scar at his hip and making Anders suck in a breath.

"You are beautiful," Artemis murmured, bending to kiss the pale stomach in front of him.

"Yes, I am," Anders purred, slowly pushing himself down onto Cormac. "And so are both of you. It's a good thing no one's looking. I think the sight of all this glowing beauty would burn their eyes out, but what a final sight to have."

Cormac laughed against Anders's back. The more nervous Anders got, in bed, the more vain he got. And not just pleased with his looks, but outright ridiculous. So Cormac rubbed a soothing hand over one of the less-scarred patches of Anders's chest. "Still good?"

"Cormac, if you don't get the rest of your dick into me this instant, I'm going to tell your brother to go get the dildo," Anders snapped, and Cormac's other hand finally moved out of the way. Anders's head fell back. "Yes," he sighed. "That. Thank you."

They rearranged themselves until Cormac could see around Anders's shoulder and all of the legs were under Artemis. Anders ran a finger down from Artemis's collar bone to the point of his hip. "Still want me?" he asked, calling up another handful of grease.

"I hope that question's rhetorical," Artemis said, gesturing at his very interested knob. His laugh was the nervous kind, but he wasn't moving away. He took Anders's hand and slid it between them, and Anders took the hint and started pressing those long fingers into him. They both knew this dance well by now, and Anders knew just where to press to make Artemis squirm.

Artemis breathed a curse and rested his cheek on Anders's shoulder, catching Cormac's eye for half a second before looking away and pressing his face to the bend of Anders's neck. Regrets. He was going to have them in the morning, but right now they were suspiciously absent.

Anders took a bit longer in preparing him, still always this side of careful with Artemis, until the man in his lap was swearing again. "Stop teasing," he growled, "or we'll start up with the old man jokes again."

A jolt of electricity crackled across Anders's fingertips and Artemis's teeth clacked shut. "This old man can still outdo any young thing at the Rose," Anders pointed out, but took the hint, sliding his fingers out of Artemis and calling up a bit more grease to apply to himself.

Cormac slowed, grinding instead of thrusting. He'd done things like this enough to know he needed to be still, for now. His fingers still wandered Anders's body, tracing lines of muscle and the edges of scars.

"Take it," Anders invited, supporting his knob with one hand, and Cormac's eyes lingered there.

Anders didn't have to tell him twice. Steadying himself on Anders's shoulders, Artemis rose up and sank down on that much-celebrated flagpole. Anders held him steady, hands under his rump, fingers squeezing in a way he knew Artemis liked.

Artemis was still so tight around him, and Anders sucked in a breath, feeling surrounded and overwhelmed in the best possible way. He shifted his grip on Artemis and reached behind him to squeeze Cormac's hip, reassuring himself that this was real, that demons hadn't stolen him away from Justice in his sleep.

Artemis panted against Anders's throat, face pinched, and started to move, finding a grinding rhythm in counterpoint to his brother's. This? This was the best way to break in a new couch.

Cormac held his pace, waiting for his brother to settle. And wasn't that a strange thought? The first time he'd actually shared -- well, no, there was that time in the cellar, but the point still held -- the first time he'd shared Anders, and it was with his brother. His brother was curled naked on top of him, with only Anders between them. Admittedly, there was kind of a lot of Anders.

And then Anders bucked, and Cormac stopped thinking. Anders's hips twisted back against Cormac and then twitched up, bouncing Artemis slightly. Breathing a little heavier than usual, Anders stroked an apologetic hand down Artemis's thigh, and tried to keep any further thrusts gentle and to the height of a flexed ass cheek.

"Oh, fuck, Anders..." Cormac started, still just above a whisper, but close enough to where Artemis had laid his head to be audible. "I can feel you. I can feel both of you. I roll my hips, and I'm fucking my brother with your knob, which I really shouldn't be, because it's your knob, and that thing's weapons-grade, and --" The rest of it trailed of into deeply pleased sounds as Anders flexed just the right muscles.

Artemis made a choked sound at Cormac's words, his knob twitching against Anders's stomach. He should be scandalized -- and a part of him was -- but apparently his knob didn't get the memo. He braced himself with a hand on the back of the couch, his other arm around Anders's neck, and he swivelled his hips until Anders hit that perfect angle.

"Oh, _fuck_ ," he choked, and now Anders was getting that word from both sides. "More," Artemis growled. "I can take it."

He would likely need healing after this, but that was another regret sober him could deal with in the morning.

Anders smoothed a bit of healing into Artemis's back, as he got out of his own way and painfully slowly pushed until Artemis's sharp ass was digging into him. He knew how much healing would be too much -- how much would just piss Artie off. It was a bit more than how much would piss Cormac off, actually. And there. The three of them were slotted together, at last. He rolled his hips and sighed softly. Two Hawkes at once -- he must have done something right.

Pressing down into the cushions, Cormac decided it was time to see how bouncy the couch was. If he was reading that right, he shouldn't be able to hurt Artie with an ill-timed thrust, with how close they all were. He slammed his hips back and let the couch return him to Anders. Those were good springs, he decided, and kept doing more of the same.

Each thrust rocked Anders up into Artemis, hard enough to knock short, panting breaths from his lungs. The hand gripping Anders was going to leave a bruise in the shape of four fingers and a thumb, but Anders would consider it another battle-scar.

"Maker," Artemis groaned. He finally let go of Anders and reached down to grab a firm buttock, pulling it closer at the end of each thrust.

Anders raised an eyebrow. "In the interest of all of us being able to face ourselves in the morning," he said, "I feel I should tell you that's not the ass you meant to grab."

"Oh, fucking fuck yes," Cormac moaned. "I don't care whose hand that is. I have my entire knob buried in the most incredible mage in all of Thedas, and that is the important thing."

He reached up and wrapped his arms around both of them, as best he could, pulling Artemis even closer against Anders, and squeezing Anders almost breathless for a second. "And the second most important thing is that my brother and I are both getting incredibly lucky with the most incredible mage in all of Thedas, at the same time, because we have figured out how to share nicely. We don't need to take turns. There's enough of you to go around."

Anders sucked in a sharp breath and choked on it, suddenly going pale. There were no windows here, but there was still enough light. He could see the man on top of him. He knew the voice behind him. It was just Artemis and Cormac. He'd even put them up to this. He choked out a short laugh. "Careful with the squeezing. It's not just me, here."

"Mmm, should I be kinder to the delicious, creamy mage-filling?" Cormac asked, nibbling Anders's shoulder, as he continued to abuse the resilience of the couch.

"Just a little. As much as I'm liking being crushed between two Hawkes, I could do without it being crushed to _death_." Anders adjusted his own rhythm so he'd bounce off Cormac's hips when they came up.

Cormac moved one hand down to clutch at Artemis's ass. There were two asses available, here, and neither one was Anders, and Artie's hand was already on his. He was just drunk enough that this didn't sound like a terrible idea, and he assumed any objections would come loudly and quickly.

Artemis was too far gone to care whose ass was in his hand or whose hand was on his ass, so long as Anders kept moving like that, pleasure sparking almost painfully at the base of his spine. He pulled back to look at Anders and saw the pale sheen of his face. He released what was apparently his brother's ass and reached up to cup Anders's cheek and comb back his hair. "Still with us?" he asked, hips still moving of their own accord.

"Where else would I be?" was Anders's non-answer. "Where else could I possibly _want_ to be, when right here between you two is an option?"

"The man has a point," Artemis agreed with a breathless smile. The next shove of Anders's hips scattered all thoughts of concern from his mind. He swore again, writhing between a mage hand and mage hips. "A-anders," he panted. Much more of this, and the floors would start shaking.

That tone told Cormac everything he needed to know, and he reached up and grabbed Artemis's hips with both hands, pulling down hard. His constant patter continued, but with much more visceral imagery, as he slammed his hips up into Anders faster and harder. "I want to feel you, Anders. I want to feel you wring me out when you come into my brother. I know how good you feel on me or in me when you go, and I want to feel you give that to us. To both of us. I want it, Anders. Every little gasp, every twitch you soften out, everything you give me, everything you give him. We're both here, and you're still so amazing, even like this, even with two of us. You. Oh, Anders, just... you..."

Anders surrendered to Cormac, letting Cormac set the pace, letting Cormac drive him up into Artemis. He'd rarely let himself be used like this, but this wasn't anything like pretty much any other threesome he'd been involved in, no matter how closely related any of the participants may have been. He'd never had a steady bedroom thing going with any of them, never mind both of them. And this... This was just breathtaking and mindblowing, and he was sure that on some level there was supposed to be something terribly wrong with this particular combination of events, but there were two brothers fucking him, and one giving him a running commentary with a stream of filthy desire, and he just couldn't bring himself to care. And then his breathing stuttered and his toes curled and caring about anything beyond that heat that seemed to run straight through him from Cormac's dick to Artemis's ass was impossible.

As Cormac kept talking, Artemis swore, aiming for scolding but sounding breathless. "Oh, fuck. _Cormac_!" Maker, it was terrible how much his own brother's words went straight to his knob. But so did the look on Anders's face, the way he could feel Anders tensing.

Artemis's breaths went from soft pants to pleading groans as he let gravity and these two men do with him what they wanted. "Please. Anders. Cormac. I..." He started to tremble, and so did the couch, its back clattering against the wall. He pulled his hand free before it could get crushed, reaching instead for the bodies beneath him and past the point of caring whose it was. His back arched, vision sparking white, and Anders let out a sharp breath at the way Artemis's body squeezed around him.

Artemis sagged against Anders, shuddering, as the other mage continued to buck up into him, chasing his own release. "Come on," Artemis murmured against his throat, adding his own, cleaner commentary alongside his brother's. "Come for us, Anders."

Anders did, the whole of his vision flashing white, and his perceptions occupied by the bodies of the two men wrapped around him, the feel of them hot and hard and tight, the sounds of their voices, the scents of each of them blending into one smell that was both of them and sweat and sex. His thigh muscles rolled and his toes pointed.

He was dimly aware of Cormac desperately pounding into him, and he reached around the side, under the tangle of legs, and pressed a tiny spark into what he was relatively sure was some part of Cormac's ass.

Cormac's eyes rolled back in his head and he shouted obscene strings of vile expletive and desperate pleas for impossible things, as he throbbed deep inside Anders. He might have said something about fucking Anders fucking cheating again, but he wasn't sure that was actually a complaint. One hand slid down from its perch on Artemis's hip to cradle the ass cheek, below. "Oh, fuck, Artie, that was so good. You okay?"

Artemis didn't attempt speech for a while. He waited for his heartbeat to slow, his forehead on Anders's shoulder. Anders brushed back his sweaty hair. 'So good' didn't even begin to describe it.

"I'm... um." Artemis let Cormac's hand stay there for a moment longer before slapping it away with a huff. Maker. Had they really just...? They did. Artemis was past the point of being shocked at himself anymore. He was either too tired or too used to it to feel panic just then, which was nice. Or maybe he was just still too drunk.

Steadying himself against Anders's chest, he started to pull off the flagpole, and -- all right, that hurt. More than it usually did, but he asked for it. Anders looked up at him at the sharp intake of breath, healing magic already at his fingertips. "I'm fine," Artemis insisted, pulling off the rest of the way and slumping back against the couch. Oh right. Sitting. That was something else that hurt. "Still fine," he choked.

Cormac sighed and stretched until he could reach Artemis's ankle. "Liar," he remarked, pleasantly, running a trace of his own half-assed healing magic up Artie's leg. It wasn't enough to ruin the burn, just enough to take the edge off -- which Cormac occasionally had to do for himself, after he'd slapped Anders's hands away.

His other arm wrapped around Anders's waist, fingers stroking the knob that had just been inside his brother. "You want to help me wring the rest out of him, Artie? You and me and whatever we haven't finished drinking, and we can sit back and watch him writhe for us. I'll even wear pants, if that makes you happy."

"I don't have strong feelings about your pants, one way or the other," Artemis huffed, slapping Cormac's hand away again. "And I told you I was fine. But..." He looked Anders up and down, at the ruined mess they'd made of him, hair dishevelled, body covered in Maker-knew-what. "That's another good look for you, Anders."

"Have you found a bad one, yet?" Anders asked with a lazy smile, hips pressing forward into Cormac's hand. Then his smile froze, and he narrowed his eyes at Cormac over his shoulder. "Don't you dare mention the Hanged Man the other night." Though Cormac apparently didn't think crimped hair and eyeliner _was_ a bad look.

Artemis shot his brother a quizzical look. "Right." He left the room to fetch Anders's dildo.

"You looked fucking amazing, Anders. I think you could be painted up like a festival clown and you'd still look good, but that? That was not just incidentally good. That was Merrill knowing what she was about. But, if you hate it, I've got no particular attachment. You're mindblowingly gorgeous just like this, all dizzy and slack, full of me and covered in my brother's come." Cormac sighed contentedly and stroked a little more firmly. "I could be happy like this."

"Could be? Not are?" Anders looked like he might be offended.

"I meant in the less-immediate sense. More indefinite. I am happy with this now. I could be happy with this in the future, if it continued to go on." Cormac shrugged. "Also, I think my brain is leaking out my ear, so I might not be making as much sense as I could, later, when I'm less fucked witless."

"You say the weirdest shit, Cormac. Every time I think you're about to get sappy, you just get disturbing, instead. I don't think I'll ever get tired of hearing the things that come out of your mouth after we fuck."

 


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> YOU TWO ARE HOPELESS. HOPELESS! Poor Artie...

Artemis stood just beyond the doorway, out of sight, and listened to them. He shook his head. He'd never met two people so obvious and so oblivious at the same time.

From the doorway, he threw the dildo so that it just missed Cormac's head. Damn that man and his shield. His aim had been good that time! "For the record," he said, leaning against the doorframe, "I think you're both eternally fucked stupid. By each other." He wondered how many dildos he'd have to throw at them to make them see sense.

"Come back to bed, Artie," Cormac called, picking up the dildo from where it landed next to the couch. "Er, couch. Come back to the couch. We've got a naked and beautiful Warden with a raging boner, and I'm pretty sure he means to let us misuse him all night."

"Most of the night, anyway. It's possible to wear me out. It's happened." Anders stretched his legs down the couch.

"You've passed out on me." Cormac laughed. "The first time, when I pulled out and woke you up, and you were _so_ pissed at me... How was I supposed to know you wanted me to keep going?"

"I thought I told you. I was that tired." Anders rubbed his face. "Yes, come back to the couch, Artemis, and save me from your brother's uncannily accurate memory."

"You two are both just affirming my 'fucked stupid' theory," Artemis said dryly. And it was tempting... tempting to go back to the couch and kneel between those long legs, to see if, between the two of them, they could wring a real sound of Anders. But watching them, listening to him, made Artemis think of green eyes and a growly voice and what he _really_ wanted, what these two idiots already had without realizing it.

"Cormac," Artemis sighed because _he_ was just this side of fucked stupid himself, "just man up and tell the idiot mage you're in love with him."

"What?" Anders blinked owlishly at Artemis and then squinted over his shoulder at Cormac.

"I'm in love with your knob. We've established that." Cormac patted Anders's hip and squinted at his brother. "Where the fuck are you getting this? Did we fuck you stupid, too?"

Oddly, his mother had also suggested it, at some point. "Have you been talking to mum or something? I figured Bethy had just shooed her off one time too many and she needed someone to hassle about a relationship. But, this is not the conversation I want to have with a gorgeous, naked mage in my lap. So, please, let us not have it."

Anders stretched his fingers, invitingly. "Come on, Artie. Show him what you can do to me. I bet we can get a sulk out of it."

"I do not sulk! And I will not be sulking. I'll be applying a little spark to go with whatever he's got to offer. Maybe a bit of a cold touch right where you like it..." Cormac's fingers traced teasingly along Anders's knob.

Artemis wiped a hand over his face. And that was another temptation, showing off something he could do to Anders that his brother couldn't. He walked up to the entangled pair and cupped one of Anders's cheeks, bending down to kiss the other one, before he smacked his brother upside the head with his other hand. Cormac sputtered and flapped a hand, trying to shoo off any further potential slapping.

"I know you don't want to have this conversation, Cormac," he said, frustration creeping into his tone. "But are you ever going to?" Artemis gave his brother a look he was used to seeing from their mother, a look that said _'I'm telling you this for your own good, young man_ '.

Sighing, he reached for his pants and pulled them on.

"Pants? Why are you wearing pants?" Cormac looked dismayed and confused. "No, no, no. This is not a pants-wearing occasion."

"Aww, Artie, don't go!" Anders grabbed the pants, even though Artemis was already wearing them. "You got me an awesome couch, and we've barely even gotten anything on it, yet!"

"Is this because I didn't tell Anders I'm in love with him?" Cormac still looked confused, possibly even more so. "Anders? Am I in love with you?"

"You're asking me? I'm a _mage_. What do I know about love?" Anders shrugged.

"I'm one too, and he thinks I should know. He's a mage. He thinks it's true." The strokes of Cormac's fingers along Anders's length became shorter, more frustrated.

"Yeah, but the two of you weren't in the Circle, and I was. I... I don't know. I just know it's something I'm not supposed to have, which, unlike every other thing I'm not supposed to have, I didn't go gallivanting after, because it seemed like a real dick thing to do to someone." Anders looked up at Artemis apologetically. "I didn't mean to piss you off. Please stay?"

Artemis shook his head, staring at the far wall. His plan -- albeit a shitty plan -- had been to leave them to talk this out, but this was painful. Throwing the word 'love' between them was like hitching two untrained dogs to a sled and expecting them to know how to pull it without running each other over.

"Maker." He plopped back onto the couch... and immediately regretted it, cringing at the ache in his backside. "I'm not pissed off, Anders. I'm just..." He shifted until he could find a position that was reasonably comfortable. And Maker, it was distracting having this conversation with Cormac's hand on Anders's dick. "That's sad, is all." He shrugged, helplessly, unsure how to put it.

Anders had issues, issues he wasn't sure he wanted to touch or was prepared to touch without making worse. But Cormac? How could his own brother not know?

"I know you two. You'd do anything for each other, and..." Artemis squirmed helplessly again. "And... what do you think love is if not what you have?" He was terrible at this, at the whole 'using words' thing, at the whole... 'thinking about love without thinking about Fenris' thing. 

That bookshelf. Over there. It was crooked. Artemis got up to fuss with it. Yes. Very crooked. Best to reorganize the whole thing.

"Isn't it that sappy, awkward shit people do? Outrageous shit with flower petals and declarations in the street?" Cormac shrugged. "Or like when mum talks about how dad risked his life just to come see her, so she gave up everything she had to run away with him to Ferelden?" He tipped his head a bit more towards Anders. "Ferelden, where neither of my parents is from. Although we don't actually know where dad's from. He wouldn't tell, but he looked Rivaini."

"I heard it was the thing that made you foolish. The unwillingness to make the necessary sacrifices, so only one person would fall, instead of two. That it was selfish and dangerous, and the kind of privilege only good, right people blessed by the Maker could have, the freedom to be so selfish. But, if it made it more likely that you'd die _and_ lose everything you were fighting for... It just sounded stupid. I read it in books, and it sounds like getting lured by a desire demon. Why would I do that to myself or anyone else?" Anders finally twisted in a way that he knew was going to leave a stain on the couch, as Cormac slipped out of him. "I have amazing friends like you and Cormac and all the rest of those crazies we play cards with. What do I need with some selfish, dangerous obsession that'll end in death?"

And just below the surface was the story Anders still wasn't telling because he wasn't sure it was true, but it kept nagging at him. He'd fallen in love once. Only once. He'd fallen in love with Karl, and Karl had died because of him. Died at his hand. Died Tranquil and begging to be killed. Why would he ever do that to someone again? Maybe it was a horrible coincidence, but it went exactly the way they'd always said it would go, in the Tower. Tranquility and death.

Everything on the shelf in front of Artemis looked crooked because the shelf itself was crooked, and Artemis wasn't comparing Anders to this shelf in his head, nope, except that he kind of was. This was worse than he realised. This was more than denial. This was years of conditioning and abuse, of shaking out the thoughts in Anders's head and putting them back together wrong.

As he replaced the books on the straightened shelf, they started to tremble and knock together, and Artemis had to screw his eyes shut and get his anger under control. 

"Artemis?" Anders sounded concerned, and that was the opposite of what Artemis wanted

He glanced over his shoulder and explained, "Templars. Templar-induced earthquakes."

"What... Templars?"

"The ones who did that to you." He kept putting books back on the shelf, kept his movements slow and measured. Breathe. Breathe and don't think of murder. "Anders, I am so sorry." He was ill-equipped to handle this. He could barely keep _himself_ together unless he was drunk.

Cormac looked even more confused, which was now verging on comic. "I know what love is, for us, Artie. Don't you doubt me for a minute. But, there's that romantic shit out there, the other kind of love, and I've got nothing for it. I don't have a use for it. I'm not trying to do it. And he doesn't want it. I'm not dad, no matter how much I look like him. He had it. I ... just don't. And I have this beautiful and charming Warden who doesn't mind that worth a damn. And Isabela, but who doesn't have Isabela."

"She's worth having. A few times, at least," Anders agreed. "So, let's all agree that we have no idea what you're talking about, Artie. And no amount of rearranging my bookshelf -- thank you, by the way -- is going to fix that. We don't see what you're seeing. Or if we do see it, it doesn't mean the thing to us that it seems to mean to you. I had that trouble when I got to the Tower. I had to learn a whole other set of rude gestures, because nobody understood the ones I brought from home."

"Culture clash, with my own brother. But, I guess I've got that with Carver, too. Or so say the black eyes I keep letting him give me." Cormac laughed and pulled his knees up, wrapping his legs around Anders's shins to pull them up too. He grabbed some article of clothing off the floor and draped it across them. "So, yeah. Just... tell us?"

"I... er." Words. Artemis's head was full of them but none of them seemed useful just then. The shelf was neatened, the books organized by height, but he kept fiddling with them, straightening them unnecessarily so he wouldn't have to look at them. "Well, it's... the way you two look at each other," he began. "It's more than just 'I want to ride your flagpole'. It's... 'you fart daisies _and_ I want to ride your flagpole'." Maker, he was bad at this. "Like... like your entire world revolves around one another. And you're always talking about each other, which was a little disconcerting the first few times I sat on your dick, Anders."

Anders snorted and gestured around him. "Can't say I'm sorry if this is where it ended up."

"Anyway, what I'm saying is... you two just... _know_ each other." Where was Bethany? She'd be better at this. "You know each other, you adore each other, and you still constantly want to be _with_ each other. Love doesn't have to be anything fancier than that, you know. It's just finding someone you can't picture your life without."

And yes, that sounded terribly sappy, at the end there. Books. Books needed straightening. There was another shelf over there. Yes.

Cormac considered it. 'Can't picture your life without'... "Hole in the world, Urthemiel," he said.

"Hole in your ass, Dirthamen," Anders replied, bursting into laughter. If that was all it was, it was much too late. He'd kill and die for either of these brothers. For most of their friends. He'd healed Fenris while the elf was trying to kill him. What a hole that would be in the world, if any of them weren't in it. He had so few friends.

They howled like idiots for nearly a full minute, before Anders untangled himself and stumbled to his feet, taking the... he thought that was his tunic in one hand and holding it at an appropriate height as he crossed the room, putting his other hand on Artemis's shoulder. "We'll consider what you said. Please, come back to bed. You're getting twitchy again, and I've got a cold spot and the half a bottle you left next to the couch." He preferred Cormac's company, but not tremendously, and he really preferred not to watch Artemis suffer, especially if there was something he could be doing about it.

"It's like talking to a wall," Artemis muttered, wondering if he'd been any help at all. But he smiled at Anders and ducked under his arm, allowing himself to be steered back towards the couch. The couch which he suspected he'd be cleaning, when all this was done.

  



	34. PART IX: CHATEAU HAINE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chateau Haine! Fuck fucking Chateau Haine, right in its Orlesian ear.

"Fuck, yes, _Anders_! Like that! Just like that! Oh, fuck, Anders! Harder! Yes! Fuck me until I bleed, and then _keep fucking me_!"

Cormac was, as usual, screaming his head off, and Bethany had hoped that once Anders had really settled downstairs, this would be a less common event, upstairs. It seemed Cormac still preferred his own bed, at least some of the time. At least their mother took sleeping potions, but honestly, at that volume it was amazing she hadn't woken up.

At this point, Bethany could write a treatise on exactly how her oldest brother liked to be fucked, and Maker, some of it was a little freaky, even to her, and that was _saying something_. What she hadn't learnt in books, she'd learnt from Isabela, but there were still undocumented horrors in the field of kink, and she was fairly certain Cormac had begged for most of them.

Finally, she stuck her quill back in the inkpot and made her way up the stairs, to pound on Cormac's door. "For the love of Andraste, Cormac, shut the fuck up before _I_ give you something to scream about!"

From an Entropy mage, that was not an idle threat, and Cormac was extremely familiar with that fact. There was some muffled noise from behind the door, and then Anders called out.

"Sorry, Bethy! Didn't know you were working tonight! We'll, uh, we'll go downstairs in a minute. As soon as your brother figures out where the hell he threw my pants." There was a pause and some more muffled noise. "I don't care, Cormac! Find them! Yours won't fit me and your sister is going to do terrible things to us!"

Maybe she'd write that treatise, after all. Just... slip it under his door, one night. A proper treatise, too. Well researched, with physics and probabilities. Analyses of tone and content and timing. It was difficult to get under Cormac's skin, but the fact that _she_ was able to write such a thing would probably do the trick. Maker, it's not like she was still twelve, for all that he treated her like it.

* * *

If Fenris was honest with himself, it sounded like a trap. The invitation to the Orlesian hunting party had sounded like a trap to begin with, and this... addition to it sounded even less encouraging. Oh, yes, they would sneak around some fancy and well-guarded Orlesian nobleman's retreat to steal a jewel. And with an elf who had probably ambushed them, just to get their attention. Why was he even there? Why were the mages there? Why wasn't Anton doing this with his other sneak-thieving friends? But, no. Anton had decided it was best if they showed up as a clique, to show that the Amells remembered how to party properly. Three brothers and their three, er, four, companions -- which, he supposed, might make it more difficult to keep track of the correct brother. Which would be Anton, of course.

Anton who was in the process of making a noble jackass of himself with Isabela and Tallis, further up the deck. They would never be taken seriously, after that display, which he supposed was kind of the point. The mages hung back, sipping wine by rail, gazing out across the sea. Artemis. He was expected to look after Artemis again, when they hadn't spoken in months -- not since the filthy mage had bought his house out from under him. And somehow, Anton had decided this was a good plan, this was a wise plan, this was somehow less dangerous than taking his other brother.

Somehow, it was less offensive that people thought he was a servant. At least no one thought they were... _together_. But, how could they be, with the way the abomination stayed wrapped around both mage brothers? Fenris hid a smile. The abomination, who everyone assumed was a prostitute -- not that they would judge. They were Orlesian, after all. Three brothers, three prostitutes, and a bodyguard. At least no one would assume he was sleeping with any of them.

There was a bustle as the ship came in to port, and by early afternoon, they had arrived at Chateau Haine.

Artemis tilted his head back and just breathed the air, air that didn't smell like dead fish or sewage, for once. The countryside was beautiful, full of shades of green he'd forgotten existed in the grey of Kirkwall and the brown of Ferelden. He could almost pretend he was here to enjoy the outing, with or without the elf-shaped shadow who was pointedly not looking at him. Just as well. Artemis was pointedly not looking at him either.

Duke Prosper was hard to miss, with his plumed hat and garish armour. He grinned at the brothers and their companions and beckoned them closer.

"Now _that's_ a beard," Artemis said out of the side of his mouth to Isabela. It forked out from Duke Prosper's chin like a pair of spearheads. "You could wage wars with that beard. Think I could pull it off?"

"Mm. A beard like that would tickle," Isabela replied.

"Yes, it does," Cormac muttered, adjusting his beard with one hand, "which you already know."

Cormac stepped forward to introduce them, as their escort stepped aside, having announced them. He bowed in that way his mother had taught him, all those years ago, just in case. Little did he know he'd ever actually need it. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, your grace. Cormac Hawke of Kirkwall, and my brothers Artemis and Anton." He didn't introduce anyone else. They weren't family, and therefore they were effectively invisible.

But, the duke asked. "Ah! And such pretty companions you have brought with you! I had heard that you were travelling with an entourage of evening entertainment. I see your taste exceeds even the rumours. The elves are especially delightful to the eye."

Fenris felt the tips of his ears heat, but Cormac was already solving the problem.

"What? No, Fenris is my bodyguard. We've had some unsavoury attempts on our house, back in Kirkwall. Some people just don't approve of the return of the Amells. So, I hired the _very best_." Cormac's smile was perfunctorily pleasant, verging on murderous. And yet, he made no attempt to clear up the identities of the rest of the party. A prostitute might be overlooked where someone else might not be, but he knew Fenris wasn't going to tolerate that, even for a purpose.

Anders didn't so much as blink. He'd been called worse things, and he had no problem being the 'evening entertainment' for a Hawke or two. Isabela sent Anton a wink, and the two smirked.

"Ah, I see," said Prosper, throwing a glance at his own bodyguard, a tattooed Chasind with a scowl that would rival Fenris's. There was no apology forthcoming or even any acknowledgement of Fenris other than one last appreciative look. Artemis waited for a growl that didn't come and wondered how tightly Fenris was gritting his teeth to stop himself. "Well, I am delighted that you have graced our hunt with your presence. It is a pleasant surprise to see the Amell family so well represented."

"Not as delighted as we were to receive your invitation, your grace," Artemis said, affecting a poise that would make their mother proud. Usually he saved all the ass-kissing for Anders, but he'd make an exception for this.

"I must cut this short. The hunt is about to begin," Prosper nodded, as suited his rank. "I will let my men acquaint you with the rules of the hunt and give you a moment to gather any equipment you may need. The servants have already seen to your luggage. Once you are prepared, we will begin!"

* * *

Luring a wyvern, Fenris supposed, would be easier if any of them had actually seen a wyvern before, at any point. If, perhaps, they even knew what wyverns ate. But, no, they were chasing after some legendary beast with poison that could kill them all, with no antidote and no idea what the thing even wanted. This was a bold new kind of stupidity, and he did not approve.

A sharp sound caught his attention, and he looked up. "Is that...?"

"Wyverns mating..." Tallis looked thoughtful.

"We should mimic that. Can we mimic that?" Anton asked, fascinated.

"No!" Tallis looked up at Anton, horrified. "Oh, the sound. Right. Yeah, I can try that."

"Or we could try it together," Isabela suggested with a sly wink.

Fenris just took a deep breath followed by another. Wyverns. They were here to kill wyverns.

* * *

"That... is a lot of poop." Anton was great at stating the obvious.

"Oh sweet Maker. The _smell_." Artemis pulled his collar up over his nose. He would take that dead fish and sewage smell back, now.

"Well," said Tallis, a hand to her nose, "we _are_ looking for clues." The group looked at the mound of shit speculatively and then at each other.

"You heard the lady, Artemis," Anton said, nudging his brother forward. "Go... find some clues."

"What do you want me to do? _Force magic the poop_?"

"Shit. No!"

"Shit, _yes_ , that's the problem!"

"Yes, tell the cleanfreak to put his hand in poop," Fenris growled, shoving past both brothers. "That will end well." He knelt in front of the mound, lyrium brands lighting, and reached in. His face scrunched as he sifted.

"Wow. That's a neat party trick," Tallis said.

"For the record," Fenris called over his shoulder, "whether I'm phased out or not, this is still disgusting."

* * *

"Corpses, blood, and weird noises. And this is going to get us a wyvern." Anders didn't look convinced.

"Oh, and more than that? Then we have to kill it." Cormac grinned at him. "Don't worry. You focus on them, I'll keep you standing, we'll be unstoppable."

"I must admit, this sounds like less and less of a good idea, as time goes on." Fenris was still intermittently wiping at his arm, which had nothing on it.

"So what are we going to do?" Tallis asked, sorting through what they had.

"There's seven of us. We can take a wyvern." Anton grinned. "Let's go all out. Make mum proud."

Tallis pointed at Isabela. "Can you make nug noises?"

"Oh, sweet thing, I can make just about any noise with the right provocation," Isabela purred.

"I will take that as a disconcerting 'yes'," Tallis replied.

They continued farther up the trail until they came to an area wide open enough for battle. And running. Anders had a feeling there would be quite a bit of running.

But first, apparently, there would be some flailing and weird noises. Artemis looked at Anton and Cormac as the ladies skipped about the clearing, covered in Maker-knew-what and hissing, "Nee-nee-nee-nee!"

"I am so glad I didn't get volunteered for that," Artemis muttered.

And then, there was a wyvern. Not just any wyvern -- not that any of them had ever seen one -- but what looked like the mother of all wyverns, puffed up and squealing, like it wasn't sure whether to fuck them or eat them.

Fenris sucked in a sharp breath and drew his sword. It was an act of will to step forward with that thing eyeing him, and he'd faced dragons. But, dragons weren't _venomous_.

Pushing the shield as far as it would go, Cormac stepped directly in front of Anders. He was short. Anders could see around him. Or more to the point, he was a decent and reasonable size, and Anders was a Maker-damned giant. Either way, nothing was getting past him. He flicked a hand, hoping to stun the thing, but he just got its attention, instead.

And then there were rogues, and all was well. The wyvern couldn't figure out which one to pay attention to, as they danced around it, slicing and jabbing.

Blood spurted from its neck in gory arches as the wyvern _screamed_ , bowling blindly past and away from the rogues, knocking Anton ass-first into a ditch.

"Fenris, get back!" Artemis called, seizing his opening. Fenris leapt back without question as Artemis sent force magic barrelling into the wyvern, knocking its already battered body back into the cliffside with a meaty thud.

Isabela dusted off her boots.

"Is it dead?" Anton called out of the ditch. Anders was crouched over him, fingers glowing with healing magic Anton brushed aside. "It's just a bruised ass, save your mana," he muttered.

"All Hawke asses are worth my mana."

"Oh, ew," Anton muttered. "Don't even go there."

Fenris ignored them all and poked at the wyvern with his sword. Its body twitched, but it wasn't breathing. "Looks dead to me," he said.

Cormac smacked Artemis on the back. "Nice one. Always a smashing good time, with you."

From further down the path they'd arrived by, the clank of armour floated up. "Well, if it isn't the Fereldan turnips!"

Fenris reflexively inched closer to Tallis. "We're Tevinter," he protested.

"You too, huh?" she asked, with a lopsided grin. "And really, with that, it's a lot more radish than turnip."

Fenris looked deeply traumatised by this idea and stopped talking. Almost. "Radishes," he huffed.

"Oh, yes, if we were any more Fereldan we'd be barking," Cormac drawled. "Whom do I have the displeasure of addressing?"

"I am Baron Arlange, and you should know of me, you Fereldan shit-hound, seeing as you've stolen my rightful kill!" The man was spitting, gesturing like he was having a seizure.

Artemis slid his stare to Cormac. "Are all Orlesian toddlers this big?" he asked.

"I paid good coin to win the hunt this year!" Arlange was saying, punctuating his sentences with a stomp of his foot. Isabela and Anton were slipping into the shadows before he or his entourage started reaching for their swords.

"Don't do it," Artemis muttered.

"I will kill you myself and say the wyvern was too much for you!"

"He's doing it," Anders sighed, hefting his staff again.

"We just killed a very large wyvern, and all we have to show for it is my brother's bruised ass. How does this sound like an even slightly reasonable idea?" Cormac asked, clenching his fist and thrusting it toward the ground. The Baron's armour squeaked distressedly.

Fenris stuck the point of his sword in the ground and leaned on it, smiling ever so pleasantly, as Anders swept a hand across in front of him, palm up, elbow at his hip, and the ground beneath the Chevaliers flickered green for a moment.

"We could just go, and leave them stuck here," Anders suggested.

"Yes, but then they'd claim they killed our wyvern. I'm not interested in surrendering the honour of my family to some meathead who couldn't even correctly buy his way into a win," Cormac argued.

"It would be a difficult argument for them to make, while they're still stuck to the ground. Maybe you should stun them, for good measure." Anders grinned beatifically.

"I wish Bethy were here," Cormac sighed, watching the baron turn purple in the face. He flicked his other hand and a number of the Chevaliers wobbled, faces going slack.

"They'd already be dead, if Bethy were here," Anton said, using a dagger to clean under his fingernails. Isabela stayed in the shadows, but the poor baron was far enough over his head as it was.

"What's going on, here?" a voice rang out across the clearing. The brothers Hawke turned to see Duke Prosper and his entourage approaching, forked beard bristling with anger.

"Maker, I love that beard," Artemis murmured, earning him an odd look from Tallis.

"They tried to steal my kill!" Arlange choked out. "The Fereldan parsnips!"

"Oh, we're parsnips, now," Artemis told Cormac. "Does this man have a vegetable insult for every occasion?"

"Well, he did call us shithounds, so maybe not," Cormac murmured, before turning his attention to the duke. "Your grace, we slew this wyvern, and the manner of the killing will confirm it. Then this man showed up, announced he was a baron, and said we'd stolen his kill because he'd paid for it. Paid for it! Can you imagine? I would hate to think this is how things are done in Orlais."

And that was the thing about Orlais. This was exactly how things were done in Orlais, but you couldn't go around talking about it and getting caught. That would be entirely tasteless. Rumour was the key. Rumour and spin.

"Please accept my apologies." Prosper eyed Arlange balefully. "A guest in my house. And this is what you do? I did not invite the Amells all the way from Kirkwall, just to have you _assault them_ for winning by the book!"

"This is your fault for inviting a stinking turnip in the first place! Your mother would be ashamed!" Arlange sputtered, his breath slowly coming back as the spell wound down.

"This from the man whose mother slept with half of Val Chevin?" the duke asked drily, before returning his attention to Cormac. "What would you have me do with him? The offence to your family could warrant death. He chose poorly."

"Let him live with the shame," Cormac decided, smiling wickedly. "The rumours will be punishment enough."

"Do you hear that, baron?" said the duke. "It behooves you to leave while you still can."

Arlange, red-faced, bit out more curses about dogs and Fereldan vegetables and stormed off. Fenris narrowed his eyes at the man's back. That one would be trouble later, he suspected, but less trouble than he and the Hawkes were acquainted with.

Suddenly, Prosper was all smiles. "I suppose a congratulations are in order!" he said, eyeing the wyvern carcass. "The first kill of the hunt is yours, and a worthy kill it is!" He clapped Cormac on the shoulder. "We will celebrate your achievement! Join us for refreshments in the château's courtyard when you're ready!"

"Refreshments sound good," Anton said, shrugging.

"A bath would sound better," Tallis countered, and Isabela hummed in agreement.


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris finally finds a use for Anders, then celebrates his victory with Tallis, while Artemis looks on in dismay.

Cleaner and less covered in wyvern guts, they descended into the courtyard at last, looking for familiar faces. Anton was the first to spot someone they knew. Or someone he knew, at least. He grabbed a glass of wine as he walked past an elf carrying a tray and strutted over to the far edge of those acres of fine silk he'd been admiring, just the week before.

"Dips! I didn't know you'd be here!" He took Serendipity's hand and bent over it.

"Didn't I tell you I had an event coming up? I'm sure I said I'd be out of town." She laughed. "I heard you weren't coming! Something about your brothers being uninterested in stumbling around the woods after a dangerous beast."

"Funny thing that. I convinced them the wyvern wasn't the only dangerous beast worth stumbling after, and here we are." Anton grinned and turned his attention, at last, to the man Serendipity was with. "Ah! Fancy running into you here, Seneschal!"

Seneschal Bran cleared his throat awkwardly, throwing a quizzical glance between the two. "Yes. Hello, Serah Anton," he said. "Tell me, have you tried the olives? I hear they're delightfully horrifying."

Across the courtyard, Cormac was at the mercies of the de Launcet family, and Anders watched and sipped his wine, wondering if he should intervene.

"Have you met my daughters, Fifi and Babette?" Dulci de Launcet was saying, all but pushing her daughters Cormac's way and blocking any exit he might try to make. "Aren't they both lovely? And both eligible, can you imagine?"

Babette sniffed and muttered something to Fifi about turnips.

Cormac smiled at Lady de Launcet. "And I'm sure you'll find them both wonderful husbands," he said, sliding an arm around Anders's waist, as he turned his attention to Babette. "Turnips, dear girl? In my family, we much prefer parsnips."

Anders did his very best impression of an impolite smile. Thus far, he'd managed to convince most of the party that he only spoke Ander, but it didn't take an actual understanding of the language to tell what this Orlesian matriarch was planning. Her body language said it all. And wasn't that a thing, de Launcet... This was the woman who'd ended up marrying the man Leandra had been promised to, and here she was wooing Leandra's son for her own daughters. Apparently, the Amells were a terribly popular flavour, in Orlais.

He tipped his head down the extra couple of inches, eyes still on the ladies before them, as he whispered something guttural and utterly filthy in Cormac's ear. He didn't expect Cormac to understand, aside from the tone, but there was a slim chance one of these lovely ladies was multi-lingual, and -- ah! Yes. There was the blush.

Messing with Orlesians was, he thought, fast becoming his favourite pasttime. Favourite pasttime involving clothes, anyway.

Off to the side, Fenris nursed his own drink, hip cocked against the base of a marble statue as he kept an eye on the Hawke brothers. An empty wine glass waved in front of his face, making his eyes cross.

"Elf! Fetch me another!" The words and wine glass belonged to another Orlesian oaf. Fenris said nothing, merely sipped his wine while staring this man down. "I said..." sputtered the Orlesian. Stare. "Erm." Stare. "I'll just... fetch it myself."

Fenris smirked around his glass as the nobleman retreated. 

"You too, huh?" Tallis said, sidling up to him.

"I'm used to it."

Tallis stood next to him and surveyed the party, letting Fenris glare off anyone else who mistook them for the help. She nudged him with her elbow, drawing his attention. "Is he alright?" she asked, indicating the third Hawke brother with a jut of her chin. 

Artemis stayed close to the refreshments table, fidgeting with the glasses until they made symmetrical formations. Fenris sighed and kept his mind determinedly blank. "He's always like that."

"So, I've found a way into the chateau. That's the good news. The bad news is that it's locked, so we're going to need to get the key." Tallis grinned. "And that's why I'm coming to you."

"Do I need to kill someone?" Fenris finished his drink, and the corner of his mouth tipped up. "It might be an improvement on the current circumstances. Just a little murder. For the good of Orlais."

"Haaa, no." Tallis glanced around at the milling crowd of aristocrats and officials. "Well, probably not. I hope not."

"Then why are you coming to me with it?"

"Because you're the other elf on this expedition. Look at them. They don't see us, unless they want something. Not really. We're almost invisible. So, yes, I want you to be my right hand, because no one will be looking. It's pretty likely I'll be able to pull this off, but... just watch my back, in case, right?"

"Very well. You would like the invisible elven bodyguard to be an invisible elven bodyguard. I accept." Fenris left his glass on the base of the statue. "What would you have me do?"

"Well, we're going to pretend we work here, and we're going to go ask that guard if he has a key, because we need to fetch a particular vintage for some snooty cheeseater."

"Better the cheese than the ham," Fenris remarked. "It's from the Anderfels, and it tastes of despair." Which explained so very much, he thought.

Fenris was used to being a shadow, a mage's shadow generally, but this was little different. There was quite a bit of standing involved in being a shadow, standing and being invisible, like now, with Tallis's voice filtering out to him through a closed door. 

"Any luck?" he asked when she reappeared.

"Not with him," she said. "Apparently the guard 'forgot' that he'd given the key to a servant."

A guard who'd locked himself out of the castle. _Orlesians_. "I suppose we'll have to find this servant," Fenris said with a shrug. He _really_ hoped he got to kill someone before this party was over.

"Right," sighed Tallis, scratching her head. "Shouldn't be too hard. How many servants can there be?"

Enough to make this annoying, as Fenris found out.

They finally ended at the girl with the ham that tasted of despair. She seemed like she might almost be attractive, out of the presence of that ham and all of these Orlesians. Fenris muttered something uncomplimentary, under his breath, in Tevene, about the entire situation, as Tallis disappeared into some unlocked alcove with the girl.

He tried not to listen. He did. And then he wondered how audible Artemis really was, despite his eternal efforts to keep it down. And then he wondered how audible he, himself, was, and wasn't that an unpleasant thought. Best not to think about that. Or Artemis. Stupid mage and his stupid sexy mage ass. Domineering little blighter in nug's clothing. He huffed to himself as Tallis reappeared at his shoulder, putting her hair back up.

"Nope. She gave it to Lord Cyril. What is with these Orlesians and locking themselves out?" Tallis's eyes travelled over Fenris's extremely tight clothing. "Hope we didn't disturb you too much..."

Fenris looked entirely murderous as he avoided adjusting his extremely uncomfortable pants. If he kept finding himself in situations like this, he might have to reconsider his attire, at least a little bit. Maybe he just needed a codpiece. On the other hand, maybe that would just make things worse. He didn't imagine Isabela would ever let him live it down.

"So," he said through grit teeth, "Lord Cyril."

"Lord Cyril," Tallis agreed, smoothing out her sleeves before tracking down her new prey. If this didn't work, Fenris was going to pull out his sword and start hacking his way into the castle. 

Fenris didn't have to wait as long outside the door, this time, which was for the best, considering he could see Artemis from where he was standing this time. Damnable, distracting mage.

Tallis looked ready to breathe fire.

"Let me guess," Fenris sighed, "he gave it to his mistress."

"No, he definitely has it," Tallis said. "I, er... I just don't think I'm type."

"An elf?" Fenris suggested. Tallis gave him a speculative look he didn't like one bit.

"Or a woman," she said, voice leading into an unspoken question.

_Fasta vass._

"Cormac," he decided. "This is exactly the sort of thing we should leave to Cormac, which would solve both the elf problem and the woman problem. Saves time."

"Do you think? I might have chosen Artemis. Look at that fidgety blushing thing. It's adorable. I could just pinch his cheeks." Tallis grinned appreciatively.

"No. We are not involving Artemis. I doubt he has the constitution for this." And Fenris would probably go back and cut off Lord Cyril's head and other appendages, afterward. Venhedis, he didn't even like the mage. What did he care? Still... "Cormac is the better choice. He's much less particular. Verging on trashy, even. I would say Anton, as his skills are consummate, but I do not think we could extract him from that clutch without drawing far more attention than necessary."

Anton was, in fact, surrounded by noble ladies and just enough gentlemen to keep things interested. He seemed to be regaling the group with some mad story of his adventures. His... probably slightly more legal than usual adventures.

"What about Anders?" Tallis asked. "Everyone already thinks he's a prostitute."

The entire idea warmed Fenris's heart. "Yes, let's. Anders would be perfect for this."

They crossed the courtyard to where Cormac and Anders were trying to hide from the de Launcet sisters, behind a bit of topiary. "Cormac, I need to borrow your abomination and his spicy shimmy."

Cormac guffawed and Anders choked on his wine.

"Just don't break him. I'm not done with that," Cormac choked out, horror and amazement warring on his face.

Anders looked more confused than willing when they dragged him away. "He means that, you know," Anders said. "Granted, it would take a lot to break me, and I'd _love_ to see how you would --"

"Stop talking," Fenris growled, rubbing at his forehead. He let Tallis explain the situation with Cyril while he took up his role as shadow again, leaning in the shade of another sculpture and wishing he still had his wine.

"And I was hand-picked for this?" Anders was saying, lips quirked in a smug smile. "Fair enough."

He made for the door to the parlour, pausing to run a hand through his hair and straighten his collar.

"Go on, Anders," Fenris said, "be the prostitute you were born to be."

Anders cheerfully answered with one finger tossed over his shoulder. This time it was Tallis waiting with him. She leaned back against the wall, arms folded and mirroring his posture. There was an encouraging chuckle from the other side of the door.

"So desperate ham, huh?" Tallis said.

"Woeful," Fenris concurred.

When Anders reappeared, it was with mussed hair, a smug smile, and a key looped around one finger.

Tallis grinned broadly and swiped the key. "I knew you'd be the right choice! You looked like just his kind of man."

"He liked my accent." Anders laughed. "It's totally fake. I haven't sounded anything but Fereldan since I was sixteen."

"You say that like you're sooooo oooold." Tallis poked Anders between the ribs and the mage squirmed. "What's that, five years ago?"

Anders wiggled his eyebrows. "It's a lot more than five, but I've got my secrets to staying young and beautiful."

"Consorting with demons," Fenris muttered.

"No, no. Consorting with Justice makes me less fun at parties, not more fun." Anders shimmied and tossed his hair. "I should get back before Cormac thinks I've abandoned him to Fifi. Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

"I wouldn't do half the things you would do," Fenris called after him.

"But, the other half is the sexy half, and mmm, so good," Anders shot back, not even turning around, and Fenris growled. He glared at the mage's back long enough to see him wrap an arm around a waist that wasn't Cormac's. He looked up to see Artemis standing next to his older brother and smiling at Anders around a slice of that ham from the Anderfels.

Despair, it tasted like, supposedly. And Fenris knew just what despair tasted like.

"Alright there?" Tallis asked, laying a hand on his arm, her fingers brushing the bare skin at his bicep. 

"Mm. Fine," he said.

"Really? That's your fine face?"

"It's my victory face," Fenris said, pulling his stare away and turning a smile on Tallis. Tallis, who was quite lovely too, he insisted. "We've finally gotten that key without killing anyone, as tempting as it was."

"Time for a little victory celebration, maybe, before we go engage in some other light-fingered arts?" Tallis smiled back temptingly. "Maybe get a little of what Lord Cyril was missing?"

"A man disinterested in women or in elves is missing easily half the fun," Fenris conceded.

"Only half? What about the dwarves?" Tallis laughed, stroking Fenris's arm around the edge of the opening in his sleeve. "And what about the Qunari?"

"Isabela has assured me I would regret both dwarves and Qunari. Why would I do a thing, when I can count on her to do it for me and have all my regrets for me, as well." Fenris watched the tips of Tallis's fingers, before reaching out to trace a finger along her neck. "But, I do not expect to regret this."

And he didn't, even with Artemis's eyes boring into his back.

Tallis smiled and looked up at him through red lashes. "Victory dance, it is," she decided. She took Fenris's clawed hand in hers, fingers sliding over metal, and pulled him away from the door and around the corner. Looking about them surreptitiously, she grinned and tugged him around a wall of hedge, just out of sight, and Fenris let the momentum pull him into her, pressing her back against the leaves.

Her lips were softer than Artemis's, he discovered, and she tasted like -- "Been eating the desperate ham, I see," he murmured against her lips.

Tallis chuckled. "Do I taste of despair, too?"

"You taste of... something." Fenris wasn't sure what, but he was determined to find out.


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tallis and Artemis get into trouble, get out of trouble, get into more trouble, and decide what kind of cake they're getting after this.

Artemis stared at the shrubbery the two elves had disappeared behind, until Anders distracted him. Branches creaked and leaves fell, and a hundred tiny noises filtered out of the topiary. Lesser nobles counted each other, trying to figure out which of them had taken who into the hedges, but no one of notice was missing.

Minutes passed into more minutes, and the breathy sounds got closer and closer together, more intent, more desperate. Huffing and panting, after another minute or two, Fenris stepped out from behind the hedge, sweat-soaked, and still fastening the clasps for his sword. "No regrets," he said, turning to smile over his shoulder, but Tallis was already gone. It figured. They were here for a reason, and the reason was hers.

He counted Hawkes. There was Cormac, sucking face with Anders, in full view of the de Launcet girls. Anton had Isabela in his lap, still apparently telling tales to a giggling crowd. And Artemis... No. No, no. Where was Artemis? He looked again for Tallis, and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. She'd said Artemis was adorable. She hadn't said anything about him being useful. Which Fenris didn't think he would be, in this instance. What did Tallis intend to do with some fidgety, neurotic mage?

"Cormac!"

The bodyguard elf was a bit less invisible as he ran through the crowd, ignoring the disapproving looks of snooty Orlesians and the way his buckles didn't sit right. He all but pulled Anders off Cormac by the hair.

"Cormac--"

"Maker," Anders cursed. "I'm not doing another spicy shimmy for Cyril, Fenris!"

The de Launcet girls tittered behind their hands, but Fenris ignored them and the Abomination. "Cormac, do you know where your brother is?" He didn't know yet it was Tallis, after all. It might not be Tallis. Artemis might be inside the kitchen, rearranging silverware, for all he knew.

"Of course. He just went off with Tallis." Cormac shrugged. "Anton... I don't think we could extract Anton short of gaatlok and a pair of prybars, and me, well, let's just say the heir is currently of interest to some terribly noble parties with a not-indecent amount of sway. He was the best choice, if she wasn't taking you. Why didn't she take you?"

"I don't know," Fenris grumbled. "I thought it would be. We're elves, as she pointed out. Invisible."

Which Artemis really wasn't, Tallis noticed, as they slipped around the side of the château. "Look, I'm sorry about your boyfriend," she said to him. "I didn't know until he... well, let's just say that wasn't _my_ name."

"Look, he's not my..." Artemis's cheeks flushed red, and he scowled at everything except Tallis. "It doesn't matter. And please don't bring it up again. This is supposed to be a stealth thing, and angry earthquakes don't exactly scream 'stealth'."

"Well, technically, anything that _screams_ stealth is kind of missing the point." Artemis shot Tallis a flat look, and she cleared her throat. "Speaking of missing the point," she mumbled to herself. "Okay then."

Armoured footsteps clanked up ahead, and Tallis shoved Artemis behind a pillar. He peeked his head out, and she shoved it back again.

"Wow, you are bad at this," she hissed.

"What do you want from me?" he hissed back. "I usually just... _shove_ my way through this sort of thing."

After an enormous amount of eye-rolling and yanking and shoving, they finally reached a stately chamber, with lots of pillars and bars. And as they stepped in, a portcullis dropped behind them. This was not on the list of things to do for the evening.

"This is... interesting." Tallis looked around the room. "There has to be a way out. No noble family of any good sense designs something that can't be disarmed from the inside. Not if they want to live."

They tore the room apart, pushing and prodding at anything that might move, until finally they hit upon something.

"Hang on," Artemis muttered. He took a step to the left and felt the floor sink in under his foot. "Pressure plates?" He put all his weight on the plate, but nothing happened. "Well, now that's just misleading."

"Hang on," said Tallis. "There's one over here, too." She stepped, and there was the sound of stone grinding. A portcullis rose off to the side.

"Well, not the direction we want, but it's _a_ direction."

They continued in this vein, finding pressure plates, watching different combinations open different gates. None of them opened the vault or the way behind them. Tallis groaned. "This is ridiculous."

"No, no, there's a pattern here," Artemis said. "Go stand on that one over there." Tallis obeyed, a gate opened, and Artemis gave her another instruction. She followed along, quickly losing track of what plates they'd pressed. They paused to slide statues over a few, and Artemis issued new instructions. Eventually they sank onto the last pair of pressure plates, and the vault ground open.

"Aha!" Artemis crowed. He grinned, utterly pleased with himself. "See? Sometimes it pays to be neurotic."

"I guess that's _his_ victory face," Tallis muttered.

Tallis helped herself to the contents of the chests to either side of the door, before stepping into the vault. "We've done it! The heart is ours! Or at least it's not his..."

And that's when the Chevaliers came in, behind them, Duke Prosper and his bodyguard, at their head. "Don't fret, my dear," the duke purred.

"I see the party's moved indoors," Artemis muttered, eyes flicking amid the assortment of guards, debating how hard it would be to knock them all on their asses at once.

"It's not over yet," Tallis replied, spinning a dagger.

"Oh, but it is over." Prosper smiled, introducing them both to his victory face. "I knew who you were the moment you arrived, assassin. Prostitute, indeed. What kind of fool do you take me for?"

Artemis looked confused. "Assassin? I thought we were here to steal a jewel."

"Then she didn't tell you." Prosper continued to look victorious as he waved his men forward. "The elf is a Qunari."

There was really no time to consider the implications of that, just that moment. Guards surrounded them, and neither one could fend them off fast enough, however many incredible wide-angle applications of Maker's Fist Artie unleashed. They were quickly subdued and left in a cell, somewhere in the dungeon. Who would expect a fancy place like this had a dungeon?

* * *

If Fenris's heart was racing, it was from all the running in circles, not out of panic, and certainly not out of worry. Why would he be worried? Artemis was grown man, a mage. A little off in the head, sure, but perfectly capable of looking after himself. Tallis he was sure was fine.

Left. It had to be left up here. Or did they go that way last time? He stalled, and Anders slowed to a stop next to him, swearing under his breath.

"That's it, I'm taking the lead," said the mage, pushing past him. Fenris bristled.

"You think I'm going to trust you find Art -- to find them?" Fenris called ahead.

"You're the one who got us lost in the first place!" Anders threw over his shoulder as Fenris reluctantly tried to catch up. "Running in here like there's a demon on your heels."

"One demon on my heels is more than enough," Fenris spat.

"Fine, I'll just be in front of you, then." Anders stormed off down the hall. "Could you stop with the 'all mages are evil' diatribe, for just one minute, especially since you've had sex with the mage we're looking for, and I know you did, because I was there for it at least twice?"

"All mages may not be evil, but some of them are especially annoying," Fenris grumbled, almost pleased that if they got lost again, it wouldn't be his fault. "Particularly the two in question."

They came around another corner to find Tallis and Artemis standing in the hall. 

"We've come to rescue you!" Anders announced.

"That's very dashing of you," Tallis said, with a smile.

Fenris slowed to a stop next to Anders, relieved enough not to care that their rescue had been pointless. They looked a bit worse for wear, but Artemis -- _they_ looked like they were in one piece. "Are you..." Fenris addressed Tallis, even while his focus was on Artemis. "You're alright."

"Just dandy," Tallis said, smiling, and Fenris nodded awkwardly.

"That is... good," Fenris said, Artemis catching his stare for one moment before they both looked away.

"Artie, look at me. Are you okay?" Anders's hands danced down Artemis's body, patting for damage. "Your brother's so worried."

He didn't feel the need to specify which brother. Anton was still being distracting. It was Cormac who had the time and space to be concerned, but he couldn't break away from the de Launcet girls to come looking for himself. If he stepped out, all the interest would be raised, so he sent all those who could be spared.

Fenris's gauntlets creaked as he clenched his fists, watching the abomination's hands roving over Artemis's body. He ignored Tallis's sidelong glance.

Artemis winced when Anders's fingers brushed over a sore spot at the back of his head. "I'm all right," he said, even as Anders's fingers glowed blue with healing magic. "Knocked around a bit, but my skull is thick enough to take it." He sighed in relief as the throbbing in the back of his head eased. Anders's fingers lingered, thumb rubbing soothing circles at the base of his skull.

"If you're quite finished," Fenris said, tone clipped, "shall we get out of here?"

"This situation should change shortly. We'll be missed before long," Anders said, smoothing the healing into Artemis. "Fenris is, for once, right. We should go."

He paused and looked around. "Does anyone know where we should go? I'm not sure how we got here." Jabbing a finger at Fenris, he went on. "He got us lost."

"I did not get us lost. You got us lost, _mage_." Fenris glared at Anders's shoulder, willing the abomination to burst into flames.

"How did I get us lost from _behind you_?"

" _Magic_ ," Fenris insisted.

Artemis wiped a hand over his face. Of all the people his brother could have sent, he chose these two? "Right. Great rescue, everybody. I'm just amazed you two haven't killed each other."

"So anyway," Tallis cut in with a nervous laugh. "I know the way out. There's a passage down into the caves from the cellar. We can escape through there." She shrugged. "Or, you know, we could just fight our way through the duke's army upstairs. That's always fun."

"I'm sure there will be plenty opportunities to kill things later," Artemis said. Looking at Fenris's scowl, he wondered if the killing would involve Anders. Or him. "Lead on."

* * *

The passage Tallis mentioned turned out to be little more than a crack in the wall, but after some shoving and cursing, they managed to squeeze through and into the tunnels.

"Ah," Anders muttered, "so glad I left the Wardens for this."

"Any time you want to go back..." Fenris grumbled.

The sniping continued as they moved through the tunnels, never quite loud enough to serve as a warning to anything that might be waiting for them. Not with the strange, hushed rushing sound that echoed off the stone around them. Fenris thought it might be wind against some opening to the outside... until they got to the bridge that spanned the lake.

"That's a lake," Anders pointed out, a little hysterically. "I'm under a billion tonnes of stone, staring into a lake. This is it, isn't it? I've finally lost it."

"No, that's actually a lake," Tallis reassured him. "The Wardens put it in during the Fourth Blight, to provide fresh water for the refugees hiding in the fortress. This _was_ a fortress, then."

"If you need proof of its reality, I'd be happy to arrange a closer introduction," Fenris offered.

"Could you please stop threatening the healer for five minutes?" Artemis muttered, rubbing at his forehead, where the barest headache still lingered.

Fenris shot him a look and opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, only to close it.

"Right. Anyway, everyone say goodbye to the lake," said Tallis, waving at the water as she led them deeper into the tunnels. Artemis wasn't sure why he was still trusting her. Probably because the snarky idiots next to him had no sense of direction.

The dubious silence lasted until the portcullis dropped, cutting off Tallis from the rest of the group. "Don't worry. I'll be right back," she said, with a quick look over the stone and metal. 

As she ran off into the tunnel, the duke's bodyguard stepped out of a side passage, leading a group of heavily armed individuals who were clearly not there for tea and cake. Anders still offered.

"Oh, have you come to join us for tea? Nothing like a mountain over your head to add a little atmosphere!" A pained smile crossed Anders's face. "I'm afraid we're a little short on dainties. Funny thing, when you come from a dungeon, there's not much in the way of cake."

He continued to prattle on, confusion spreading over the faces of the group facing them, as he showed no sign of shutting up. It wasn't until the ground flashed green that they realised they had a problem. Anders continued to complain about the lack of cake.

Artemis smirked at the running commentary. Anders knew just how to set him up, keeping all the baddies frozen in cluster. Artemis drew in a breath and clenched his fist, and a wave of force flattened them to the ground.

The Chasind bodyguard staggered to his feet with a snarl, shrugging off the spell as he hefted a heavy battleaxe. "The Circle aren't the only ones who know how to break a mage," he growled, only to find his hands full with a glowing elf.

"How do you feel about getting cake after this?" Artemis asked Anders conversationally even as he readied another spell. "You've put the thought in my head now." Another push of force shoved back part of the Chasind's entourage, angled so that Fenris didn't get caught in the blast.

Then magic hit that wasn't his or Anders, a jolt of electricity of the un-fun variety searing through him and making his teeth clack shut. Great. He had mages.

Suddenly Tallis was there, somersaulting over their heads with a dagger in each hand. "Miss me?" she asked, throwing Artemis and Anders a smirk before joining Fenris.

Fenris kept his back to Tallis, busily fending off the Chasind warrior. "Only because I wasn't trying to hit," he joked. 

"Let's definitely get cake," Anders said, sweeping his staff in front of him and raising a wall of ice through the opposing mages. "Maybe those little cream cakes with the strawberries in them. Hey, Fenris, strawberry cream cakes?"

"I don't like strawberries," Fenris called back, as one hand left the hilt of his sword and plunged into the Chasind's chest, squeezing the life out of the man, at last. "And I don't like you."

"Can I have his cakes? I love strawberries!" Tallis kicked a frozen mage in the jaw and stuck her daggers in an archer's back for balance.

"As long as I'm not stuck making silly noises over strawberry cream cakes, by myself!" Anders picked off another archer with a bolt of lightning.

A stone fist to the face finished off the last mage. "Oh, you won't be making silly noises by yourself if I'm there!" Artemis rejoined. He shot a look at Fenris, who had stopped glowing and was shaking out his heart-squeezing hand. "Er. About the cakes, that is. Silly noises about cakes."

Tallis looked like she was fighting back a laugh. "So cakes," she said, wiping off her daggers before sheathing them. "Strawberry cream for everyone except Fenris. What kind of cakes do you like, Fenris?"

"Ones I can enjoy mage free," he answered. Artemis winced as he slung his staff back over his shoulder. "Shall we move on?"

Anders rolled his eyes. "See if you get _any_ cakes," he said.


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> O HAY! It's the end of this Orlesian nonsense!

Some time later, they were standing over the slightly-scorched corpses of what appeared to be a very large number of Qunari, for the area. They were, after all, in the Marches, not Rivain or Par Vollen. And on the top of a mountain, to boot.

"It looks like we need to be at the bottom of this mountain," Tallis sighed, taking the sword from a man who had once been someone. Then he was Tal-Vashoth. Now he was dead. She threw the sword over the edge of the cliff.

Anders looked significantly less than impressed, and started to sing. "Oh, the good old Tal-Vashoth, they had ten thousand men! They marched them up to the top of the hill, then they marched them down again!"

"Stop singing, or I will _roll_ you down the hill," Fenris sighed. His remarks were starting to lose their edge. It was difficult to keep up this kind of sniping commentary.

Back down the hill they went, bypassing the Tal-Vashoth corpses they'd left. At the base of the hill, they came across overgrown ruins. Stone archways led into a courtyard overlooking the cliffs. Anders was sure the view was breathtaking if one didn't mind heights. Or didn't have a tendency to trip over their own feet. That would just be ugly.

In the middle of the courtyard, Duke Prosper squared off against a troupe of Qunari. 

"That's Salit," Tallis told Artemis, indicating a Qunari with some fancy face-jewelry. 

"Who?" asked Fenris.

"Her... Qunari mentor. Person." Artemis didn't know how to explain and nor did he want to. "I'll give you the footnotes later, over cake."

"Viddathari," Fenris said, eyeing Tallis.

"You knew." Tallis waved a hand dismissively.

"I suspected. Your name which isn't a name..." Fenris adjusted his view of the world again. He really needed to stop fucking things he didn't approve of. This was getting to be a habit.

"I saw the look on your face, when I introduced myself. But, you didn't say anything." Tallis's eyes were still on the scene before them.

"I couldn't be sure. There are many reasons to have come to know the Qun. There are many reasons to be an elf with a Qunari designation for a name." Fenris shrugged and edged toward the courtyard. "Especially from Seheron."

"No, just the obvious reason, this time." Tallis waved for him to stop talking, so she could make out the conversation before them.

"Let's get this over with, Qunari," said Prosper, all his Orlesian pleasantness gone, "before your assassins find us!"

"Assassins? Plural?" Anders muttered. "Is he talking about us? Are we assassins now? I need to rethink my wardrobe."

Artemis turned to say something to Tallis, only to find that she had slipped away again. "Dammit," he hissed. "We need to put a bell on that woman."

Salit had set aside his weapons. He approached the duke and handed a scroll over to the armoured figure at his side. Prosper waited impatiently for the guard to look over the scroll.

"Well?" he said.

"It's names, your grace," said the guard. "A list of names."

"What?" Prosper snatched away the scroll and read it himself. "What is the meaning of this?"

"I was just about to ask the very same thing." Cormac's voice rose up from the far side of the courtyard, where he stood with Anton and Isabela.

"Ah, the Fereldans. You just keep turning up." Prosper handed the scroll to the lackey beside him, as he turned to face Cormac and Anton.

"I have an excellent sense of dramatic timing. And good hair." Anton grinned boldly, one arm still around Isabela's hips, hand wrapped around the hilt of the dagger that was turned up under his arm.

"And I still have your brother in the dungeon. I wonder how he's faring." Prosper shrugged like an actor in a bad melodrama. "A shame I caught him sneaking around my treasure room with a Qunari agent. That's not going to look good for the Amells."

"A Qunari?" Cormac looked at Anton, who looked just as confused.

"I thought he was with that elven thief, but hey, that's Artie for you. Goes in with an elf, comes out with a Qunari." 

Artemis huffed and stepped forward into the courtyard, Anders and Fenris at his back. "I like to keep everyone on their toes," he said, twirling his staff idly.

Prosper looked over at him, eyes narrowing and beard bristling in annoyance.

Isabela waved at them across the way. "There you are, Artie!" Anton called out. "What took you so long?"

" _Someone_ who has a terrible sense of direction, that's what," Anders said, pointing at Fenris.

"I will break that finger," Fenris promised.

"Blight take you all!" Prosper cursed. "I will--!"

There was a scuffle behind him, the clang of a weapon hitting metal. By the time Prosper turned around, Tallis had disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

Salit finally noticed her, eyes following to where she landed atop some corner of a collapsed arch. "Tallis." He did not sound happy.

"I said I would stop you, Salit." She pointed it out like the most obvious thing in the world.

"And I said I would slay you if you tried," he replied turning to face her fully.

"If anyone is to do any slaying, it will be me!" Prosper drew something out of his coat and sprayed Salit with foul-smelling green goo from it. Goo that seemed to glow.

" _Magic_ ," Fenris grumbled, sighing, and then the duke's wyvern -- at least he hoped that wyvern was Leopold -- descended from the pinnacle of some nearby part of whatever this courtyard had once been.

The wyvern made quick work of Salit, and Anders did not look thrilled with this situation. "More wyverns? Wasn't one wyvern enough for the day?"

"Kill them all!" Prosper ordered, summoning his hounds.

"Well, if I knew it was going to be that kind of party, I'd have brought the dog." Cormac unshouldered his staff and lashed out, knocking the onrushing guards back, stunned -- where they stayed. "Thank you, beautiful!"

"If I knew it was going to be this kind of party, I'd have slept with the servants and nicked the cheese. This is going to be much more a scandal than anything I could've managed," Anton joked, before leaping into the fray and disappearing.

A force push from Artemis sent a pair of guards plummeting to their deaths. He didn't have time to feel bad for the poor souls. "And if _I_ knew it was going to be this kind of party," he said, not to be outdone by his siblings, "I'd --"

"You'd be drunk?" Fenris said. 

Artemis shot him a look that wasn't quite a glare, and their eyes met for a moment too long. "I... well, yes."

Fenris nodded. "So would I," he muttered before streaking after the wyvern in a flash of blue, sword aloft. Artemis stared after him a moment, until Isabela thwacked him up the back of the head.

"You can gawk at him later, sweet thing," she said, grinning as she disappeared again.

Artemis shook himself and aimed his next shove at the wyvern, which shot out over the edge of the cliff, just as Cormac lashed out again, stunning it as it fell.

Fenris sliced two more guards in half, then nodded inquisitively at Isabela, who was looking down after the duke and his deadly mount.

"Aww! Look at this! He thinks I'm going to help him up!" Isabela laughed and threw a knife to the side, dropping a mabari that skidded to a stop not far from where she stood. "Good dog," she said, pulling out the knife.

The rest of the fight went quickly, without the wyvern hocking poison on everything, but the duke could be heard shouting, whenever someone got close to the ledge. "The empress will hear of this! Orlais will burn Kirkwall to the ground! You will all die screaming, I swear it!"

"I think you have that the wrong way around," Fenris remarked, settling his heel on Prosper's fingers and grinding until they started to slip.

"I would have tried begging for mercy, but that's just me." Anton wiped off his knives and watched.

Prosper slid from the edge, his last words an angry shout involving 'turnips' before a sickening crunch told them everything they needed to know. Isabela waved at him as he fell.

"Well," said Artemis with a wry smile, "I guess the duke has 'fallen from grace'."

His pun was met with a chorus of groans.

Artemis looked hurt. "What? I thought that was funny!"

Anton snorted and led the way out of the courtyard. Anders slipped an arm around Cormac's waist and slid him a smile. 

"I have to tell you," Anders said, "I like your parties better."

"That's because my parties are better. And the ham doesn't taste of despair." Cormac leaned his head on Anders's shoulder.

Tallis caught up as they made their way back to the château. "Thank you. There's no way I could have done this without your help."

"What was it on that scroll, anyway?" Isabela asked.

"A list of agents throughout Thedas. Qunari, like myself." The scroll appeared in Tallis's hand. "Many of them have children, family, friends. They're people you wouldn't expect. Some of them have even left the Qun behind. But, if this list fell into human hands, they and everyone they know..."

"Would be killed," Fenris finished.

"The Ariqun believes they knew the risks, but what about the innocents? I... I couldn't let this happen." Tallis took a long look at the scroll, before it disappeared into her pockets again.

"What now?" Cormac asked, hopelessly flirtatious as usual. "You're not just going to leave us, are you?"

"You think I would fit into your merry entourage?" Tallis chuckled.

"Let's see..." Isabela began, tapping her chin. "Are you possessed? Consorting with demons? A pathological liar?"

"I have six toes on my left foot."

Isabela shrugged. "Close enough."

"Maybe some other time, in another place. I still have some things to clean up. You're cute, Cormac, but I'm not sure about that beard, any more." Tallis winked and patted her pockets for something else.

"I love my beard! My beard is incredible!" Cormac sputtered.

"Ah, this. This was going to be the Heart of the Many. You'd find a jewel, I'd find Salit, and we'd all come away happy." She produced a large red jewel on a chain, and pressed it into Fenris's hand. "You know what to do with this, Fenris. And stop making your boyfriend cry."


	38. PART X: LOOSE ENDS II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders knows just how Cormac likes it, and Cormac likes it _rough_. 
> 
> Warning for several flavours of 'holy shit that's disgusting', including CBT, bloodplay, and Anders running his mouth about Artemis. This chapter is nothing but smut, no plot will be lost if you skip it.

"Andraste's knickers, Cormac, if there was any more sap in you, tonight, you'd be a tree!" Anders wasn't sure that was quite a complaint, but there was no way he was letting it slide.

"Fuck you, I'm drunk," was the well-considered reply. "I'm drunk, and you're amazing. You're amazing when I'm not drunk, too. But, I usually have other things on my mind, when I'm not drunk. You know, saving the world, freedom for mages, the fact that I still haven't managed to talk you into putting your whole fist in my ass."

"Four fingers and the knuckles isn't enough for you?" Anders teased. "You're insatiable!"

"That's why you keep me around," Cormac purred. "Where else are you going to find someone who can ride you all night long?"

Anders felt his toes tingle at the thought of it. No matter how many times it happened, Cormac still amazed him. Amazed the fuck right into him, as Cormac was fond of saying. Still...

"Your brother was making a good show of it for a while. He's not you, but you've had more practise."

"He hasn't got it in him," Cormac scoffed.

"Oh, he's had a whole lot of it in him, and you've been there for plenty of that." Anders grinned and pressed a spark against Cormac's skin.

Cormac writhed, panting, and then grinned wickedly. "He hasn't got the intestinal fortitude."

"Oh, you'd be surprised," Anders breathed, fingers ghosting over Cormac's body. "I'm not rough with him, the way I am with you. I'm slow and gentle, and I can drag it on all night, like that, with him making those little gasps and twisting his hips for me. And then? Then he'll get my favourite toy -- you know the one -- and move the earth inside me, until I think I'm going to die from it, just rocking his hips and licking his lips, smiling like he knows all the secrets in the world."

Cormac made a strangled sound. "Oh, fuck, Anders. That's my fucking brother you're talking about."

"That's your brother fucking I'm talking about, and he does it so very well," Anders purred against Cormac's ear. "Oh, shit, Cormac, the time he got it halfway in and leaned down and told me he could feel my dick in his lungs... I came so hard I was afraid I'd break his hips with my hands, just squeezing him. And then he thanked me for the lube, and just kept working his way down, while I shot out all over his insides. It hurt so good, all I could think of was you."

Cormac panted, heart pounding, knob throbbing, as Anders stroked his body and whispered in his ear. "I need you. Andraste's tits, Anders, if you're going to talk to me like this, I need you to fuck me. Well, I need you to hurt me, but I really fucking _want_ you to fuck me. Shove your glorious flagpole up my ass until I can taste it. Bite me, pinch me, slap my fucking knob. Rub your finger into my pisshole until you split the ends of the slit and freeze my spunk when I start to come. Fucking _hurt me_ , Anders. Hurt me like only you can."

And, oh, Cormac begged for things that made Anders's skin crawl, but he'd learnt that doing as Cormac asked always ended well for both of them. He trusted that when Cormac begged for something, he meant it -- that he knew what he wanted, he knew exactly what damage it would do, and that he trusted Anders to heal it, if they screwed up. And that was a _they_ , because neither of them could be blamed, alone, for the handful of accidents they'd had. Stupid things-- just a little too hard, a little too much, Cormac refusing healing until he woke up in crippling pain. And Cormac in the wrong kind of pain was terrifyingly quiet, not at all like the screaming he did in the right kind of pain.

But, most of the time? Most of the time, Cormac screamed for more, begged at the top of his lungs to be fucked bloody and raw, and as long as Cormac kept begging, Anders would keep going. There were the nights when Cormac shook and cried from the pain, and Anders slowed down and stroked him, asking if he was all right, to which Cormac would always snap, 'Stop fawning and fucking fuck me!'

So, now, Anders would ease up just enough to be sure Cormac could answer, and ask 'Fawning or fucking?' and Cormac would laugh, tears streaming down his face, and detail exactly how he wanted his flesh to be battered and bruised.

As Anders stroked a handful of grease onto himself, he listened to Cormac ramble on about all the ways he wanted to be broken and split open, rutting hard against his thigh. And then Anders rolled over, pinning Cormac down with his body, as he pressed a thumbnail across one pebbled nipple, watching Cormac writhe and squall, even before he shot a jolt down through it.

And then Cormac tensed, a wet, gooey "Oh..." slipping out of him, as his hands danced over Anders's skin. He wasn't there yet, but Anders knew that glazed look. Knew it wouldn't take much to bring him off, the first time. Cormac couldn't go like Anders could go, but a couple-three times in a night wasn't unusual.

Anders didn't use his fingers at all -- that was the fastest way to get Cormac snarling -- just pulled his foreskin back and prayed, cramming the head into Cormac's painfully tight ass. As soon as Cormac clamped down, toes curling, Anders stopped pushing.

"Fuck! Anders. _Anders_! Slap me. Slap my knob. Hard. Make it sting, make it throb, _bruise me_! Oh, fuck, Anders, just hit me. I'll come so hard," Cormac pleaded, fingernails digging into Anders's shoulders.

Biting his lip, Anders took a deep breath and laid a solid, single-finger thwack against Cormac's frenulum. Cormac arched and screamed, insides wringing Anders in time with the leaping of his own knob against his belly. Surprisingly, he didn't come, but Anders did, a sharp gasp and his eyes squeezing shut the only signs beyond the sudden throbbing and spurting.

"Oh, shit, Anders. It's going to leak out of me. Fuck it into me, so I can keep you."

"Sappy. Like a tree," Anders teased.

"Wicked Grace night," Cormac reminded him, tilting his hips up and inviting Anders to push in deeper. "I want to sit across the table from Artemis, secure in the knowledge that I've been fucked full of your spunk, because it's my turn to sit on the flagpole, and he knows it."

"Your rivalry knows no bounds." Anders shivered and slowly forced himself further into Cormac, timing himself with Cormac's breaths, and the way that exquisitely tight ass got tighter, every few seconds, for just a moment. Anders was seeing stars -- the whole night sky worth of them hung between them. "Did I tell you about the time I fucked _him_ full of my spunk and then held him open and licked it out? You should have heard him. I've never heard sounds like that, before."

"Oh, shit." Cormac's skin stippled, and he could feel his nipples hardening even more, skin pulling against itself, as he writhed under Anders, hips rocking abortively. "I wish I'd been there to see his face."

"I wish you'd been there to watch me eat out your brother's ass. He's got a very, very nice ass, and I love when he lets me lick it." Anders suddenly slammed forward, stopping only when his pelvic arch collided with Cormac's ass.

Screaming, Cormac tore at the sheets, before he settled into the usual slightly more coherent streams of expletive-laden praise and demands for more.

"Did I tell you about the night I spent hours listening to him beg for me, just licking his asshole and sucking his balls?" Anders breathed into Cormac's ear, grinding deep into him. "He got me off twice with just his voice. Twice I came all over myself, just listening to your brother beg for my knob."

Cormac lost all reason and sense of anything beyond Anders, as teeth clenched around his collarbone, hard enough to bruise. He clutched desperately at Anders, clawing and making ragged sounds. Anders reached down between them and rubbed the tip of his pinky against the head of Cormac's dick, finally settling the sharp corner of the nail into the slit.

"You want this?" Anders asked, with another sharp nip on already-bruised skin.

" _Yes_!" Cormac's voice was raw, and it sounded like the only word he knew.

"You want me to slit you open and stroke you with the blood?"

Cormac screamed wordlessly, in frustration, and then, "Fuck -- fucking _hurt me_ , Anders! _Tear me apart!_ "

Anders felt the delicate skin part for his nail, as he pushed it in, and he chased it with a trace of lightning. Cormac shouted mindlessly, words following words, eyes wide and unseeing, as he detailed how good it felt to be cut open and bleeding, the feel of the blood beading and then breaking against Anders's fingertip to run down and pool against the ridge of his foreskin. His hips jerked and rolled of their own volition, grinding his insides against Anders's unreasonable knob. This. This was it. This was finally enough, more than enough, and he chased it over the edge, still howling for more.

And then the jolt of frost ran down his knob like an ice lance, and Cormac made a sound halfway between desire and terrible understanding. The ice wouldn't last long, not with the way the two of them generated heat, but Anders wrung his knob around it, and Cormac was once again left without words, screaming and pleading, clutching and squeezing Anders.

And that set Anders off again -- the way Cormac clenched and bucked around him, rutting into his hand around the long, thin sliver of ice inside him. Anders buried himself deep, thinking of that terribly smug look Cormac would wear all night, and that long-suffering face Artemis would make at them both. He spilled into Cormac a second time, as Cormac's body finally melted enough of the ice to force out the last few broken pieces in a red-streaked pool of lukewarm spunk.

Cormac started to shake, wrapping his legs around Anders, as he came down, and Anders slowed to an almost-gentle rhythm, pressing his lips to the tattoo on Cormac's cheek. Cormac pulled him down further, closer, and kissed just under Anders's ear, with a warmth and fervour usually reserved for lips. But, even fucked out of his wits, Cormac knew Anders didn't do lips, and he never asked why, just found something new -- something just for them, not that he'd ever admit it.

"Oh, fuck, Anders... No one in the world does me like you do. Shit." Cormac slapped Anders's hand as it started to stroke healing magic into him. "Fuck, knock it off. Not yet. I need it. I need you."

"Tree," Anders muttered, rolling his hips, and Cormac swatted his ass.

"I need your unreasonable flagpole, hot and hard and huge, so far up my ass I can feel it when I swallow. I need you to fuck me with it. I need you to fuck me raw. I need you to fuck me until every time you kick my chair, tonight, I drop my cards in my lap, because it still feels so good."

"Andraste's brazen and well-polished tits," Anders panted, hips jerking forward. "You're not drunk any more, are you?"

"Wasn't drunk in the first place. It was just a good excuse to run my mouth," Cormac admitted, rolling his hips, his entire body still vibrating. "You know I don't get drunk before Wicked Grace. And I know you're not done, yet, so are you going to keep stating the obvious or are you going to fuck me? We've got a few more hours. Should be enough to take the edge off, so you don't lose quite as badly."

"Next time Isabela asks, I'm telling her I keep losing because you don't fuck me enough, and I'm distracted. See if I don't."

Cormac's laugh bled out into a long, liquid groan, as Anders picked up the pace, again. What had he ever done to deserve this man?


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FLUFF! AND! KITTENS! ... and then some angst. (I swear Fenris gets his head out of his ass, soon. Honest.)

Anders's hand was starting to cramp. He'd traded in the gloom of the clinic for the cheerier gloom of the Hawkes' basement, but he spent just as many hours hunched over a desk, lips tracing words that slipped by under his quill. 

Anders blinked. He didn't even remember coming down here, let along lighting the oil lamp and sitting at his desk. He'd left inky fingerprints all over the desk and the sheets of his manifesto, and he wondered if he should let Artemis clean that up for him later.

Hours. It had been hours, judging by the ache in the small of his back. He sat back and stretched, the laugh on his lips nervous.

"Maker, Justice, you're a slave driver," Anders said, hoping that making a joke would make this funny.

"Oh, my lord of legendary beauty?" Cormac called out from down the hall, by the Darktown door, kicking it shut and locking it behind him. "I have come to improve your evening with cakes and cheese and other gifts from far off places, like upstairs."

Anders groaned and slumped back in his chair, hoping he could get the crick out, if he leaned the other way. It never worked, but he could hope. "Is one of those gifts a back massage? How long have I been down here? I don't even remember, and there's no windows..."

"You got out of bed, in the middle of the night, last night. I'm not sure what time. I thought you were sleepwalking again. You've been doing that. Getting up all blue and glowy and rambling, and just coming down here to write. I watched you for a few hours, but you never even saw me. Sleepwalking. It's midday, now." Cormac kept talking as he came up the hall, to the main room.

"Midday?" Anders rubbed at his forehead, accidentally smearing ink into his hairline. He remembered none of this. Dread was something cold in the pit of his stomach, but he conjured up a smile as he rose to greet Cormac.

Then a second set of footsteps echoed down the stairs, this tread lighter than Cormac's but just as familiar to him.

"Anders?" called Artemis. "Are you still down here? I brought you something!"

Anders looked back and forth between the doorways, eyebrows raised, and he eased into his smile. "Two Hawkes and two presents? Is it my name day already?"

"Oh, well, here's Artie to outdo me, as usual," Cormac joked, coming in with a basket hung over his arm and pressing a kiss to Anders's ink-stained cheek. "You know, you look almost as good in black as you do in white. It's a good thing, too."

"Shit." Anders looked at his hands and sighed. "I don't..."

Cormac handed him the wrapper from something from the Orlesian bakery to wipe his hands on, and Anders looked distressingly grateful as he wiped off his fingers.

"So, presents for me... I hope some part of these fabulous gifts are your amazing asses. Because I'll tell you, the last few weeks have been painfully short on Hawke ass." Anders looked up and winked at Artemis, who appeared in the doorway with a basket suspiciously like his brother's over his arm.

"I don't know about Cormac," Artemis said, "but my ass's existence is a present to everyone." He frowned at the mess of ink Anders had left on his face and desk, and his fingers twitched around the basket as though he were physically restraining himself from cleaning it up.

Anders laughed. "And all of Thedas thanks you," he said.

Artemis looked up from the mess long enough to squint at his brother and _his_ basket. "Hang on," he said, drawing the syllables out. A squeak from inside his basket interrupted him.

"Did your basket just meep?" Cormac squinted at Artemis. "Your basket just meeped. You went to see Merrill, didn't you."

Anders looked increasingly confused. Meeping baskets? He'd been awake too long for this. Hallucinating. Dreaming! Maybe he was still in bed with Cormac, and all of this was some weird and terrible dream. The pain in his back did make that a little less likely, and he debated whether he could heal it without knocking himself out.

Cormac whipped the cloth off the top of his basket, revealing a tiny ginger kitten, a wheel of sweet, sharp cheese, and a box of duchess cakes. "We think alike. We're brothers. We're like that."

Anders's eyes bugged, but before he could react, Artemis sighed and pulled the cloth off _his_ basket, revealing a second ginger kitten, this one with a swath of white down its chin and belly. "Damn it," he muttered. "Merrill didn't tell me you'd already taken a kitten!" 

There was another squeak, but this time it was from Anders. He was practically vibrating with glee, turning back and forth between the baskets as through trying to figure out how to flail over both kittens at the same time. "Kittens," he said, his voice still a squeak. "You brought kittens?"

Artemis bit his lip against a grin and scooped out his red and white furball before setting down the basket. The kitten meeped again and wriggled, but Artemis soothed it with a finger down its back. "Merrill found a litter in the Alienage," he said, pressing the kitten to Anders's chest. "She's been trying to find homes for them all, and I thought... well, the same thing as Cormac, apparently." Anders wrapped his arm around Artie's kitten and pressed his face into its fur as he reached over to pet Cormac's kitten. "That one's a boy," Artemis said. "Very affectionate, if a bit of a klutz, or so I hear."

"Just like you," Cormac said with a grin, setting the other ball of orange fluff on Anders's shoulder, where it curled up and chewed on the tip of its tail. "This little gentleman is a bit standoffish. All teeth, she tells me. Very independent. Kind of like Fenris, really, but she didn't have a drunken shithead kitten, so you couldn't have one just like me."

"As long as it doesn't have a grudge against mages, I think I'll be fine," Anders laughed, pressing a kiss to Artemis's forehead. "You two are amazing. Kittens. You brought me kittens. Am I dreaming? I'm going to wake up with half a page printed on my cheek, in another hour, and there will be no Hawkes and no kittens, and I will be very sad."

Cormac pinched Anders's ass, and he jumped. "Nope, you're awake. I'm still standing here."

"As am I," Artemis said between cooing at the kittens himself. The orange and white one had started to purr, his eyes happy little slits as Artemis scratched under his chin. "I both look forward to and dread finding out what you're going to call them." 

"Dread?" Anders huffed, reaching up to pet the kitten on his shoulder. "I have excellent taste in cat names!"

Artemis let the look on his face speak for him. He reached up to pet the fully ginger kitten and got hissed at for his trouble. "He _is_ like Fenris," he grumbled. 

"I will call this one Ser Nibbles, because he keeps biting me," Anders decided, with a kitten firmly attached to his fingertip. "Aren't you a sweet and deadly thing, Ser Nibbles? Yes, I think you are! I think you will be an excellent ally in my battle against the evil templars. You'll chew right through them, won't you?"

"The only thing worse than a kitten in your platemail is a ferret in your platemail. Maybe I should've gotten you a ferret." Cormac opened the box of cakes and offered it to his brother.

"Oh, please no. Not ferrets. Ferrets are actual demons. One of the apprentices managed to sneak one in... It took six months to even find the damned thing, and by then everything smaller than a bathtowel in the entire tower had been dragged off into the walls." Anders shuddered and attempted to get his finger back from the kitten still trying to kill and eat it.

"Ser Nibbles sounds about right," Artemis said as Anders finally saved his finger from the jaws of kitteny death. "What about this one?" Kitten number two was still purring at everything.

"I'm thinking... Ser Purrcival," Anders decided. "Yes. Ser Purrcival."

"Why are all your cats knighted?" Artemis asked. "Don't they usually have to go through a ceremony for that sort of thing? Wait. Hang on."

Artemis plucked up Anders's quill and tapped it to Ser Purrcival's shoulder. "I dub thee Ser Purrcival," he said as the knighted kitten in question tried to bat at the quill. Artemis moved on to Ser Nibbles. "And I dub thee -- _ow, cat, that's my hand_!"

Cormac grabbed the quill and tried again, poking tentatively at the tiny ball of death and destruction. "I dub thee-- Hah!" He jerked his hand back and went in for another go, as if he were fencing the kitten, finally landing a tap on each furry shoulder. The kitten chewed on the feather fluff. "I dub thee Ser Nibbles, Cat of Death!"

"Cat of death? Really?" Anders looked less than entirely amused.

"You're the one that wanted him to fight templars," Cormac pointed out, still holding an open box of duchess cakes in one hand.

"Cat of Death. Eater of Hands." Anders conceded the point and snatched a cake, taking a huge bite that left glaze and cream all over his face. Ser Purrcival tried to lick the lemon cream off his chin, before deciding lemon was not for kittens, with a distinctly dismayed look. "Cakes and kittens and Hawkes, oh my!"

Or at least Cormac was pretty sure that's what Anders was aiming for with that gummy mutter. He was getting good at understanding the distinct tones of Anders with his mouth full. Which, really, was probably a good thing, considering how often Anders had his mouth full, when the two of them were together. "And cheese. I got that cheese you like, too."

Anders groaned happily, and sank to his knees, still covered in kittens.

* * *

Bare feet or no, Fenris was in danger of wearing a hole in the Hawke Estate's floor. From the balcony, Anton watched him muttering and pacing indecisively, ears twitching. Anton chewed on a slice of apple and cut another for Serendipity.

"Oh my," said Dips, "he seems to have worked himself into quite the state, hasn't he?" She munched on her apple slice and leaned her hip against the railing.

"He does that," Anton replied. After another minute of watching Fenris in all his twitchy glory, Anton called down to him, "He's downstairs, you know."

Fenris jumped, brands flaring as his hand twitched for his sword. Spotting his audience, his ears burned red as the blue from his tattoos faded. "I don't --"

"Yes, yes, you don't know what I'm talking about," Anton sighed, rolling his eyes. With a mouthful of apple, he said, "He's downstairs."

And downstairs was exactly where Fenris found Artemis, sprawled lengthwise on a green couch and a book in his hand.

"So, it's true, then." Fenris looked around, slowly realising where he was. "You and Anders. You and your brother and Anders." 

Whatever had been in his head was gone, as he noticed a couple of spots that hadn't quite come out of the couch. This was Artemis lying on the abomination's sex-stained couch, where he had probably let that abomination fuck him. He was standing in the room in which the most annoying mage in all of Thedas had stolen from him. This mage was _his_ mage. And he'd come here to make that clear, but this... this wasn't what he'd wanted to see. This wasn't what he wanted to know. He'd been so sure Anders had just been jerking him around, for a laugh, but... here it was. Proof.

" _Mages_ ," he hissed, frustratedly, unable to stop himself.

"What's it to you?" Artemis asked, his look of surprise turning to something cold. Noting the page he was on, he closed the book he was reading and set it aside, sitting up. What was Fenris doing here? He noticed him noticing the stains on the couch, and his face flushed red. "I could be letting Meredith fuck me with a broad sword and it would have absolutely _nothing_ to do with you!"

Fenris growled, gauntleted fingers twitching. He wanted to grab this foolish mage. Wanted to shake sense into him. Wanted...

"What are you doing here, Fenris?" Artemis asked, and Fenris remembered a time when those blue eyes weren't so cold.

"Obviously not what you are," Fenris snapped, without thinking. Smooth. That's exactly what you want to say to someone you want to ... and that really was the question. What was he doing here? What had he even expected to accomplish? "Wasting my time. That's what I'm doing here. I'm wasting my time."

His fingers twitched again as he looked Artemis over. He wanted to grab, to take, but... Artemis's eyes were so cold. This wasn't the mage he'd come back for, any more. For everything magic didn't ruin independently, he touched it, and it came apart. Fenris's eyes settled on Artemis's hands, instead. Something safer. Something that didn't stare back at him and look right through him. His face twisted, angry, betrayed, lost. 

And then he felt something warm and fuzzy on his foot. He looked down to see a little orange kitten, still small enough that his fur stuck out in tufts. "What do you want?" he asked the kitten. 

Ser Nibbles looked up at him, and his mouth opened around a little "mree!" 

"I don't speak Cat," Fenris replied. Ser Nibbles lived up to the name and gummed at his big toe. Fenris moved his foot, and the kitten followed. Sighing, he picked up the kitten, holding him under the armpits.

Fenris looked up at Artemis and saw... _something_ in his face. It was gone before Fenris could parse it, blue eyes going cold again before looking away.

The kitten struggled until it wrapped its back legs around one of Fenris's wrists, stretching to get its teeth into the knuckles on the other side. Kittens, it turned out, were very flexible. Like furry little bags of jam. With very sharp points. Fenris was not above making comparisons, but he wouldn't make them out loud, and certainly not in present company. He continued to angrily cuddle the kitten.

"You," Fenris declared. "I came here because I wanted you. But, you -- It just had to be _Anders_ , didn't it?" Fenris huffed and scritched the kitten chewing on his fingers. "Not Isabela, not some pretty thing from the Rose, no. You did that to me, and when I got pissed off, you came running to the abomination. I should have known, after that night, but I thought your _brother_ might -- I don't know what I thought. Expecting anything from Cormac... Mages! Damnable _mages_!"

"Yes, because everything is about you!" Artemis snapped. He was on his feet now, eyes no longer cold but brimming with something just as ugly. "And you know, I was drunk enough that it _could_ have been anyone! But Anders was the one who scraped me off the floor and made sure I was all right after you --!" Artemis clamped his mouth shut at the end of that sentence.

Ser Nibbles had his ears back, eyes huge as he struggled to look over his shoulder at this noisy human.

"Oh, I see," Fenris sneered. "You were drunk. _That_ explains everything."

"Oh, fuck off," Artemis grit out, hating the way his voice shook.

"Oh, fuck Anders," Fenris snarled, shoving Artemis back onto the couch. And that was a lot harder than it should have been. His fingers twitched, trying to grab, at first, but he fought himself and won. He dropped the kitten into Artemis's lap, a lot more gently than he'd dropped Artemis, and stormed off toward the stairs. 

This-- this hadn't been what he meant. This hadn't been what he wanted at all. But, there were things in the world that were meant for people other than him. People who weren't elves or slaves. People who had families and real lives, and didn't live in hiding. Stupid _mages_! Everything about them just seeped into the things around them, befouled everything they came near. Perhaps the Qunari had it right. But, his breath caught in his throat at the thought of Artemis chained and stitched up. This wasn't what he wanted. This wasn't it _at all_.

Cat cradled in one arm, Artemis picked up his book and threw it after Fenris's shadow. The elf was already gone, but the book made a satisfying thud against the wall. He soothed the squeaking kitten in his arms, eyes glittering with angry tears.

From the balcony upstairs, Anton and Serendipity watched Fenris storm back out of the house. "Damn," Anton muttered. They hadn't even finished the apple.


	40. PART XI: ANOTHER BALL

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another party! More excessive drunkenness! Cullen doesn't spend it in a coat closet!

Spring had come again, and it was the season for grand balls. The Hawkes had already been invited to several, and Leandra and Bodhan had been up to their elbows in planning the next one, for weeks. There had still been snow on the ground, when the first orders went out. They were a surprisingly competent team, and by the night of the ball, the house was decorated in silver and burgundy -- streamers, banners, flowers, linens -- the place looked nearly as opulent as when Lord Aristide's events had been the talk of Kirkwall.

Anders had been talked into his Warden robes, for the occasion, and a few apologetic letters to Solona had earned him a little golden griffon pin that he wore at his shoulder. He still wasn't quite comfortable in company, but Cormac and Artemis had insisted he come upstairs for at least some of it, with promises they'd all go back downstairs, together, later.

Everyone who was anyone was there -- the Viscount and his son, the Knight-Captain, half the Orlesian court (as far as Anders could tell), ranking members of the Dwarven Merchants' Guild, the Prince of Starkhaven. Over in the corner, Anton poured wine for Serendipity. Anders had never imagined a party larger and more full of people he wanted nothing to do with than the last one at the Hawke Estate. Or, well, there was that fuckawful event at Chateau Haine, but they all tried not to think about that. It was less a party and more an all-out assault on Orlais, if some of what the duke had said was true.

Carver lurked by one of the endless tables of finger-food, chatting with Isabela and Merrill, and from the look of them, Izzy was telling dirty stories again. Varric chatted up the de Launcet daughters, delighted to have yet another audience for terrible tales about the Hawkes, and more than happy to keep them both away from Cormac. Fenris lurked by the doorway, having brought his own drink, this time, and he passed it to Aveline, as she entered.

"Trust me. You want some."

She arched an eyebrow at him as she took the proffered drink. "That bad, huh?" she asked.

Fenris grunted something that conveyed his annoyance far more than a 'yes' could have. He wasn't even sure why he'd bothered coming here. A mage party in a mage house. This mage house, with that mage. There wasn't enough alcohol in the world to justify this.

Aveline followed his stare to Artemis, who was -- surprise -- lurking by the wine again. She shook her head, returning Fenris's drink. "I'm going to go say hello to Cormac before Anders has his tongue down his throat again," she said, leaving Fenris to his broody drinking and broody staring.

Fucking Anders... Fenris seethed quietly.

"Aveline! Darling! Come, let me introduce you to Comte Pierre of Halamshiral. Your lordship, I present Aveline Vallen, Captain of the Kirkwall Guard, and personal friend. There are few I would be prouder to have at my back." Cormac smiled broadly and offered Aveline a glass of wine that had magically appeared in his hand.

"The real shame is that I'm usually in front of you," Aveline teased, bowing. "A pleasure, your lordship. I can only ask that you forgive Kirkwall for Cormac."

The Comte laughed. "It is only true friends who will speak so. The pleasure is mine, Captain."

Anders made his way to where Cullen picked nervously at a plate of olives. "You're not looking too thrilled, Ser Cullen."

"What? I-- Oh. No, I... I just like olives." Cullen glanced around the room again.

"Anton left you to your own devices?" Anders helped himself to the olives, which seemed to have been pickled in garlic. "These are good."

"Anton said he was going to introduce me to his best friend, and then he disappeared."

Cullen's nerves were so bad that Anders's stomach started to flip, just watching him. "He's good at that. Disappearing, I mean. But, his best friend? You'll love her. She's wonderfully funny and smart. I don't think anyone could dislike Serendipity."

"You really weren't there for the demons?" Cullen asked, voicing the question that had been nagging at him every time he'd seen Anders in passing, since that day.

"I was there for enough other demons, just not those demons." Anders loaded up on olives, so he'd say less. "Hear about the rage demon in the cellar? Was my cat. Anyone tells you demons only take mages, they're lying. And if they're lying, they want something."

"I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you around all the olive. Did you just say your cat?" Cullen fumbled an olive and it landed in some poor Orlesian woman's cleavage. He blushed terribly and stared at Anders's hands.

"Aaand that," said Anton, sidling up next to them with an arm around Serendipity's waist, "is my... is Cullen. This is Cullen."

Anders choked out a laugh through a mouth full of olives. "I bet if you ask her nicely, she'll let you have it back," he said. Cullen defied logic by blushing even harder.

"I... er... yes." Cullen turned to Serendipity, wiping his hands on a kerchief before extending it to her. "Y-you must be Serendipity. It's a lovely. Er. I mean, it's a pleasure. You look lovely."

"Oh, honey, the pleasure is all mine." Smirking, Serendipity gave Cullen her hand, and he bowed his head, somehow looking even more flustered. "Anton told me you were adorable. I'm glad to see he wasn't exaggerating about that."

"A-adorable," Cullen repeated, finally remembering to let go of her hand. "Ah. Well. If fumbling olives and scandalising Orlesians at the same time is adorable, then... then yes."

Anders watched this display and continued to stuff his face with olives. Maker, the man was just as endearingly hopeless as Artie. Speaking of which, where had Artie ended up, in this sea of silk and feathers?

Pouring a fistful of olives into a wine glass that he emptied down his throat for that purpose, Anders set out across the room, checking corners and the spaces behind things. He wondered if maybe he shouldn't have brought one of the kittens up, but that would have drawn even more attention than the Warden robes. He could feel the eyes following him, all the terrible, pointless curiosity. He supposed there was a time he'd have used that to get laid, probably repeatedly and in rapid succession, but with two Hawkes and Justice... He wasn't sure even Warden stamina would carry him through much more.

Finally, he spotted Artemis, by the wine table on the other side of the room. He turned on the charm, totally unnecessarily, more for the eyes than really for Artie, and slunk up to the nervous mage, smiling like he had a terrible plan. Which he did. At least one. Probably six or eight. "Olive?" he asked, holding out the glass. "Blowjob behind the ice sculpture?"

Artemis choked out a nervous laugh. "Yes, please," he said, fishing an olive out of Anders's glass and popping it into his mouth. He made a face. "Was there wine in this glass before? There was wine in this glass. Thought the olive tasted wine-y."

Anders raised an eyebrow. "Is... that a bad thing?"

"No, I... just." Artemis gave up and stuffed his face with olives in rapid succession. "I'm rambling," he said, after pausing to swallow. "I do that. When I'm nervous. And I get nervous when there's people. And messes. And wine in my olives."

Anders scarfed the last olive before Artemis could. "How much have we had to drink?" he asked.

Artie's fingers tap-tapped against his own wine glass. "Not enough," he said. "I keep thinking of the last party, and I... shouldn't."

"Bullshit. You should. You should, and I'll help you do it." Anders laughed. "We'll be the scandal of the season, if you like. Or, maybe we'll just end up downstairs, again. But, in bed, this time, instead of on the floor. And you get first choice on who comes with us, if anyone does. But, first? First I should get us something a little more effective than this Orlesian sweetened pisswater."

If he was going downstairs anyway, maybe he should get one of the kittens... but drunk and with kittens didn't sound like the best idea. Drunk fucking and kittens sounded even worse, given how many times Ser Nibbles had managed to climb up on the bed and bite him on the ass. 'Lord Assbiter', Cormac had started calling him. "Whiskey?"

"Maker, yes," Artemis sighed, giving Anders a look that was half relief, half affection.

"Those are words I suspect you'll be saying quite a bit, later," Anders said, winking at Artemis, who ducked his head and snorted, before slinking away, swishing his hips perhaps more than necessary to keep Artie smiling.

Anders passed Fenris on his way to the wine cellar, unsurprised to find the elf glaring at him and almost amused to find that glare ten degrees colder than usual. "What's the matter, Broody?" he couldn't resist saying as he opened the cellar door. "Not as much fun as the last party? You could always join me in the cellar..."

Fenris answered with his fist, and Anders didn't even pretend he could have gotten out of the way. Not at this distance. Anders's teeth rattled as that fist connected with his jaw, but he just laughed and grabbed the doorframe, to keep himself from tumbling down the stairs.

"You've got it bad." Anders shook his head. "Does he even know?"

"In answer to your first question, you. You are what's the matter." Mages, he didn't say. Not here, not now. Not if he still cared about Artemis, at all. "And the rest is none of your concern."

Fenris stormed off in the direction of some other corner to occupy. He was carrying his own bottle. He didn't have to lurk in any particular place. That balcony looked nice.

Anders returned to Artemis's side, minutes later, with a bottle of whiskey and the beginnings of a wicked bruise. He didn't bother to heal it, just to bother Fenris. Fenris who would drive himself mad trying to figure out why the healer didn't heal.

"It's the good stuff. If we put it in the wine glasses, no one will ever notice," Anders said, putting the bottle in Artemis's hand.

"Thanks," said Artemis, who took the bottle distractedly. "Um. What happened to your eye?"

"A door punched me," Anders replied cheerfully, holding his and Artemis's glass while the other mage poured. He laughed at Artemis's arch expression. "Don't worry about it. I suspect it pissed the door off more than me."

"Yes," said Artemis slowly, "I hear the doors in this house are particularly aggressive." Especially the elf-shaped ones, he decided, looking up in time to see Fenris's retreating back.

Thank the Maker for whiskey.

 

* * *

 

Fenris was considering approaching the cellar for more drinkables, when he heard the soft footsteps approaching. He'd been watching Artemis and the abomination get progressively more intoxicated, though he was pretty sure the abomination was a lot less drunk. Demons. Magic. But, the footsteps resolved into a figure wearing a dress that was nearly a confection, layers of frothy frills in grey and pink, so huge he didn't have to turn his head to be aware of it.

"Mooning alone? It's very dramatic, you know. Brooding on balconies is a real ladykiller." Her voice was much deeper than Fenris expected, and he looked at her, finally. An elf, and a rather attractive one.

"I am not brooding. Why does everyone think I'm brooding?" Fenris complained, and nevermind that he had, in fact, been brooding, this time. It was the principle of the thing.

"Oh, sweetie, it's because you are brooding. You've just been doing it so long you can't tell any more." Serendipity leaned over the balcony rail, to see where Fenris had been looking. "Oh... trouble in love, is it? Which one, the Hawke or his brother's lover?"

Fenris scoffed at the very idea he could be brooding over Anders. Anders, who currently had an armful of his mage.

He wanted to tell her it was none of her business. But he also really wanted to say his name. "Artemis," he said, half like it was a curse, half like... he wasn't going to think about that half. That half could fuck itself in the ear.

Serendipity hummed as she watched the pair of mages hanging off each other. "He is cute, in a fidgety sort of way. Bet it's easy to make him blush."

Fenris grumbled under his breath and tried to shake out the last drops from his bottle, catching them on his tongue. That was not something he was going to think about. Not while he was still half sober. Ish.

"So, why is it that you're up here, with me, not that I'm complaining about the company of a handsome elf with intriguing tattoos, while he's down there fidgeting and drinking with the most desperately cheerful Grey Warden the Marches have ever seen?" Serendipity offered a bottle that must have come from somewhere in the ocean of ruffles. "Cordial of Bitter Orange?"

Fenris set the bottle he was holding on the balcony rail and took the fresh one from her. Not his preference, but he didn't have to climb three flights of stairs for it. "Thank you. You are too kind."

He suddenly realised they hadn't been introduced, which now that he noticed, was going to bother him. It wasn't usually a concern; he had no need for the names of strangers. But, he was drunk enough that he couldn't do without a handle. Opening the bottle, he asked, "Who are you? I was not expecting to be beset by cordial fairies, tonight."

"Cordial fairies! Oh, I like that! Anton will be so amused." Serendipity offered her hand, this time. "Call me Serendipity, everyone does, unless they're Anton."

He bowed over her hand in that fashion he'd picked up watching the Orlesians. "Fenris."

"Such a charmer!" Batting her eyelashes, Serendipity pressed her free hand to her cheek. "But, you still haven't told me what you're doing brooding, up here, while that sweet young thing rearranges the wine."

"It is..." Fenris searched for words as he looked down at the irksome pair. "It is complicated," he decided. He took a drink. Sweeter than he'd like, but it would do.

"Says the broody elf, broodingly."

Fenris shot her a flat look. It wasn't a glare. He didn't glare at people who gave him drinks. Generally. Usually. Sometimes.

Serendipity looked less than impressed. "Honey, I doubt it's more complicated than anything I've seen."

"And you've seen a lot, have you?"

"Enough to make your ears curl." Serendipity's grin was wicked, and Fenris believed her. "So try me."

The problem, Fenris realised, was that he didn't know how to answer her question to himself. It was all tangled up in knots, this... whatever this was. He was tangled up in knots. And a mage had done that. "Mages," he hissed.

"Compulsion?" Serendipity asked, rustling her skirts again. "I have something for that. In my line of work, you understand... Can never be too sure."

Fenris looked ill. No, he knew compulsions. He'd been subject to them often enough. The problem wasn't actually magic, it was just mages. "No, I don't think--" He took the charm, anyway, when she held it out, but nothing changed, and he looked at once relieved and disappointed. "No, it's not."

The charm disappeared back into Serendipity's gown. "So, start with the simple parts. Do you want his body? It's a nice one."

Somehow, Fenris didn't look any less ill as he thought about how that body had felt, wrapped around him. "Yes, but--"

"No buts, unless it's his butt, and that is a fine bottom, from what I can tell. I heard stories that his dad's was even nicer, but I wouldn't know. That was before my time." Serendipity flashed a divinely wicked smile and went on. "Do you want him by your side? Would you look after him? Would you hold his hair back when he puts up the extraordinary amount of liquor I've watched him put down, tonight?"

"Yes, but--"

"What did I just say about buts? Or are we talking about his, now?"

Fenris didn't want to talk about his. That didn't stop him from staring at it. "Fine," he sighed.

"And what about him? Is he interested in you? He would be blind not to be."

Fenris didn't have such a ready answer for that. He took another long drink so that he wouldn't have to answer for a minute. "He... was, I believe." Past tense. Before that mess with the house. Before the abomination scooped him up. Before... before Fenris realised how badly he wanted him.

"Was? You believe? Haven't you even talked about this with him? Did you just surrender before you even got started?" Serendipity gasped and put on her very best shocked face.

"It... no. It was ... complicated." Fenris sighed.

"And you're explaining it to me in simple words. So, what happened? You asked him out to dinner and he said he would but he already had a fine piece of Warden to keep him up all night?"

"What? No! ... No. We... twice. And it was good. And..." Fenris sighed again and took a very large drink followed by another. "He bought me a house."

Serendipity whistled. "Where I'm from, we call that interested."

"I thought he was trying to buy me. I--" He gestured futilely, before deciding on the answer that wasn't an answer. "I'm told I was from Seheron."

"I thought I recognised that pattern on your face. Poor thing. Does he know that?" Serendipity pinched his wrist and caught the bottle, before taking a quick drink and passing it back, as if nothing had happened.

Fenris growled and looked a little wild as the feeling bled back into his fingers. And then he realised he was still holding the bottle. Or holding it again. What a peculiar woman this was. "You've seen this before?"

"Not in quite that colour, but the pattern's familiar enough. There's a line of magisters that's been using those lines for three hundred years. I've got it in a book, I think. Someone had it sent to me as a threat, but I found it made wonderful toilet reading." Serendipity laughed, covering her face with her fan, as she did. As the fan fell, she asked again. "Does he know?"

"Does he know that I was... yes. He knows." And he should have known better, a part of Fenris insisted still. It was a part of him he didn't want to listen to any more. "I... was upset. I said things, and he left." He still remembered the look on Artemis's face.

"'Things', hmm?" Serendipity sighed. Fenris pursed his lips. "Is that how you two left it? 'Things' up in the air?"

"It's not... I..." Fenris ran a hand through his hair, squeezing at the ends. "I went to see him a few days ago. I wanted to apologise, but..."

"But?" Serendipity prompted.

"Oh, now you want to hear my 'but'?"

"Well, I'd much rather see it, but sure." She smiled, fan moving idly in front of her face. "So did you? Apologise?"

Fenris wouldn't say that he squirmed, but Serendipity would. Down went another long drink. "...no," he finally mumbled.

"Oh, you said something very unapologetic, didn't you?"

Damn this woman and her intuition. "I... might have said rude things about the Warden," he admitted. "And I may have hit him -- not the Warden -- with an angry cat."

"You went to apologise, and you hit him with an angry cat?" Serendipity looked entirely too amused. "I'm very interested in the transition between these two things."

"It was ... them." Fenris gestured and took another drink. The bottle was emptying rapidly, and the drunker he got, the more he rambled. "I didn't know. Well, I knew, but I didn't know. That Warden, Anders, is a shit-mouthed joker. I thought he was just trying to rile me. Which he did. But, I wasn't expecting to find out it was true, and certainly not so... viscerally. I might have taken it better with less ... fluids."

"Just fluids, or...?" Serendipity fluttered her fan at Anton, down below.

"No! No. Just... fluids. Stains." He thought again of Artemis lounging on that stained sofa, and it pissed him off all over again. Artemis. Lounging. On stains.

"I heard the Warden's doing the other brother, though. Are you sure whose stains those even were?" Serendipity shrugged. "And even if he is, even if they are, you still haven't managed to apologise."

"I... he..." Artemis hadn't denied it, and Fenris knew him. Stains would bother him. He would avoid them if they weren't... Ugh, he didn't want to think about this. "No. No, I did not apologise." And Fenris was only just realising that. "And now he'll barely look at me, and when he does, it's... not the same."

Down below, Anders murmured something into Artemis's ear that made him choke on a laugh and lean drunkenly against the abomination.

"You're going to grind that glass into sand if you squeeze any harder," said Serendipity. Fenris blinked and looked down to his knuckles white around the neck of the bottle. He forced himself to loosen his grip.

"He shouldn't be..." Fenris growled. "Not with him. Anyone but him."

"Anyone?" Serendipity raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure about that?"

A terrible thought occurred to Fenris. "Anyone except his older brother."

Which hadn't been where Serendipity was going with that, at all. "You don't think he would, do you?"

"Have you met Cormac?" Fenris drawled.

"Thank you!" Serendipity smiled brightly. "I have so very many bad things to ask Anton. I knew there was more to this family than even I was hearing, and I am hearing an awful lot."

Fenris handed back the bottle. "Then you probably need the rest of this. They're all mad. Especially her." He pointed at Bethany.

"It's always the cute ones." Serendipity grinned behind her fan. "But, really, it should be you, shouldn't it? So, let's just watch, for a while, and you can practise on me. Just keep saying it over and over, until you can do it without throwing any angry cats, and then wait until you can get him alone, and just... throw yourself on his mercy. He won't be kind, at first, I expect. You did throw a cat at him. But, be sincere, and maybe he'll come around."


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party continues! Artemis is much too drunk! Cormac is not nearly drunk enough for this! Anders suddenly wishes he was a lot more drunk! Cullen should maybe lay off the cordial!

Cormac was terribly tired of Orlesian politics, even Orlesian politics about elves, which usually he could muster an argument about. He'd left Comte Pierre with Carver, Aveline, and Merrill, and it would be the Maker's own blessing if he came out of that with his skin intact. He seemed nice enough, but Merrill had Opinions, with a capital 'O', when it came to the Dalish, to no one's surprise.

After a quick stop in the kitchen, to steal a bottle that was meant to go with dessert, Cormac spotted Anders and Artemis balefully lurking by a table full of wine, and the doors to the back garden. "And how are we, this fine, fucktacular evening?" The smile on his face said it all, as Anders relieved him of the bottle and a substantial amount of the contents.

"I'm blue," Anders grated, "but if I get enough of this down, he'll stop trying."

"Hey. Hey, Cormac," Artemis slurred, slinging an arm around his brother's shoulders in a way that had them both stumbling. "Guess what?" He held up his wine glass, and it waved back and forth in front of Cormac's face. In a loud whisper, he said, " _This isn't wine_."

"On the other hand," Anders said, "your brother's been drinking enough for both of us."

Artemis loudly shushed him and downed the rest of his not-wine. "He threw a cat at me," he slurred. A few consonants might have gotten lost in there.

Cormac shot Anders a confused look.

"Not me. I don't throw my kitties."

Cormac took his brother's face in his hands. "Who threw a cat at you, Artie?" The pieces started to come together. Anton had mentioned Fenris came by... "Fenris? Am I going to have to have a nice long talk with the broody death elf about the proper uses of cats, among which thrown weapons are not one? Poor Purrcy. Poor Lord Assbiter."

Artemis nodded slowly. "He... he might jussss throw a cat at you too," he said. "Fen... Fenners. Fen... _ris_. Yes."

"Wow," said Anders, taking another drink. Justice suggested throwing something at the broody elf that was far less fuzzy and just as deadly. Anders thought the suggestion worth considering.

Artemis took Cormac's face in his too. They looked ready to start a weird, Orlesian dance. "He knowsss," Artemis said in another loud hiss, his face unnecessarily close to his brother's to make sure he heard, "about t'couch."

"Are we still talking about Fenris?" Anders asked. He glanced up and saw the elf glaring down at them from the balcony.

"I think we are. And I didn't tell him. I didn't figure it was any of his business. When he wants to play nice, then maybe he can hear about the couch. Mostly how comfortable it is. Still, it's your couch, and I'm not telling him anything if you don't want him... sitting on it." Cormac's words were a little muffled, since he couldn't quite open his mouth with the way Artemis held on to his face. "Hey, Artie? If you don't let go, somebody's gonna start to think you mean to suck my face."

Anders snorted. "I'd pay to see that."

Artemis squinted at his brother as he parsed through what he was saying. "Fenners w'hate that," he said. "His face'd get all twisted up." Artemis's eyes lit up. "Oooh, let's do that!"

Then Artemis pulled Cormac into a sloppy, drunken kiss. Glass broke as Anders's glass slid through his fingers.

Carver came in through the kitchen, took one look and walked right back out.

"Andraste's flaming knickerweasels," Anders breathed, struck dumb as a door knob, and speaking of knobs, his was remarkably interested in these proceedings. Cormac, though, seemed to just be letting his brother manhandle him. Which didn't make it any less hot, just... more awkward. Anders was frankly impressed at how little breathing either brother needed to do, but he had already known that, he supposed. It was just more impressive when there weren't any parts of his own body involved.

A few minutes passed, before a horrible revelation settled onto Anders. "This is a party in your house. Uh, guys? Come on, break it up. I haven't seen your mother in a few minutes, and all the Orlesians are staring. I will happily kiss both of you, but this is going to be the scandal of the decade, and your mum's going to _cry_."

Cormac finally managed to break away, smoothing Artemis's hair back. "Not in public, Artie," was all he could manage to say to that. Carver was going to punch him in the face, later. He probably needed it, even more than deserved it, all things considered.

Artemis took a stumbling step back from his brother, licking his lips and swaying slightly on his feet. He looked around until his eyes caught Fenris up in the balcony. The elf's eyes were trained on him, wide enough to fall out of his head, and the pretty elf next to him was laughing so hard she was in danger of ruining her make-up. Artemis gave them both a clumsy, sarcastic salute.

He turned to Anders. "I can't feel m'lips," he declared.

"And I think I swallowed my tongue," Anders replied.

"And on that note, I'm going to leave you with the bottle and go check on Anton. Please don't let my brother give himself alcohol poisoning, Anders. You won't like cleaning that up any more than I will." Cormac planted a kiss on Anders's scruffy cheek and vanished into the kitchen, to steal another bottle of cordial.

 

* * *

Anton seemed to be having a lovely time, as Cormac approached, cackling at some terrible tale Isabela was telling, while his pet templar blushed, nearby.

"You can't do that with a knob!" Cullen protested. "They don't work ... like..."

Anton was grinning and nodding.

"Can you?" Cullen looked horrified and raised his knee to put his thigh in the way of anything reaching his crotch. "Maker's breath."

That just turned Anton's cackling into guffawing. "Don't you have special armour for that, Ser Templar?" he asked, gesturing at the way he was standing. Cullen looked like he wished he'd worn the plate.

"Armour might never be enough again," he said, which sent Anton off again.

In the midst of his chortles, Anton spotted his eldest brother approaching. "Cormac, hello!" he called out. "Come join us. I'm sure you have some wisdom to impart on the usage of knobs!"

"Everything all right, Cormac?" Isabela asked, cheeks still red from laughter. "You look a bit dazed."

"Share this bottle with me, Anton. I am just not drunk enough, as I keep discovering." Cormac poured himself a tall glass of cordial and swallowed it all in one go, before pouring another and handing the bottle to Anton. "Orlesian politics, rumours of Nevarran maleficars, and I just found out Fenris threw a cat at Artie. Can you believe it? Cats are not appropriate thrown weapons. And throwing weapons, however small and fuzzy, at my little brother is a direct ticket to the shit list."

"A cat? Where did he even find a cat to throw?" Isabela asked.

"Anders has a pair of kittens. Purrcy and Lord Assbiter." Cormac sipped the second glass of cider in a somewhat more subdued fashion, and said nothing about Artemis suddenly snogging him in full view of half the floor.

"Lord... _Assbiter_?" Anton cackled, yet again, pouring cordial for Cullen. "Will wonders never cease, this evening?"

"Well, 'Ser Nibbles', technically, but the bastard little beast keeps getting up on the bed at the worst times," Cormac explained.

That sent Isabela into gales of laughter. "'Lord Assbiter'. And here I thought you'd promoted Anders."

"Now there's a visual I could have lived without," Anton said around another laugh. Cullen seemed to agree, judging by the speed with which he downed his cordial. Anton raised an eyebrow but poured him a second glass.

"So what do you think, Ser Cullen?" Isabela asked sweetly. "Is this party better or worse than the last one, so far?"

Miraculously, Cullen managed not to choke on his next sip. "Well," he said with a nervous laugh. "To be fair, I really only saw... part of the last party." He coughed into his fist and made it a point not to look at Anton.

"The best part," Anton said with a smirk.

"It... certainly left a g-good impression."

"That part of any of this family is bound to leave a good impression," Cormac pointed out, holding up his glass. "It's legendary."

"A magically delicious Rivaini import," Anton agreed, tapping his glass against his brother's. "Only the very best."

If that was the part Cullen thought it was, he wasn't entirely sure where 'delicious' came into it, although with enough saffron or hibiscus syrup, most of Anton's body was well worth licking. Even without the syrup... A warm flush crept down his neck.

"Oh, he's thinking it." Isabela cocked a thumb at Cullen. "Have you introduced him to the fine taste of the legendary Hawke ass? I've met three out of five, and I have no complaints. None at all."

Three? Cormac wondered. Carver? That was hardly even a Hawke ass, all told, however much of an ass he was. "You just couldn't resist that tattoo, could you?"

"She doesn't have any tattoos." And that was Isabela's victory face. Cormac recognised it.

"My _sister_? _Izzy_!"

"Chantry-boy could be doing a lot more for her, you know."

Isabela. Bethany. Maker, that was it. Cullen was hallucinating. Demons, all of them. He considered dropping Smite on them all just to check, but that would be rude. Yes. Rude. Best to keep drinking.

Anton eyed Cullen's empty glass. "How many have you had?" he asked.

"Not enough. Apparently."

That seemed to be the general consensus. Anton shrugged and poured him another glass. It was his family's party, and if his templar wanted to drink himself stupid, he was going to drink himself stupid.

The cordial was running out, by the time Bethany swung off the dance floor, with Sebastian in her arms. "Izzy, look out for my prince, would you, darling?"

Sebastian wobbled a bit as she let him go, mid-stride. "It's just your family, dear. I've met them before. And the Orlesians are Orlesian, as they've ever been. I am the Prince of Starkhaven. I think I can look after myself."

"And that is exactly why you can't. Trust the pretty pirate queen, yes?" Bethany's grin was affectionate, bordering on condescending. "I'll make it up to you later."

"Well, when a woman makes a promise like that... I suspect I'd be a fool not to take her word. And possibly even a single fool, which I'd very much like to avoid." Sebastian bowed to Isabela. "Your majesty."

"You're right! I do like him!" Isabela crowed.

"Now, I'm not leaving without someone to dance with," Bethany insisted. "Ser Cullen? May I have this dance?"

Ser Cullen, at this point, couldn't even tell if he still had feet, let alone danceable feet, but he was nothing if not a gentleman. "Of course, m'lady," he said, clearing his throat when the words came out in slurred jumble. "Of course. My lady." He had to overenunciate, but Bethany seemed to understand him.

He didn't remember putting his hand on her waist, but there it was. And oh look! There were his feet, somehow moving in counterpoint to hers, albeit clumsily. "You look. Very lovely tonight." Overenunciating. He was overcompensating for the lack of feeling in his tongue.

Bethany looked more amused than flattered, but Cullen didn't seem to mind. "Why, thank you, Ser Cullen," she said, her smile sweet.

Cullen survived four dances, before the drunkenness was just to much for Bethany to compensate for. He stumbled just a little too hard, and she turned it into a dip, before he could drop them both on the floor. "Here, follow me. Easy steps."

They stepped out into the edge of the crowd near Artemis and Anders. Well, near Anders, really, since he was tall enough to be seen from most other places in the room. "Anders! You're constitutionally incapable of being too drunk to dance, aren't you? Save a girl from her brothers, would you?"

"I wouldn't say 'constitutionally incapable'..." But the fact that after as much as he'd had, he was still speaking clearly said enough.

"Could you have a look at Ser Cullen, first? I'm afraid he might have had a little much." Bethany looked apologetic.

Anders's first instinct was to say no. Justice pushed him toward it -- the drunker he got, the less interested in actual justice Justice seemed. "Yeah, of course."

He eased a little bit of healing through Cullen, clearing up some of where things had started to break down, but not alleviating much of the actual drunken sensation. It was just a great deal less likely that Cullen would vomit on the floor. "He should be fine. How you doing, Cullen?"

"I'm _super_!" Cullen managed to find his thumbs long enough to hold them up.

"He sounds a little better, already." Bethany stood on her tiptoes and kissed Anders's cheek. "Don't let Anton's boyfriend die, Artie. I'll be back in a bit to check on you two. Do you want me to send Cormac over, when I get to that side of the room, again?"

Artemis waved a hand at the lovely blur that talked like his sister. "M'fine," he said, flashing her his brightest grin to emphasize this. "S'fine." He frowned down at his glass, sad to see his not-wine gone.

Anders threw an amused look at drunk and drunker before taking Bethany's hand and spinning her onto the floor. "We should send Cormac over," he said, only for his eyes to go wide. "Or... not Cormac. But someone. Someone should keep an eye on those two."

"Do I want to know why not Cormac?" Bethany asked, eyes narrowed.

"I really don't think you do, no."


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Artemis is drunk. Very, very drunk. So is Cullen. *coughs*

Cullen found himself leaning against a familiar dark-haired blur. Ah. Anton. That's where he was. He'd found Anton and his feet. And his thumbs. He was doing well tonight.

And Anton was nudging him towards the doors out into the garden and slurring something that sounded like 'piss' and 'that fuckawful tree'. Cullen wasn't sure how a tree could be fuckawful, but he was sure Anton would know. Soon, he found himself half-supporting Anton, who seemed to be trying very hard to hold himself up against what was presumably the fuckawful tree, while not pissing on his own shoes. The tree was, he was willing to admit, pretty fuckawful, at close range. Had that been intended to be an octopus? He couldn't be sure. It was that or a hideously deformed pride demon.

Demons. Don't think about demons. Think about... Anton. Yes.

"Mmm, d'you want me to hold that for you?" Cullen purred in Anton's ear, and then reality recomposed itself for a moment, and that wasn't Anton, at all. The air was foully sweet with the taste of alcohol, and the man wrapped in his arm was one of Anton's brothers. Who was, admittedly, still sexy. Something in the back of his head told Cullen not to do this, but he couldn't figure out why, so he ignored it.

'Anton', however, had no such compunctions. Artemis turned to grin at the blond blur half holding him up. "You can hold whatever y'want," he murmured against a stubbled cheek, twisting to nibble at the tempting line of throat beneath. That throat wasn't usually so easy to reach, and Artemis wondered when Anders had gotten shorter.

They somehow ended up in a tangle of limbs behind the godawful tree's less godawful cousin, and Artie wasn't sure whose elbow that was, but it was in danger of puncturing his spleen. There were hands in his clothing and a hand on his ass, and the math wasn't quite adding up, but Anders's lips tasted delicious with a hint of cordial.

Anton or... not-Anton... whatever... tasted of whiskey, which struck Cullen as a little off, because Anton hadn't been drinking whiskey. Or, not that he'd noticed. But, this was fake-Anton, and the Maker only knew what fake-Anton had been drinking. That ass, though, was a wonderful impression of Anton's. He squeezed it harder, pulling fake-Anton against his thigh, and feeling the knob in his other hand start to thicken. He had a pretty good idea of what to do with that, and he narrated every touch, words still slurring sloppily together.

"I 'member ev'thing. How y'love it when I stroke like this. How y'make those little noises when I rub m'finger into the slit." He'd dreamed of saying these things to Anton, and now he was just drunk enough to get it all out without even a stutter. Nothing but a slur.

That all sounded very good to Artemis. Artemis, who was pressing up into a callused hand and making soft pleading sounds in the back of his throat. Artemis, who wondered, for a moment, when Anders got so talkative.

"Fuck," Artie groaned. He tried to pull Anders closer to him, but there were clothes in the way. Why were there always clothes in the way? "Pants. Fuck these pants."

Cullen giggled at a memory. "M'pants still bothersome?"

That was a good question, Artemis decided. But yes, Anders's pants were always bothersome, now that he thought about it.

Cullen rolled over, onto his back and tried to squirm out of his pants. Then he remembered he'd have to open them to make that work. That, as it turned out, was somewhat more difficult, but between the two of them, they somehow defeated the pants, and he kicked them down... around his boots. Well, fuck. Boots. Right. The things on his feet, which he'd already found. Boots were definitely too complicated, just yet.

Instead, he rolled back over, to where fake-Anton was making disconsolate sounds at him, and pressed his face down next to fake-Anton's half-interested knob. He inhaled deeply, taking in the rich, earthy scent of the man beneath him, which was definitely not Anton, but he was strangely okay with the illusion breaking down a little. It wasn't a demon, if it wasn't right. Had this been a desire demon, every bit of it would have been Anton, except for violating the laws of physics. He put out his tongue and licked, with no hesitation. This was something he was sure he knew how to do, by now, and he hoped fake-Anton would appreciate it as much as the real Anton did.

And fake-Anton sure did, hips squirming under not-Anders touch. And Artemis was slowly catching onto the fact that this was not-Anders, in the same way the whiskey in his glass had been not-wine: you could most easily tell the difference when it had you flat on your ass.

Not that Artemis was complaining, not when there was hot breath and an enthusiastic tongue on his knob. He all but purred at the attention, aware somewhere in the back of his saturated brain that he was making more noise than usual. That was sober him's problem.

He wriggled a bit so that a root wasn't digging into his asscheek. Trees. He should know better by now than to have sex around trees.

* * *

Bethany had sent Cormac to check on the drunks, but by the time he and Anton made it across the floor, they'd moved. Artemis had been wasted. The kind of drunk where Cormac probably wouldn't have left him alone, but he figured his brother would be fine with Anders... Anders who had been dragged off by his sister. His sister who had left Cullen over here, and then come back complaining that both Cullen and Artemis were shitfaced. And shitfaced Artemis...

"Oh, no..." Cormac looked at Anton. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Oh, shit. You don't think..." Anton looked something between gleeful and horrified.

"I've got odds Artie bottoms." Cormac produced a single gold coin.

"I'm not betting against that! You have way more knowledge of our brother's sex life than I need." Anton shook his head and pointed at the open door. 

A few minutes later, they'd traversed enough topiary and hedge maze to tire a horse, but those sounds were unmistakeable. And there, around the next bend, a few metres up the way, in the shade of the ugliest damned piece of tree-art either brother had ever seen, were both the missing. Half-naked. Cullen's face was pressed to Artie's crotch.

"I'm going to have to agree with our brother," Anton said. "He's really good at that."

Artemis was singing not-Anders's praises in between swears and appeals to the Maker, fingers scrabbling at dirt and tree roots and -- ah. Roots made convenient handholds. Maybe there was a use for trees after all.

And Cullen was drinking in fake-Anton's words, growling his own words of encouragement in between judicious applications of lips and tongue.

"Wow," said Anton, eyebrows crawling towards his hairline. "He doesn't usually, um... narrate so much. I'm a bit envious."

Eventually, Artemis swore -- again -- and all but lunged for not-Anders clumsily. He growled something in not-Anders's ear that he swore was meant to be something other than garbled, slurring vowels.

Cullen fell back knees pushed up by the pants he still hadn't managed to take off, and the way fake-Anton was leaning into the crotch of those pants and growling something about 'stuffed full'. And Cullen could say he hadn't been on that end of it, yet, but if this was what happened when he got drunk enough to run his mouth, then maybe drunk was a good thing to be. Or at least it would be if this really was as good as Anton had always made it sound. Cullen had just never worked up the courage to...

He was sure there had been magic. He felt it happen. And then he just didn't care. Slick fingers swiped at his hole, one of them finally pushing in, and he was sure this would be the end of him. "Oh, yes, touch me! Touch me right there! Touch me inside! I love your hands. Your fingers are so beautiful. Put them inside me!"

Anton whistled, long and low. "Okay, I'm a lot envious. Clearly I need to get him a lot more drunk a lot more often."

"Wow. Good thing you didn't take that bet. I think I'd be out another sovereign." Cormac leaned his shoulder against a tree, just ... watching. He'd had some good times with Anders and Artie, but he'd never seen Artemis get like this.

"You like that?" Artemis growled against not-Anders's throat. He loved feeling the sounds not-Anders was making vibrate against his lips, loved the way not-Anders was squirming as though Artemis had never done this before. "Want more than my fingers?"

"Yes!" Cullen groaned. "I yearn to feel your manhood inside me!" 

A cough from behind them had Anton and Cormac turning around. There stood their little sister, cheeseplate in hand, biting her lip against a laugh. Next to her was Anders, who looked a combination of horrified and amazed.

"Did... did he just say 'manhood'?" he asked. "Really?" He had to stuff his face with cheese to keep from laughing.

Bethany grinned like a shark. "Oh, good, we got here just in time for the good part."

The light went on in Cormac's head. "You -- you set this up!"

"Of course I did! Fidgety, blushing, neurotic brother; fidgety, blushing, neurotic not related to us... It was too good to pass up. And we all know how Artie gets when he's drunk." Bethany shrugged and leaned around Anton for a better angle. "Quit hogging the view. Ser Templar over there has a mighty fine ass, for it not being related to us."

Cormac looked vaguely exasperated, and then the exciting noises started, and he nudged Anton and nodded toward the pile of limbs and ruined clothes under the tree.

Cullen was howling like he'd never been fucked, before, which, to be fair, he hadn't. Still, every third or fourth breath contained a whole lot of 'yes, yes, more' and terrible lines from the worst in Orlesian fiction. "Oh, yes, fill me with your throbbing meat-pole! Ram it into me until I ache, until I can think of nothing else! Fill me full of your creamy release, until I can taste it!"

Cormac couldn't breathe. He clung to Anton's shoulder, mouth gaping, just... wheezing. Anders wasn't faring much better, having dropped to his knees, smacking his head on the ground to keep from cackling like a loon.

Luckily, Artemis was either deaf or just drunk enough to take all that seriously. He rammed not-Anders with his 'meat-pole', as requested, and with great fervour. Cullen continued to howl his requests of Artemis's manhood while Artemis continued to muffle his swears against Cullen's neck. Maker, it had been a while, a while since he'd been buried deep inside someone like this.

"Oh, sweet Maker," Anders choked, eyes still streaming from laughing so hard. "Cormac, I didn't know your brother had it in him!"

"Technically," said Anton, "Cullen's the one who has it in him."

"Oh, yes!" Cullen crooned. "Impale me on your meatstick!"

Cormac finally collapsed, clutching his sides and honking like a goose, trying to choke back the soon-to-be-inevitable gales of laughter. Bethany sighed at her brother and sat down on Anders's shoulder, still eating cheese.

"Move your ass to the right, Anton. You're in my way." Bethany slipped a piece of cheese to Anders who tried not to choke on it. "I appreciate a fine ass, but I prefer not to be related to the ones that close to my face."

Anders choked on the cheese, remembering a certain dance of related hands and asses that went on upon his sofa. 

Cullen's voice got frantic, pleading and panting, suddenly. "Oh, yes, please, yes! Yes! Fuck! Anton!"

And then Anton stopped laughing, teeth clacking shut, and a chill ran down his spine. "Close enough, I guess. Not like he mistook Cormac for me."

Then the earth started to tremble under them, and Anders stopped laughing too. "Uh oh. Oh. Cormac? He's a templar."

"Oh, shit, Artie... no." Cormac froze, horrified, but there was nothing they could do. Not now. Now, it was much too late. "He's drunk. They're both drunk. The templar is drunk enough to think that's Anton, therefore everything else can be passed off as 'too fucking drunk'."

Anders sure hoped so, with the way Justice was suddenly rattling his cage.

And speaking of rattling... Artemis tensed and trembled with a shout, and a resounding crack told them something had broken nearby.

"Oh my," whispered Bethany. Following her gaze, Anders saw the crumpled remains of a statue, a ruined portrait of some ancestor or other. He looked back at the drunk duo and saw Cullen blinking dazedly, brows knit in confusion, but there was no Smite dropped on their shoulders. Artie, on the other hand, lay slumped over the templar like he'd fallen asleep.

"And we're out of time," Cormac announced, getting to his feet. "Anton, you're first. Go get your man back into his pants and up the back stairs. I'll get Artie. Bethy, Anders, go stop the crowd. That was loud. They're coming."

"Technically, they already did." Bethany stood up from Anders's shoulder and offered him a hand. "Come, let's be scandalous. We'll say Cormac knocked over a statue. You and Cormac. Look embarrassed, would you please?"

"Yes, ma'am." Anders grabbed the hand and hauled himself to his feet, before slapping himself in the face a couple of times to raise a blush and running back toward the house, with Bethany.

Anton was already busy with Cullen, trying to get the templar back into his clothes while blocking the view of Artemis with his body. He finally got Cullen turned the other way, if still unsteady on his feet.

"What -- what happened?" Cullen asked. Everything had suddenly stopped making nearly as much sense as he thought it had been.

"We knocked over a statue. It wasn't mounted right, and we got a little rough," Anton bullshitted, off the top of his head. "C'mon, we've got to get you out of here, before anyone spots us. Cormac's going to take care of it. You just have to walk back to the house with me. Can you walk?"

"I dunno." And he really didn't.

"Fuck it." Templars, Anton learnt, were very heavy, even without the platemail. He stumbled toward the house, only to be met, halfway, by a figure from the shadows.

"Give him to me," Fenris said. "Get the doors."

"Seriously?" Anton asked.

"You're wasting time."

And then Fenris was carrying the drunken templar, while back in the garden, Cormac tried to pull Artemis, who was still unconscious, back together.

"You're pretty," Cullen muttered, squinting up at the elf.


	43. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris finally gets his foot out of his mouth. Anton covers for his brother.

Artemis woke up to a sour taste in his mouth and a roiling heaviness in his gut. And his head... oh Maker. He could feel his pulse in his temples. He groaned and curled onto his side, trying to find an angle that quieted his complaining insides, but the movement just made his stomach more rebellious. Eyes squeezed shut, Artemis pressed his face into the pillow and tried to breathe until the nausea passed. It didn't pass. It just sort of sat there in warning. 

Someone cleared their throat nearby, and Artemis realised he wasn't alone. "Anders?" he croaked, because who else was going to be at his bedside? Unless it was Cormac, come to wake him with 'dog kisses', in which case Artemis couldn't be blamed for his murder. Not today. 

'Anders' didn't respond except for an irritated huff, a distinctly un-Anders-sounding huff. Artemis finally opened his eyes. 

"Fenris?" 

Fenris had been sitting in that chair for hours, drinking whatever it was Anders had left for the two of them -- and he'd insisted it was for _both_ of them. It had been salty, but largely inoffensive, and the healer had been right. He was substantially less creaky and angry than he might have been otherwise. Something about that much cordial always made his joints ache, the next day. Wine was so much more pleasant in the aftermath, which he'd learnt was really just him. 

But, here he was, and here Artemis was. And he was still holding that stupid red jewel. He'd taken it off and been playing with it all night, watching the light splinter through it, feeling the edges... 

"She told me to stop making you cry," he said. "No, I should start with 'the healer said you should drink this'." He pressed the glass he held into Artemis's hand. "There's more. Don't worry about it." 

_Smart, Fenris. That's what he's going to be worried about._ "I'm... I'm here." 

Artemis blinked at the glass in his hand, blinked at Fenris. He had a feeling he'd missed something. Or a few somethings. He gingerly pushed himself up onto one elbow to drink whatever was in the glass. The taste was familiar and put Artemis in mind of the last time he felt this terrible, when Anders had literally picked him up off the floor. 

Artemis eyed Fenris warily as he drank, waiting for him to turn hostile but only seeing him fidget. By the time he set the glass down, his mouth still tasted disgusting but it was a little less dry. 

"You're here," he said slowly, because that was a concept he could grasp. Fenris _was_ here. Physically. That was a fact. "Okay." Artemis blinked around him and wondered which was less dangerous, sitting up or lying back down. "I have... so, _so_ very many questions right now." 

Well, mostly those questions were subsets of the one question: _what the actual fuck_ ? 

"I, well..." Fenris huffed and looked at the jewel in his hands. How did people do this? What had Serendipity told him? "I'm sorry about the house -- I mean, no. I'm sorry I ..." This was terrible. This was no way to begin a conversation. Apologising. To a _mage_ . He sighed. Apologising to _his_ mage. "I should have trusted you. I do trust you." 

He squirmed awkwardly. "I... well... there's a window on the balcony that looks out over the garden, and ... it made me realise how much I miss you. No, I-- Not the window. I just... She told me to stop making you cry. I want to try that. I, um. This... No. Yes. Maybe." 

Fenris wished he could just make sense and stick with it, but his ears twitched and his palms sweat, and he just kept second-guessing himself. It was just as hard as Serendipity said it would be. He wanted it to be as easy as Tallis made it look. "This was called the Heart of the Many, but it's mine, now. And I want you to have it." 

He held out the jewel, dangling from that stupid gold chain and looked pleadingly at Artemis, hoping he'd understand at least the gist. 

Artemis took the jewel, still looking terribly confused, and Fenris let the heavy chain drop into his palm. Fenris was being sputtery and fidgety and awkward, which was odd, because Artemis was usually the one being sputtery and fidgety and awkward. It took Artemis's whiskey-logged brain a painfully long time to piece together what was going on here. 

"You're... giving me jewellery?" His thumb smoothed over the red gem in his hand. Jewellery Tallis had given _him_. "And you... Fenris?" 

Something about the mention of a garden nagged at him, but here was Fenris with his unfairly green eyes and twitchy ears saying the words Artemis had been hoping to hear for months, albeit in a slightly more garbled, disjointed fashion than he'd imagined. He sat up, wanting to reach for his elf, but gravity was not his friend this morning. 

"I, um." He swallowed. "Don't... take this as a reflection on what you just said, but... ch-chamberpot?" His stomach heaved as Fenris scrambled for the bucket. 

"Please don't throw up on my feet!" Fenris shoved the bucket in the correct general direction, shoved his feet under the chair, and hoped for the best. 

Artemis, in fact, did not hit his feet or the floor. The great lot of what still smelled boozy that came out of his stomach ended up mostly in the bucket, except what spattered across Fenris's fingers. 

"Fasta vass!" Fenris swore but held the bucket still with one hand, reaching out to smooth Artemis's hair with the other. "Are you done?" 

Artemis groaned, hugging the chamberpot to him. His forehead felt clammy under Fenris's fingers. "I, um. For the moment." He swallowed heavily one more time, still looking a bit green in the face. He looked up at Fenris with a sheepish, pained smile. It would be a miracle if Fenris still wanted to patch things up between them after this, but... but Fenris was still here, wasn't he? 

Fenris continued to brush back his hair, and Artemis leaned into the touch, eyes half-lidded. "I... I am sorry about the house, too," he said. "I should have asked you first. I just... I just wanted you safe." 

"Fool mage," Fenris sighed. "I do not need to be protected. I'm the bodyguard, remember?" 

Fenris's hand stroked the side of Artemis's face, and he wanted to keep looking, to absorb every detail, but there was still vomit settling between his knuckles. "I need to find a towel. I promise you I will be right back in this chair in just a moment. With luck, I won't even have to leave the -- wait, this is your room, isn't it? My hand. What is it safe to clean that with?" 

"Anything, honestly," Artemis said, words a tired slur. "Sheets. I can just sneak it into Anton's laundry. He knows a place that can get out the most... interesting stains." Artemis's hungover sweat and drool had made something of a mess of them anyway, and Fenris wiped his hand on a corner of bedsheet and made a note to have them changed for him. Bodhan could probably help with that. Yes. 

"Fen?" 

Fenris looked up at his mage. "Mm?" 

"The thing with Anders," Artemis began. The hand still clutching the jewel started to fidget with it. "You know it's... It was always you." 

"And Tallis, because Anders," Fenris admitted. "I had to try. You were ... I gave up hoping. She gave me that and told me to stop making you cry. That I'd know what to do with it. So, here. I've given you a heart on a chain. Take that as you will." 

He picked at the edge of the sheet. "I've been in this chair all night. You don't look like you're getting up any time soon. I... May I... Will you let me lie down?" 

Fenris asked for nothing more. That would be enough, for now. Later, maybe, he would ask if Artemis would like to be held, if only because his chest felt hollow without this mage pressed against it. 

Artemis fought hard to rein in his smile, and Fenris was relieved to see those eyes were warm again, like he remembered. "All right," Artemis said, "if you don't mind sweaty mage sheets." 

Fenris took the chamberpot from him and set it back on the floor within easy reach. "I have suffered worse," he said with a small smile, climbing over Artemis's legs to curl up on the other side of the bed. 

Still moving slowly, cautiously, Artemis wriggled closer, wrapping an arm around Fenris and tucking his head under his chin. 

"I want you to know that you smell like sex and vomit, and I do not care at all," Fenris muttered against the top of Artemis's head. "You are here, with me. That is what matters." 

He decided the asking might be unnecessary and slung his leg over the mage's hip. His mage's hip. "I have missed you. Let us not do that again."

* * *

The first thing Cullen noticed was that the inside of his mouth tasted like he'd been licking wet dog, with a faint aftertaste of overripe cherry. He gagged, considered sitting up, and then decided against it. Something happened last night, and he couldn't remember it, other than Anton trying to get him to come back inside. Something about a statue. The incredible pain in his ass was another suggestion about what might have gone on. Had he gotten that drunk? Had they done that _outside_ ? 

No, no, no. Not outside. They couldn't have. Half of Kirkwall had been at that party. The coat closet was one thing, but the _garden_? Well, Knight-Captain had been nice while it lasted. 

He groaned and heard a shuffling of pages from beside him. Anton. Of course. He was in bed with Anton, who was reading something. 

"Morning, Sunshine," Anton said, peering at him around the book. Cullen wasn't sure if it was his head, but there was a softer edge to Anton's usual cocky smile, the look in his eyes almost warm. "And how are we feeling?" 

Cullen's mind filled with adjectives. "Confused," he said, still smacking his lips against the bad taste in his mouth. "A bit panicked. Possibly mortified." 

And more than a little nauseous, but he thought that might be bad form to mention, at least until it reached the point of an emergency. 

"The only people who saw anything had already seen your gorgeous bottom, on another occasion. You are not the new rumour on the street, today, as I think we've reserved that for Anders. All that 'Warden stamina' and up to no good with the very heir of our family. Can you imagine?" Anton had yet to stop smiling. "Mum's going to have kittens, of course. But, Cormac's been looking for a way out of the limelight for years, now. We've just provided him with an out. Or we've made it worse. I'm not sure which. He might become legendary, overnight, off this one, and I will just laugh." 

"Your brothers," Cullen covered his face and groaned. 

"Two brothers, one sister, and a Warden. There was some concern when you vanished after being so very drunk. And I think I have to get you drunk more often if you say things like you did, last night!" Anton pressed his lips to Cullen's forehead. 

"Said?" Cullen squeaked, eyes going wide and terrified. "Oh Maker. What did I say?" Some words filtered back to him, and he -- no. No, he couldn't have said _that_. 

Anton was biting his cheek to keep from laughing, and Cullen's cheeks flamed hot. "You were just very, ah, 'descriptive'," Anton said, voice shaky still with that suppressed laugh. "Your use of metaphor was particularly impressive, especially considering the circumstances." 

More words came back, and Cullen groaned and hid his face with his hands, skin flushed hot enough to catch fire. Words muffled against his palms, Cullen groaned, "Did I say the word 'meatstick'?" 

"You did. And it made mine throb." Anton grinned a little too widely. "You also managed to beg to be rammed full of throbbing meat pole, something something manhood, something something creamy release. It was all terribly inspiring. You never talk to me like that, when you're sober!" 

Anton was going to hold on to that illusion that he'd been with Cullen the night before, until he couldn't any more. He really wasn't sure how to break it to him that the throbbing meat pole had belonged to his older brother, who had also been too drunk to see straight. 

"And I probably never will! Oh, Maker!" Cullen groaned into his hands again, and this time pulled them away, sputtering and huffing. He clawed at the foul slime that had settled on his tongue in the night. "This is what happens to my tongue when I say things like that!" 

"Sorry, Sunshine, that's just what happens when you drink that much." Anton reached for something on the bedside table and passed Cullen a small bottle of brown fluid. "Take a sip of that and swish it around your mouth. It'll clear right up. Cinnamon, for the morning after. Tiny sip. It's strong." 

Cullen trusted Anton's judgement in these matters. He clearly had more experience with them, and cinnamon was certainly preferable to wet dog. He handed back the bottle, licking his teeth. "I am never drinking again," he said solemnly. 

Anton pouted. "But I rather liked drunk you." 

"I'm serious!" said Cullen, though his expression looked more pleading than assertive. "Never again! I'm Knight-Captain, for Andraste's sake, there is certain behaviour that is..." 

Anton shut him up with a finger under his chin and a brush of lips. It was a fleeting thing, there and gone, but it had Cullen's words sticking in his throat. "What about drinking with just me?" Anton asked, finger still stroking under Cullen's chin. 

"You really liked that?" Cullen asked, still looking miserably embarrassed. 

Anton reached off the side of the bed and then handed Cullen a towel, bearing a few damp and sticky spots. "I got up before you did," was all that he said. 

Cullen sputtered and struggled to find a response to that. It was not the answer he'd been expecting. It was not the answer any sane or reasonable person would be expecting, but this was Anton. Anton who tilted his chin up again, leaning in close enough to breathe against his lips. 

"I really, _really_ liked it." 

Oh Maker. Where were his words? Where was his _tongue_ ? "I, uh." Cullen cleared his throat, eyes owlishly wide. "I... I suppose... i-if it's just you and me, and... I had the proper incentive..." 

Anton grinned, shoulders shaking in a soft laugh. They both knew Anton had just given him plenty of incentive. "I'll see what I can do to persuade you," he rumbled anyway, punctuating this statement with another gentle brush of lips. 

Maker, but Cullen adored this man.


	44. Chapter 44

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Artemis and Fenris are ridiculously adorable. So are Cormac and Anders, if maybe a little more smutty and wicked.

"Come home with me," Fenris had said, when they woke. "Come home with me, to my -- to our house. That you bought for me."

There was, he'd decided, no better place to start things over than where they had come apart in the first place. Certainly, this would involve stopping at a few places in the market, on the way back, because he knew he was missing some things that Artemis would not approve of. Like food. But, he hadn't been expecting company. He'd been expecting to go to that wretched party alone, to leave alone, and to come home to throw more bottles at the corpses! Like any other day...

He let Artemis make a few decisions about what they needed. He would have allowed any number of such decisions, but those were the only suggestions he'd had, so that was what Fenris added to his admittedly somewhat short list. He wasn't in the habit of entertaining at home. Hence the corpses. He wasn't really in the habit of entertaining at all. And so, when they got to the door, he opened it, saying simply, "I'm sorry."

Artemis more or less knew what to expect. He'd been to Fenris's -- his -- their -- mansion before, after all, though really only in the foyer and the front hall. But he'd been a guest then and aware that some people found it insulting when you started cleaning their things without permission. He remembered neatening a bookshelf the last time, but that hardly counted.

"I see your... friends are still here," Artemis said, indicating the corpse in the foyer with a wave of his hand. And Maker, but that was disgusting. The corpses were little more than bone at this point, bones with strings of something fleshy holding them together.

And then there was the dust. And the spiderwebs. And the broken furniture. And... Maker, even the walls and ceiling were a mess.

"Hang on. Are those mushrooms?" 

"Mushrooms? Yes. I suppose they are." Fenris eyed them, curiously, as if this were the first time he'd noticed mushrooms growing out of his floor. Which it may well have been. "You don't suppose any of them are edible, do you?"

He'd never noticed them, and he wasn't much in the habit of identifying fungi. Other edible plants he was pretty good at, courtesy of spending years in foul and questionable parts of the Marches. Sometimes, he almost missed that old tower outside of Tantervale. Unfortunately, that place _had_ been ... enchanted, in some interesting ways, and the magic had gnawed at his nerves. It had the remains of a lovely orchard, to one side, though. He wondered if he could do that, here. He wondered if he could go back and bring _those_ apples, here. He returned to his senses with a faint smile -- was this what it meant to have a home? -- sure he'd missed something important.

"Yeah, I, um." Artemis scratched his arm, movements a bit agitated. "I wouldn't trust mushrooms growing out of the floorboards. At least, not unless we give them to Carver first." Though that might be more effort than it was worth. Carver distrusted anything food-related Artemis handed him after that incident with the raccoon when they were younger, no matter how much Artemis reminded him that it was 'one time'!

This was just the entryway, Artemis reminded himself. The whole mansion couldn't look like this, could it? He padded into the main hall and saluted another pair of corpses. He poked around a bit now that he'd been given permission to, and, nope, okay, the whole main floor was like this. Sweet Maker.

Clean. He had to clean this. He was fit to crawl out of his skin as he tried to figure out where to start.

"Fenris, you... you've been living like this?" Concerned, not judgmental. This could not be healthy.

"How else would I live?" Fenris looked honestly confused by the question. "I have been in worse places, by far. This is no brothel. I am no nobleman. It's a shelter. I sleep in it. Most of the time, I don't wake up wet."

He looked around the room. The corpses might have been a little much, even just as bone, but he thought about keeping the skulls on a shelf, just for the laugh. Artemis was definitely going to do away with the corpses, he was sure. But, the place was a ruin, like any other ru-- Oh. That was it, wasn't it.

"It's a ruin. A more modern one, with better conveniences than any other I may have taken up residence in, but it is still simply a ruin." Fenris tried to explain. "But, you wish it to be a house, and it has not been that in a long time. I do not know how to live in a house, except..." He shrugged. He wasn't going to finish that sentence.

Artemis didn't know how to respond to that, so he didn't for a while, as he crossed the room back to Fenris's side. He cupped Fenris's cheek, thumb stroking his cheekbone until Fenris finally met his eyes. "I'll teach you how," he murmured, as though so much of this wasn't new to him too. But Artemis couldn't imagine what that had to be like, living like this, amid decay and dust, and not even noticing, not even understanding that he deserved -- moreover, that he could _have_ \-- better. He would make this place a palace, he decided, and spoil Fenris in every way he knew how.

Artemis moved closer still, wrapping his arms around Fenris's waist and kissing him softly. "We need to clean this place out," he said. "And make repairs." He glanced up at the ceiling and the fractured sunlight that filtered through. Thank the Maker it wasn't raining. "Is that alright?"

Still Fenris's house, he wanted to remind him. 

Fenris swallowed and nodded. "I trust you," he said, as much to remind himself as to remind Artemis.

"Upstairs is... better? I decided I didn't like the smell right next to the bed. There are no bodies there. In that room." Fenris wasn't sure about the other rooms. He hadn't been in most of them for years. "I would like it if... Will you come upstairs with me? I know where the linens are. You could have fresh sheets. We could..."

Taking a deep breath, Fenris tried again. "I would like you to come upstairs with me. I will put sheets on the bed. We can stay there all day drinking wine and eating whatever it was we bought for supper. I suppose we should have bought something to cook, but I don't care. I don't cook, anyway."

Artemis didn't really cook either -- Maker, they were a hopeless pair -- but his mind wasn't exactly on food, not after the mention of a bed. Oh Maker. That was a thing. That was a thing he and Fenris should quite possibly do without alcohol at least once.

"Erm. Yes. That's a thing that we could... yes." Eloquence was not the word of the day. "Though... maybe we should skip the wine, for the moment." After that hangover, Artemis was ready to swear off alcohol for a year. Considering his tendencies, that was... probably a good thing.

Taking Fenris by the hand, Artemis ventured upstairs and prayed to the Maker that it _was_ better.

Fenris couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten quite that much at once, but it was easy with Artemis offering him bits of things, pointing to foods he hadn't yet tried and making enthusiastic sounds. He'd found himself smiling foolishly several times, and his cheeks ached, which suggested he'd been doing more of it that he'd thought.

They'd moved the remains of supper off the bed as they ran out of things, until finally, Fenris found himself sprawled beside Artemis, with nothing but a bag of those fried potato and chicken things between them. He ate another, because they were really quite good and there was no one to stop him, and immediately thought better of it. There was, it seemed, such a thing as too much food.

He wiped his fingers off on the corner of the sheet. "They're not mine. We can burn them in the backyard and buy new ones."

Artemis smirked at him. He suspected they would be burning quite a lot of things from this house. "Oh yes," he agreed. "Nicer ones. In whatever colour you like. I could even get you some of those Orlesian silk sheets, but I have to warn you, if you don't sit on them correctly, your bum will slide right off."

New sheets. Furniture. Curtains. They'd start from scratch and make it theirs, erase this place's ugly history.

Artemis set aside the last of the food, feeling pleasantly full himself, and turned back to Fenris to realise there was nothing between them now.

"Sheets so slick we could slide off them?" Fenris looked faintly horrified. "What purpose would that serve? I would think the sheets should be suited for sleeping on, not for... whatever one might do with falling out of bed on a regular basis!"

Fenris blinked at Artemis, still considering it. Slippery sheets? Why would you want that?

A subtle grin crept across his face, as an even more absurd thought occurred to him. "If this is your way of suggesting I find another way to bruise your ass..."

Artemis's laugh came out a bit nervous, and he coughed into his fist. "Well, you know Orlesians," he said, smoothing over a bit of sheet between them. "Maybe sliding on their rump is an extreme sport for them. Then again, knowing the Game, having silk sheets would make it easier to dodge an assassin. Someone coming at you with a knife? Slide right out the other side of the bed."

Maker, he was rambling again. This was around the point where he'd normally drink himself stupid, but Artemis promised himself he wasn't going to do that, not with Fenris. This time.

Strangely accustomed to working with claws on, Fenris found himself having to pay attention to his fingers, when he reached out and wrapped his hand around Artemis's wrist. After a moment, his fingertips caught up with his intent, settling against the inside of Artemis's wrist, which was, he reflected, a very different sensation than clutching with the inside of the first joint. He knew -- he'd known for a long time -- but he'd never had the time to reflect on the effect of actual fingertips in a situation like this. Which might have had something to do with not having been in a situation like this.

"Assassins. Of course. Always a danger in Orlais." 

Fenris raised Artemis's hand to the height of his chin, remembering the last time he'd held this wrist. He looked to his mage, for recognition, and then pressed his lips to the knuckles. "I should have done it, then."

Artemis remembered that same hand all but crushing that same wrist, the bruise it had left he wouldn't let Anders or Cormac heal away. Stupidly sentimental, that, but he didn't care, not then and not now with lyrium-etched skin soft on his. "Well, you're doing it now," he murmured, voice a bit thin. "I'd say that counts more."

The tattoos tickled, prickled against his skin. He wondered how far those tattoos ran, how they would feel pressed to his. Fenris had been woefully overdressed in the cave and in the cellar.

Artemis turned his wrist in Fenris's grip, moved his hand to splay Fenris's fingers, exposing the lines that ran down each one and met in his palm. He traced those lines with his fingers, down Fenris's wrists, wondering if the tattoos reacted to his touch the way his skin reacted to them.

"Burns when you do that. Like you've lit a fire under my skin, and it follows your finger." Fenris's voice was faintly reverent. "You, all of you, you're made of magic. It's in you, part of you, and it calls to the lyrium in my skin."

It scared him. Terrified him, really. But, at the same time, no mage had ever touched him so gently, and the burn, while it still hurt, took on a tempting overtone. Fenris squared his jaw and took a deep breath, pulling back from Artemis, and twisting out of his shirt, without getting up. It was probably not the best idea he'd ever had, but it was the idea he was having right this second, and he wanted to know if he could bear it. He needed to know, now, if this was just some foolish dream.

On the other hand, he'd touched this mage terribly intimately, with no lasting ill effects. Dream or not, perhaps it wasn't so foolish.

Artemis nearly swallowed his tongue at the sight of so much tempting skin, and his eyes followed the lines of lyrium down Fenris's toned torso.

"You just said it hurts, and you want me to...?" Artemis shook his head in amazement. "Well. Stop me if it's... too much."

Artemis's fingers picked up the trail where they'd left off, tracing first the filigreed tattoo of Fenris's arm and following it up the curve of a shoulder, down the sweep of his chest. "All right?" he asked.

Fenris swallowed and nodded. "I want... _you_."

The statement stood by itself, for a while. He had no idea how to express what he meant, the finer details of it, the fact that he didn't just want to fuck. Not that he wanted not to fuck. No, he was pretty clear that whatever this was, there would be fucking. It was just that Artemis was the important part of that.

"Stay with me," Fenris sighed, hand reaching up to wrap around Artemis's, pressing those scalding fingers against his chest. It burned, still, but... differently. Like rocks from the fire at the foot of the bedroll, at night. Sure, it burned if you kicked one, but they were so marvellously warm. He'd scorched himself pretty badly, a few times, but it had been worth it. And this would be, too.

He just wasn't sure comparing someone to a foot-warmer was really the most romantic image. It might be better to wait for a more reasonable comparison to surface. Surely there would be other things he could compare this to, even if he hadn't found them, yet.

"I'm not going anywhere," Artemis said, eyes fond. "At least not unless we get those silk sheets. Then I'll have no control where I end up."

Not the best time to make a joke, he was sure, but Artemis was starting to jangle with nerves. Still, he pushed through it and looked up at Fenris, at the adoration he saw in startling green eyes. Maker. No one had ever looked at him like that.

The hand on Fenris's chest slid up to cup the back of his neck, and Artemis pulled them together in a kiss.

Fenris's arms wrapped around this precious mage, whose every touch bit through him like fire, and he kissed back as if he could change the nature of the world with his tongue. Warm, needy sounds chased each other out of him, short huffs of breath, gasps, sharp inhales. It was as if he'd never have enough of this, even as it felt like his chest was on fire. Somehow that didn't detract from the moment, at all.

"Mage," he breathed into the kiss. " _Artemis_."

And that was the sum of it, really. A mage. _This_ mage. _His_ mage. What had magic touched that it hadn't destroyed? In that case, he was already ruined, and there was nothing more to lose in giving in to this desire. He didn't desire, so very often. What others had bore no interest for him. But, this man, this mage... he desired Artemis.

One hand moved down to clutch that ass he still remembered so clearly, and his leg wrapped around Artemis's. _His_ mage. His.

Artemis gasped into Fenris's mouth, let the elf swallow his own small sounds and heavy breaths. Fenris was wrapped around him, rocking against him, in mostly-clean sheets they'd just gotten crumbs on. Fenris. _His_ Fenris. And it was... They were...

He thought of burning lyrium that tingled under his touch, thought of earthquakes that shook the walls, thought of a ruined statue in the courtyard, and... and he really needed to stop thinking. Because they'd done this before, hadn't they? The floors didn't even shake in the Deep Roads, and the glass in the cellar hadn't harmed anything except his own foot.

Still, Artemis's breathing started to grow a little too heavy, and he found himself pushing Fenris back with a hand on his chest.

Body aching with need and the burn along the lines in his chest, Fenris looked a bit confused, at the look on Artemis's face, and the fact that he was now several inches back from where he'd started.

"Artemis? What is it?" Fenris untangled himself from the warmth in his arms and looked around the room. "Should I have swept the crumbs out of the bed? Is the skylight too much? Should I have washed what's left of the windows?"

"I-I, no, it's... I mean, yes, _now_ all those things are bothering me. Thanks for pointing them out." His smile aimed for teasing and landed on nervous. He wiped a hand over his face and covered his eyes, forcing himself to breathe slowly. "Fen, I-I'm sorry. I just..."

Words. He should use them. But his fears were all tangled up in his being a _mage_ , and he'd only just gotten Fenris back.

"Artemis, look at me. See me." Fenris stroked Artemis's side, gently. "There is no one else here, and I am not going to harm you. Look at me, and tell me what you see."

Fenris started to wonder if there was some sort of theme, here. If the running joke of his wreckage of a life would be mages hyperventilating. At least it wasn't the abomination, this time. At least they weren't under a billion tonnes of stone. None of this registered on his face, which was carefully neutral.

Artemis pulled his hand away from his face and forced himself to look at Fenris, only able to meet his eyes for a moment. "You," he answered. "I see... you. Shirtless you, which is really quite a sight, you know." He gave Fenris another weak smile.

This wasn't fair. He wanted this so badly, but he just... couldn't. Not right now, in the state he was in.

"I'm sorry," he said again. His hand went back to smoothing the sheets. "But can we just... Can you just hold me tonight, and not... that, just now?"

Maybe he should have gone for that wine after all.

"It wasn't difficult, this morning, and it shouldn't be, now. I'm pretty sure I can do that." Fenris decided maybe he wasn't as good at the jokes as Artemis was. That was, perhaps, not the best collection of words to have passed his lips, in recent memory. He pulled at the blanket that was folded across the foot of the bed, handing it to himself with his toes, to pull it up over them.

"You look unhappy. What's happened? What's wrong?" Fenris had an odd sense this might end in him killing someone. Not that he would mind. "I was supposed to stop making you cry, but I don't seem to be doing a very good job."

"Hush, it's not you," Artemis murmured. He reached up to stroke the side of Fenris's face. "I am... too much in my own head, at the moment. It's hard to explain."

Fenris looked so earnest, so concerned, and that helped ease the tightness in his chest even as it made him feel guilty. Artemis wrapped his arms around Fenris again, pulled them close again, and tucked his head under Fenris's chin, his cheek pressed to Fenris's chest. He wondered for a moment if even that touch hurt Fenris, the way his cheek pressed against lyrium markings.

Which it did, but not in a way that particularly bothered him. Fenris curled around Artemis again, an amused sound in his chest. "You know, mage, you _are_ actually taller than me. Your feet aren't sticking out the end of the blanket, are they?"

* * *

Cormac lay sprawled across Anders's bed, one leg hanging off the side, almost touching the ground, both hands clutching the most incredible mage in all of Thedas to his chest. There was an awful lot of spunk in his chest hair, and he was sure they were going to end up stuck together, again, but in the moment, he couldn't bring himself to care.

"You look like you need a minute," Anders muttered into his ear. "I'll be nice. I'll give you five."

"Resting on the job? What would Justice say?" Cormac teased.

"Let's leave my evil twin out of this, shall we?" It wasn't that Anders actually thought of Justice as evil, but there were few things in the world that could put him off the mood faster than that incessant stream of nagging about the cause. The nagging was familiar. He'd had it even before Justice, but it used to be about other things, most of them a great deal more terrifying, but somehow not nearly as boner-killing. Maybe he just liked a little excitement in his life, even if it was the near-fatal kind.

"What about my evil twin?" Cormac asked, stretching and considering whether he could reach the cup of spice tea on the nightstand, without making Anders move.

"You don't have an evil twin. You have an exceptionally sexy younger brother, who has left us for his won twoo lahv." Anders rolled his eyes so hard Cormac swore he could hear it happen.

Cormac snickered. "I don't get it. Hates mages. Falls madly in love with my brother. In whose world does that even make sense?" The snickers bled out into a sigh. "I do miss all those little noises he used to make, trying to get all of you into him, but hey, more bed for us. You, me, and I am so glad you let us get you a new bed, because I was afraid we were going to fuck your old one into a pile of splinters."

"Mm, that would have led to splinters in unfortunate places," Anders replied. "Ever had one in your scrotum? It's not fun." That brought back fond memories of the Circle, of the wooden benches of his Potion-making classroom and of... Niall? Nigel? Too bad the splinter had been the most exciting part.

There was a _scritch_ of claws and a disconsolate 'meep?' from the other side of the door, and Anders blew out a sigh. "Looks like Lord Assbiter wants to come in," he said. Which was, in fact, why the door was closed in the first place. Cormac may not have gotten a splinter in his scrotum, but he'd certainly gotten fangs in his ass. "Did you feed them?" Anders couldn't remember if anyone had, and a hungry Assbiter was a dangerous beast.

A furry red paw scrabbled under the door.

"Yeah, I sacrificed half a ham to the cats, on my way down. Before I dragged you away from whatever it was your evil twin was working on. I've got ink stains on me, now, don't I?" Cormac squirmed, squinting down at his leg, over the awful lot of Anders in his way.

He was starting to worry about how hard Anders had been working. No, he'd been worried for a couple of months, now. But, he'd made a point of coming down and interrupting him, every night, for the last few weeks. Sometimes, he'd find Anders still at the clinic, sometimes bent over that desk -- and he was getting Anders a new damn desk, because he was much too tall for the one he had -- but always working, and usually not having eaten. If nothing else, he could usually get Anders to eat a sandwich. Occasionally, he actually had to put the plate _on the manifesto_ to make that happen, but it could be made to happen, if Anders didn't start _glowing_. Once the glowing started, dinner was out. Justice didn't eat. Or sleep. Or fuck.

"Probably. You picked a good time tonight. I was right in the middle of a sentence I couldn't finish." Anders rolled his hips in response to the squirming. "It's a little hard to tell, in this light, but yeah, you're probably wearing some fingerprints. It's like a roadmap to all the places I love to grab you. And you are so very grabbable."

"So, I can't see the fingerprints, because they're all over my ass." Cormac grinned.

"Your extremely grabbable ass," Anders agreed. He reached down to squeeze said ass to demonstrate. The ink had long dried on his fingertips, making his skin feel dried and cracked, but he liked the idea of his touch lingering on Cormac's skin.

Justice was making some noise in the back of his head about that unfinished sentence, running through words and phrases, searching for the right, incendiary verbs. He was usually background noise when Anders was like this, pressed skin to sticky skin, but his clamour had been getting louder, more insistent. And the spaces between waking and remembering were getting worryingly darker.

Another 'meep' and a scratch of a paw. "Not hungry, then," Anders said. "I guess poor Ser just feels left out."

"Good. I don't need more teethmarks on my ass." Cormac thought about that for a minute. "More teethmarks that aren't yours. Have I mentioned I love it when you bite me? Because I love it when you bite me. You're such a damned savage, sometimes."

"Oh, I'm the savage?" Anders teased. "You're the barbarian dog lord, who takes being bit as a courting ritual, and I'm the savage?"

"You're the one who bites. You're the savage." Cormac laughed and grabbed Anders's ass in both hands, kneading encouragingly, as he slid one foot up along the bed to brace himself better. "And I love it. Every second of it. Every bite, every time you throw me down, every inch of that incredible flagpole. Nobody fucks me like you do, Anders."

"That's why I'm the chosen of Urthemiel," Anders quipped, bending to bite at the skin above Cormac's collarbone. He held the skin between his teeth playfully for a moment before soothing it with his tongue. "And you the chosen of Dirthamen." He drummed his fingers along that delectable ass and grinned.

They did fit so well together, Anders reflected. And not just here, like this, if he was honest with himself. But honesty was more Justice's strong suit than his.

"No, I'm the chosen of Dirthamen because of the magic ass. I'm pretty sure there are no other secrets with me. Especially not about the way you fuck me." Cormac tipped his head back, baring more of his neck. "Bite me like you mean it, you glorious mountain savage. ... Savage mountain... You're really ridiculously tall. You know that, right? Just a reminder. In case you forgot."

Anders bit the meat of his shoulder, worrying the teeth with an exaggerated growl. "This from the Fereldan turnip," Anders said, laying on his worst Orlesian accent. He bit a bit higher. "Fereldan parsnip. Fereldan rutabaga?" Cormac's earlobe was next, and Anders pinched it between his teeth and tugged just a little.

"Parsnip. Definitely parsnip." Cormac groaned low in his throat, sure he was supposed to have objected to that characterisation, somehow, but totally unable to find all the words that would have gone into that objection. Not with Anders growling and biting at him. Not with that incredible flagpole still buried in him. "Harder. Bite me harder. Bite me like you mean to break something. .... I'm not worried about you breaking something. I know you can fix it. Fuck, Anders, taste me. Make me bleed."

Well, that definitely wasn't what he'd meant to say, but that was fine. He meant it all the same. This was trust, he supposed. The freedom to beg someone to make you bleed, and to be completely unconcerned with the outcome, not because of your own shitty half a healing spell, but because they were probably the best healer in the Marches, even if they refused to believe any such thing without a great deal of prodding and dick-sucking. He'd learnt he could get Anders to agree to almost anything, like that.

And Anders obliged, doubling back over Cormac's neck and the bruising skin he'd already tasted. He was well-acquainted with Cormac's brand of crazy, and he marvelled at how much he _enjoyed_ it. His flagpole certainly did, anyway, and Anders circled his hips to remind Cormac that it was still there. Not that Cormac needed reminding, he was sure, but just in case.

For the moment, Anders was able to tuck Justice away, to let him go back to background noise. "Is that what you wanted," he asked against abused skin, "my favourite Fereldan root vegetable?"

Cormac's response was thorough, explicit, and loud, detailing all the ways in which that was exactly what he wanted, right down to the parts he hadn't known he'd wanted until they came out of his mouth. The cats stopped pawing at the door, spooked by the noise, and many, many hours later, they would be found under that little desk, on the other side of the main room.


	45. PART X: THE PLOT CONTINUES

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dissent. Anders does not take being threatened well. There are times Cormac really enjoys killing.

"It's not going to protect you forever, _mage_." The templar jabbed Anders in the chest with one plate-gloved finger. "We know what you are, and you'll end up back where you belong."

"You'll send me home to mummy? How terribly kind of you, Ser!" Anders batted his eyes and giggled. "I haven't seen her in twenty years!"

Cormac shook his head. "Do you really want to start that fight? I've heard the Wardens are a poor choice of people to start one with."

"The blight is over, and the Wardens have no need for 'extra firepower'. It will be contained, as any weapon should be, when not in use," the templar insisted. "I wonder how smart your mouth will be when you're in chains."

"I, for one, can tell you that doesn't help. Never helps. In fact, if I could think of one way to get him to mouth off more and faster, that would be it." Cormac wrapped his arm around Anders's waist, feeling the subtle vibration that ran through Anders's entire body. "You'd need a ball gag, and he doesn't like those."

"I don't! They always make my tongue feel sticky!" Anders's heart slammed against his ribs, and his face was probably pale and damp, but he kept up that antagonistic grin. "But, good luck convincing the First Warden to let you have us. If you wheedle enough, he might even write back, instead of just burning the letter to warm his hands. It's cold in Weisshaupt, this time of year."

"There is more than one way to silence a mage," said the templar, with a _smile_. He took a step closer, stare aimed to intimidate, but it was his smile that was the most disconcerting. "I know you're up to something. 'Warden business', you say, and maybe that's true. Whatever it is, I will find out."

Anders met that stare with one of his own, hardly daring to blink, chin at a defiant angle. Cormac was solid and steady at his side, an anchor Anders needed to keep Justice buried. Now was not the time to get all glowy. Not in front of a templar. Not even _this_ templar.

"How you waste your time is none of my business," he said. "But how you waste mine is. Are we done?"

"For now."

Anders watched the man swell like an angry chicken, before stepping back, platemail clanking like he had a loose buckle, somewhere. And if he did, Anders didn't want to imagine why.

"Tell your captain my sister says hello," Cormac suggested with a smile, fluttering his fingers as he led Anders away. "And tell him the reason she's not allowed to come visit him is you."

Yes, Cullen was _dating_ Anton, but he'd been having breakfast with Bethany, as far as Cormac could tell. He wondered what terrible things Bethy was suggesting to the poor kid.

The feel of the buildings changed, as they crossed into Lowtown, and the slosh of the waves faded behind them. 

"That was Ser Alrik," Anders explained. "It's not even about the Mage Wardens. It's personal."

"I thought he was native." Cormac looked up, concerned.

"He is." Anders took a deep breath. "Do you--? My friend Karl. Alrik was the one who--"

"And he read your letters, so he knows who you are." Comprehension dawned slowly on Cormac. "He knows who you are, and you know he's thoroughly violated Chantry law. I'm so sorry; I shouldn't have brought you down there."

"No, I'm through there all the time. I just don't usually see him. He's got _other_ concerns." Anders gritted his teeth so hard his jaw creaked.

That look on Anders only meant one thing, and by now, Cormac knew what it was. One of those small handful of things Anders just ... didn't discuss. Cormac's utterly charming smile didn't reach his eyes. "So, I'm going to lure him out to the coast, and we're going to extract a signed confession of everything, and I'm going to bring it back to the Grand Cleric along with his head in a paper sack, yes?" 

"Ah, Cormac, you know just how to spoil a man," Anders said, his smile brittle. If only it were that simple, but nothing ever was, not with him, not with magic, not with Justice -- the idea _and_ his glowy passenger.

But Anders would kill him. There was no doubt of that in his mind, not when Justice took up so much of his headspace. Not when Karl...

"It's getting worse," Anders said, shoving that thought back into the little lockbox where he usually kept it. Think of the Cause, instead. "Every day there are more Tranquil in the Gallows. Good mages, too. Mages who passed their Harrowing." He didn't notice his eyes flash or his skin splinter with blue. "This Alrik is a monster. A beast."

"We've killed dragons. The man's going to be paste by the week's end, and if Grand Cleric Elthina won't hear us, Cullen will. You know he will." Cormac reached across Anders, to grab his hand, kissing the knuckles, each in turn, as they walked. "You're glowing again, sweetness. You might want to turn that down a bit."

Over time, Cormac had found one of the best ways to calm Justice was to show affection and promise violence. To offer to solve the problem, himself. For all that Justice disapproved of their relationship -- whatever the fuck that was, anyway -- he'd come to appreciate Cormac's straightforward approach to removing obstacles. Most of the time. Cormac was a lot less than entirely straightforward, some of the time, and Justice had little patience for subtlety, unfortunately.

"And if you're worried about him getting one up on us with his creepy templar powers, I invite you to recall that the glaive in my room is not for decoration. I'll take his fucking head right off, and you can watch it bounce down the beach." Cormac rested his head on Anders's shoulder.

That mental image all but made Justice purr, and that was the most approving Anders remembered his alter ego ever being of Cormac. There was a joke there, about Cormac wielding polearms, but Anders didn't find it half as funny as he usually would and...

No. It was Justice who didn't find it funny. Justice, not him. He blinked and tried to conjure a smile, the crooked, cocky kind he knew Cormac saw right through.

'I'd rather our stabbing be pre-emptive than defensive," he said. Even his fake smile slipped. "Something has to be done. Will you help me?"

"Will I help? What the fuck kind of question is that? Did you hit your head?" Cormac bumped Anders with his hip. "Of course I'll help. Do you have a plan? Do we want my brother and my other brother and not my other other brother, because I'm not getting Carver involved in this? Should I bring Varric, so there's someone to tell the tale? I'm sure whatever you have in mind will be appropriately epic, and if it's not, hey, Varric can fill in the blanks. Have you heard the one he tells about the time I dislocated some pickpocket's fingers? I'm sure it wasn't nearly that exciting. I was there for it."

Cormac pulled Anders a little closer against his side. "Tell me a story, pretty thing. What are we going to do, and will you fuck me in the wreckage when we're done?"

Cormac always said the sweetest and filthiest things. "We need evidence," Anders decided. "Evidence of Alrik's... depravity. Cullen seems reasonable, for a templar, but he'll do nothing without it." Meredith was a long shot, but certainly this was something even she couldn't ignore? "If we need to torture Alrik to get it, then so be it." And Anders wasn't sure if that thought belonged to Justice or to some dark, buried part of himself.

As for a plan, Anders would be lying if he said Justice hadn't already come up with one. He walked in step with Cormac for a while, thinking of how best to explain. "I've been working with a group of mages," he said, voice pitched low as they turned into a quieter, if dirtier, part of town. "A sort of... underground network. We have a way into the Gallows. Some old smuggler tunnels that spill out into Darktown. Come with me tonight, and we'll see what we can do. Bring your brothers, if you like, but we should have a warrior at our backs as well, in case we run into templar trouble. Maybe Aveline." He wasn't sure if she would go for that, but he wasn't about to be the one to suggest Fenris.

"Aveline will have kittens. Guard Captain and all. I'm sure His Fuckiness won't like it, either, but I'm also sure we won't be able to keep him away, if we're bringing Artie. Might do him some good to actually see what we're afraid of. What kind of evidence are you expecting we'll find, other than the unnecessarily tranquil, 'cause I'm pretty sure we shouldn't be bringing them out. They're as much a danger to us as anything." Which was a terrible thing to say, but entirely true. Tranquil didn't have the sense left to do anything except what they were asked, which made them a danger to anything that shouldn't be in the tower. "Harrowing records? Match those to the sunbursts, and there should be an ugly pattern."

And this was Cormac getting ready to intentionally walk into a circle tower, of his own free will. That thought echoed through him, clattering against the inside of his skin. But, he was walking in to do those things his family did so well -- kill, steal, and rescue. And he meant to walk right back out, no matter what.

"It's a start," Anders said with a smile, the genuine kind. This was dangerous, he knew. He was putting more than himself at risk here, but he'd be _doing_ something, maybe something that could change Kirkwall for the better. And for once, finally, he and Justice wouldn't be doing it alone.

* * *

It was dark, as most tunnels were, mage-light glowing off yellow-green moss and jagged stone. Justice was more than a presence in Anders's mind. He was a pressure, a weight at the base of his skull and behind his eyes. Out of the corner of Anders's vision walked their elf-shaped nightlight. A pissy elf-shaped nightlight who looked considerably less pissy when Artemis nudged a spiky shoulder with his. Behind them, Anton rolled his eyes and made a disgusted noise at the looks they gave each other, but they didn't seem to notice.

They would be just under the Gallows by now. "Keep a look out," Anders said, breaking the silence. "We're getting close."

Cormac was the first into the next room, Anders close behind him, and the scene was not one they'd hoped for. It was, however, Alrik. Alrik and a young lady, presumably a mage, by the robes.

She backed away from him, closer to the way back inside. "No, please, I haven't done anything wrong!"

"That's a lie," Alrik said, advancing on her as she continued to back away. "What do we do to mages who lie?"

"I just wanted to see my mum!" the girl tried to explain. "No one ever told her where they were taking me!"

Anders started to glow even more than their elfy nightlight, but crushed it down, muttering to himself, Cormac's hand on his arm. He wondered if they'd be quick enough to save her, if they waited any longer. He wondered how many templars were just around the bend, in case of things like exactly what they were doing. Beside him, Cormac quietly unshouldered his glaive.

"So, you admit your attempted escape." Alrik sounded like he'd scored a point, somehow. "You know what happens to mage girls who don't toe the line around here, don't you." It wasn't a question.

"Please, no!" The girl sank to her knees. "Don't make me Tranquil! I'll do anything!"

"That's right. Once you're tranquil, you'll do anything I ask!" Alrik was so absorbed in towering over the girl, he didn't notice the blue glow starting in the doorway behind him, or Anders taking his staff in hand.

"The Chantry frowns on templars who take personal advantage of their charges," Cormac pointed out, bringing up his shield, and glancing at Anders. "The usual?"

"Who's this?" Alrik rounded on them, but already too late, by far.

Anders was bright blue and already in motion. "YOU FIENDS WILL NEVER TOUCH A MAGE AGAIN," Justice boomed.

"... Shit," Cormac sighed, swiping at the air in front of him, trying to get off a stun, before the inevitable smite came down.

The stun hit Alrik between the eyes, his stare glazing over while his armoured entourage fumbled for their weapons. The mage girl cowered back against the wall, eyes wide and trained on her would-be rescuers.

Usually Anders hung back, flinging spells at a distance, healing and protecting. But Justice was more warrior than mage, and he flung himself at Alrik, magic and Fade light crackling under his skin. Under his breath, Fenris muttered a curse about mages and drew his sword, brands alight as he lunged at the nearest templar.

It was chaos, the air crackling with magic and echoing with the clang of metal on metal.

"Artie? Why didn't we bring Bethy with us?" Cormac complained, lashing another blast up the stairs as the templars descended upon them. "This is really a Bethy situation."

"I said we should bring her, Cormac," Anton pointed out, "but you were like 'nooo, I can't bring my baby sister into _actual danger_!' You'll take her up the mountain to kill slavers, but you won't bring her out when we need her?"

"I wasn't expecting it to go like this! There was supposed to be more sneaking! Thieving! Only one killing!" Cormac twisted, bringing his glaive down across one templar's neck and bringing up a wall of ice through three more.

"Yeah, well, it looks like blue and sparkly, over there, has got the one we wanted." Anton threw a knife through a templar's neck, as he got a little too close to Artemis. "Toss that back to me, would you? When you have a minute."

Artemis obliged, wrenching the knife from the templar's throat and grimacing at the spray of blood that spattered his cheek. Anton cursed as he stretched to catch the thrown blade. "Maker, your aim is terrible," he said. Artemis replied with a rude gesture.

The tight quarters made Artemis's Force magic more dangerous than helpful, but strategic shocks of lightning fried a few templars from the inside out, until Alrik dropped a Smite on their heads, dampening the magic in the air and cutting Artemis off mid-stone-fist.

But it was too late for Alrik by then. Furious, Fade-blue eyes were the last thing he saw before Anders's -- Justice's -- bladed staff cut through plate and flesh and bone.

"THEY WILL DIE," Justice roared, voice echoing off stone as he tore his staff free. Alrik's body crumpled to the ground. "I WILL HAVE EVERY LAST TEMPLAR FOR THESE ABUSES!"

Cormac gutted the last templar, reaching out to grab Justice by the shoulder, before the body finished sliding off the glaive. "Anders, my sweet, we've run out. They're dead." He shouldered the glaive, not letting go of Justice, and then reached up to take him by the chin and direct his gaze to Alrik's corpse. "He was wrong, so very terribly wrong, and now he's dead. You did this, and I am so fucking hard right now, I'm getting dizzy just looking at you."

Fenris made a disgusted noise, but Anton shook his head.

"Cormac knows what he's doing. I hope." One blade lingered in Anton's hand, just in case he was wrong. "The 'you're right and it makes me want to bone you' approach usually works, with those two."

"EVERY ONE OF THEM WILL FEEL JUSTICE'S BURN!" This was, perhaps, not working as quickly as Cormac had hoped, but he could be persistent.

"Get away from me, demon!" The mage they'd saved was back on her feet, cowering back from the glowing blue mountain of a man, still raving about destroying the Order.

"I AM NO DEMON!" Justice wheeled, towering over her.

"Shit, shit, shit," Cormac muttered, missing the first grab.

"ARE YOU ONE OF THEM, THAT YOU WOULD CALL ME SUCH?"

Cormac didn't miss the second grab, seizing the wrist that held the staff. "Anders, sweetness, the girl's a mage. You don't want to hurt a mage. We just saved her from being made Tranquil... like..." He cleared his throat.

"SHE IS THEIRS. I CAN FEEL THEIR HOLD ON HER," Justice insisted.

"Yes, you can. Just like I can still feel their hold on _you_."

Anton sucked in a sharp breath, pausing in his looting of the corpses. "Ten silver says we're all going to die."

"If we die, you can hardly collect," Fenris pointed out.

"She's what you're here to protect, Anders. Don't turn on her, now. Not for this." Cormac's grip tightened, as Justice burned brighter. "It's unjust. What they did to you, they did to her. Of course she's still in their hold."

"Please, messere," the girl begged, sinking back down, but Justice had already turned on Cormac, instead, burning bright enough he was hard to see.

And then just as quickly as it started, it was done. The light went out, and Anders faltered and dropped to his knees, like a sack of bricks, clutching at his head. His wrist pulled free of Cormac's hand. "Maker, no... I almost... If you weren't here..."

Anders staggered back to his feet, looking confused and disgusted. "I-- I need to get out of here..."

Cormac watched his retreating back and wondered if there was going to be enough of Anders left to clean up with a spoon, in the morning. "Artie, deal with the girl. I gotta--" He gestured after Anders and followed, grabbing whatever it was Anton was waving at him, as he passed.

* * *

Anders's breathing was loud in his ears, ragged. Mage-light didn't light the cavern on the way back, not for him. Justice still burned brightly enough in his head that he didn't need it or want it, and he knew these caves well enough to stumble blindly back. And if the dark, closed space reminded him of something else, he deserved it just then.

Maker. Justice had almost... _He_ had almost... He'd think that, maybe, the templars were right about something, but Justice quashed that thought. No. They weren't right. Not about that girl in the cave, not about the Circle, not about... not about _him_. 

Anders wasn't a monster. Was he?

He didn't realise he'd slowed until Cormac's mage-light caught up with him.

"You, my darling sweet mountain of devastation, are not okay." Cormac was excellent at stating the obvious. He'd made an art of it, from a rather young age. "The girl's fine, and we did what we came to do. There's nothing to get all hung up about."

He knew, or at least he thought he did. That had almost gone very badly, but in the end, it hadn't. It hadn't because Anders was still Anders. Enough of him remained, even in that glowy blue tempest, that he could remember the little things, like the fact that a single personal offence was not of a weight to require much more than a bit of shouting, at the worst. And that's all that had happened. A bit of shouting. Mind, he'd probably scared the piss right out of that poor girl, but he was sure she'd seen worse in the tower.

"'Nothing to get _hung up_ about'?" Anders replied, voice a bit shrill. "Maker, Cormac! You saw what just happened in there! What I almost did!"

And Cormac, that darling fool, had chased right after him anyway, just to tell him everything was all right. Anders stared at this foolish man, at the soft glow of mage-light across his face that left everything else in darkness.

"You're right," Anders said, looking away. "I'm not okay, and I should not be, not after that."

"She called you a demon. You shouted at her a bit. It's what anyone would have done." Cormac kept his hands to himself, yet. Now was not the time. "And when you thought of doing more, you didn't, because you're a good man, Anders. So, you lost your shit a little. Happens to us all. How many places do we not take Fenris, because he can't handle it? How many times have I not dragged Artemis out into some muddy slog down the coast, in the pissing rain? You walked into something worse than you thought was coming. And you're right, you probably shouldn't be okay, but not because of anything you did."

Cormac finally opened the wad of paper Anton had stuffed into his hand as he passed. "Huh. And you were right, too." He handed the page to Anders. "Not that I doubted you for an instant, but that's me."

Anders took the page, looking up at Cormac with a question in his eyes. His hands shook as he held the paper up to the light and read the scrawl of words in Alrik's handwriting.

'The Tranquil Solution'. So he'd been right, he and Justice. They'd done the world a service by ridding it of that man, even if such a quick death was a mercy he hadn't earned.

Anders read on, read the correspondence between Alrik and Elthina, Alrik and Meredith. Even Meredith had rejected his 'Tranquil Solution' idea out of hand. This travesty had lived and died with him. "Oh, thank the Maker," Anders breathed, shoulders sagging in relief. _Maybe there was still hope_ , Anders assured Justice. 

"And thank _you_ ," Anders said, handing the papers back to Cormac. His hands were still shaking too much to hold them.

"My father lived and died to keep us from what the circle did to you. We're with you until the bloody end, however bloody that end gets. I grew up swearing I'd change the world, to keep him safe, but you can't save a dead man. But, there's you, me, Artie, and Bethy, yet, and that's just the family." Cormac finally closed the last few inches between them and wrapped his arms around Anders. "We're going to be okay, or we'll die trying, which is sort of the exact opposite of being okay, but it beats the shit out of some of the middle ground."

Cormac just stood there, in that dank smugglers' tunnel, holding on to Anders like he might never let go. "Don't you dare think you did wrong, because you could have, you might have -- because you didn't. And you won't."

Cormac was all but crushing the life out of him, but Anders would not have minded if he did. Anders clutched back, grabbing fistfuls of Cormac's robes and resting his head on Cormac's shoulder. This was what he was fighting for, he reminded himself. For him, for Cormac, for people like them.

When he pulled back, it was with a sheepish laugh and his hands on Cormac's shoulders. "You know," he said, "that was almost wise. Is this what you're like when I'm not fucking you stupid?"

"Oh, shit, did I say something intelligent? Quick, stick your dick in me, before I get stuck like this!" Cormac grinned teasingly, and turned his head to nibble at Anders's knuckles.


	46. Chapter 46

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Artemis moves in with Fenris. You may now cheer. Anders spots the problem.

Books. When had Artemis gotten so many books? It all went into the crate, stacked in largest to smallest. A few tomes on Fereldan history, Chantry Law… some fuckawful smut in Isabela’s handwriting. When had she sneaked that in there?

“Oh Artie, an elf? What will the neighbours say?”

Artemis gave his mother a flat look as he hefted the crate and dropped it in the hall next to the one with his clothes. “Oh mum, an apostate? What will the neighbours say?” Artemis ducked back into his room, gathering together what was left of the bits and pieces of his life.

Leandra smiled, expression softening as she stopped him with a hand on his cheek, thumb smoothing along the scruff there. Her skin was ghost-pale against his. “Oh dear,” she sighed. “I sound like my mother, don’t I?”

Artie patted her hand on his cheek and grinned. “At least I’m only running off down the street,” he said. “And if he gets me pregnant, I’ll be sure to write.”

Leandra tutted and made a face, dropping her hand. “Oh, Artemis, really.”

“You’re fretting again. You know I always tease you when you fret.”

“Just like your father,” she sighed. She surveyed his quickly-emptying room, the bare shelves and wardrobe. The impeccably made bed. “I will miss you, you know.”

“Even though you have servants now to clean up after Cormac?”

“The same servants who should be helping you with all this?”

Artemis gave her a pained look, which she waved away with a sigh. 

“Yes, yes, I know. They wouldn’t do it ‘right’." Leandra’s eyes were soft again, and Artemis wished he knew how to make her not worry. “Well, at least I don’t have to worry about all that tunnelling disrupting the foundations of your new house,” she said. “They must have finished. I haven’t felt any earthquakes in a while.”

Artie grabbed up the Heart of the Many from where it sat on the dresser, thumb smoothing over the gem as he slipped it on.

“Yes,” Artemis said, smile slipping, “…they must have.” He busied himself over the next empty crate.

* * *

They'd spent the afternoon throwing Tal-Vashoth off the cliffs, along the coast, and there was finally enough open coastline to pitch camp, without worrying they'd get overrun by horn-heads while they slept. Carver attempted to pitch his tent as far from the rest of them as possible. Where had his brothers found these assholes, and how had he gotten stuck with the lot of them, for the weekend? It was something he'd asked himself increasingly often, as the years wore on, and he'd never really found a suitable answer.

Anders had been gathering driftwood, to start a fire, and Fenris stared pensively into the darkness, as he tended to do. The next load of wood clattered onto the pile, and Anders finally said something regrettable, as everyone knew he would, eventually.

"So, I hear Artie actually moved in," he said to Fenris. "How's the old place holding up, now that you've got shakes and quakes sharing your bed every night?"

Isabela peered unsubtly over the top of her book, watching them. She'd meant to wait for the fire to get going, before she started in on Carver, but this looked like even more fun than what she had planned.

Fenris's foul mood turned fouler, and he gave the abomination a look that told him his murder was imminent if he kept talking. "The house is fine," he said coldly. He could feel Isabela staring at him but ignored her. "The house is undisturbed. By the shaking. Which there is."

There wasn't. No shaking, none of the... _activity_ that led to shaking. He turned his brooding stare elsewhere. He didn't want to discuss this, not over a campfire, and not with the abomination.

Anders's eyebrows crawled up, and he gave Fenris a speculative look.

Carver groaned. "Not that I want to hear about this at all, but it sounds preposterously stupid. Artemis barely even shakes the dishes, at home. Why would this endanger a house?"

"Because your house doesn't have mildew in the load-bearing walls," Anders pointed out. "Or mushrooms growing out of the bloodstains in the under-flooring. I'd think he'd have at least knocked over a piece of furniture, by now."

Fenris surged to his feet, fists clenched at his side to keep from doing something he'd regret. Something that would likely put him in the campfire again, and _that_ was an experience he'd rather not repeat. "I do not wish to discuss this, mage," he said, ears twitching in agitation. He didn't need a reminder that Anders knew that part of Artemis, knew it better than Fenris did -- or _would_ , at this rate.

"Ooh, somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning," said Isabela. "Or is that because Artie capsized it?"

"There has been no capsizing! Of beds or any other furniture!" Fenris snapped.

Anders's eyebrows arced up. Fenris should have been _smug_. Self-satisfied and gloating, not angry. Something wasn't right, here. He looked as Isabela for confirmation. Did she see it, too?

Isabela nodded, from behind Fenris, eyes wide. She pointed at him and turned her thumb down, quickly picking up a nearby bottle, when Fenris suddenly turned around.

"Ah, Fenris? Step away from the fire with me, for a minute, so neither of us ends up in it. I'm pretty sure you're going to hit me, and Cormac's not here to step in front of it. I'm also pretty sure you don't want the next thing out of my mouth to happen with an audience." Anders checked himself for weapons, anything that could be used against him. Fenris's fist would probably be enough, really, but there was no sense in providing convenient stabbing implements, if he didn't have to.

Fenris glared at the abomination, but he followed. As loath as he was to talk to Anders, as least this way he was in strangling range. Heart-strangling, if he ended up being extra irksome.

"What?" he growled. It was colder over here, away from the fire, and he folded his arms against the sea breeze. "I told you I did not wish to discuss this."

Back at the camp, Isabela tore a page from her book and rolled it into a cone, placing it to her ear and angling it their way.

"Then don't discuss it. Just listen to me." Anders rubbed his face and looked out over the water. "It wasn't about me. I was just there, and I stopped saying no. And given all the ways that could have gone, you and I should both be very glad that was only me."

He looked back at Fenris. "And I'm getting the feeling that things are not going as well as you say they are. You're not rubbing my face in it, and he's been looking twitchy as all get-out. More than usual. You know it's going to happen, and you need to tell him it's okay. You've made it clear to all of us how poorly you regard magic, and he's... touchy about this. I _am_ a mage, and he was worried about it with me. He's probably terrified you'll leave him again, if he knocks over a bookcase. And really, if you're going to do that? Tell him anyway. Better he should know what he's in for. Just remember he's crazy about you. The number of times I heard him swallow your name..."

"I wouldn't..." Fenris sputtered. Leave Artie? Over that? "I _know_ he's a mage, and I know that _that_ happens. Why would he think I would leave him for that?"

Except that Anders had just said why, and, as much as he hated to admit it, he was right. Fenris ran a gauntleted hand through his hair, not caring if it snagged, as he stepped away to pace in a small circle. He pictured the look on Artemis's face the last time they'd kissed, the flash of panic when Fenris's hands had slid down the back of his trousers. 

" _Venhedis_ ," he murmured, finally coming to a stop with his back to the mage. "I am a fool."

"Look, I'm probably going to regret saying this, but if something's not right, come talk to me or Cormac. We both want Artie to be happy, and Cormac would even like it if you were happy, and we've both spent more time with Artie than you have. That's not an accusation, it's just a fact. And until you figure him out, he's a little difficult. But, he's worth the trouble. I promise you that." Anders folded his arms stuffing them up the opposite sleeves, for warmth. "Just don't hurt him because you're too damned stubborn to ask."

Fenris grunted something non-committal, staring down at the sand at his feet. He curled his toes into the sand as he considered this. The thought of asking Anders -- or even Cormac -- for help in this sounded abhorrent, but for Artemis? Fenris suspected he'd do anything for Artemis, as frightening as that thought was.

"I will ask," he decided, "as long as you don't pry."

Anders smiled. He knew that was Broody Elf for 'thank you'.


	47. Chapter 47

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Arishok has a certain fondness for Anton, so when the shit hits the fan, he summons his favourite Hawke to clean it up.

This time, it was afternoon, when Anton found himself standing at Fenris's door, tarts in hand. "I love what you guys have done with the place," he said, when Fenris answered the door, half-dressed and annoyed, as usual, but less armed since the house had come into his possession.

"Artemis has ... opinions. I know nothing about these things. I let him do what makes him happy." Fenris managed to look somewhat put-upon, like a freshly-washed cat.

"Good. He needs somebody to make him happy." Anton grinned and offered the box of pastry. "And I need someone who speaks Qunlat."

The sounds of hammering and clattering and voices swearing in thick Fereldan accents could be heard from elsewhere in the house.

Fenris squinted at Anton as he took a pastry. The Hawkes didn't need to bribe him, but he wasn't about to tell them that, not if they were going to keep bringing him the apple tarts he liked.

"Qunlat?" he asked. "Why would you...? What did you do?"

"Nothing, honestly!" said Anton, pressing his free hand to his chest. "Nothing illegal, anyway. Recently."

Something _slammed_ behind them, and there was even more emphatic cursing. Fenris's ears twitched in annoyance. "Whatever it is, I'll come," he said. "I need to get away from this racket."

"Excellent. We've got a meeting with the Arishok in two hours. You should probably close your pants." Anton grinned and leaned against the wall, waiting for Fenris to get dressed. He knew his brother was probably somewhere involved in all that thumping and clanging, but he also knew that disrupting Artie at a time like this would probably get someone killed. Most likely himself. And the dog wasn't even here to laugh about it.

* * *

The Arishok was large even by Qunari standards, and he loomed like a gargoyle on his throne, his horns glittering with gold. Anton stopped at the base of the stone steps, and Anders, Aveline, and Fenris fanned out behind him.

The Arishok saw them and waved away his attendant. "Serah Hawke," he said, sitting straighter.

"Messere," said Anton with a polite bow of his head and his most winsome smile. He wondered if that smile worked as well on Qunari. Likely not, since the Arishok was still clothed.

"Last we met," the Arishok boomed. "I did not know your name. Did not care to. You have changed your fortune over the years. The Qunari have not."

"Is this how Qunari exchange pleasantries?" Anders muttered out of the side of his mouth. "Charming."

Fenris shot him a glare and shushed him.

The Arishok settled himself, before addressing the problem he'd summoned Anton to deal with. "I offer a courtesy, Hawke. Someone has stolen what he thinks is the formula for gaatlok. You will want to hunt him."

"Someone stole from the Qunari? That's a talent. And an incredibly stupid individual." Anton whistled.

"Profoundly. The stolen formula was a decoy. Saar-qamek, a poison-gas, not explosives. A small amount is dangerous enough to your kind. But if made in quantity, perhaps by someone intending to sell it…" The Arishok shrugged expressively, or as expressively as could be expected from a man whose face might as well have been carved from stone.

"You have any idea who'd be that bleeding stupid? I'd be happy to solve this problem for both of us." Actually, Anton would be happier to be as far from this problem as he could get. Poison gas was just not on his list of things to do in this lifetime. And it certainly wasn't on his list of ways he wanted to end it.

"I can think of such a one," said the Arishok. "A mutual acquaintance of ours."

"Oh! Yes, that annoying dwarf. What was his name?" Anton tapped his forehead trying to remember.

"Jarvis?" Anders suggested, head tilted. 

"Javaris," Aveline supplied. "Javaris Tintop."

Anton beamed at her. "Yes, him." To the Arishok, he asked, "Do you think _he_ took it?"

"I cannot say for certain," the Arishok rumbled. "But if he did, would he be cautious? Or would he assume success and make enough to threaten a district?"

"I didn't take him for the mass-murdering type, personally. But, either way, if he's got it, we'll stop him from killing too many people. Or as many people as we can." Anton grinned, boldly. "And with that, we take our leave! I shall return to you, when we have found your thief, and stopped him."

"Panahedan, Hawke. It will be interesting to see if you die." The Arishok did something, at last, that could be described as smiling, if one were not a native speaker and had only a business dictionary on hand.

" _Ataash varin kata_ ," Fenris muttered, following Anton out.

* * *

Framed by an elf, the disgraced Carta dwarf had told them. Framed by an elf, to drive him out of Kirkwall and get his assets out on the market. So, back they went, to the city, with a new target in mind, and much less time in which to attend to the problem. They were, in fact, too late, or so the guard at the mouth of the alley told them. The gas had been released, and people were vomiting themselves to death, in the worst cases, and in the slightly better cases, simply being driven mad by it. Aveline dismissed the guard, telling him she'd handle the situation herself, and for a long while, they just stood, staring into the green fog at the other end of the alley.

"Well," said Anton, grimacing. "It can't be any more toxic than the swill they serve at the Hanged Man."

"What drink have _you_ been ordering?" Anders asked.

"The alcoholic kind," Fenris rumbled. "And he's not wrong."

As they were talking, Aveline untied her kerchief and tied it around her face. The others followed suit with whatever they had on them, except for Fenris, who grudgingly borrowed a scrap of cloth from Anders. This was one of those rare instances where tight leather was less than useful.

The gas was leaking from a set of barrels, spread out to opposite corners of the alley. "This doesn't look like someone was trying to sell the stuff," Aveline said, kerchief bobbing and muffling her words.

"No, but the way they're placed, it's where you'd put them if you expected them to explode." Anders pointed to the barrels and the major support structures near each one. "Whoever did this may not have been expecting gas, but they were expecting to destroy this part of town, either way."

Anton was sitting on top of the nearest barrel, by the time Anders finished talking. "I can get it closed, but I can't get it to stay. See if you can find a latch somewhere, or at least a really big brick. Looking at it, the thing's probably shaped like this." He made a shape with his hand that matched what he was seeing on the side of the barrel, where it met the lid.

Fenris grabbed the first shiny thing he spotted, in the wave of rank green mist. No, broken bottle. Pickled fish tin. There! "Like this?" he asked, tossing it to Anton.

Anton caught it and whooped. "Point goes to the elf in the tight pants!" he said as he fiddled with the latch until the barrel snapped closed. "Ah, there we go!"

The others followed suit, combing the ground for glints of metal. It was difficult to see in the thick mist, and Anders tripped over the second latch. "Found one!" he called out, righting his clothes and his dignity as he picked up the latch. He and Aveline struggled to close the second barrel while Fenris and Anton worked on a third. By the time they got to the fourth barrel, the mist had cleared enough for them to see their feet.

Anton was still sitting on the lid and wrangling it closed when an elf stalked towards them, the blade in her hand taller than she was. Anton wondered what it was with elves and giant swords. 

"Easy, lady. We're just trying to figure out what happened here. Did you see any of this? Do you know who did this?" Anton moved slowly towards the elf, hands raised. "Come on, let's get you out of here, before the gas gets to you."

"Is that… Serah Hawke? You have enemies." The elf smiled in a way Anton was a little too familiar with. It reminded him of that smile Cormac got, right before people started imploding. "I’m glad it’s you, really. Those poor people. You are a much better target!"

"Oh, great. More nutjobs trying to kill me. Just what I was missing in my day." Anton rubbed his face, with one hand, making a grand and obvious point of it, while his other hand drew the dagger that was sheathed up under his sash, concealing it with his forearm. "You got a cause, or are you just here to fuck up my day for giggles?"

"Qunari take my people! My siblings forget their culture then go to the Qun for purpose. We’re losing them twice! So I get some help from your people. We’ll take the Qunari thunder and cause some accidents and make them hate it. But this…. This is all wrong." The elf looked somewhat confused and put out by the gas, and Anton suspected it might already have gotten to her. The guard had mentioned people going mad. "It can still work. They are hidden in your city. They’ll enrage the faithful and make sure the Qunari are blamed. Me, I’m finished. I just need a few more bodies. A few more!"

She lunged, drawing her sword, and Anton sidestepped, lashing underhand with the dagger, against her leading arm. "Why does everything in Kirkwall turn into _killing people_? What ever happened to just some nice stealing shit and freeing slaves?"

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that 'stealing' part," Aveline said, drawing her sword.

The elf side-stepped out of range of Anton's dagger and swept her massive sword in an arc Anton barely dodged in time. Elves. Damn elves and their disproportionate weaponry.

And, because the Hawkes were a Crazy Magnet, the sword-swinging elf was not alone. Thugs stepped out of alleys with swords in their hands and clearly with a death wish. Fenris and Aveline stepped to the fore, taking the brunt of their assault while Anders sniped with his magic from behind.

A shock of lightning jolted the Lead Crazy, her muscles seizing and jaw clacking shut. It left just enough of an opening for Anton's knife, and he made good use of it, sliding the blade between her ribs.

A quick glance around assured him that most of the crazy had been handled, and a well-aimed toss took care of the last of it. And, yes, that was it. The vapours had mostly cleared, and the breeze was slowly dispersing the few pockets that remained.

"Who the shit does that?" Anton demanded, walking over to get his other dagger out of somebody's neck. "Seriously, what is the point? Where does this actually help? I mean, I heard her, but... She wants to preserve elven culture, but she won't go to the Dalish for help? Instead, she decides to wipe out a bunch of the saddest people in the city, and blame the Qunari? That's how to start a war, and you know what you lose in war? Culture. Artefacts. A great many things of value, and Andraste knows, I've helped liberate some of those things." 

Aveline sighed and glared, again, but Anton went on.

"No, I'm not sorry. It won't burn, if it's not in the building when the fire starts. It won't be destroyed, if the conquerors can't find it. Have I been a looter? Absolutely. But, if the shit goes up on the market, it's not _lost forever_." Cleaning his daggers, Anton sheathed them, and began to search the bodies of the dead. "So, she starts a war. A war she won't even involve herself nor her people in, directly, over the personal decisions of some of her people to choose a different religion to her own? No one's being forced. There's no harm to any individuals. And she starts a _war_. That's just ... Who does that?"

Anders thought of the slaver mess in the Hawke cellar, thought of Cormac and his righteous rage, and for once saw a family resemblance between these two. "Forcing her views on someone else," he said. "She'd fit right in with the templars."

"Oh good," Fenris sneered. "We haven't had a mage rights diatribe for the last ten minutes, and I was starting to worry. Do go on and tell me how this is all about _you_." Elf or not, Fenris felt no kinship with the Dalish. He was content to ignore them, so long as they weren't poisoning districts on 'his' behalf.

"It's not about _me_! It's about everyone!" There was a flash of blue in Anders's eyes, quick enough that Fenris almost missed it. "Cruelty is cruelty, and it's always the innocents who get caught in the crossfire!"

Fenris was about to say something biting about 'mages' and 'innocents', only to stop short when he thought of _his_ mage, of blue eyes and nervous fidgeting. Instead, he grit his teeth and let Anders have the last word.

"Well, hello, Justice," Aveline said flatly.

"Knock it off! All of you! This is fucked up enough without us getting into it with each other. The gas makes people crazy -- crazier than they already are -- so I don't know if this is you nutbars just being your usual nutbar selves, or if this is you being your extra nutty nutbar selves, because poison gas, so let's get out of the enclosed space, and get some Maker-damned air. Yes? Yes." Anton gestured toward the mouth of the alley, with a flourish, headache creeping up on him. He was still hoping to avoid barfing himself to death, which would be the perfect bullshit end to a fantastically shitty day.

* * *

"So I was wrong about our thief." The Arishok didn't seem too upset about it or about the lives the poison gas had cost. Anton was still fighting off a headache, and he could feel it in his temples as he fought to stay civil.

"Looks like it," he said.

The Arishok sat back, wooden throne creaking under his bulk. "They say we were careless with our trap," he said. "That this is _our_ fault." And there, finally, was a trace of emotion in that stone face: irritation. "But even without the saar-qamek, there would have been death. This elf was determined to lay blame at our feet."

Just as the Arishok was laying blame at hers. More finger-pointing. 

"I admire conviction with a focus," the Arishok went on, "but your kind are truly committed to weakness."

"You judge us by our Tal-Vashoth," Anton pointed out. "I do not judge you by your people's failures. Do not judge me by mine. The weak will fall where they may, and it is the duty of those who would rule to help them up."

Behind him, Fenris sucked in a sharp breath, and Anton could see a faint blue glow start at the edge of his vision.

"We accept those who submit to the Qun. The weak naturally seek the strong." The Arishok nodded, close to accepting Anton's explanation of things. "It doesn’t matter. We did not come equipped to indoctrinate. I am here to satisfy a demand you cannot understand."

"You've been here an awfully long time. That ship not working out for you? Or have you decided to become missionaries. I can understand the appeal. Kirkwall's a lovely place, once you get past the stench of dead fish and the neverending torrent of bandits and cutthroats." Anton was becoming less and less pleasant, as the day wore on.

"It will take as long as needed. No ship is coming. There is no rescue from duty to the Qun. I am stuck here." The Arishok's gaze remained steady, judging everything it took in.

"Stuck?" Anton echoed, brows furrowing. "With the amount of time you've been here, you could have built your own ship. You still can. We'll help you gather the wood. The elf here is mean with an axe." He pointed at Fenris with his thumb over his shoulder. "He's also mean without the axe, but I've had enough of elves trying to decapitate me for one day."

Lip curling, the Arishok narrowed his eyes at the group. "You misunderstand," he said. "I am _bound_ here. Filth stole from us. Not now, not the saar-qamek. Years ago." Clawed hands clenched the wings of his throne. "A simple act of greed has borne me here. We are all denied Par Vollen until I alone recover what was lost under _my_ command!"

The stone face became a mask of anger as the Arishok surged to his feet, looming even higher over them. "That is why this elf and her shadows are unimportant. That is why I do not simply walk away from this pustule of a city! Fixing your mess is not the demand of the Qun, _and you should all be grateful_!" His voice rose until he was shouting, spittle flying and words echoing off stone. Anton's ears rang with them.

Grateful? Anton was tempted to show him just how _grateful_ he was, but Fenris laid a hand on his arm, keeping him in check. Anton bit his tongue against a snide comment.

The Arishok closed his eyes and slumped back into his throne. "Thank you, human, for your service," he said wearily. "Leave."

Anton bowed like he might to some Orlesian noble, all the sarcasm and loathing he needed present in the motion alone. "Good day, ser."

Fenris led Anton away, muttering quietly as Anton still seethed. "Maraas shokra. Shok ebasit hissra. Ataas shokra nehraa anaan esaam Qun." A quiet sound of bitter amusement grated out of Fenris. "Maraas imekari. This is not as it is meant to be. He is not here to clean up the city's messes, but he expects we will clean up his."

"Ever-inclusive Kirkwall," Anders threw in, cheerily enough to peel paint. "We fuck everyone equally."


	48. PART XI: ARTEMIS'S AFFECTIONS BECOME LESS AMBIGUOUS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Artie asks Aveline for help with his relationship difficulties. She advises strongly in favour of new underwear. Exciting underwear.

Artemis just hoped no one was looking. At all. Ever. He'd come to Aveline for some advice about what to do about Fenris. Aveline had been married, so he thought she'd have some clue about how to handle those little differences of opinion that could make or break a relationship. They'd gone to the Hanged Man, mostly so neither of them would have to have this conversation sober.

"Well, you've already moved in with him, haven't you?" Aveline asked, pouring another drink for each of them. "In that case, you just have to be irresistibly sexy. He'll understand. If he wants you enough, he'll overlook a little bit of magic. You just have to make sure it's _enough_."

She gestured forcefully, with the bottle. These poor boys, married in all but name, and still not getting around to the good stuff. Well, she wasn't very good at dating, but she'd had that married thing down to an art. Wesley had handled most of the dating part.

"Enough?" Artie slurred, gesturing with the hand not holding his rum. "How do you measure that? Is there a sexy scale I was unaware of?" His brow furrowed as he considered this. "On a scale from 'chantry sister' to 'Antivan pole-dancer', where am I? No, don't answer that." He suspected the answer would change depending on the amount of alcohol in front of him anyway. "So, just... what? What do I do?"

Artemis's chin thunked onto the table, and he looked up at Aveline with big, desperate eyes.

Aveline took a long drink and considered. "It's about what you've got on. Not what everyone sees you wearing, but what they don't see you wearing. What he'll see you wearing. You need better underwear."

She paused, holding up her hand, while she found the rest of the words. "I don't doubt that you have perfectly appropriate smalls, for a nobleman, but you need something more compelling. Something with some wow. You want him to look at you like you're something from a dream."

Artemis sat back to frown at his crotch. He was wearing his good smalls today. No holes, minimal stains. But he knew that wasn't good enough. "Hmm." A dream? Oh yes, he could picture the look on Fenris's face, expressive eyes wide and reverent, ears twitching the way they did when he wanted to touch but was holding himself back. Oh yes. That sounded lovely. 

Artemis took another drink to cool himself down after that image. "All right," he said, licking his lips. "But I'm... not really a connoisseur of undergarments. In fact, I'm not really a fan of them in general. I like them best when they're crumpled on someone else's floor." Artie snorted, giggling into his hand. "Did I just say that aloud? I said that aloud."

"I know the perfect place, right here in Lowtown. The owner just has an eye for it. She could make a hurlock look like a pretty princess, and you've got the cutest cheeks already." Aveline reached out and pinched one, affectionately, almost like an older sister. "Isabela introduced me to the shop, and don't you go spreading that around. She just wanted my opinion on something she shouldn't be wearing in public, not that it'll stop her for a second."

Aveline hauled herself to her feet, leaving a few coins on the table, and held a hand out to Artemis. "Come on. I'll take you up to Frannie's and we'll get you something special. You'll be nailing your dreamy elf in no time." Not that she was sure why anyone would want to be nailing Fenris, but he seemed to make Artemis happy.

* * *

Artemis squinted at the window display, unsure if he was too drunk to be seeing right or not drunk enough to be processing this. Granted, he was in an eternal state of either 'too drunk' or 'not drunk enough', but he could always blame Cormac for that. But this? This was all Aveline.

In the window, against the backdrop of a red velvet curtain, stood a dress form arrayed with... well, something lacy. Artemis was having a hard time getting his vision to focus. And were those... garters? "Aveline?" he said -- whined, really -- as he turned back to her. "This isn't... when you said nice undergarments..."

"Shh, come on. Trust me." Aveline took Artemis's elbow and pulled him into the shop. A bell jingled as the door opened, announcing their arrival.

"Aveline!" Fran remembered everyone's name -- everyone who was anyone, anyway. "How good to see you again! Are you here for something for yourself, or is this for your friend?"

"For my friend, but not Isabela. For this friend. Artemis, this is Fran. She'll make you look amazing. She's... very good at that." Aveline looked away and swallowed, with an awkward smile.

"Mint? Maybe a key lime?" Fran studied Artemis, with a warm smile and a professional eye. "Do you like green? You look like you should like green."

Green? Fenris's eyes were green, and Artemis liked Fenris's eyes. "Yes, um. Green is... nice," he said, eyes bugging at he looked around him. He was standing next to a table full of all manner of stockings and smalls made of barely enough material to qualify as clothes. He swallowed. "I like green." 

Fran didn't react to his stammering and staring. She merely continued to smile and asked for his measurements. "I think I have just the thing for you," she said when she was done. "Come with me."

'Just the thing' turned out to be simple and sleek, a straight-topped overbust corset that curved low around the hips and down between them. It was a pale mint, with black trim, boned for shape, but not for tight-lacing. Fran turned up a pair of knickers in the same green, and rather than stockings, a set of ribbons and clips that seemed designed to start under the heel and wind across and around the legs to the top of the thigh, where they could be attached by tying them to the fasteners that hung on little straps from the hips of the corset. The cut of the thing strongly suggested it hadn't been designed with a woman in mind.

"Oh, sweet Maker," Artemis squeaked. He couldn't process more than those four syllables for while as he stared at the corset in Fran's hand. He was blushing hot enough to burn holes in his skin, a fact he tried to hide behind his hands. "I am _so_ not drunk enough for this," he said, voice muffled by his palms.

Next to him, Aveline smiled gleefully. "Oh, look at the colour!" she crooned. She took the corset from Fran and held it up to his hands and face. "It looks marvellous against your skin, Artie. We'll take it!"

Artemis peeked at her through his fingers. _Definitely_ not drunk enough.

"I think that's the right size, but he should probably try it on, to be sure," Fran pointed out, gesturing to some little, mirrored nooks, in the back, each with its own curtain. "Don't mind the laces in back. That's so it can be adjusted if it doesn't fit right on the first try. All you have to do is just wrap it around you and pull these little hooks together." Fran demonstrated. "Click and slide."

She gently patted Artemis on the back, nudging him toward the dressing rooms. "I know that looks a little intimidating, but once you see yourself in it, you'll understand. Just let me know if it needs to be retied for you."

Artemis stared back and forth between the two women and knew he wasn't going to get out of there without at least trying the thing on. "Oh, Maker," he sighed. "Why not." He could always blame it on alcohol in the morning, right next to all those other things he blamed on alcohol. No one would be surprised.

Artie might not have felt drunk enough for all this, but luckily he was sober enough to manage the hooks on his own. The corset was snug but not tight, fitted perfectly against his waist. He paused before fumbling with the ribbons to look at himself in the mirror.

"Hmm." He tilted his head to the side. "Green _is_ my colour."

And the ribbons, it turned out, showed off his legs rather nicely.

"He's not screaming. I don't hear any sounds of panic. I think that's a good sign." Aveline laughed and eyed another display piece, hanging nearby. "Oh, that's nice. Can you do that one in my size, and in... Oh, that brown you talked me into, last time. That does look good."

"Serena?" Fran called out, and an elven girl appeared, with a piece of chalk in one hand and several pins between her lips. "Can we do a forty nine in the auburn bereskarn, in Aveline's size?"

"Mmhm!" Serena pulled the pins out of her mouth. "I was wondering when she was going to order one."

"You! You planned this!" Aveline accused, sputtering.

"Of course we did, my dear. I know what you like!" Fran laughed.

"Well, assuming he hasn't had heart failure, what do we owe you?" Aveline reached for her coinpurse. She could spot Artemis his first corset, just like Isabela had bought hers.

While the ladies were discussing price, Artemis sucked in a breath and drew back the curtain. It took him a while to get the ribbons symmetrically placed, a feat made herculean by the amount of rum he'd already had. "Tada," he said drily, gesturing at his scantily-clad body.

Fran clapped her hands in delight. "Oh, it looks gorgeous on you!" she said. "The colour, the shape! It shows off that lovely silhouette of yours."

Aveline's grin split her face, and she nodded at Fran.

Artemis shook his head with a nervous laugh. "If this ends up in one of Varric's books, I'm moving to Antiva."

"If it ends up in one of Varric's books, it won't be because I told him," Aveline reassured him. "I already paid for it. Pull your clothes on, and let's go find your elf."


	49. Chapter 49

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris gets a look at Artie's new exciting underwear. So does Cormac. Artemis is _extremely drunk._

Across town, Cormac and Fenris sprawled on embroidered sofas in one of the drawing rooms, the door closed and two bottles of applejack and a bottle of brandy on the table between them. Their heads were to the same angle, so they both saw the bottles, but not each other, which suited them both, fine. It was the conversation Fenris had started with Anders, but felt he needed to finish with Cormac.

"He's neurotic. It's not personal. He's just like that." Cormac said, the words nearly echoing what Anton had said about Artemis, months earlier. "Just let him clean, and remind him everything's going to be fine. If it's not going to be fine... well, that's a little more difficult, but I'd expect by that point there would be less cleaning and more stabbing and slamming people into walls. He's good in a fight, once he gets going."

Cormac trailed off and poured himself some more brandy. "But, it's true. You've got to let him know that you're not worried about the earthquakes. He's got a bit of a history with shaking shit up, and he's afraid he's going to hurt someone, one of these days. If it's me, he'll be upset. If it's you, it'll kill him. I'm a lot less worried about it, than he is, because the worst it's ever been was that night in the wine cellar, so as long as you don't do things like that around unsecured bottles, or Maker forbid _kegs_ , the worst he'll do is rattle the dishes a little."

Fenris hadn't even had dishes until Artemis moved in. As far as he was concerned, Artemis could rattle them as much as he liked. "He could shake down the house if he wanted," Fenris said, a drink at his lips, "and I'd consider it a compliment. I don't mind the idea of dying in his bed rather than in battle. In fact, I'd prefer it."

All of this made Fenris wonder just how much of his sex life or lack thereof he should be discussing with his lover's brother. He took another long drink of the applejack. "At the party," he said, and maybe this wasn't something he should be bringing up but, "did he... _kiss_ you or was I drunker than I realised?"

Or maybe Cormac had a doppelganger. Some non-relative who looked just like him.

"Ok, first? That is the sweetest fucking thing I have ever heard anyone say about Artie in my entire life, and you need to tell him that. Unadulterated. Just... say it." Cormac knocked back the glass of brandy and put the glass on the edge of the table. He took a deep breath, before getting around to the actual question.

"He gets ... you've seen what he's like when he's drunk. It's gotten you laid twice, that I know of, and possibly more than that, that I don't know of, and please don't tell me." Cormac considered the bottle for a long moment and then poured himself another glass. "So, yes. He kissed me. And I let him. It's not really a big deal. Better me than someone who's going to get offended. He's my little brother. If he wants to suck my face and fuck my lover when he's drunk, so be it."

It occurred to him that last might not have been the thing to say to Fenris. "They've stopped, by the way. I can tell. I don't have the magical vibe chair in the library, any more."

"Magical vibe...? Eugh." Fenris made a face, nose crinkling. That put him in mind of Anders and Artemis, likely on that Maker-damned couch, Artemis making all those little noises for the abomination instead of him. But that was his fault, wasn't it? If he hadn't left Artemis in the first place, Artie wouldn't have gone to the mage at all. 

"Mages," he muttered in exasperation, as though that word could sum up all of Artemis, Anders, and Cormac and their bizarre relationships.

"Mages? Really? That's all you've got to say?" Cormac laughed and shook his head. "But, yeah, if you don't want him snogging people in corners, you should probably keep him close if he's drunk. I'm ... I'm not sure if he's got much more control over that than he does with the cleaning. And if he does, I have no idea why he picks _me_. Not that I'm complaining."

The front door slammed open and shut for a pair of whispering, snickering voices. The dog's head perked up, his tiny nub of a tail thumping against the floor before he sprang up to greet Artemis.

Artemis, who had an arm around Aveline's shoulder and a bottle of rum in his free hand. They stumbled to a stop in front of the drawing room door, seeing the light of the fire and the shapes on the couches.

"Hello!" slurred Artie. "We went shopping!"

Fenris wondered if there was blood magic involved, that they were just talking about drunk Artemis only for him to appear moments later, as though summoned.

"Shopping for rum, or did you get something else, as well?" Cormac asked, pulling himself up a bit more against the arm of the couch. "If you got anything exciting, you should show us. We've been drinking to excess to fend off the boredom."

Bethany passed by on her way between the kitchen and somewhere. "Aveline? Is that you? Oh, I haven't seen you in a month! How have you been! Did you get my brother drunk?"

Aveline leaned against the wall beside the door. "Your brother got me drunk."

"Oh, dear. Well, come on, he'll be fine with Fenris and Cormac. Let's you and me go have a bit of tea. I've got a box of those wafers you like. It'll settle your stomach." Bethany smiled and offered her arm to Aveline.

With Bethany taking off with Artemis's armrest, Artie leaned against the doorframe instead. He didn't _think_ he was going to fall over, but it was better to be safe in this instance. "No, we weren't shopping for rum," he said with a loopy smile. He squinted down at the bottle in his hand. "In fact, I'm not even sure where this rum came from. Maybe it was magic. Magic rum. Is there a spell to summon alcohol?"

Fenris snorted into his drink. "Not even the magisters have mastered such dark magic," he said with a smirk.

Artemis blinked up at him. Fenris. Fenris was making a joke about magic and magisters. Their eyes locked over Fenris's bottle of applejack, and there was already heat there in Fenris's eyes. 

"Well..." Artemis cleared his throat and glanced at his brother. "It _is_ exciting. What we bought. Well, hopefully it is. To Fenris. Exciting to Fenris."

Fenris squinted up at his mage. "You're making even less sense than usual," he said.

"Well, come in here and show us!" Cormac demanded. "Stop lurking in the doorway like that!"

Cormac studied his brother and noticed the distinct lack of any bags or baskets. Nothing but the bottle in his hand. Maybe it was something small, something that would fit in a pocket. Andraste's tits, if Artemis proposed, Cormac was just going to explode with pride.

Cormac grinned. "Maybe close the door behind you, if it's not something you want Carver to punch me in the face for, just yet."

Closing the door was probably a good idea. To do that, Artemis had to stumble away from the doorframe, but then the door clicked closed and it was just the three of them in the warm glow of the fire. He was drunk enough to not even consider asking Cormac to leave. His brother had seen him more drunk in less clothing, so what was the point?

"All right. I'll show you."

Fenris watched in bewilderment as Artemis started to undo the ties of his robes. "Artemis?" He sat up, cautiously setting his drink aside.

It wasn't the most graceful display. In fact, more than once, Fenris considered getting up to help the poor drunk fool.

"By Andraste, if you got his name tattooed on your ass, Artie..." Cormac choked back a laugh. "Do you need a hand with that?"

Artemis would have waved Cormac away if he hadn't gotten his head caught in the neckline. Maker, this was the most unsexy strip tease in the history of Thedas. 

By the time Artie was freed from his robes, his hair was sticking up in all directions and the ribbons on his legs had moved a bit, but he hoped the overall effect was the same.

Cormac was left holding his brother's robes as he stepped back, out of Fenris's view. "Andraste's infinitely squeezable ass, Artie... You-- you look _good_. That's, wow. Where did you even _get_ that?"

Backing into the tea table, Cormac faltered a bit, dropping the robes on the floor, as the bottles clinked, but he didn't knock anything over. He'd seen Artemis in both more and less, but he'd never seen him in anything that colour. Or that cut. And Cormac had no doubt in his mind that this one was all Artie. He could never pull it off. Anders would just laugh. But, Anders would not be laughing about this. Cormac struggled to remember the little things, like how to breathe, and how to shut his mouth.

Fenris, for his part, was glad he'd set down his drink or there would be applejack all over the floor by now. "You... er..." He didn't know how Cormac had been able to form words, let alone string so many words together. Doubly so when Artemis stepped towards him, firelight playing off the planes of his body in a way that had Fenris staring.

"Aveline knew a place," Artemis answered Cormac. He was getting fidgety, fingers twisting in his hair, the way he did when he was trying to hide his nerves. "Somewhere in Lowtown, I think. Couldn't find it again if I tried." It took them enough stumbling just to find their way back here, after wandering down the same alley three times and accidentally interrupting a Chantry service. "The owner's a very nice lady."

Cormac, for his part, was sure he should go. Sure he should leave them in peace, to enjoy Artie's new completely spectacular underclothes. But, he couldn't tear his eyes away. For Andraste's sake, this was his brother. And for once, he thought maybe he understood why Artie would get drunk and kiss him. Or, well, he would, if he looked anything like that. Still, Anders swore they had the same ass, and Cormac was inclined to agree. It was hard to make a good Anders sandwich without he and his brother grabbing each others' asses.

"I'll ask her for the address. You... I know what I'm getting you for your name day, this year." A dizzy grin lit Cormac's face. "Or maybe I should say I know what I'm getting Fenris for your name day, this year."

Artemis let out a nervous laugh. Well. The corset was exciting for his _brother_ , at least, which wasn't exactly what he had in mind. Not that he minded, necessarily. Fenris, meanwhile, kept staring at him like he'd swallowed his tongue.

"Well?" Artemis asked, his crooked smile aiming for cocky and landing somewhere around awkward. Which was fine, really. He was comfortable around 'awkward'. "Do you like it? Hate it? I mean, if it's terrible, you can tear it right off me and be done with it."

"No, leave it on," Fenris said, finally finding his words and getting to his feet. "Tempting as that offer is."

Cormac moved behind Artemis and waved for Fenris's attention. 'Tell him', he mouthed, pointing to his brother. He nodded and gave a thumbs up. This was the hard part. This was the important part. He had to make sure Fenris actually said the things Artemis needed to hear. That and he wanted to see the look on Artie's face, when all this heartfelt shit came tumbling out of the broody death elf's mouth. If nothing else, he could scrape up Bethy and Anders, later, and tell them all about it over hangover broth and cookies.

Fenris nodded at Cormac over Artemis's shoulder. Artemis started to turn to see what he was looking at, but Fenris stopped him with a hand on his cheek. Lyrium prickled like ice against the skin of his cheek. " _Tu mirus es_ ," Fenris murmured, looking into his mage's eyes. "I want you, Artemis. All of you."

Artemis cupped the hand on his cheek, laced Fenris's fingers through his. His expression was so very adoring that Fenris forgot to breathe. " _All_ of me, hmm?" He said it with a teasing smile, but Fenris heard the undercurrent of fear there. Fear, but also defiance. This was who he was. Hawke. Fereldan. _Mage_. And that wasn't going to change.

"Yes," Fenris said. "All of you. Even your magic. Because your magic is a part of you, and I... I love you."

Cormac whistled and applauded. "You know what this man said to me, Artie? He told me he'd rather die in your bed than in battle. And I think he meant it, too. And there was a whole lot of other sappy shit in there, too."

Picking up the brandy, Cormac clapped his brother on the shoulder. "And now, as delightful as you look, I think the brandy and I need to have a much more intimate conversation, while I beat my penis against the counter."

"That poor counter," Artemis laughed, and it was the laugh of someone giddy with relief. There were two pairs of eyes drinking him in, and that was at least one pair more than he was expecting. He was buzzed enough, giddy enough to speak without thinking. "Why don't you stay and finish your brandy here? This is your house, after all. Technically."

Fenris's fingers twitched against Artemis's cheek, and he wondered if the mage knew what he was implying. 

Cormac didn't answer his brother. He answered Fenris. "That's your decision, not mine. We've... shared, before. I don't think you want to be shared, but if he wants me here -- to watch -- I'll stay, if you'll let me."

It was terribly clear that Cormac's entire point was 'whatever Artemis wants, I'll give him'. But, as true as that was, he didn't want to step on Fenris's toes. The last time he'd done it accidentally, if a bit more literally, he'd had a very angry elf pointing a sword at him.

"Shared?" Fenris said, eyes narrowing. "What do you mean you've 'shared before'? With the abomination?" He knew Anders and Cormac were fucking. He knew Anders and Artemis had fucked. He hadn't considered the three of them fucking at the same time, and it made his brain short out for a minute.

Artemis's hand on his cheek brought him back to himself, and he realised he was growling. "If that's not something you want," Artemis said. "It's all right. We can forget I ever --"

Fenris shut him up with a harsh kiss, all tongue and teeth and more possessive than passionate. The abomination wasn't going to have something Fenris couldn't, not where Artemis was concerned. "He may stay," he said to Artemis.

Cormac nodded and ran his hand affectionately down Artemis's arm, before tossing himself back onto the couch. "I'll just be over here, drinking, if you need me."


	50. Chapter 50

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cormac finds himself awkwardly stuck in the room, while Artemis and Fenris get it on. Of course, being Cormac, he's got opinions, and being drunk, he's going to share.

Except somehow in all the shuffling around, Cormac had ended up closer to the couch Fenris had been on, which now smelled like the elf that had been lying on it, for the last few hours. Cormac could admit it wasn't an unpleasant scent, and he could almost see the appeal. He thought he might not watch, that maybe he'd just catch a nap, but watching them look at each other, touching only hands to faces, he wondered if he might not learn something much more important about his brother, here. Like what the fuck he was talking about, with that ridiculous 'Tell Anders you love him' noise. Fenris was, as he'd predicted, in love. Maybe if he watched it, he'd figure out what Artemis had been seeing.

Fenris paid him no mind. He didn't care if the whole Hanged Man was watching, so long as the man in his arms was this one right here. Fenris kissed him again, more gently this time but no less heatedly, taking the time to properly taste him, rum and applejack mixing on their breath. Artemis's fingers sank into Fenris's hair, nails scraping along his scalp, and Fenris drew him in with an arm around his waist.

Artemis laughed breathlessly against Fenris's lips. "I guess you _do_ like the corset," he said, glancing between them and smirking.

"Mage, I like _you_. The corset is incidental. It is very appealing on you, though. I do not think I have properly appreciated the colour of your skin, until now, or maybe even the colour of your eyes." Fenris slid a hand down the back of the corset, encountering the laces, reaching down until his hand sat on that fine and purportedly heritable ass, still covered in soft green cloth. "You did this for me?"

"Might have," Artemis said with a smirk before leaning to bite at Fenris's lip, a simple touch of teeth to skin. "After a few drinks, it seemed like a good idea. It was either that or bring you a goat."

"A... what?"

"Never mind. Ask Aveline." Artemis was laughing and smiling that crooked smile instead of panicking, and Fenris sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Maker. As he bent to kiss Artemis's throat, he waited for the mage to push him away, but he didn't, not this time. Instead there were hands roving the planes of his back and a neck arching in invitation.

Cormac finished the glass of applejack Fenris had left on the table, watching his brother grope the broody death elf. He hadn't actually gotten to watch, the last time they'd all been in a room, together. Anders's shoulder had been quite firmly in his way for most of that. Not that he'd much cared, at the time. He'd been much more interested in Anders.

Fenris pulled Artemis closer, pressing his leg between the mage's thighs, as he licked and nipped at that golden expanse of throat. Why were they always drunk for this, he wondered, but he'd had that answer, however indirectly. Cormac had pointed out that Artemis was much less inhibited, when drunk, and his own observations bore that out. But why was he, _himself_ , always drunk for this? Not just a bottle of wine, but _copious_ amounts of liquor. He didn't suppose it mattered much, in the end. They were drunk, and Artemis was back in his arms, where he belonged.

Artemis's hands found skin, rucking up the back of Fenris's tunic to press his palms to tattooed flesh. Fenris sucked in a breath at the burn that caused at the base of his spine, and Artemis took that as encouragement to keep touching, tracing lyrium lines by touch alone. Fenris shivered and arched into his hands, seeking more scalding skin, as his teeth worried at the skin of Artemis's neck.

"Mage," Fenris panted, arching up to kiss him again and again.

"I'm already in my underthings, you know," Artemis murmured against his lips. "Care to catch up?"

"Very well, but I suspect you'll find my underthings much less exciting," said the elf who wasn't wearing any.

Artemis chuckled and helped Fenris pull the tunic over his head. The shirt removal went much better than Artemis's earlier robe removal, and Artie had high hopes for the removal of Fenris's pants. He toyed with the laces, long fingers brushing teasingly over the bulge there. "How do you want me?" he asked, bending to whisper the words in a pointed ear.

Fenris's breath stuttered, and he licked his lips. How did he --? " _Naked_ ," was the first word he managed to choke out, voice strained, before he realised that was very distinctly not the right answer. "No, wait, don't take it off. I like the look of it on you."

Cormac crammed his hands under his hip, to avoid clapping slowly. This was really almost painful. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been or been with someone that flustered. But, then, he was into some strange and terrible things, and 'flustered' very rarely entered the conversation, this late in the game.

"I want--" The mage had asked _him_. Not told him how it would be, but asked him. Fenris grabbed at what he could remember, what they'd done before. "I want you on your knees for me." That had worked well, last time.

Artemis remembered that time in the wine cellar and shivered, remembered how Fenris had felt behind him, inside him, truly _inside_ him, Fade-blue hands clutching him by the hip bones. "I think that can be arranged," Artemis all but purred, and Fenris's ears twitched in response. He dropped to his knees at Fenris's feet, pausing to nuzzle at Fenris's still regrettably clothed crotch. Somehow, he remembered the complicated knot Fenris used to tie his laces and was either sobering up enough or determined enough to get them undone with minimal fumbling.

"You should kiss his ass, if you've got him on his knees," Cormac suggested. "With tongue. He makes the very best noises for that."

He poured himself another glass of brandy as Fenris glared across the room at him, slowly shimmying out of his leggings, with Artemis's assistance.

"What? I've watched him come enough times. I know what he likes. And I know what he's not going to ask for." Cormac shrugged and sipped his brandy.

"Is this true?" Fenris asked, trying to wrap his mind around the idea that putting his tongue there was a good idea. "Is that something you like? Is that something you want me to do for you?"

Artemis coughed into his hand and tried not to squirm. "Well... well, yes," he admitted to Fenris's crotch. He'd always loved when Anders did that, especially when he took his time and drove him wild, and Artemis ached just thinking about it. "Is that something you would...?"

Artemis trailed off, gesturing vaguely with one hand. Fenris hooked a finger under his chin, and blue eyes met green. "For you? Of course." He sank to his knees in front of Artemis and paused to kiss him again. He wondered if he would ever tire of kissing this mage.

This was one of those things Cormac looked forward to telling Anders about, later. The two of them had a terrible habit of using Artemis against each other, in bed, and this would be amazing ammunition. He could use this for years, that he'd gotten to watch the broody death elf eat out his brother, and Anders hadn't. 'For years'... There was a thought, but it had already been years, and they showed no signs of slowing down, except when Justice got out of hand. Years, or until one of them got killed doing something epically stupid.

"Mage," Fenris sighed, with his mouth full of tongue, stroking Artemis's face and clutching at his hair, just to be sure he was real and this was really happening. The word was no longer an insult, here, between them. Just a reminder of the wonder of this madness that had seized him. In love, with a man whose every touch called dangerously to the lyrium in his skin. It hurt less, now that he didn't fear it. A tingling heat that hovered so close to burning, racing along the lines in his skin. He was going to make love to this man, right here on the floor. The very thought had him painfully hard.

He pulled the kiss to the side, mouthing at the side of Artemis's neck, biting gently where neck became shoulder. This mage. _His_ mage. He would remember the taste of every part of Artemis, until there was none of him left to remember. And that, he really still wasn't sure about that. Tongues and asses... But, he'd do it. It wasn't magic, and if the abomination could do it -- which he assumed was the case, since Cormac knew about it -- he could do it.

"Fen," Artemis breathed, fingers tangling in Fenris's hair again. He mouthed along the point of one ear before pulling Fenris's head gently back, lips tracing the line of his cheekbone. Lips feathered over Fenris's one more time before Artemis pulled away. Hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his green smalls, Artemis made a show of sliding them down his hips, an effect that was only partially ruined when he got them caught around his knees. With some shimmying, eventually the smalls came off, and Artemis flung them aside in the direction of the couch.

Fenris watched him with hunger in his eyes, hands clenching and unclenching as though aching to touch, to take. And that was a good look on Fenris, Artemis decided, especially when he was naked. 

Cormac considered leaving the green smalls draped across his face, where they landed, as silent commentary on this entire situation. In fact, for a few moments, he did just that, but as breathable as the fabric might have been, it really wasn't doing wonders for his ability to breathe under it. Or at least, he was rapidly annoyed at the feeling of inhaling his own warm breath. He reached out and hung them from the neck of the applejack bottle that still had liquid in it, and sincerely hoped his mother was out with Dulci du Launcet, for the evening, because this was not something he ever wanted to explain.

More brandy went into him as he watched Fenris's ears twitch. He was willing to agree that the elf's response to vast expanses of Artemis's bare skin was appropriate. After all, they were brothers, and all the Hawkes looked good stripped down.

Fenris reached out, hand falling away before it touched skin, again and again, as if he couldn't decide which part of Artemis to touch first. At last, he settled on the lips, first, ghosting a finger down the centre of that lovely kiss-swollen skin. And then, still watching Artemis's eyes, he reached down and ghosted the same finger up the length of Artemis's knob. "I want you on your knees for me," he said, again. "Lift your hips for me. I want to hear these sounds you haven't made for me."

Fenris's voice was sinful in ordinary circumstances, but hearing that voice talking like that, heavy with want, made Artemis's toes curl. Artemis was too breathless to say something cheeky, and in the end, he merely nodded and obeyed, turning and leaning forward on his hands and knees. 

Fenris took a moment to admire the view, this display that was all for him. His mage. Artemis craned his neck back to look over his shoulder, and Fenris soothed him with a hand on the small of his back, a hand that smoothed up and down his spine over the corset's fine fabric. Artemis blew out a breath and relaxed, head hanging between his shoulders again.

"You are beautiful," Fenris murmured. His hand followed the line of Artemis's spine down past the edge of the corset to squeeze at that inviting ass. Artemis wriggled his hips in invitation, and Fenris huffed a laugh.

Ass-squeezing, Fenris decided, was something he knew how to do. At the very least, Artemis had never complained about his ass-squeezing skill, so he must have been doing it right. Ass-kissing, on the other hand, for all he might have done it in the figurative sense, had never been something he'd made literal. Still, here was an ass, and he'd promised to kiss it. His eyes flicked nervously up to Cormac, as he bent down and laid his lips to one cheek. Just warm skin, like all the rest of Artemis's warm skin that he'd put his lips to. He nipped at the tight curve of muscle, and then bit a little harder, soothing the flesh between his teeth with his tongue.

The bite of teeth made Artemis's hips jump and his breath catch. He tilted his hips in encouragement, knowing he must have made quite the display for his brother. His cheeks burned at the thought even as his knob twitched, encouraged by the swipe of Fenris's tongue so close to his entrance. 

And Fenris worked his way up to it, teeth and lips and tongue exploring the area. Finally he steeled himself and took a breath, flicking just the tip of his tongue against Artemis's entrance. That made Artemis's hips twitch again, which he took as a good sign. Kissing, he told himself. This was another kind of kissing. Apply lips and tongue, feel your way around.

Cormac watched Fenris fumble nervously with his brother's ass. His brother who was displayed like ... well, to be honest, he'd seen Artemis in this exact position, before, although with Anders making wicked eyes over his tailbone. His own knob was half-interested in the proceedings, but again, any naked Hawke would be just as appealing, himself included.

Taking slow, deep breaths, Fenris mouthed at the hole presented to him, swiping his tongue across it. The taste was thankfully neutral -- not something he'd have sought out, but now that it was in his mouth, not something he found objectionable, which increased the odds he'd be willing to do this again. He couldn't say he'd ever explored an ass quite so thoroughly, as to be familiar with exactly how it all fit together. Certainly there were parts meant for squeezing. He'd gotten that far. But, this... his tongue played over the flesh, stretched tight as it was with his hands squeezing the cheeks apart. He wondered if he was meant to lick inside Artemis, and whether his tongue would even reach, but better he try and fail than be damned for never trying at all. He pressed his lips to the hole and then parted them, flicking his tongue across it, and then darting it against the centre. Tight, but he suspected he'd known that. Still, how was one supposed to... with a tongue... He tried and tried again, driving his tongue against the hole.

He had to be doing something right, because Artemis's breathing deepened to shivery pants, his muscles twitching under Fenris's hands. Interesting. Fenris kept tonguing at his hole, pressing as deep as he could. 

"Fuck. _Fenris_."

Well. Those were definitely good sounds. So were the little groans Artemis was starting to make, breathy sounds that went straight to Fenris's knob. He wondered how long he was supposed to do this for. Not that he minded keeping this up a while if Artemis was going to make sounds like that, but his tongue was getting sore.

Artemis leaned forward onto his elbows, his hips pressing back into Fenris, making him grunt in surprise. "Fenris," Artemis groaned. "I need you."

Okay, and that was Cormac's knob becoming extremely interested in the proceedings. He poured himself more brandy, drank it, and then reached for the applejack, once he realised he'd hit the bottom of the bottle. It wasn't the first time he'd had a raging hard on in the same room in which his brother was naked, but it was the first time there wasn't something other than his brother he could blame it on. Like Anders. He loved blaming his raging hard on on Anders, right before Anders actually did something about it.


	51. Chapter 51

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Artemis opens his mouth and starts the most awkward game of gay chicken in history. The tags have changed. Please pay attention.

Cormac found himself momentarily confused by the fact that his glass was suddenly wearing soft, green smalls, but half-remembered he'd hung them on a bottle after they'd hit him in the face. The bottle he'd just poured from. Right. More liquor. Not drunk enough for this, yet. Not by half. Still, in for a copper, in for a sovereign.

"If you're going to fuck him in that position, give him something to rut against. You'll thank me. He sounds incredible." Another drink went down Cormac. "Not as good as me, of course, but nothing does."

Fenris sent Cormac an irritated look as he flexed his jaw. Those were all muscles he'd never expected to work quite so thoroughly. "Something to...?" Fenris looked about, brows knit, and settled one of the couch's plump pillows, snagging it from under Cormac's arm and propping it under Artemis's hips.

Artemis snorted a laugh. "Wish I could say this was my first threesome with a pillow," he muttered. "But ow, no. That's embroidered. Could we not?" He slid the pillow out from under his hips.

Fenris tried not to flail. "Well, I'm open to suggestions," he said, ears twitching. He threw the rejected pillow at Cormac.

Cormac threw the smalls back at his brother, landing a killer shot right on his face. "You could always put these between your soft bits and the scratchy bits," he suggested.

This was ridiculous. He was giving sex advice to his brother's broody death elf lover, while watching them fuck on the drawing room floor, right in front of him. At least with Anders, they'd all been naked. All three of them had been thoroughly involved in the whole of it, even if most -- most -- of it involved them enjoying Anders, rather than each other. Which was probably for the best.

Artemis pulled the smalls off his head, face twisted in disgust. "Thanks. Really."

With a growl of frustration, Fenris snatched back the pillow. He turned it over in his hands, casting about for any other alternatives first. "Is there something else we could --?"

"Listen," Artemis cut him off, voice strained. "I don't care if it's a pillow, the arm of a chair, or Cormac's fucking leg. I just need you to fuck me right now."

Cormac's knob throbbed at that thought. It was a terrible idea. It was a terrible, horrible idea, and he never wanted to explain it to anyone, ever. Unfortunately, his mouth didn't get the memo. "Say it, Artie. Say the word, and I'll do it."

No, no, no. No. Not drunk enough for this. Cormac poured himself another drink, defensively, washing the words out of his mouth with applejack. "Wouldn't be the first time you've come on me."

The words startled a groan out of Artemis, who buried his face against his arms, ass still up in the air. "Cormac." His arms muffled the name.

Fenris looked back and forth between the brothers, turning the pillow over in his hands. "Say what word and you'll do what, let Artemis hump your leg?" Fenris asked, voice coming out more choked than accusatory. That was wrong even on a Tevinter scale of wrong, but Maker damn him if that wasn't a sinful image.

"That's my brother, Fenris, and I'll do anything he asks of me." Cormac shrugged and put the glass back on the table, with a shaking hand. "Name it, Artemis. Anything you want, and it's yours."

He was expecting to be told to get the fuck out and get a better pillow or maybe a pile of blankets. It would all be a laugh, when they sobered up, later. But, if Artie really wanted him down on the floor, he wasn't going to say no. He'd discovered he had an awful difficulty denying Artemis anything, which had led to some interesting situations, in the past, but never anything quite this interesting.

'Anything you want' was a dangerous offer to someone panting with need. Artemis tried to make sense of what Cormac was offering, if he had heard all that correctly, while his body ached, keenly aware that there were two men next to him and neither of them were touching him. His brother, he reminded himself. Wrong. Wrong, wrong. Except that the more he thought the word 'wrong' the more interested his knob was in the proceedings, which was unfair since it had already supplanted his brain in priority of bloodflow.

He was still drunk, wasn't he? He could blame it on that. He'd done comparable things while drunk and survived the mornings after. Well. Not comparable. Related. Similar. Tangential.

His ass was getting cold.

Artemis swore under his breath, face still pressed to his forearms. "Just... get over here," he said, voice strained. "One of you. Both of you. I don't care."

Cormac eyed Fenris. It was a half-assed invitation, and he knew he shouldn't take it, but he'd give the elf enough room to object and then this wouldn't even become an issue. Hands still shaking, he unwrapped his sash and stood, slowly pulling his robes off, over his head.

Fenris was sure he should object to this. Vehemently, even. But, the way Artemis had reacted to the offer... He busied his mouth against Artemis's ass, again, holding back any objections he might have been able to muster, had he tried. Mages. Two of them. Again. How did he keep ending up in these situations?

Naked, Cormac looked at his brother again, at the lines of the corset, at the way his ass parted for Fenris's face. He knelt beside Artemis and stroked his hair. "If you want me under you, you need to pick up your head. I'm flexible, but there are limits."

Arms shaking, Artemis propped himself up on his hands again. He looked up at Cormac, then looked over his shoulder at Fenris, catching the elf's eyes over the curve of his ass. This had been about them to begin with, and Fenris had to know it still was. There were no objections from Fenris, no complaints, just green eyes meeting his and a tongue that made his toes curl.

It took some twisting, but Artemis reached back to stroke back Fenris's hair, a question in his eyes. Fenris answered by pausing to press a kiss to that palm. "I love you," the elf reminded him, even now, even with this. It wasn't approval or rejection. Just acceptance.

Fears eased, Artemis turned back to Cormac. "Well, come on, then," he murmured.

Cormac swallowed hard and hesitated, stroking his brother's hair one more time, before he twisted himself around, face down, and slid under Artemis, feet first. He could feel the difference in warmth, where he passed under Fenris, and that gave him pause. Strangely, not that he was offering himself to his brother, but that he'd just gotten naked in front of Fenris. His heart pounded against his ribs as he lifted his hips just enough to brush his ass against Artemis's knob, and he caught himself reciting snatches of Threnodies, under his breath. _Real fuck of a time to go Andrastian, Cormac._

"One more thing," he said, snaking out an arm, palm up, against the carpet. He cupped it as best he could in that position, and called a small amount of grease into it. "Don't use spit."

Fenris choked back a laugh, hysteria bubbling up in his chest. Mages. But, this mage, the one directly under him, was his mage, the man he loved. And whatever he thought of Cormac, at any point in time, they could both agree, here and now, that Artemis's pleasure was of the utmost importance.

Artemis ground forward against Cormac, knob catching and sliding along the cleft of his ass. "You don't plan to recite the Chant all through this, do you?" he asked with a fond, if nervous, laugh. He was the one stroking back Cormac's hair now instead, and he pressed his forehead to his brother's back.

Fenris shook his head and scooped the grease out of Cormac's palm. The abomination had been with these two, he knew. Had they ever lain together like this for him? Probably not. He pictured Anders's eyes bugging at the thought and smiled.

Now this part was more familiar to him, from the whole two times he'd done this with Artemis. He wiped some of the grease on himself and then pressed a slick fingertip to Artemis's well-kissed hole.

Cormac reclaimed his hand, once it was mostly empty, and stroked what grease was left on his palm over Artemis's knob. "The Chant? Fuck. Am I? Sorry. You jabbed me with your knob, and I thought I was having a religious experience."

He pressed his ass back up, invitingly, hoping the slick would make for a better experience. There were very few instances involving knobs in which a bit of grease didn't make for a better experience, and Cormac was pretty sure most of those complaints were unique to his own unusual preferences.

Fenris listened to the brothers nervously prod at each other, as he worked his fingers into Artemis. No, they hadn't done this before. He was sure of it. He wasn't sure why that mattered to him, outside the fact that it would leave the abomination speechless -- that alone would be worth nearly anything -- but, the idea that he had inspired this was, itself, quite inspiring.

"The Chant is unnecessary," Fenris rumbled, "but you're both welcome to appeal to the Maker." He twisted his fingers as he spoke in a way that had Artemis sucking in a breath. Artemis was making those lovely noises again, breath hot against his brother's back, and Fenris thought of the first time he'd heard them. Cormac had been there for that too. 

"I'm going to ask the Maker to smite you if you don't get in me right now," Artemis swore, hips rocking between fingers and ass. 

"Now where would that leave you?" Fenris asked, smiling as he pressed one last kiss to Artemis's rump, sliding his fingers free.

"I don't know about him, but I'm pretty sure it would leave me with a sore ass and no healer around to fix it. So, please, please, please, just stick your dick in my brother already." Maybe the Chant had been an improvement over what came out of Cormac's mouth, without it. His nerves were shot, and even those mindbendingly sexy sounds Artemis had been making against his back did little to soothe them. They hadn't locked the door. He didn't think the door even had a lock. What if Aveline -- ? What if Bethany -- ? Carver was going to punch him in the face. Carver was going to break every bone in his face, and he was going to deserve it. And none of this changed the fact that his brother was grinding against his ass, and he was dripping on the carpet.

And then the sounds above him changed, and he was sure Fenris had at least begun to address the problem. One of the problems. The problem Artemis was having. Cormac had his own problems, the foremost of which was that he was not nearly drunk enough for this. He wasn't sure there was enough Antivan brandy in the world for this. Doubly so for the fact that under the panic, he was enjoying it. The thought of his extremely good-looking brother rubbing off on his ass, maybe even in his ass, made his knob twitch like it had ideas all its own. And it wasn't just that Artie was hot -- which he was, being a Hawke and all -- it was that he was _Artie_.

Fenris was pressed in to the hilt, his grip tight on Artemis's hips and lines of lyrium tingling against bare skin. His knob was no flagpole, but it was still a decent size, and it was Fenris. Finally. They were finally... Well. This was certainly not how he'd pictured their next night together to be like, but they never did things the easy way. 

"Fen," Artemis sighed as Fenris started to circle his hips, light, teasing pushes that rocked him into Cormac. Artemis slipped an arm under his brother's chest and braced himself against his shoulder. Maker, this was insane. How had they actually come to this?

"All right?" Artemis asked, voice pitched low for Cormac. Usually his brother was screaming like a wildcat by now, but then this situation had no precedent, did it? Maker. Cormac and Fenris. The two people he loved most in the world, if in vastly different ways.

Cormac wasn't sure how to even begin to answer that question. Why was Artemis asking? This wasn't about him. It had never been about him. He tilted his hips up in a way that would probably hurt like murder, after a few hard thrusts, and purred quietly against the rug. "Mmm, if you're happy, I'm amazing."

Fenris wondered how Cormac always made everything look so easy. Not for the first time, he seriously debated what the shit went on in that man's head -- which lasted all of a few seconds, until Artemis flexed ... something, and all Fenris could think of was his knob and his mage. Points to Cormac for the grease, though. That was very definitely an improvement on the last two times, not that he'd imagined it could get better than that, but here he was, smoothly sliding himself in and out of his mage's wonderful, tight, warm body. He moved one hand, stroking Artemis's back, tracing the bony line of his spine under the corset lacing.

Sweat dotted Artemis's brow, his body overwhelmed and overheated by the two men beneath and behind him. Artie tilted his hips until Fenris hit just -- oh. Right there. It was too much, filled, surrounded, and loved, yet he asked for, "More." Looking over his shoulder at Fenris, he clarified. "I want you inside me."

"Am I not already?" Fenris quipped, punctuating his question with particularly hard thrust that had Artemis choking off a shout.

"No. In me. Like you did in the cellar."

Fenris's rhythm stuttered before picking up again. He remembered, Fade-blue fingers pressing through skin, tracing Artemis's bones and feeling the slide of organs over his knuckles. "You enjoyed that?" he asked. 

"Oh, Maker, yes."

Rocking his hips against Artemis, Cormac tried to figure out exactly what he was missing, because the conversation above him made precisely no sense whatsoever. Of course, he'd also been behind Anders's shoulder for most of what went on in the cellar. And then there was shadow, where there hadn't been shadow, before, and his skin crawled like it did when Fenris stepped out of the world. And that was when he realised that Artemis was into some much, much kinkier shit than he was. Add another item to the list of 'what it means to be a Hawke', he supposed.

"Just your hips?" Fenris asked, fingers sinking in and gently caressing the bones. "Or have you thought of other places you want me to touch you?"

Artemis shivered against Cormac. Fenris's hands were magic in the truest sense of the word, the sensation of fingers on his bones sharp and almost painful, just shy of perfect. "Anywhere," Artie groaned, pleaded. "Everywhere. Please."

"Like here?" Fenris rumbled, fingers tracing up Artemis's vertebrae. He slowed his thrusting to a grind as he mapped out his mage's skeleton.

"O-oh Maker." Artemis arched almost violently, fingers digging bruises in Cormac's skin.

Fenris chuckled. "Or here?" he asked, the smug smile in his voice. His hands spread down the wings of Artemis's ribcage before sinking through it, palms ghosting over his lungs. Artemis shuddered, a cry caught in his throat. Dizzily, he had to laugh. He remembered telling Anders once that he could feel him in his lungs, and here was Fenris, literally in his lungs. Fenris was deeper inside him than Anders could ever be, but that was something he wasn't going to tell Fenris, or at least not until some special occasion. He could picture his elf's smug smile at that.

Cormac bit his wrist, not to start begging, when Artemis's fingers bit into him. Still, his breathing was a bit more ragged than he could hide. He tried to imagine what was going on behind him, but the more he thought about it, the harder his teeth sank into his arm. Perhaps he'd just ask Artemis, later. When this was over. When he wasn't fighting not to let his own desperate need to be fucked through the floor interfere with his beloved brother's reunion fuck. Which, to be fair, was happening against his back.

One of Fenris's hands moved, carefully, toward the centre of Artemis's chest. His fingers curled in, gently cradling Artemis's heart. "I would let you touch me, like this," he murmured, still grinding in, slow and deep, feeling the pulse shift against his palm, as he picked up the pace ever so slightly.

There was something poetic to be said here about Fenris holding Artemis's heart in his hand, and Artie might have said it, had he any breath left in him or if he could form any words that weren't frantic pleas and gasps for more. His hips bucked against Fenris, against Cormac, and he was mindless in his need for release, the touch on his heart sparking and lighting him up with sensation. Then he felt the floor vibrate, and Artemis tried to come back to himself.

"Hush, mage," Fenris murmured, leaning forward to whisper in his ear. "It's all right." 

Artemis didn't realise that he'd started chanting the word 'no' until Fenris gently hushed him, his fingers still gentle on Artemis's heart.

"Artie? You good?" The 'no' cut through everything else in Cormac's mind, cold and sharp. He stopped moving entirely.

"I'm... I'm all right," Artemis said, voice shaky. "I just... I was going to... the floor..."

"Oh, fuck. Is that all? Andraste's tits, will you please just come already? You're _killing_ me, here." Cormac laughed, forehead pressed against the floor, and rubbed his ass against his brother's knob. "We know you, Artie. Neither of us care if you knock over a bottle or six."

"I would not have put it in those words, but... yes. I know you. I know this is what will happen if I pleasure you, and I welcome it." Fenris wasn't quite sure 'welcome' was the best word, but he sure as shit didn't fear it. Especially not in a room that wasn't full of wine racks. He stroked Artemis's heart, softly, kissed the mage's back, and continued to grind into him.

Artemis's breath was ragged against Cormac's back. He'd been so terrified. Fenris had said it was fine before, but it was one thing to say that another to prove it. And, Maker, Artemis loved this man, this man with his heart in his hand, and he didn't want to lose him again. He wiped at his eyes, where tears of relief welled. 

Looking over his shoulder, Artemis murmured, "I love you." 

Fenris kissed his back again. " _Te ardeo_ ," he murmured. It took a bit for the disorientation to fade, but then Artemis relaxed back into Fenris's rhythm, trembled at the gentle brush of fingers over his heart. 

Oh, fuck, his brother was crying, wasn't he. Cormac was, all told, a little less than entirely thrilled with how this had turned out. Here he was, with Artemis having tears-of-joy reunion sex with the broody death elf, on top of him, while his knob throbbed, unattended, beneath all of them. He really hoped he could drag Anders away from whatever completely reckless world-preserving feats he was involved with, tonight, because this was going to be a painfully unpleasant evening, otherwise. Most likely a painfully unpleasant evening during which his brother had come all over him. That was worth something, at least.

Fenris was unwilling to push too hard, just yet. He wanted to ease Artemis into the grips of another earthquake before he dared to chase his own pleasure. He didn't suspect it would take much, once Artemis began to quiver and make those delightful sounds, again. Still, he switched from grinding to thrusting, careful to keep the thrusts short and not too jarring, but putting that intent back into his motions. That he meant this. That he meant to push Artemis until the walls shook. That he knew what he was doing, and was doing it anyway.

This time, when the walls did shake, Artemis didn't stop or say 'no', didn't get that wide-eyed look of panic that broke Fenris's heart. Instead, he continued to shiver, his soft pants turning to choked-off groans, Fenris's name and Cormac's mixed in among the sounds. Fenris gripped Artemis's hip with one hand and Artemis's heart in the other as the door and windows clattered in their frames. 

When the shaking stopped, Artemis lay heavily against his brother's back, the skin between them sticky, as Fenris continued to chase his own release, hand finally leaving Artemis's heart.

The thrusts grew longer and deeper, as Fenris pounded Artemis against his brother's back. The extra support meant his hands were free to caress the lean body beneath him, in a way he hadn't been able to, the last time they were together, stiff fingers dragging over the relaxing muscle, occasionally digging in, as Fenris shuddered and lost his rhythm. He'd done this. He'd caused this mage to shake the house. And all it had taken was his naked body and a few well-placed words. Perhaps there was something appealing about power, after all, because that was the thought that shook him apart, panting and gasping, clutching Artemis to him.

Beneath them, Cormac wondered how rude it would be if he just stroked himself off. There was spunk pooling in the small of his back and dripping down the crack of his ass, and he was increasingly certain his knob would bruise if it got any harder. Of course, he'd never been one to turn down a few good bruises. Still, the longer this went on, the higher the chances got that he was going to outright kill Anders with his dick, as soon as he got off this floor.


	52. Chapter 52

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris and Cormac just want to make Artemis happy. Artemis is a little too pleased to exercise this power.

Fenris and Artemis laid there in the aftermath for a long moment, heartbeats slowing, before they disentangled themselves from one another. Artemis shuffled to the side, noting the mess he'd made of his brother. And the corset.

"All right, Cormac?" Artemis asked with a smirk. Because he knew his brother and knew he hadn't come yet. He also knew he would be chomping at the bit by now. Artemis pulled Fenris down next to him, kissing him lingeringly before whispering something in his ear that had his elf narrowing his eyes.

"I'm fucking great," Cormac groaned. "I think you could use my knob for a bludgeoning weapon, after that. And there's no way I can get up without spilling spunk all over the carpet. If you ever talk me into this again? Just fuck me. Please."

And if that wasn't on the list of things he'd never even considered saying to his brother, it was probably because that list was fucking useless, and he'd never even considered saying that to his brother, until it came out of his mouth. Really, the only reason he'd managed to be quite so okay with all of this was that Fenris didn't seem to be terribly disturbed by it. If the broody death elf didn't have a problem, Cormac could live with it. If Artemis wanted it, Cormac would find a way to live with it. Or he'd die from it. But, they hadn't gotten quite that bad yet, except maybe that one time, but who fucking knew the river was that deep right there? Clearly the locals. Which they hadn't been.

"Could you possibly say that more slowly and clearly?" Fenris asked Artemis. "I'm sure I didn't hear you correctly. You may have scrambled my ability to think properly."

Artemis rolled his eyes and stroked Fenris's cheek affectionately. "Oh, I'm sure you know exactly what I just said," he said sweetly. "I told you to go do your magic glow-hands on my brother."

Cormac stopped trying to figure out how to sit up without spilling spunk on everything. The look he turned on Artemis was nothing short of horrified. "Wait, what? Do I get a say in this?" Still, if this was what Artemis wanted. He gritted his teeth, and the next words came out between them. "If this is what you want, Artie..."

Artemis gave Cormac an odd look. He was always doing that, saying things like 'if this is what you want' or 'if you're happy, I'm happy', as if Cormac's happiness were conditional dependent upon him, as if it wasn't just as much the other way around. "It _is_ what I want," Artie said, raising one eyebrow, "because I know you, and I know what you like."

Next to him, Fenris growled, but it was his 'I can't believe I'm letting you talk me into this' growl, one with which Artemis was very familiar. "You want me to do this?" he asked. Like Artemis would say 'no'.

"It's not like you'd have to touch his funbits," Artemis shrugged. "Besides, you can be a bit rough. He likes that kind of thing. Just don't overdo it, please. There's no healer present."

Fenris growled again, but this time it was his 'fucking Anders' growl. Artemis was also very familiar with that one.

"Look, if we're going to do this, can someone please give me something to wipe off my back, first? I know for a fact that you're going to stop being happy, if I sit up like this." Cormac refused to take this seriously. Just... refused. Covered in his brother's spunk, potentially about to get his organs manhandled by the mage-hating broody death elf responsible for that situation. "And promise me one of you will go get Anders, if you break something. I like things a little bloody, but I could do with keeping my organs inside my body."

"If I do this. If. I will not break anything. That would upset your brother, and I greatly prefer him not upset." Fenris still looked entirely unconvinced of the wisdom of this venture.

Artemis cast about for something to clean off his brother. And there was a thought. His... _that_. On his brother. Maker, sober him was going to be _pissed_.

Eventually, Artemis cleaned Cormac off using his discarded smalls, leaving them in a crumpled ball on the floor. "Better?" he asked. Perhaps he should have dropped the smalls on Cormac's head to continue the cycle. He motioned Fenris closer with a curl of his fingers, his smile promising that he would make this up to Fenris later.

"For you, yes. You'll thank me for that, when you're sober." Cormac finally sat up, knees still parted in the divots they'd left in the carpet, and stretched. He probably shouldn't have tried to hold that angle for that long, but it was too late to be sorry for it, now. He rubbed the damp spot on his back with one hand and pushed his hair out of his face, with the other. He tried to look at anything that wasn't his knob, which was starting to look a little shiny and purple around the head.

And then he looked at Fenris, and wished he'd kept looking at his painfully uncomfortable knob, because at least that wasn't looking back at him, in a vaguely disgusted manner. Somehow, he managed to coax his face into a faintly apologetic smile. And he _really_ hoped he'd be able to get off. Quickly. Because the less time this took, the happier he and Fenris would be. ... The things he would do for his brother...

While they exchanged uncomfortable looks, Artemis scootched over to the couch and grabbed whatever Cormac had been drinking. He folded his legs in front of him and sipped at the mostly empty bottle -- mm, applejack -- as he watched the proceedings.

The air turned sharp with the smell of the Fade, and Fenris's tattoos lit. Something innocuous to start, he thought. Like a shoulder. Fenris would touch Cormac's shoulder, and it wouldn't be awkward. He pressed in hesitantly, experimentally, the tips of his fingers sinking in along the outer curve of Cormac's shoulder.

"Shit." Cormac's eyes drifted shut, and his head tipped back. "I'm sorry," he whispered, just loud enough for Fenris to hear him.

The fingers curled around the bones of his shoulder, lyrium calling to the magic in him. Yes, okay, maybe he could understand the appeal, finally. Still, this wasn't what he needed. It was beautiful and terrifying, but Fenris's intent seemed to be just as gentle as his touch, and that would not do.

"Hurt me," Cormac sighed, hands kneading his own thighs. "Just... hurt me."

Fenris quirked an eyebrow at that, but Danarius had made him a weapon and hurting was something he did well. The caress turned into a scrape of nail against bone, one finger digging between the ball and socket joint of Cormac's shoulder. "Be careful what you ask for, mage," he growled. There was an addicting sort of power in this, he found, in bringing pleasure or pain to mages with a single touch.

Cormac screamed, wordless and blood-curdling, at first. "Yes, fuck, _yes_! More, _please_!"

This was new and different. Of all the hundreds of ways he'd been ripped into and torn apart, he'd never had anyone clawing at his bones. He should have been horrified, but there was time for that, after the fact. Well, at least he was screaming. No one in the house was stupid enough to open the door to that. His knob twitched as Fenris's nail caught on some tiny spur of bone.

Artemis smirked into the bottle at his lips. "There we go," he said to himself.

"One finger in your shoulder, and you're screaming already?" Fenris said, voice smug. This hadn't been his idea, and he'd much rather be touching Artemis's insides, but there was something appealing about making this insufferable mage squirm.

Fenris's fingers slid along the lines of bone, sliding under Cormac's scapula and clawing at its underside.

More raw, wordless noises tore out of Cormac, before he put another sentence together. "You know exactly what you're doing," he hissed at Fenris. "Don't pull that shit with me."

There might have been another sentence, but it was lost to more screams, as Fenris found those particular nerves he'd been avoiding, until Cormac's mouth inspired a change in tactics. Cormac's chest heaved in jagged sobs.

"You didn't have to do this, Artemis." He'd been avoiding this point, but his nerves sang out, and there just wasn't enough sense left in him to stop it. "You almost had me there, yourself. _Look at me_. I'm so close, and every time I felt the tip of your knob catch on my asshole, I asked myself if this would be the thrust you'd bury yourself in me and use my insides to stroke yourself off. I'd have let you. I'd have let you, and then I'd have been stuck trying to get the stains out of the rug, before you noticed too clearly."

"Maker," Artemis swore under his breath. His knob was too tired to be interested in those images, but it wanted to be. He finished off the bottle of applejack with one last gulp and set it aside, getting up to kneel next to his brother, wrapping an arm around him and pressing their foreheads together. "I'm glad I didn't stick with the pillow," he quipped, surprised to find that this was true.

Fenris shook his head at Cormac. "There is something seriously wrong with you," he told the screaming mage, even as he moved to clutch Cormac's spine, tracing the bumps of vertebrae before his fingers sank deeper, tracing the nerves.

Cormac's hand slapped against his knob, cupping the head against his belly as he finally spilled. Blind with lust, his first thought was still not to upset his brother by getting it on the rug. Any other night, he'd have left the stain for Artemis to clean, out of sheer brotherhood, but this time -- this had all been for Artemis, and he wouldn't ruin that now. He lost track of everything else. He might have been screaming. Someone might have been talking next to him. But, everything was a single wall of sensation in all available channels. 

He came back to himself, shaking, head falling forward, as he panted, trying to pull himself together enough to stand, to go wipe his hand on something. But, for the moment, he just knelt, waiting for the world to stop spinning.

Artemis brushed back Cormac's hair, his smile fond. "All right?" he asked yet again.

Fenris withdrew his hand, flexing his fingers and cracking the knuckles. He sat back on his haunches and coolly regarded his handiwork. Handiwork. The work of his hands. "Has the abomination ever done _that_ for you, I wonder?" he asked, just to nettle him.

"If you're happy, I'm amazing," Cormac breathed, pressing his lips to his brother's eyebrow. That was how this worked. That was how this had always worked.

After a moment, he addressed Fenris. "No, but you don't expect to eat an apple like a pomegranate, either. Apples are for when you want apples. Pomegranates are for when your brother wants his boyfriend to grope your bones." It made more sense in his head. He was sure of that. Fine philosophical points were not meant to be made when one was still clutching one's bruised knob after ... that. What the fuck had that been, anyway? He decided he didn't know, didn't care, and would do it again without hesitation, if Artemis asked.

Artemis snorted. "Well. Now those are two fruits I won't be able to look at the same way again," he said drily.

"I won't be able to look at your _rug_ the same way again," Fenris replied. He suspected it would still have the imprint of Cormac's body pressed into it for a while, and Fenris wasn't sure how he felt about that.

Artemis continued to smooth back Cormac's hair, hoping his brother wouldn't hate him for all this in the morning. Hoping Fenris wouldn't hate him for this. He knew his sober self was going to.

"There's a brush for the rug," Cormac muttered, grabbing his brother's damp smalls off the floor, behind him, and using them to clean himself off. "Should probably put some clothes on, before Aveline decides to come looking for us."

He managed a smile for Artemis. "Artie? _Anything_. Forever. _Always_." That was how it had always been. That was how it would always be.

* * *

  
It wasn't the first time Artemis woke up with a killer hangover. It was, however, the first time he woke up with a killer hangover in Fenris's bed, wearing a corset.

"What... the fuck," he muttered as he held up the covers to look down at himself, voice gravelly. What had happened last night? What had he -- oh. _Oh_. 

The mattress shifted behind Artemis, and a tattooed arm wrapped around his waist, pulling him back against a warm body. "Morning," Fenris rumbled sleepily, nuzzling behind his ear. 

"Fenris," said Artemis, staring wide-eyed at the wall, "did we...?"

"Yes."

"And did I...?"

"Yes."

Oh sweet Maker. Artemis hid his face in his hands and groaned.

"The walls shook, and you made the most delightful sounds," Fenris purred against Artemis's ear. The rest of it, well, if it had been him, he'd be making those faces. Still, the important part was that Artemis was here, in his arms, in his bed, dressed in this delicious mint ... confabulation that he didn't even pretend to understand. "And I told you I loved you. And I meant it."

He wound himself possessively around his mage, legs twining, arm flexing. "And I still do. I love you, and every strange and foolish quirk, and every bizarre magical... mage-thing about you. This is all you, and I love all of it." It might take a little getting used to, if Cormac was one of those strange and foolish quirks, but he'd work on it. Maybe he'd invest in a nice leather gag. Cormac had been present every single time they'd been together, so far -- it seemed to be turning into a trend. At least they hadn't had the abomination with them, this last time. Maybe, eventually, it would be just the two of them and possibly a non-embroidered pillow.

Artemis turned in Fenris's arms so that they were facing each other. The corset's boning was digging uncomfortably into his ribs, but he ignored it for now. "You must be all manner of insane to put up with me," he said with a fond smile, stroking Fenris's cheek with the back of his fingers. "But I love you and your lack of sanity." 

"Sanity is relative, or so I'm told," Fenris replied, kissing the inside of Artemis's wrist.

"And... my relatives are insane," Artemis countered wryly. Cormac... Artie was still trying to process that, his emotions one giant, confused tangle.

And despite it all, Fenris was still looking at him like he shit rainbows. "Hey, Fen?" Artemis murmured. Fenris hummed. "Next time it will be just you and me, all right? And sober, too." He owed Fenris that at least.

"Mmm." Fenris kissed him, warmly. "Next time is as soon as I don't have a throbbing headache and there aren't carpenters working in the next room?"

He pulled up the blanket and tucked it around them. "Let's stay here, a while. Let the builders fix things. Let the world go on. I'll go get us breakfast, later. For now, let's just sleep."

Artemis rather liked that plan. He wriggled closer, curling under Fenris's chin again just to hear him huff.


	53. PART XII: COMPLICATIONS FOR FENRIS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brotherly ribbing, with a side of slavers on the side of the mountain.

Anton had decided to drag his brothers up the mountain after some Maker-forsaken fancy grass for that alchemist in the Gallows. His brothers who were, for some reason, not really looking at each other, for a change. Usually, Cormac would be making terrible jokes and Artemis would be turning them back on him, but they were both somewhat more subdued. They'd done something. Something stupid. The last time he'd seen them like this was when they'd gotten swept down the river, after failing horribly to climb the neighbour's tree for pears. Artemis had blamed Cormac for falling, Cormac blamed Artemis for kicking him in the armpit, and they hadn't spoken for a week.  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the group shift, as Cormac nudged Artemis and tipped his head toward the back. Good. At least he wouldn't have to put up with them being weird at each other _all fucking day_.  
  
As they slowed down, falling a bit behind everyone else, Cormac elbowed Artemis, again. "You good?" Usually a safe starter.  
  
Artemis fidgeted with his robes, smoothing out imagined wrinkles and plucking off a bit of dog hair. "I'm good," he said, carefully neutral. "You good?" After a pause, he added, "And if you say 'If you're good, I'm amazing', I will force push you down this mountain."  
  
"Hey, I'm fine. You pissed at me?" Cormac looked at anything that wasn't his brother. Either of his brothers. In fact, that tree over there had some lovely flowers on it.  
  
"Why would I be pissed at you?" Artemis asked, addressing the air around Cormac more than Cormac himself. "Are you pissed at _me_?" Because, Maker, if it had been anyone's fault, it had been his. Oh look, more dog hair on his sleeve. He plucked at it as he walked.  
  
"Nope. What am I going to be pissed at you for?" Cormac shrugged and tossed an arm across Artemis's shoulders, still not looking at him. "Okay, so, that last part might have been a little awkward, and I'm sorry about cleaning that up with-- yeah, anyway... No. Not pissed. Not even a little. If you told me to do it again, I'd do it again. Might even do it sober."  
  
That thought made Artemis's ears turn red. So Cormac didn't regret it, not really. As for himself, 'awkward' didn't even begin to describe the situation, but he couldn't say he regretted it either, not entirely. He doubted he could do it sober, however.  
  
"Don't be sorry," Artemis said. He bit his lip against a laugh as he remembered something. "I hid those smalls under Anders's pillow. Since I'm sure he felt left out." Maker, his drunk self was crazy.  
  
Walking behind the group gave Artie the perfect opportunity to ogle Fenris's ass. "The glowy thing was nice, wasn't it?" he asked in a conspiratorial whisper, finally looking at Cormac, if only for a moment.  
  
"It's got a certain charm," Cormac admitted, still processing the sentence that had preceded that. "Wait. You did what with them?"  
  
Cormac pressed his fist to his lips and swallowed a laugh. "Was that when you went to go take a piss? We were starting to think you just got lost. Wound up in the other drawing room or something."  
  
The laugh finally got away from him, a short bark of amusement. "Anders! When we get back to the house, look under your pillow and ask me about what you find there!"  
  
Anders shot a wary look over his shoulder. "Did you move my 'Magic Wand' again, Cormac?" he called back, making Anton cringe and choke on a laugh.  
  
"Your magic what?" Fenris asked. The terrifying grin Anders sent him made him regret the outburst.  
  
"Anders, don't you dare," Artemis hurried to say. Fenris shot him a look that was equal parts confused and concerned. The poor elf had dealt with enough magey kinkiness this week. He didn't need Anders scarring him even further.  
  
"Don't I dare what? Complain that your brother is hiding my toys?" Anders looked terribly put-upon. He had a particular talent for that, and far too many years of practice.  
  
"I am not hiding your toys! I didn't even do it! I have no fucking idea where your Wand is, if it's not under your pillow!" Cormac's eyes were huge and round. "I have just... heard rumours something else might be under your pillow, and there's a worthwhile story behind it that I'm not telling in mixed company."  
  
Anders looked concerned, or maybe that was dismayed. Part of it was definitely terrified, though. "No, I think when we get back to the house, you're coming downstairs and moving my pillow for me. And then you're going to tell me what this was all about."  
  
Artemis bit his lip against a laugh. "Don't look so concerned, Anders," he said. "I just left you a present, is all. Next to the... Magic Wand."  
  
"Somehow, that doesn't make me less worried."  
  
Fenris grit his teeth around a growl. Mages. _His_ mage giving the abomination a 'present'?  
  
"Don't worry, Fenris," Artemis said sweetly. "I have a present for you too, later. Also involving a pillow."  
  
"I'm not listening to any of this," said Anton. "I'm just here to collect some fucking plants up a fucking mountain." But, really, he should have known better than to invite the four people he'd shared a tent with in the Deep Roads.  
  
"Stop right there!" called a voice from above them. "You are in possession of stolen property. Back away from the slave, now, and you'll be spared."  
  
Anton looked up. Not too many of them. Still... "Oh, shit."  
  
"Fenris is a free man," Anders shouted back, unshouldering his staff. He didn't have to like the elf to see what was wrong with this entire proposition.  
  
Fenris forgot how to breathe, his pulse roaring in his ears. After all this time, they'd finally come for him. He expected to see Danarius for a moment, but no. They were just mercenaries. No magister would dirty his hands chasing a slave, even one with markings as valuable as his.  
  
"I won't repeat myself!" the mercenary called down from the cliff. "Back away from the slave now!"  
  
Then Artemis was at Fenris's side, staff drawn and trembling with rage. "Is that your first offer?" he shouted, his smile the unfriendly kind. "Because it's not a good one!"  
  
Lyrium markings lit, and Fenris drew his sword. "I am _not_ your slave!" he roared.  
  
Cormac rolled his eyes, and lashed out with a wall of ice. "They'll never learn, will they," he remarked to Fenris, drily.  
  
"You should have attacked when you had the chance," Anton called from somewhere utterly other than the last place anyone had seen him. "We won't let you take him."  
  
There weren't nearly enough of them for the five extremely angry individuals who had just come up the mountain for some fancy grass, and in very short order, Fenris was crouched over the last one living. He knocked the man's face against the ground, just to make the point that he really was quite serious. And quite irritated. "Where is he?" Fenris demanded.  
  
"Please don't kill me!" the man sputtered.  
  
" _Tell me!_ " Fenris was pretty sure he wasn't going to break the guy's back, with his knee there. Yet.  
  
"I don't know! I don't know! I swear!" The man still looked panicked, for extremely obvious reasons that had a lot to do with having a glowy, angry elf kneeling on his back. "Hadriana brought us. She's at the holding caves, north of the city. I can show you the way."  
  
"No need," Fenris growled. "I know which ones you speak of."  
  
The man under Fenris's knee whimpered, eyes large and pleading on what he could see of the elf. "Then let me go," he begged in a quavering voice. "I beg you. I swear I won't --"  
  
"You chose the wrong master." Bone snapped under Fenris's hands, and the man's head flopped limply to the ground.  
  
Fenris rose to his feet, eyes cold. "Hadriana." Lyrium lines flickered in reply to Fenris's agitation. "I was a fool to think I was free. They'll never let me be!"  
  
"Someone you know?" Anton asked, jumping back down from the rocks above.  
  
"My old master's apprentice." A hint of a sick laugh ran through Fenris's voice. "I remember her as a snivelling social climber who would sell her own children, if she thought it would make Danarius happy. If she's here, it's at his bidding. I knew he wouldn't let this go!"  
  
"Then why are we standing around?" Cormac asked. "They need to be stopped, before this goes any further."  
  
"Looks like we have some hunting to do." Anders twirled his staff and slung it back over his shoulder.  
  
Killing slavers. They were rather good at that. Fenris was amazed by how readily these men picked up their arms in his defence, even the abomination. Fenris wondered if he would do the same for him.  
  
"We must go quickly," he said, "before Hadriana has a chance to prepare... or flee."  
  
He led the way to the holding caves, Artemis at his side.


	54. Chapter 54

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justice and Fenris actually agree on something, and Artemis gets to deliver that judgement.

At the mouth of the cave, Fenris paused. "There were many such holdings, once, especially in the mountains, where individual slavers kept private pens. They were designed to protect against raids by fellow slavers. No doubt why Hadriana chose this place."  
  
"Do slavers attack each other often? That seems counterproductive." Anders was honestly baffled by so much of Tevinter culture, sometimes, however much of it he enjoyed.  
  
"They did. What better way to find slaves than to steal them?" Fenris levelled a look at Anders that was nothing but distaste for the abomination's idiocy. Mages. "The holdings outside of Tevinter have mostly been abandoned, but they still exist."  
  
Artemis's staff bounced against the ground, the wood making a hollow sound against stone. "Maybe she wanted to redecorate," he quipped. "Spruce the place up. Add a few flowers." The irritated twitch of Fenris's ear told him this was a bad time for jokes, but 'bad times' were when he was most likely to make bad jokes.  
  
Anton grabbed Artemis's staff to still it and gave him a flat look. Artemis smiled sheepishly back.  
  
"She's not a flowers kind of woman," Fenris drawled. With a sigh, he looked into the cave and steeled himself. "Let's hope this isn't a waste of time."  
  
They followed Fenris into the cave, and for a time, things were simple. A great deal of stabbing and lighting people on fire went on, before they came to a surprisingly well-lit room, occupied by a single nervous-looking elf. If the lighting was this good, they had to be getting closer.  
  
Fenris approached the elf. "Are you hurt? Did they touch you?"  
  
"They've been killing everyone." The elf looked frankly terrified, her hands fluttering around her face and neck. "They cut papa, bled him..."  
  
"Why?" Fenris asked, not catching on. "Why would they do this?"  
  
"It's a demon at work," Anders put forth. "By this point, there's nothing human left."  
  
"The magister, she said she needed power... that someone was coming to kill her."  
  
No one looked thrilled with this revelation.  
  
"We tried to be good! We did everything we were told! She loved papa's soup... I don't understand."  
  
No, Fenris thought, she didn't understand, and that was probably for the best.  
  
"Sounds like you've had a rough day," Artemis said sympathetically. The way her stare darted around and the way she scratched her arms as she fidgeted was familiar.  
  
"Everything was fine until today!" she snapped at him.  
  
"It wasn't," Fenris said, voice soft and head bowed. "You just didn't know any better." The way he said it, it made Artemis wonder if Fenris had been like this once. And that made him wonder at the pieces of Fenris's life that were still a mystery to him, the gaping holes in his knowledge that were wounds in Fenris's memory.  
  
"Are you my master now?" the elf girl asked, eyes heartbreakingly hopeful.  
  
"No!" Fenris sputtered, hands cutting the air in front of him.  
  
"I can cook," she wheedled. "I can clean. What else will I do?"  
  
"Hey, Fenris, can you cook?" Cormac asked, an idea slowly occurring to him. "Because I know Artie can't. Sorry, Artie, but you can't, and we both know it."  
  
"I will not take a slave!" Fenris snapped, turning on Cormac in a blue glow of fury.  
  
"I'm not saying you should. I'm saying you need a cook, and I'll pay her. Belated housewarming gift." Cormac shrugged, but didn't step back. "Get her going. If she wants to get a place in the city, later, we'll help her out. But, she doesn't know what she's doing, and you do. And you need a cook. And I'm paying for it. Don't make her go through what you did."  
  
Fenris blinked at him, his blue blaze sputtering out. "Oh," he stammered. A job? That was...  
  
"Of course we'll hire you," said Artemis, putting a hand on Fenris's arm. He and Cormac could bicker over who would be doing the paying later. "Please save me from his bad cooking." He indicated Fenris with a tilt of his head. Not that his cooking was any better. In fact, one could argue that it was considerably worse.  
  
Artemis gave her their address and told her to meet them there. "Tell the workmen Artemis sent you," he said, "and that you're there to design the kitchen."  
  
"Oh, praise the Maker," she breathed. "Thank you!" She scampered off, back the way they'd come.  
  
"That went well." Anton nodded, taking in the rest of the room. "But, I don't like this place. The faster we're out of here, the better."  
  
"She cannot be far." Fenris's hands twitched, and he shrugged off Artemis's hand, stalking toward the other exit from the room. If Hadriana was here, he only hoped she was still as overconfident as she had always been. That she wouldn't be listening for them. But, if Anders was right, there would be demons -- real demons, not the washed out, whiny kind.  
  
Another hallway, a few more turns, and they were beset by shades. Cormac wished they'd brought Bethany for this, if for no other reason than that she could tell when the things were poisoning her mind. He knew it was pointless, but he tried to stun them, anyway, in the hopes he'd hit something else hiding in the nightmare cloud. Ice. Freeze everything that you can't identify.  
  
Behind him, he heard Justice break free. "THIS WILL NOT STAND."  
  
Of course, Justice would be able to see what was actually there. All Cormac had to do, then, was aim where Anders was pointing. That seemed like the best course of action, and after a few moments, Anton caught on, too. Justice would strike, first, and then Cormac and Anton would race in to finish that one, while Justice highlighted the next target. Fenris, however, would not be distracted from his need to find Hadriana, slashing through anything that came close enough to reach, as he squinted through the shifting gloom, nightmarish memories reflected in the clouds of shadow.  
  
Artemis kept an eye on Fenris. The elf was being reckless, teeth grit in a snarl of rage, and he worried the idiot was going to get himself killed. Lightning arced through the air from his fingertips, bouncing from one shade to the next and lighting up the room in a constellation of magic.  
  
" _Hadriana_!" Fenris roared. " _Face me yourself_!"  
  
No sooner had they destroyed the whirl of shades than more sprang up, tearing through the ground, the air, the walls.  
  
"Shit," Anton cursed, adjusting his grip on his daggers. Justice didn't pause in his onslaught.  
  
A female voice cut through the shades' nightmarish wails and the sounds of battle. "I knew you'd come for me," a woman said, stepping out of the shadows with blood and magic dripping from her hands.  
  
"That is a lot of blood," Cormac observed, doing what he did best and knocking the woman on her ass, before she could realise Fenris was travelling with mages. After all, who would expect something so ridiculous?  
  
"We've got this, Fenris. You get her." Anton took down another shade, and pulled Cormac's attention back from Hadriana.  
  
"Artie, go help your boyfriend fend off the witch," Cormac suggested, eyes still on Anders, as he dodged and threw spells. "I'll cover you both. She'll have a real piss time getting a shot in, but don't let him take any stupid chances."  
  
On the ground, Hadriana was recovering her senses. "A mage? My, my. You just can't resist that magic touch, can you, little wolf? But, you'll be home soon enough."  
  
Fenris snarled, blazing blue and charging her, his lines of tattoos burning after-images into Artemis's vision. "I'll show you 'magic touch'," Fenris sneered, his sword arcing towards her head, only to miss by inches, glancing off her shield. Hadriana stepped back and to the side with a hysterical laugh that was as much fearful as mocking.  
  
"Really, you've just saved me the trouble of finding you myself," she said, summoning another shade with a twist of her fingers. Artemis cursed and launched it back with a stone fist, herding it towards his brothers and Justice.  
  
"Says the woman cowering in a bubble," Artemis replied, gathering force magic under his fingers, waiting for her shield to drop. "Fenris, you might want to step back."  
  
Fenris shot him a glare, but before he could argue, Hadriana's shield dropped, and she knocked him back with a bolt of lightning to the chest. Artemis retaliated by force shoving her back into the wall, hard enough to knock her out cold.  
  
"Fenris!" Artemis raced over to him. "Are you all right?"  
  
"Your brother is good for something," Fenris admitted, checking himself for damage. Not even a skinned elbow. Perhaps mages were good for something, after all. "Is this why you never manage to hit him?"  
  
Behind them, the sounds of battle slowed, Cormac and Anton keeping up a running commentary.  
  
"One for the pearl moon!" Cormac shouted, actually ramming his staff into the chest of one of the shades.  
  
"One more for victory!" Anton called back, daggers sinking into that terrifying darkness.  
  
"How many is that?" Cormac asked.  
  
"I have no idea. At least five too many."  
  
Both of them turned to handle the last one, but Justice took care of it, himself. The spirit turned his eyes to Hadriana, and Cormac stepped directly in the way. "Not yours, Anders. I know you want to, but this one belongs to Fenris. He's the one she wronged. He gets to decide the price she pays, and I'm pretty sure it'll be no less than the one you want her to pay."  
  
"SHE STILL BREATHES. SHE CONSORTS WITH DEMONS AND SEEKS TO BEND MEN TO HER WILL, TO OWN THINKING CREATURES, AND SHE STILL LIVES." Justice was not happy with this turn of events.  
  
"If she gets away from him, you can tear her apart, but for now, this is his party, not ours." Cormac wrapped his arm around Justice's waist, stepping closer. "Nice work with those shades, though. Makes me want to have a very different kind of party, just you and me, when we get back home..."  
  
"Get a room," Anton muttered, snatching up the last dagger he'd thrown.  
  
Hadriana groaned, moving sluggishly, and Fenris pushed past Artemis and his hovering hands. He kicked away her staff as she reached for it, eyes hard as he hefted his sword one more time.  
  
"Stop!" she sputtered, hand raised in entreaty. "You do not want me dead!"  
  
Artemis raised his hand. "I do."  
  
"There is only one person I want dead more," Fenris answered, voice shaking with anger, but his sword stilled in the air.  
  
"I have information, elf," Hadriana said, still gasping for breath, "and I will trade it in return for my life."  
  
Fenris scoffed. "The location of Danarius? What good would that do me? I'd rather he lost his pet pupil."  
  
"You have a sister!" Hadriana was quick to say. "She is alive!"  
  
Fenris hesitated, eyes uncertain. A sister? When... what? He had no family. Did he?  
  
"You wish to reclaim your life? Let me go, and I will tell you where she is." Hadriana looked terribly sure of herself, once again.  
  
"How do we know you're telling the truth?" Anton asked, from across the room.  
  
Hadriana smiled like a viper. "You don't. But, I know Fenris, and I know what he's searching for. If he wants me to betray Danarius, he'll have to pay for it."  
  
Fenris glanced to the mage at his side, at Artemis. Like he was waiting for an order, and wasn't _that_ an unsettling thought. "It's your call, Fen," Artemis said, shrugging.  
  
"So I have your word?" Hadriana purred, still smiling. "I'll tell you, and you'll let me go?"  
  
"You tell me, and you will come to no harm at my hands. You have my word." Fenris nodded, eyes downcast, and behind him Justice glowed even brighter and more angrily.  
  
"Her name is Varania. She is in Qarinus serving a magister by the name of Ahriman." Hadriana brushed Fenris's hands off of her, and he let her go.  
  
"A servant. Not a slave." He wanted that clarified.  
  
"She's not a slave."  
  
"I believe you." Fenris smiled, raising his eyes from the ground, as he stood. "And, as I promised, you will come to no harm at my hands. My companions, however..." He shrugged and picked up his sword.  
  
Artemis approached her, magic coiled tight around him, and he watched the hope die in her eyes. Good.  
  
"Don't!" she pleaded, eyeing her staff, still far out of reach. "Please! I can--!"  
  
"Do shut up," Artemis said coldly. He clenched his fist, and a rush of magic crushed her into the ground, rib cage crumpling.  
  
Anton winced and exchanged a look with Cormac. "Remind me not to piss him off," he muttered.  
  
Cormac whooped with glee as the magister turned into pulp under Artemis's ministrations. "You knew that about him. It's why I was always on your shit to be nice to him, when we were kids. It's also why you fell out of so damned many trees."  
  
Next to him, the Fade sang out through Justice in an ecstasy of rage and victory that crawled through the bones of the mages. It wasn't silent for Fenris, either, and he eyed Justice suspiciously.  
  
Shivering, Cormac wrapped himself back around Justice, tugging him down to the side, whispering in his ear, and suddenly, the light went out, and Anders dropped to his knees. Cormac didn't quite catch him, but definitely slowed the fall, and sank down with him. "Hey, there's my sweet and beautiful charming mage-tart!"  
  
Anton retched.  
  
"You invited them," Artemis reminded him with a shrug. "There's a name for that, you know. Doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results."  
  
He looked about for Fenris and found the elf already heading for the door, heedless of the rest of them. Artemis trusted Cormac to take care of his glowy boyfriend and went to look after his own. "Fenris?" he called, trotting to catch up. "Are you all right?"  
  
"Why shouldn't I be?" Fenris replied coolly, barely slowing.  
  
Artemis grappled for words and found too many. "Well... crazy blood-wielding women attacking you and talking about your long-lost relations can be a bit stressful." Fenris shot him a glare. "Right. Shut up, Artie. Do you want to talk about it?"  
  
"No, I do not want to talk about it!" Fenris snapped, finally wheeling around. "This could be a trap! Danarius could have sent Hadriana to tell me about this 'sister'! Even if he didn't, trying to find her would still be suicide. Danarius has to know about her and has to know that Hadriana knows."  
  
"But, all that matters is that the bitch is dead. That you -- you crushed the life out of her for me." The look on Fenris's face softened, eyes damp, and he touched Artemis's face, gently. "The exception that proves the rule. May she rot and all other mages with her. I have the only one that matters."  
  
Artemis turned his head to press a kiss to Fenris's palm. "I could point out that my _mage_ brother and his _mage_ boyfriend both helped you with this..." Fenris's look darkened. "...but I am not going to, because I am a smart mage." Fenris huffed, but his smile was fond as the mage kissed him. His mage. His exception.


	55. Chapter 55

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three brothers, three moments. All of them fools.

The walk back to town was significantly more subdued. They were all tired and Fenris seemed pretty shaken up, no matter what he had to say about it. As they passed the bridge, Anton peeled off to go deliver the herbs he'd promised the alchemist, and maybe to drop in on Cullen, while he was in the neighbourhood. Showing up unexpectedly always got him some lovely blushes and promises of even better things. Anders and Cormac stepped out halfway across Hightown, with Cormac supporting most of Anders's weight as they staggered back home.  
  
It was good. Fenris hadn't really wanted visitors. Hadn't wanted to explain what the workmen were up to, what they had planned for this room or that one. He just wanted to take Artemis inside, to the one room that was finished, the one they'd had done first, before he let Artemis loose on the rest of the house. He just wanted to curl up in front of the fire and forget about everything, for a little while. Reflexively, he headed for the side of the house, for the back entrance.  
  
"Fen." Artemis caught him by the elbow. The unexpected touch was gentle, but Fenris still twitched at it. "Front door. You're the master of the house, Ser Elf. Remember?"  
  
Fenris pulled his arm free, ears twitching. "I was... right." That part of his life was long gone but some habits remained, reinforced by the memories Hadriana stirred up. He fixed his trajectory to walk up the stone steps. Next to him, Artemis radiated nervous energy and concern that he ignored.  
  
"Do you think that slave girl found the place?" Artemis asked, pulling the door open.  
  
Fenris was about to correct him with ' _former_ slave girl' when Artemis had his answer.  
  
"Messere Orana!" One of the workmen called out. "The key molding or the vine?"  
  
"The key, Marlowe. But, subtle -- you don't want it catching grease." The elf woman leaned back over the plans spread on the table before her, pencil in hand. "And stop with the 'messere'!  I keep telling you! I'm just here to design the kitchen and make the food!"  
  
"'Messere'?" A tiny laugh escaped Fenris. "Well, she's found her place faster than I did."  
  
Artemis stood in the doorway, hand still on the door handle, and watched in amazement as she ordered around a half dozen burly men, telling them that, 'no, no, that stone will not do for a countertop' and 'oh, but could we add a cabinet here?'  
  
"I think I'm in love," Artemis said. Fenris cleared his throat. "With you," Artemis added quickly. "In love with you. Obviously."  
  
Fenris shook his head and walked by the kitchen and its clamour. "Whatever," he called over his shoulder. "I am going in search of wine."  
  
Artemis finally realised he was still propping the door open and rushed to close it, trotting after his broody elf.  
  
Down in the cellar, Fenris grabbed a few bottles of wine -- one he knew was good, to start with, and a couple more of questionable vintage that he wouldn't care about after the first one. Bumping into Artemis, at the bottom of the stairs, he handed his mage a bottle, kissed him on the cheek, and kept walking. Upstairs. The bedroom. He just wanted to close the door, open the wine, and make it all go away. Hopefully, Artemis would have the sense to follow him up.  
  
Instead of passing through the bustling, shouting, and clattering of the rooms he'd already been through, Fenris ducked into the linen walks, and took the servants' stairs up, coming out in the back of his dressing room, which he supposed was weighted strongly toward Artemis's side, seeing as he, himself, had very little in the way of clothing. It was one of those things he never gave much mind to. Wasn't this ridiculously ornate house enough?  
  
He huffed to himself as he stepped out into the bedroom, at last, door already closed, and curled up into the pile of pillows in front of the fire. Those had been a good choice, he decided, not for the first time. Wine and warm. Wine, warm, and maybe his mage. Yes.  
  
His mage seemed to read his mind, sinking onto the pile of pillows behind him and curling against his back, an arm slipping around Fenris's waist. Artemis could tell that Fenris wasn't in a talking kind of mood today. He was also, apparently, not in a wine glass kind of mood either, drinking straight from the bottle. He wondered how much wine was left in the cellar and how, between the two of them, they hadn't drunk through it all.  
  
With the fire in front of them and Fenris's warmth in his arms, it would have been relaxing, if not for the clamour going on downstairs. He merely hoped that girl knew what she was doing. 'That girl'. He'd forgotten to ask her name in all the mess. What had that worker called her? Orana?  
  
Fenris switched hands with the bottle, reaching back to rest a hand on Artemis's hip. "Thank you." That was it. No explanation. He didn't think it needed one. He wondered if all the time on the run had weakened his wits, somehow. If all the days without food and nights without sleep had driven him mad, but he loved this mage. Trusted this mage. And this mage, his mage, had killed the woman who had tormented him for years. No questions, no hesitation. This mage had turned on a magister, for him, and killed her. If this was madness, maybe he didn't mind. It was a nice place to be.  
  


* * *

  
Five storeys up, and Anton's fingers were starting to cramp. He'd decided going in the easy way, or the other easy way, or the semi-difficult way that involved the sewers was overdone. No, he was going in the actual hard way, because no one ever looked up. You'd think someone would clue these chumps in that not everything remained at ground level. Hell, you'd think the way the stairs, in the courtyard, looked out over it would be a clue. But, no. Just like every other daft punter in all of Thedas, Templars never looked up. So, here he was, clinging to some thick vine and stonework, counting windows on the fifth damned storey of the Templar Hall. Good. Yes. This was the one.  
  
He grabbed the stone sill and hoisted himself up. A bit of a trick with his knee and his elbow, and the arm went in first, before he slid through the narrow window, sideways, landing on his feet in Cullen's office. Which was empty. Well, that was a waste of a grand entrance. Dusting off a bit of grime, he dropped into Cullen's chair, put his feet up on the corner of the Knight-Captain's desk, and picked up the nearest book that didn't look like ledgers.  
  
Oh, it was one of _those_ books... OH. Well, might as well see where Cullen was getting his lines.  
  
He'd read three chapters of this hilarious drivel before Cullen returned from wherever he was, nose buried in a ledger as he opened and closed his office door. He waited, grinning, for Cullen to finally look up and --  
  
" _Oh, sweet Maker!_ " Cullen yelped, jumping when he saw Anton. "How long have you been in here?"  
  
"Long enough to get to the good part," Anton said, brandishing the open book. He cleared his throat and read dramatically, "'My bosom heaved against his chest as his turgid manhood entered my --'"  
  
Cullen snatched the book away, his whole face a mottled red. "T-That's not mine!" he sputtered. "I was just... holding it. For a friend."  
  
"Oh, really?" Anton purred, sitting up at Cullen's desk. "A _naughty_ friend. And here I thought I was your only one."  
  
"You -- er, well -- You're certainly the only friend I get naughty _with_ ," Cullen sputtered, the red becoming much more consistent. "What-- what are you doing here? How are you here? I didn't see you on the stairs..."  
  
"Well, come sit on your naughty friend's lap, Ser Templar, and maybe I'll tell you." Anton's grin was nothing if not wicked. He turned the chair to the side and patted his leg, invitingly.  
  
Cullen had never noticed if his office door locked, but he darted back to the door to check, now, and sure enough it had a turnkey for a bolt, which he engaged. If anyone wanted something from him, they could wait. He poured himself into Anton's lap, platemail and all, clattering and clanking a bit uncomfortably, as he settled.  
  
"Well, I'm here just to see you, of course." Anton ran a finger over Cullen's lips, his other hand prying a somewhat stabby bit of mail out of his thigh. "And I came in by the window. You might want to get that looked at, because if I can get in those windows, Antivan Crows can get in those windows, and the last thing you want is Crows in your windows."  
  
"Maker, no!" Cullen said with mock concern. "I-I wouldn't want the Crows to read all my books while I'm at meetings! How... how dastardly!"  
  
"I thought that book belonged to your 'naughty friend'?"  
  
"I... yes. Well." Heavy platemail was not conducive to squirming. Or for sitting in someone's lap, really, but Anton hadn't complained yet. Cullen kissed Anton's smirking lips, amazed this man had come here just to see him, had... "Hang on. You came in through the window? That's five storeys!"  
  
Anton waved this aside. "Please," he scoffed. "For you? It only felt like three." He had bruises and scrapes in all sorts of places, but he wasn't about to mention that.  
  
"You scaled a five storey wall, just not to come through the gate, to see me?" Cullen's face waffled between suspicion and amazement. "That's the sea side! What if you'd fallen?"  
  
"Well, I needed the practise anyway. I've been getting terribly lazy on the ground all the time." Anton nibbled Cullen's lip. "And what if I'd fallen? I'd be in the sea, that's what. Probably safer than anywhere else I might have fallen, if not by much. I could die of drowning, instead of a broken neck."  
  
"Well -- just --" Cullen sighed, trying to put his concerns into words that didn't make him sound like a meddlesome granny. "Please don't fall, Anton. It would break my heart just as much as your neck."  
  
"You delightful sop!" Anton laughed, pulling Cullen down for another kiss.  
  
Cullen sighed into the kiss, hand cupping the back of Anton's head, gentle in the absence of his gauntlets. He supposed he was a sop, wasn't he? Frankly, Anton could call him whatever he wanted as long as he kept kissing like that, as long as he kept... well. As long as he kept simply _existing_. Maker. Yes, he _was_ a sop.  
  
"You know," Cullen rumbled between kisses, "I have another hour before I need to be anywhere."  
  
Anton grinned. "Well, Ser Cullen," he purred, "there's lots one can do in an hour."  
  
"Just... promise me one thing." Cullen gripped Anton's shoulders firmly. "When you go? Promise me you'll use the door."  
  
Anton laughed and leaned forward to nuzzle Cullen's ear. "As you wish."  
  


* * *

  
"Cormac, what the fuck is under my pillow?" Anders muttered, as Cormac helped him into bed.  
  
"Oh, well..." Cormac coughed and stretched out next to him, reaching under the pillow. "See, the other night, well..."  
  
Cormac coughed again and the sassy grin got a little too wide. After a moment, he gave up and just pulled out the spunk-stained green knickers and dropped them on Anders's face. "They're my brother's."  
  
"Artemis's, I hope," Anders mumbled, from under the cloth.  
  
"No, they're Anton's. Of course they're Artemis's." Cormac leaned in closer, wrapping himself around Anders, nibbling at his earlobe. "He used them to wipe his spunk off my back."  
  
Anders peeled the smalls off his face to stare at Cormac. "I'm... sorry, he did what? When was this?" He could not have heard those words correctly. Not in that order. And they certainly did not match up with any new images in his mind that he planned to savour for a while.  
  
"The night he got back together with Fenris. Well, back back together with... Did you know they weren't fucking? A few nights ago. I meant to tell you but you've been... Justice." Cormac shrugged and tried to look as nonchalant as it was possible to look when talking about being a sex toy for one's own brother. "He and Fenris... we were all kind of drunk. And you know how much Artie loves to have something to grind on, when he's getting fucked. So I said something, and Fenris grabbed a pillow, but the couches in there are embroidered, and I don't even fucking remember, but Artie said something and I asked if he meant it, and then Fenris was fucking him against my ass. And... well... that's... He wiped off my back with those. He'd been wearing them with a corset in the same colour that Aveline bought him."  
  
He just sort of blurted it all out in a long rambling string, and finally inhaled, at the end. "It seemed like the thing to do, at the time?"  
  
It was a good thing he was already sitting down, Anders decided. "That's... that's quite a lot of images you've just put into my head," he said, awestruck. Artemis in a corset. Artemis on top of Cormac. Fenris on top of Artemis on top of Cormac. "And you didn't invite me?" he teased, quoting Cormac from that night in the cellar.  
  
"I'd have invited you, but the broody death elf objected. Vehemently. With growling." Cormac squirmed against Anders's side. "Lots of growling."  
  
"Hang on. Is this why you and Artie were acting so... well. You were both very quiet this morning and wouldn't look at each other. I assumed you'd had a fight or... Wow." Anders had no other word for it other than 'wow'. "Just... are you two okay with this?"  
  
"He's not pissed at me. I can live with it. If he says it again, I'll do it again. If not, it's a thing we did one time, and we're not talking about it in public. Well, we're not talking about it in public either way." Cormac laughed, quietly, a little nervously. "How terrible does it make me, if I say I'd be happy to do it again?"  
  
Anders was still holding the ruined smalls. His mind was still too caught up in those images to think clearly. "Well, I can't say I'd blame you," he said, his mouth moving on its own. "I mean, have you _seen_ your brother?"  
  
Well, clearly Cormac had. And in a corset.  
  
"I've seen just as much of my brother as you have. And twice as much of Fenris, now, too." Cormac shivered at another memory. "You know that glowy heart-squeezing thing? So, turns out Artie's into that. And then ... I'm not really sure how Fenris and I are looking at each other at all, after that, but... Artie wheedled him into clawing at my bones a bit. I didn't want it. He didn't want to do it. We did it for Artie, you know? You know there's nerves under your shoulderblade? Because I'm pretty sure there are nerves there, and I'm pretty sure he was pulling on them."  
  
And now Cormac's teeth were chattering. "I might be a little bit less okay with the Fenris thing. It wasn't... I'm not used to being performance art. But, Artie liked it, and that's why we did it. Under other circumstances, that could have been really good, but... I didn't want to do that to him."  
  
Anders sat up, leaning closer to Cormac. "That... sounds vaguely terrifying," he said. Which, generally, was Cormac's sort of thing. Less so Artemis's, but it wouldn't be the first time he was surprised by what that boy was into. What worried him was Cormac's reaction now, how unsettled he seemed. He reached up to the curve of Cormac's shoulder, kneading the muscles there soothingly. He didn't know that that was the same shoulder Fenris had stuck his fingers into.  
  
Cormac sighed and curled closer against Anders. "Don't get me wrong. I came so hard I thought my dick was going to turn inside out. I just... He hates mages. He didn't much want to touch me. He did it because he loves my brother. _I_ did it because I love my brother. I don't know. It works well enough for me. I just don't trust it in anyone else." He laughed. "I'm fucking sentimental or some shit. Worried Artie's going to push him away, because he won't say no. I don't know. Something stupid. I'm sure it'll be fine. Fenris isn't growling at me more than usual."  
  
Anders folded his arms around Cormac. "No, he doesn't seem to be," he said. "In fact, aside from the 'must kill Hadriana rar' moment he had, he seems... happier than usual." He remembered his conversation with Fenris at the beach. "Which, I take it, means things are okay between him and Artemis again." He sighed, carding his fingers through Cormac's hair. "You keep talking about your brother and what he wants, but what about you? Are you all right?"  
  
"I'm fine." Cormac rolled over and smiled up at Anders. "Why wouldn't I be? He's happy, you're happy, the only templar near the house is the one doing Anton... Bethy's got Prince Charming. Carver's... Maker only knows what Carver's doing, but he's not complaining, so it's probably fine. We're filthy stinking rich. I own half a mine that people aren't dying in, any more. It's a fine fucking day in Kirkwall, insofar as any day in Kirkwall could be described as 'fine'."  
  
"Not to mention you're in bed with the chosen of Urthemiel," Anders added with a crooked smile. He held up the stained smalls to Cormac's skin. "You know, this colour would look good on you too." His smile turned mischievous.  
  
"Mmm. Yes, I am. C'mere, gorgeous." Cormac scratched at the stubble under Anders's chin. "And don't even think about putting those on me. You won't get them past my thighs. Artie's kind of... willowy. But, you want to get me some that fit in that colour, I'll wear them for you. Just long enough for you to take them right back off me, I suspect."  
  
"Getting you underwear I can tear off later?" Anders purred. "My, that sounds like a lovely idea." He plopped the smalls onto Cormac's head and hummed. "You know, while we're out, we should get Artie something too. He was nice enough to leave me a present, after all." If his smile was mischievous before, it was outright diabolical now. "In fact, I think I know just the thing..."


	56. Chapter 56

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interlude involving a 'knob'. For Artie's 'staff'. *coughs*

It was that night of the week again, when most of them got together to play Wicked Grace with Varric. The roster changed a little every week. Sometimes Anders was working late, sometimes Aveline had to sort out scheduling conflicts, everyone had other shit that got in the way, from time to time, but on any given Grace Night, most of them would be in the room at the same time. Varric watched a silent conversation between Cormac and Artemis, over the table, with Cormac suggesting Artemis might want to talk to Anders about something. Well. That would be why that conversation wasn't happening out loud.  
  
Anders took his cue from Cormac, getting up like he meant to get a drink, which he'd arrived conspicuously lacking, and heading out of the room.  
  
Artemis watched Anders leave the room and turned back to give Cormac a suspicious look before getting up. And thank the Maker for that. He had another losing hand, and at this rate, Fenris was going to end up owning the house for real.  
  
He found Anders waiting for him by the bar, wearing a disconcertingly large smile and holding a package.  
  
"If this is about the smalls," Artemis said slowly, "you can keep them. Not sure if they're your colour though."  
  
"They're not my colour, but they are Cormac's. Just not his size." Anders grinned a little too wide, offering the package. "But, no. I'm not giving them back. But, I thought since you were kind enough to leave me a present, I'd get you one."  
  
Upstairs, Varric folded and excused himself for a trip to the little dwarves' room. Passing through the bar, he spotted Anders and Artemis, and an unusually-shaped package changing hands. This was worth an extra minute or two.  
  
"I have to tell you," Artemis said, cautiously tearing the paper, "if it's a corset, I already have one."  
  
Varric was already glad he'd paused. He caught a glimpse at whatever Artemis was holding, before the younger mage made a choked sound in the back of his throat and hurried to rewrap it.  
  
"Hoo, Maker, that's a penis!" he blurted, laughing nervously. His face blushed so hard it looked painful. He frowned and peeked under the wrapping again. "Wait a minute. That's your penis."  
  
"Well, you like my magic wand so much, I thought I'd get you your own." Anders smiled wickedly. "It's made of jade, because jade makes me think of you. And the shape is so you'll think of me. It's a little smaller. Jade isn't nearly as flexible as I am."  
  
And that was going in the next book. Hot damn. Varric might have missed the rest of the exchange but 'that's a penis' came through loud and clear. Well, well. And Cormac knew about it, too. Cormac, therefore, was the one to ask. The third party to these events. An interested third party, to some degree, on both sides, one being his brother and the other being his... whatever the shit they weren't calling each other, these days, that everyone but them knew actually meant boyfriend.  
  
Artemis carefully rewrapped the dildo, face scrunching in a way that meant he was either about to laugh or cry, maybe a bit of both. "And Cormac knows about this." It wasn't a question. "Of course he does. And now I have my very own, er, 'Magic Flagpole'. I'm... touched, Anders. Really. Deeply touched."  
  
"You will be," Anders quipped, and the sound that Artemis made was definitely a laugh.  
  
The younger Hawke coughed into his fist and waved at the bar with his package. Anders's package, apparently. "Drinks? I need a drink. So badly."  
  
"Don't drink too much, or you'll end up doing questionable things with questionable poles. I'm sure Fenris wouldn't be too thrilled. Doubly so if it was my pole." Anders followed Artemis the last few steps to the bar and then rested his chin on Artie's shoulder. "Although, I've heard he might not mind Cormac's."  
  
Anders straightened up and slapped a few coppers on the bar, ordering his usual spice tea.  
  
Varric didn't know what Anders whispered into the boy's ear, but it had to be a doozy, if it made Artemis's eyes bug like that. He'd never heard someone order a bottle of rum so fast or so desperately in his life. By the time Artemis got his order, Varric had wandered off in the direction of the toilets.  
  
Back in the suite, Anders sat down with a smug smile on his lips. He winked at Cormac as he picked up his cards, and Fenris narrowed his eyes at them both when his mage returned with an oddly shaped package in one hand, a bottle of rum in the other, and his cheeks burning red.  
  
"What's that?" Isabela asked, peeking curiously at the package, which Artemis promptly sat on to hide from view.  
  
"Nothing," Artie said much too hurriedly. "Just a... souvenir."  
  
Cormac couldn't quite hide his smile behind his cards. "Mage thing. You wouldn't understand."  
  
"I'm sure Fenris has an amazing understanding of 'mage things', by now." Anders smirked into his tea. "But, you, Izzy? Oh, there's so much more than just a little spark."  
  
"Oh, I understand your mage thing just fine, sparklefingers. I understand I could hoist a sail on it and probably get to Llomeryn from here," she cracked.  
  
Somehow, Artemis managed to turn an even deeper shade of red. He kicked his brother's shin under the table just to get him to stop smiling like that. And, all right, sitting on the thing really was not the best solution, but he'd panicked.  
  
"It's... it's just something I need for my mage staff," Artemis said haltingly, only to cringe and sputter. "A-a component. Magical. Yes."  
  
"The knob at the end," Anders added, matter-of-factly.  
  
Fenris squinted at all of them, claws tapping at his cards. He looked at Artemis and opened his mouth to say something, but Artemis shook his head. Fenris sent him a questioning look. Artemis mouthed 'later'.  
  
Cormac had his head down on the edge of the table, cackling hysterically, tears in his eyes dripping down into his lap. "Well, you know what they say about wizards' staves," he wheezed.  
  
Artemis kicked him again under the table.


	57. PART XIII: DIFFICULTIES WITH DEMONS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carver's got a _giiiirlfriend_ , and no one is ever going to let him live it down. Oh, and there's an elven apostate trapped in the fade.

"I don't see why you insist on bringing me along. You know my opinions. He's dangerous. Let him die." Mages. Fenris would never understand them, or the ridiculous lengths they'd go to defend each other, even in the face of something like this. Somniari? There was nothing but for the boy to become a magister or to die, if the demons didn't get him first. Death would be the kindest solution.

Anders looked over his shoulder, opening his mouth to reply, and walked straight into Cormac's back, nearly knocking them both down the stairs. "What--?"

"Carver." Cormac pointed, something like amazement in his voice, to where his youngest brother was sitting under the vhenadahl, _kissing Merrill_. He elbowed Artemis and sputtered.

Artemis flailed back at him in reply. "Did you know this was a thing?" he hissed. "I didn't know this was a thing!"

"Apparently it's a thing," Anders said with a shrug. 

"Mages," Fenris said, more of a sigh than a growl at this point. 

Isabela wolf-whistled, startling the kissing pair, who turned to gape at them. Merrill waved. Isabela and Artemis waved back.

Cormac stared at Carver, in some mix of annoyance and bafflement. "You couldn't _tell us_ this? It's _Merrill_! We _like_ Merrill! All this time we thought you must have been dating a cross-dressing dwarf, that you were embarrassed to tell us -- and Carver, if it was a cross-dressing dwarf? It's us. We still would've been cool. That said, Merrill, I thought you had better taste than this. There are darkspawn more loveable than my baby brother. He's lucky we didn't just feed him to a troll, on our way out of Lothering."

"This? This is why I don't tell you things." Carver jabbed an angry finger in their direction.

"Because I act like your older brother?" Cormac shrugged, wide-eyed.

Anders nodded. "I had one, once. I can confirm that's really what they're like, even when they're not Hawkes."

"He's kissing the blood mage, and you're worried about _her_?" Fenris grumbled, rubbing his face.

"He grew up with three mages, and one of them was Cormac," Artemis told him. He paused. "Shit, one of them was _Bethany_. The fact that I was the standard of mage sanity in our family should tell you everything you need to know about us."

"All of which I already know," Fenris said, face pained.

"And yet you're still here," Anders muttered.

"What are you doing here?" Carver called across to them. "Did you show up just to gawk at us?"

"No, just a happy accident," Isabela laughed. "But I'm happy to gawk however much you like. Go on. Don't mind us!"

"You should tell mum, when you get home," Cormac called out, heading toward the house they meant to visit. "She'll be thrilled. You know how worried she is about all of us being in 'happy relationships' and her hopes of 'so many grandchildren'. I think she'll be thrilled you still like girls, given the rest of us."

"Is Anton really... with the _Knight-Captain_?" Carver asked, still having some difficulty with the idea.

"Yeah, he really is," Anders answered. "We're _all_ still struggling with that one."

"It was worth it to see you in those Warden robes, Anders!" Merrill laughed. "You should wear those more often! You look so handsome in them!"

"Him!?" Carver demanded, gawking at Merrill and pointing at Anders. "That gangling scruffy mage?"

"I like tall," Merrill said, leaning her head on Carver's shoulder, with a smile. "You're tall, too. My big, tall master of swording."

"Oh?" Isabela purred. "Have you two gotten to the _swording_ already? I expect details, Kitten!"

Artemis made a face. "I really didn't need to picture my little brother 'swording'," he muttered. Anders and Fenris shot him twin flat looks that Artemis pretended not to notice.

Carver sputtered, ears turning red. He turned to his date. "Merrill, mind if we take this inside?"

"For more swording?" Anders asked with a grin.

"I'll show _you_ my sword in a minute!" Carver spat back.

"Ooh, that'd be three Hawkes for you, Anders," Isabela crooned. "Catching up with me!"

"Okay! Before I have to see any more swords than strictly necessary, let's go help the nice lady get her son out of the coma, yes?" Cormac knocked on the door.

Arianni opened the door, surprised to see so many people standing outside. "You've brought so many," she said to Artemis, awestruck.

"My brother and I brought the very best. There's no one we'd trust ourselves to more, and so there's none we'd trust your son to, more than these. Yes, Fenris, I do mean you, too." Cormac pointed back over his shoulder as soon as he heard Fenris inhale.

"Come in," Arianni offered, stepping back. "Marethari is coming to perform the ritual that will bring Feynriel back. His childhood things here will help anchor him. She should arrive soon. Her letter said she would be here this afternoon."

"How is he?" Artemis asked as they filed into the small apartment.

Arianni's gaze dropped. "Not good," she said. "It's been two days since the nightmares took him." 

Artemis wished he knew how to comfort her. The best he could do was pat her awkwardly on the shoulder and say, "We'll do what we can."

They waited for Marethari in tense quiet, perching on Arianni's simple furniture and leaning against the walls. Artemis's staff bounced against the ground again, until Fenris stilled him with a hand on his wrist.

Anders nudged Cormac with his elbow. "You and your brother," he whispered. "You haven't been in the Fade before, have you?" It hadn't occurred to him until just then, seeing the nervous way Artie fidgeted. 

"No Circle, no Harrowing, no Fade." Cormac looked downright grim for the split second it took him to conjure an imitation of a carefree smile. "But, hey, you'll be with us. You've done this before." He pointed to Fenris. "He's at least kind of done this before, and on a fairly regular basis. We'll be fine. We go in, we kill demons, we bring the kid out with us."

"It's ... not going to be that easy. Demons in the Fade, they're not like demons out here. They're more powerful, so much more tempting, and they can be the things you least want to harm." Anders looked bitterly into an unoccupied corner. "Any one of us can turn on you. Probably not me, for obvious reasons, but you never know. And any one of us might not be us."

"Shit. That's great. I bring my best, and I get you all replaced with demons. How's that help?" Cormac rubbed his face, his other hand twitching around his staff, clenching and unclenching.

"I can tell the difference, but if you can't tell I'm me..." Anders shook his head.

"I want to believe I'd know you. That I'd know my brother. You're a mage, you know what I mean." It was almost like having another sense. Touching another mage gave an impression of the way magic passed through them, almost a signature. He had no idea if a demon could mimic that, but he knew what demons felt like, too -- but, again, out here, where they had much less control.

"I was the only mage in there, last time. I really don't know if it'll work. _Justice_ doesn't know if it'll work." Anders pressed his lips to Cormac's forehead and took a deep breath. "I hope you're right, though."

Artemis watched them from across the cramped room. He hid his nervousness behind a smirk and leaned in to whisper in Fenris's ear, "They are _so_ married and don't even realise it."

That earned him a vaguely amused harrumph from his elf. 

By the time Marethari arrived, Artemis wasn't the only one getting fidgety. "I came quickly, Arianni," she said, placing her hands on Arianni's shoulders. "I did not wish to tell you by letter just how grave your son's situation is."

Well. That made Artie's awkward shoulder-pat much more comforting in comparison.

Marethari turned to address the rest of them. "Who will be a part of the ritual?" she asked, skipping over any preamble. "We haven't much time."

"We all are," Artemis answered. "Should make it more like a party."

Marethari didn't respond to the weak joke. She turned back to Arianni and said, "Now, please. Excuse us. We need to prepare."

"O-oh," Arianni stammered, "of course." She bowed awkwardly and fled out the door.

"Did you just kick her out of her own house?" Anders asked.

"There is more for you to hear that is not for her ears," Marethari explained. "Feynriel cannot become an abomination. The destruction he would cause is unimaginable. If you cannot save him from the demons, you must kill him, yourselves. A death in the Fade will make him what your Circle calls 'Tranquil'. He will be no threat after."

Anders looked like he wasn't sure whether to commit murder or vomit on his shoes, but Cormac wrapped his arms around him, whispering in his ear. "It won't come to that. You won't let it happen. No matter what happens to the rest of us. I know you. I know you can _see_. I know you won't let it happen."

Anders clung to Cormac with one hand and his staff with the other, not looking much better than he had.

"If you are all prepared, we will begin. Be certain of yourselves. You will all face temptation." Marethari looked sternly around the room.

Five heads nodded their assent, all grim-faced. Marethari nodded, satisfied. 

"Let us begin."

* * *

The Fade reflected the physical world the way a shadow reflected its object. The shape was there but warped, with none of the weight behind it. The walls were stone, the floor was stone, and that seemed real and correct one moment, until Fenris looked more closely and realised that they were all different types of stone, melded in ways that did not occur in nature. The ceiling was somehow both solid stone and a spangled sky in a way that only made sense in dreams.

His tattoos burned and itched and didn't glow when he commanded them to. But Fenris turned to see his mage at his side and forced himself to breathe.

"I HAD NOT THOUGHT TO RETURN IN SUCH A WAY." Justice's voice had Fenris's fingers twitching for his sword. "IT IS GOOD TO FEEL THE BREATH OF THE FADE AGAIN AND NOT THE EMPTY AIR OF YOUR WORLD."

"Merciful Andraste!" Cormac turned to find not Anders, but a ghostly gent in platemail. He scrambled back, holding his staff before him. "He's turned into a Templar!"

"TEMPLAR? WHERE?" Justice looked around, confused.

"I think Studly Do-Right, over here, is the real thing." Isabela, of course, was very interestedly examining their new companion. "Sad to see Anders go and all, but hello to those shoulders."

"I have very nice shoulders!" Cormac complained. "Is that you, Justice?"

This was not a situation he'd ever expected to find himself in. Face to face with the not-so-evil evil twin. Who, in all honesty, looked nothing like Anders. Or at least, he didn't think Justice did. With the helmet on, it was a little hard to tell.

"You have very nice shoulders, _for a mage_ ," Isabela reminded him.

"I AM, YES. WE HAVE MET, BEFORE, THOUGH NOT LIKE THIS. YOU ARE WISE AND GENTLE, CORMAC HAWKE, EVEN IF I DO NOT COMPREHEND YOUR OBSESSION WITH THE FLESH OF MY HOST." Justice held out his hand. "I UNDERSTAND THIS IS THE WAY TO GREET SOMEONE FOR THE FIRST TIME, EVEN IF I HAVE ALREADY EXPERIENCED SO MUCH OF YOU, SECONDHAND."

"Oh, shit." Cormac turned colours he didn't know he had in him, but he shook that hand, all the same. "It's ... a pleasure to finally meet ... you. Well, _you_ you. Not Anders you. I suppose I should apologise if we've completely put you off mankind, but to be honest, I don't think we're really going to stop doing any of that, and it's pointless to apologise for something I'm going to keep doing."

"YOU KEEP HIM HAPPY. WHEN HE IS HAPPY, HE IS MORE WILLING TO WORK WITH ME. YOU HAVE ALSO KEPT US FROM DOING REGRETTABLE THINGS, AND FOR THAT I THANK YOU. I DID NOT UNDERSTAND THE IMPLICATIONS OF MY ACTIONS, UNTIL THEY WERE EXPLAINED TO ME." Justice seemed to be in a forgiving mood, and for that, Cormac was terribly thankful. "COME. I SENSE FEYNRIEL'S MIND STRAINING. WE WILL NOT HAVE MUCH TIME."

Artemis gaped after Justice as he passed, looking a little green in the face. He hadn't even thought about Justice, the times he'd been with Anders, and it never even occurred to him that there was a spirit in there, waiting boredly for them to finish. He smiled weakly at Fenris's questioning look and followed the glowy suit of armour. 

A glowy suit of armour that was being followed by a floating book. It was one of those things that only didn't make sense when he actively thought about it. Isabela made a grab for the thing, and it swayed to the side, out of her reach. She reached again and failed again. The third time she reached, she feinted. She was trying to fake out a _book_. 

"Like watching a cat with a ball of yarn," Fenris muttered. Artemis laughed nervously and force pushed the thing into the wall. It bounced back and smacked Cormac in the face.

"What the fuck? Who's throwing books at me? Was that force? That was force. Artie, why the fuck are you throwing books at my head? Is this my demonic temptation? Not to wring my brother's neck for beating me about the head and shoulders with forgotten tomes?" Cormac was nervous, and the more nervous he got, the bitchier and louder he got. "Can you maybe not throw books at me while we're trying to save the world?"

"Sorry!" Isabela didn't sound sorry at all. She sounded like she was plotting. Even in that one word. "Artie, you're good at puzzles, right? Tell me where that thing's going to be in fifteen seconds. Then wait another fifteen and tell me again."

"Puzzles, yes," Artemis muttered. "Guessing the behavioural patterns of an airborne book? _Less so_."

"Details," Isabela huffed, waving her hand. She pulled out a knife and got into a crouch.

"Is... is she going to stab the book?" Fenris asked. "Is this a test? Is the book a demon?"

Artemis stared after the book, watching it flap around the room. "There!" he guessed, pointing.

Isabela leapt, and the book went down in a flutter of pages, her knife sticking out of the leatherbound cover. "Aha!"

That time, Cormac actually turned around. "What are you two even _doing_? Do I need to raise your Hawke tally, Izzy?"

"They are stabbing a demon book," Fenris clarified, which made precisely nothing clearer.

"THERE ARE NO DEMONS NEAR US. YOU ARE PERCEIVING YOUR OWN DESIRES. HIS IS FOR GREATER KNOWLEDGE. HERS IS FOR A CHALLENGE." Justice didn't have to look back, and Cormac wondered if the spirit needed eyes to see, at all. Probably better if he didn't with that great bucket on his head.

"And what about mine?" Cormac asked. "What do I desire, and why am I not seeing it?"

"YOU DESIRE ANDERS. I REGRET THAT I AM UNABLE TO PRODUCE HIM, IN THIS PLACE, AT THIS TIME. HE WILL RETURN TO YOU, ONCE WE HAVE LEFT THE FADE, HOWEVER LITTLE I MAY WISH TO DO SO." Desire was a strange thing to see, in Justice. Most of all, a desire related to his own comfort, rather than the good of the cause. "BUT, THERE IS INJUSTICE IN YOUR WORLD, AND I HAVE SWORN MYSELF TO CORRECT IT, IN EXCHANGE FOR THE BODY OUR FRIEND HAS KINDLY SHARED WITH ME. DO NOT BELIEVE HIM, WHEN HE TELLS YOU HE IS WITHOUT WORTH. HE HAS DONE FOR ME A GREAT FAVOUR, AND FOR MANY OTHERS, AS WELL."

"Oh, I know he's full of shit." Cormac clapped Justice on the back. "Tell me what's in the book, later, will you guys? Or, you know, just read it out loud."

"But... she stabbed it," Artemis complained. "Through the pages. Stabbity."

"Oh, with enough time I'm sure you can glue each page back together," Isabela said with a sweet smile. "And you can still read most of the words. Especially these. Ooh, naughty _Fade_ words!" She pouted, squinting at the words. "Hang on. I think this is in Tevene. Fenris, translate for us!"

She shoved the wounded book under his nose. He recoiled with a glare, ears twitching. "I can't read," he snapped. Then he looked more closely at the book. "Oh, but there are... pictures. But that doesn't even look physically possible. How can--?" He took the book out of Isabela's hand and pressed the torn edges of a page together. "Ah. Still. That's... interesting." He cleared his throat, gaze flitting to Artemis before skittering away.

Isabela looked over Fenris's shoulder. "Pictures? Where? I don't see any pictures. Here, I'll read you what I see, and you tell me what it means. I can't make out all the words, but I'll pick out the parts that aren't all stabbed through. Oh, here's a word. Irra-- Irum-- Iro-- What the fuck does that even say?" She was standing so close she would _be_ Fenris if she were any closer, and she grabbed his hands to steady the book as she tried to read over his shoulder. "Irrumabo? Is that a word?"

Fenris's ears turned bright pink and he choked, trying to cough and swallow at the same time. " _What_?"

"Ooooh! That's a word! What's it mean?" Isabela bounced insistently against his back.

"I must have heard you wrong. What did you say it was?" There was simply no way that word would be in a book meant to appeal to Artemis's desire for knowledge.

"Ir-ru-ma-bo," Isabela sounded it out, again.

"Your accent is horrible, and you've got the accent on the wrong syllable," Fenris complained.

"What's it meeeeean!?" she nagged, nuzzling behind his ear, just to be annoying. "I bet it's something wicked, the way you won't say."

"I will make you suck my dick," Fenris declared, and Isabela choked and coughed in his ear.

"Is that a promise?"

"No, that's what it means! The word." Fenris shuddered and eyed Artemis desperately.

Artemis's cheeks coloured at the way Fenris was regarding him. Fenris saying those words, with that sinful voice... He coughed into his hand. "I-I think maybe we should put the book away?" 

"Oh, but this is fun!" Isabela wheedled. "Look at how fidgety you're both getting! Artie, is this you wanting to learn dirty words for Fenris?"

Artemis made a choked sound in the back of his throat.

"Oh come on! Let me teach you a few more!" Isabela bit her lip and squinted at a phrase towards the end of the page. "How about this one? Ped... pedica me cum tua--"

"Okay!" Fenris snapped the book shut and tossed it over his shoulder. "That is enough!" His ears were beyond twitching and on to the point of quivering.

Isabela ducked back and scooped it up, clutching it jealously. "Well, I know _I_ want to know more of what's in here, if it's going to make you look like _that_!"

"Would you like to walk up here, with the relatively sane people, Artemis?" Cormac asked, not turning around, as Isabela started sounding out words again, between the occasional squeak and ruffle of Fenris trying to wrench the book away from her. He suspected from a few sounds that teeth might be involved. Whose and where, he dared not speculate.

And that's when Justice stopped short, pointing as something _very_ recognisable as a demon approached from the other end of the room. "DEMON." He wasn't sure if anyone else could make it out, as such. They certainly hadn't been able to determine the book _wasn't_ a demon.

"Well, it's rare to see two forgotten magics in one day," the demon said, sounding more than a little impressed with their sudden appearance. "It's usually a slow place, the Fade. Not many surprises. I wasn't sure I'd like this one... but it has potential."

"A DEMON OF SLOTH," Justice clarified. "IT EXISTS TO MAKE MEN FORGET THEIR PURPOSE AND THEIR PRIDE -- DO NOT RELAX AROUND IT!"

"As if I'm going to be relaxed, before we get out of this distressing impression of the damned Templar Hall..." Cormac muttered.

"Call me Torpor," the demon introduced itself. "I have a proposition that might interest you."

"Does it involve you fucking off and dropping dead?" Cormac asked. "Because that would interest me a great deal."

"But what about your brother?" Torpor swung its head lazily to focus on Artemis, who took a step back, angling his staff in front of him. Fenris growled and drew his sword. "Poor Artemis. You must be so tired, fighting it for so long. Trying to stay in control and always so afraid. Wouldn't your life be so much easier without your magic? You could stop running, stop fighting. You could lead a normal life, and Fenris would never leave you."

No sooner had the demon finished speaking than Artemis shoved it back with a wave of force magic, strong enough to make his friends stagger. "Do us a favour and stop talking," he said with a brittle smile that didn't mask the way his voice was shaking.

The demon straightened and let out a weary sigh. "Have it your way," it said.

Demons, as Justice had pointed out, were a lot less pleasant in the Fade, and they weren't exactly sweetness and light out of it, either. Still, this was something they'd done before and they'd do again, pounding the demon and its attending shades into nothingness. It was, all told, easier than what they'd been through with Hadriana. It had, however, been a sloth demon, and not inclined to swift and brutal attacks. 

Once they were sure this first assault was over, Cormac shouldered his staff and turned to his brother, holding out his arms. "Hey, c'mere. There's nothing wrong with you. I keep telling you that. If there's something wrong with you, there's something wrong with me and Bethy, too, and you know we're perfect." The grin that went with that punchline was a little sadder than it should have been.

"Don't." Artemis was still shaking, grip tight on his staff. "Just don't." Cormac understood better than most but not fully. _His_ magic was all about protection, bolstering. Artemis's was pure destruction.

"Mage," Fenris murmured, stepping in front of Artemis, touching his arms and then his face. He could feel Artemis's jaw muscles working under his palms. " _Amatus_. I'm here. See me."

Artie scoffed, smiling weakly, bitterly. "I'm not panicking, Fenris," he said without looking up. "Can we all please just pretend this never happened? All right? All right." 

"No! No, it's not all fucking right!" Cormac turned away and stormed toward the stairs on one side of the room. "My little brother just got tempted by a demon, and there really wasn't shit I could do for him, and by Andraste, I need a fucking hug. It's _not_ all fucking right!"

A patter of light footsteps sounded behind him, and then Isabela was on his back, legs wrapped around his hips, arms over his shoulders. "C'mere, Mage-Shoulders. I'll give you all the hugs you want."

Cormac stopped, leaning on the wall. "Shit. I'm sorry. Thanks, Izzy." He patted her hand with his other hand, and just stood like that a while. "You-- It's just you, right?"

"The one and only! Probably for the best, really. I got nothing nice to say about the family." Isabela laughed. "I like yours much better. Especially your sister."

"Can we not talk about your deranged lust for my baby sister?" Cormac sounded a little strained. "I got enough going on here, without that."

Isabela reached down with the hand Cormac wasn't holding and slapped his ass. "You've always got enough going on, _right here_!"

Cormac finally laughed. "Fuck a duck. Fuck a fucking duck, Izzy."

"But, why would I do that, when I can fuck a Hawke, instead?" She squealed and laughed as he pinched her, climbing off his back.

Artemis watched the exchange and conjured a smile for everyone, pulling away from Fenris, who frowned. He wasn't going to think about it. He was going to shut off that part of himself and poke at it later when he was alone and his surroundings demon-free. "Shall we?" he asked Justice. "This has been a fun vacation and all, but I prefer the books at home."

Justice nodded. "WE MOVE ON," he boomed. They walked up the steps Cormac had started up and opened the door, the Fade shifting around them as they did, shadows melding and reforming.


	58. Chapter 58

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And then, everything went wrong.

They were still in the Templar Hall, but at the far end of the room was a desk and a young Feynriel sitting behind it. Very young. Much younger than when they'd last met him.

"That's it, Feynriel," said a man with an Antivan accent. He stood over Feynriel's shoulder, watching him write. The man was familiar, and Artemis squinted at his features. Feynriel's father? "Hard on the downstroke, then lift. Good!" The boy beamed up at his father with heartbreaking pride. "I'll have you scribing all my letter soon. If I'd known you were such a bright lad, I'd have brought you into the business years ago."

"Does that mean I can come with you to Antiva, Father? Mother said maybe this summer, right Mother?" The boy looked across the room and... 

Cormac looked at himself. Boobs. Dress. Light skin. "Andraste's brazen and polished thigh," he muttered, before getting himself together and crossing the room to the boy. Why couldn't this have been Fenris? At least Fenris was an elf!

"A summer in Antiva sounds like a wonderful holiday, but since when has the shem wanted anything to do with you? How many years has it been that he's just brushed us off, and suddenly, now, he wants to sweep you off to Antiva?" Cormac laid a hand across his... He was not getting used to the idea of his chest not being where he thought it was, as he smacked himself in the boob that wasn't supposed to be there. "I suppose we should be grateful for the attention, after so long, but what's he after, I wonder?"

"What _do_ you want? It has been a long time, hasn't it?" The boy looked up at his father.

"Don't listen to her, son. She's always been ashamed of you," Feynriel's father explained, carefully. "She wanted you gone, so she could go back to the Dalish. I'm the one who loves you."

"But... why can't I remember you?" Feynriel asked, in slow realisation that something was, perhaps, not quite right.

"Because it's a trick, Feynriel. He wants something from you." Cormac elected not to move any more than he had to. At least he could say he'd been an elf, now. And a woman. He decided he wasn't terribly fond of _being_ either one.

"Why...? That's right! I spent my whole childhood waiting for you!" Outrage began to dawn on Feynriel's face.

"Your mother never allowed--" his father began.

"No, my mother loves me. She showed me the letters she wrote you. You never wrote back!" There it was. Disgust, confusion, and offense. "And it was mother who taught me to write, not you! I've never met you before! Who are you?"

"Don't--" The man lit up, radiating what Cormac had come to identify as fade glow. "-- question --" A flash of light blocked out everything, for a moment. "-- me!" 

And that was a desire demon, yes it was. Cormac had seen those, before. And, oh look, no more freaky body parts that didn't belong to him.

Feynriel took one look, and ran out of the room, with a shout of surprise. As Cormac moved to go after him, the demon got in his way.

"You. You turned him against me." The demon pointed at Cormac.

"Yeah, funny thing that, I have an enormous prejudice against demons." Cormac shrugged. "Gets away from me, sometimes. I'd say I was sorry, but I'm really not."

"Take away my pets, and I'll take away yours. How loyal are these friends you drag into the Fade?" The demon smiled like it had already won.

"Don't even bother tempting me," Artemis said. "I'm not into boobs." Please, please no more demons staring through him.

The demon looked past him directly at Isabela. "Would your pirate queen stay if the open water beckoned?" she asked, voice echoing with magic as she sauntered over to Isabela, who -- fuck -- who looked far too interested in what this demon had to say. "What do you say, sweetheart? A two-mast brigantine, a square-main topsail... a hundred well-built lads to answer your every whim." Isabela tilted her head, eyes glazed as she pictured it.

"Isabela," Fenris growled, but she didn't respond.

The demon continued, hand tracing enticingly over the curve of one breast. "I know you've been looking for a stiff masthead."

Isabela hummed. 

Well. Hard to compete with that. 

"Between us we've got two dicks, an assortment of dildoes, and some amazing magic tricks," Cormac offered. "Sure you'll get more dicks with the ship, but you're really losing out on the sparkles."

"Oh, I can give her all the sparkles she wants," the demon purred, eyes still locked on Isabela.

Artemis sighed in resignation. "Shall I just turn around now to let you stab me in the back, or would you like it to be a surprise?"

"At least you're an easier target than the book," Fenris added.

"Not helpful, Fen."

Isabela tutted as she looked at Artemis, already reaching for her knives. "You are just the sweetest," she said. 

"The 'Siren's Call Two' awaits in Kirkwall Harbour," said the demon, stepping back while Isabela followed. "I'll be under the furs in the captain's quarters."

"I like big boats. I cannot lie." Isabela struck out at Cormac, first. A shot that would have landed, right in his kidney, had he been anyone else. As it stood, apparently an Arcane specialist in the Fade was an extremely dangerous thing. Perhaps moreso than usual.

"I know," Cormac said, with a sad smile, as he clenched his fist, and the fabric of the Fade began to crush one of his dearest friends. "I forgive you, Izzy. I'll see you on the other side."

The demon, however, let him be, focusing first on Fenris and his enormous sword -- a very recognisable threat. It purred offers as it danced between his strikes. "You don't like magic very much, do you? Corrupts and destroys everything it touches. But, what if I give you your mage, with no magic? What if I give you a lover who can never become what you fear?"

Fenris got sloppy, and oddly that's when he finally landed a hit. Artemis free of all the -- No. He _liked_ the earthquakes. Anton had made a joke about trashy Orlesian novels, and how the heroes talked about it being so good the earth moved, and despite never having read any trashy Orlesian novels, himself, not being able to do so, that idea had stuck with him. Artemis's earthquakes had become something Fenris could be proud of. And on top of that, he'd just watched Artemis refuse a demon who was apparently tempting him with the _exact same thing_. That was something they were going to have to talk about, later, he was sure, especially now they'd both turned it down.

The demon made shrill sounds, every time it was struck, which was, perhaps, not as often as Fenris would have liked. He tried to ignore the sound of Isabela becoming a cube of goo in a pool of blood, next to him, but it wasn't the first time he'd been present for something like this. It wasn't even the first time it was someone he kind of liked. No, Artemis wouldn't turn against him. _Cormac_ , though... The mage had turned on their companion without question, even when there was no reasonable way she could have hit him.

In the end, it was Justice who struck the killing blow, not with a blaze of magic but with a sword that rivalled Fenris's in size, a spike of blue light through the demon's chest. She wailed and thrashed, disintegrating into the air in a plume of ashes.

And then there were four. Fenris was still panting when he looked up, eyes catching Artemis's and knowing from the look on his face that he'd heard the demon's words. 

"You _are_ afraid of me," Artemis said, face pale. He looked like he was going to be ill.

"Artemis," Fenris started, but his mage was shutting himself off again and making for the door, knuckles white around his staff. He ached to follow, but he feared getting thrown into a wall for his efforts. Fenris growled and turned to Justice. "How much more of this, spirit?" 

"FEYNRIEL'S POWER ATTRACTS POWERFUL DEMONS," Justice boomed. "I CAN SENSE AT LEAST ONE MORE NEARBY."

"That's fucking great." Cormac was down into the expletives at the end of his nerves. "Let's go get this over with. Anybody else got any deep, dark desires they want to get off their chests, before we take care of this shit and get the fuck out? No? Great. Do me a favour and don't stab me in the fucking kidneys. Find the damned kid, Justice, and let's just get him out of here."

He didn't look at the pile of flesh that used to be Isabela, but his knuckles were pale on the hand around his staff, as he followed Justice back out of the room. She'd be fine, he told himself. She wasn't a mage. She certainly wasn't the mage whose dream they were in. She'd wake up with a nasty headache, and when he got back, he'd punch her in the fucking teeth, and they'd be fine. It was all just fucking fine.

Gritting his teeth, Artemis pushed into the next room, eager to get this over with. The Fade warped again, one reality bleeding into another, and there in the middle of the room stood Marethari, addressing a crowd of ghostly elves.

"My people," she said. "I present to you our hope. His features may mark him as human, but in his heart beats the blood of the Dales!" Feynriel stepped up beside her, looking somewhere between bewildered and hopeful. 

Artemis pushed his way through the crowd, only noticing then how noodly his arms were. He looked down to see long pale hands that were definitely not his. "What in the...?" Okay, and that _voice_ was definitely not his, either. 

"He came to us to learn his heritage," Marethari was saying, "to release the power from a lineage as ancient as our own."

Feynriel shuffled from one foot to the other, ducking his head. "I... I don't know what to say."

And, really, Artemis had had just about enough of this bullshit. "You could say, 'Hey, I know you're a demon. Stop that!'" And that was... Was he speaking with _Orsino's_ voice? Great. Just great.

"Do not listen to him!" Marethari said, turning to Feynriel. "The First Enchanter is a pawn of the templars!"

"No," Feynriel said, straightening and speaking with a conviction that wasn't there before. "Silence, demon! Weren't you... Keeper Marethari warned me of this!" Feynriel started edging back and away, and Artemis readied to intercept the demon in case she -- he -- it --- decided to follow. "You're not the Keeper! Mother's people have no Circle, but they don't consort with demons!" Feynriel darted off, disappearing in a flash of blue magic.

Not-Marethari turned a glare Artemis's way, lips curled in a snarl. Artemis smiled cheerfully.

"You!" she growled. "Why did you interfere?"

There was another flash of blinding light and -- yep, that was a demon. An ugly one, too, all scales and spikes and long, twisting horns. "Really? Cormac gets the one with the boobs, and I get this?" And, thank the Maker, that was his voice, and yes, those were his hands.

"You don't even like boobs, Artie." Cormac shrugged, something like a smile lingering on his lips. His shoulders had gone loose and his chin tipped up, arrogantly. It wasn't that he'd stopped being bothered -- terrified -- by this, except that's exactly what it was. He was running on hope and fumes, and there was nothing that would stop him finishing what he'd come to do.

"And _you._ Why did we interfere? Because the kid's ours, not yours, you slavering donkeyfuck. Now, back away from my brother, before I end you." Done. He was just _done_.

The demon turned its gaze to Cormac. "You worry so much about your precious little brother, don't you? What if the templars get him? What if that mage-hating elf hurts him? What if he just can't take it any more and kills himself?"

No part of Cormac had ever been as white as his knuckles were on his staff. This wasn't what he wanted Artemis to hear. Ever.

"What if I give you everything you need to make the world safe for him, for you, for your activist lover? What if I give you the power to show him he has nothing more to fear. You'll always be there to protect him. No templar can stand against you."

Cormac's eyes squeezed shut, damp in the corners, and he pressed his forehead against his staff. He wanted that. He wanted it so very much.

"Perhaps you will even be the mage to get the Order disbanded. A world without templars, just like you always wanted. A letter to the king wouldn't have helped, you know, but I can."

"No," Cormac breathed, voice shaking. "I'm enough. I've always been enough, and I'm not so weak as to think I need help doing what I've done without your help, for all these years."

Still, he was frozen in place, still trying to find the ends of his fingers, as all his nerves fired in all the ways he didn't want them to -- a dizzying storm of a thousand tiny pains and doubts -- as the demon turned to Justice.

"And you, brother? You have stepped into the world, where you are not as strong. Will you accept my help to further your cause and his? The templars still stand against you. The people fear magic as a curse. A thousand years of fear and hatred cannot be overturned with what little you have left to you. Let me help you, my brother. We will do this together."

Justice had spent too long with Anders, and for a moment, the offer nearly appealed. To have a conduit back to the Fade. To be able to channel the power he had once commanded. But, no. The thing in front of him was what happened to good spirits who succumbed to human desire. 

"I HAVE NO INTEREST IN YOU, DEMON," Justice replied. "ANDERS AND I HAVE A STRONG TEAM TO WORK WITH. WE DO NOT NEED THE POWER OF THE FADE TO CHANGE THE MINDS OF MEN. WE NEED THE TRUST OF MEN, AND THAT YOU CANNOT GIVE US, HONESTLY."

"You're grasping at straws, here, demon," Artemis said, his chin at a defiant angle. He had a hand on his brother's shoulder, gripping hard enough to bruise, to feel Cormac shaking. He was about ready to tear down the walls of the Fade with his bare hands. For the demon to use him against Cormac like that...

"Am I?" the demon purred. "What about your lover? Do you think this slave would choose you over his freedom?"

Fenris stepped up to Artemis's other side, lip curled in a sneer. He'd been tempted once already. He wasn't about to give in to whatever this filth had to offer. "Cast your eyes elsewhere, demon," he spat. "I won my freedom from the magisters long ago."

"But you fear them still," said the demon, beady eyes focused on Fenris. "They left their marks on your body and your mind." Lyrium markings itched but would not light. Markings Danarius wanted back. Fenris remembered the pain of getting them, agony excruciating enough to wipe out everything he was before. Here, in the Fade, staring into the eyes of a demon, the memory of that pain was so vivid he could taste bile in the back of his throat. "With my aid, you could be free forever. You could have power enough to challenge any who would chain you!"

Images of Danarius on his knees and begging for mercy replaced the memory of pain, and Fenris smiled.

"Fenris?" And that was another mage -- _his_ mage, a distant part of him struggled to remember. He turned to see that mage's eyes wide and terrified on his. "Don't you do this to me. Don't you dare."

"My life does not revolve around the will of a mage," Fenris growled. He turned back to the demon and all else seemed to blur at the edges. "What... would you want from me?"

"A moment of your time," said the demon, "and nothing more."

Artemis stared at Fenris, at the lost light in his eyes, and shook his head. "Don't do this to me," he said again in a broken voice as Fenris drew his sword. He made no move to defend himself as Fenris attacked.

Cormac turned like a well-trained mabari, eyes locked on Fenris, face a mask of rage, as he slapped Artemis behind him with one hand and swung his staff with the other. Fenris shot back and skidded across the room on his ass. "You stay away from my brother," Cormac roared.

_Mine, mine, mine. Not yours._ It echoed in his head as he stepped closer. "Close your eyes, Artie. Please. I don't want you to see this." He clenched his fist, as Fenris struggled to his feet, and the elf went right back down. "It's going to be fine. Just don't watch. Don't watch me do this."

Behind him, Justice engaged the demon, the clank of metal and the lack of breathing sounds a distinct reminder that Anders was not here. There was no healer. Just Cormac and this spirit-warrior. And Artemis, who wasn't moving, as best Cormac could tell. He tried to stand in the way, to block the view with his body. And now the count was up to two. Twice today, he'd had to watch people he'd fought for and defended die. Twice today, he'd had to kill them, even if only in a dream. "Justice? Just keep it away from Artie!"

Cormac turned around in time to see a blade almost as large as Fenris's plunge through the demon's chest. In a blaze, the thing was gone.

"Artie?" Cormac lurched stiffly back to his brother's side. "I'm sorry. I couldn't let him-- I love you. He'll be waiting for you outside, and after that, it better be with embrium and whiskey, or I'll punch him right in his stupid point-eared face all over again."

The words washed right over Artie, who just kept staring, unseeing, at where Fenris had been standing. His breathing was ragged and too fast.

Torpor's words echoed through his head. If he'd taken the deal, Fenris wouldn't have seen him as an enemy. If he'd taken the deal, Fenris wouldn't be afraid of him. If he'd taken the deal, he wouldn't have had to see this. 

Artemis stared at the gore his brother had crushed the man he loved into and promptly lost his lunch on his brother's feet.

"Oh, shit, Artie..." Cormac wrapped his arms around his brother, pulling him close. The boots... well, they were boots. He'd stepped in worse. It probably wasn't real anyway. His brother, however, was the realest thing here, and at this point, almost the only thing that mattered. "Don't look. He's fine. He's outside waiting for us. Demons, kiddo. It probably wasn't even really him. I'm so sorry, Artie. I couldn't -- You're my world."

And with that, Cormac started to shake again, tears streaming down his face, as he just kept holding on to Artemis. "Shit. Waterworks. Sorry. I'll try not to get snot in your hair."

Artemis pressed his face into Cormac's shoulder, eyes screwed tight against his own tears. He clutched at the arms around him, Cormac's sleeves bunching under his fingers. He had to pull himself together. For his brother's sake as much as his. He could have a proper breakdown later after a bottle of rum. 

"I puked on your shoes," he said in a watery voice with a watery smile. "You're allowed to get whatever you want in my hair."

Justice's silence in the wake of that startled a hysterical laugh out of him. "Anders would have said something ridiculous to that," Artemis said. His tears kept falling, the blasted things.

"Come on. It's just you and me and shouty, over there. Let's get the kid, get out, and go the fuck home. We'll get trashed and eat pastries. I'll get Anders to give us both back massages." Cormac managed a shaky laugh and kissed his brother's cheek. "I'll let you sleep in my room, tonight, like when we were kids. Pillow fort. We can unscrew the brass bits of the bed and throw them at Anton."

"WE DO NOT HAVE MUCH TIME," Justice reminded them. "COME QUICKLY, BEFORE FEYNRIEL IS LOST TO US."

Artemis sucked in a breath and steeled himself, slowly disentangling himself from his brother. "I'll hold you to that," he said with a shaky smile, wiping at his eyes with the heel of his hand. "And we can tease Carver about Merrill when we get back. Mum is going to have kittens."

Justice led the brothers out of that accursed room and back into the main entryway, where Feynriel stood, looking about him. "I'm not sure if this is real," he said as they approached. "If so, it is the second time I owe you my life." He offered the brothers and spirit a sheepish smile. "The Fade feels different now. I can see the stitches, the seams holding it together. I feel I could wake at any moment."

Artemis gave him a tired smile. "Dreamers control the Fade and the dreams of people in it," he said. "It's a neat party trick, really."

And there was something to think about. As much as Artemis hated his own magic, his force magic, Feynriel's gifts were much more terrifying.

"I see why the Chantry fears us! I've heard tales of magisters who stalked their enemies and used their own dreams to destroy them." Feynriel looked like that very thing was occurring to him, as well. "I must learn to master it, find someone to study under. The Dalish do not have what I need. Perhaps Tevinter. If these powers can be trained, it would be there. My mother would not look kindly on such a journey. Can you give her my farewell?"

"I could," Cormac admitted, "but you should do it yourself. You've faced demons. You should probably learn to stand up to your mum."

Feynriel huffed irritatedly. "But, it's two days down the mountain and back into the city!"

"I'll tell Marethari to wait for you, if you think you need backup." Cormac was grinning again, as if he were talking to his own brother. "But, she's not a pride demon. She's just your mum. Tell her not to worry. You're going to a place where you'll be taught how to be amazing, and then you can come bother her in her dreams. Look me up, sometime, too. Let me know how that's going for you. I'd tell you to drop in on my brother, too, but I know the kinky shit that goes on in his head." He elbowed Artemis.

Artemis opened his mouth to argue, only to pause to consider that. He closed his mouth and nodded with a shrug.

Feynriel shook his head, smiling softly. He turned around and sucked in a breath, squaring his shoulders. "I can do this," he said. He waved his hand, and the air rippled, the Fade bending and warping again.

* * *

Artemis's eyes fluttered open, and he found himself back in the Alienage, in Arianni's rooms. The walls and floor were solid in a way the Fade hadn't been, and Artemis was tempted to kiss them. "Oh, thank the Maker," he breathed. He looked about to see his brother and Anders stirring nearby, with Marethari standing over them. Fenris and Isabela were nowhere to be found, and for a moment, Artemis had to fight down his panic, worried that their deaths in the Fade had been more real than they'd thought.

Isabela kicked the door open. "Are they back yet?" she demanded, stopping as Cormac sat up, rubbing his eyes. "You killed me!"

"You stabbed me," he replied, voice pitching up in exasperation, "in the kidney!"

"I know." It was as close to an apology as one could expect from Isabela, and she made her way down the stairs, dropping into Cormac's lap, with a smile. "Good on you. C'mere, Mage-Shoulders. I owe you a little something after that."

Cormac laughed. "After I get some real sleep, I'll buy you a drink and loosen your teeth. We'll both feel better. Demons, right?"

"How did you...?" Isabela asked, leaning back to squint at him.

"You didn't have our dad, Izzy. You don't say yes to demons, and you don't say shit to templars. Doesn't matter what they're offering, they're all lying." And that sparked an uncomfortable thought about Anton. "Where's the broody death elf?"

"Outside having a nervous breakdown. What happened in there?" Isabela toyed with Cormac's beard.

Cormac took a deep, shivery breath, and then heaved it back out. "Demons, Izzy. Demons. You stabbed me in the kidney. He--" He tipped his head at Artemis.

Isabela looked horrified. "No! I'd have thought he'd go for you! You're the annoying one!"

"Fucking thanks, Izzy. See how much dick that gets you." Cormac laughed, coming up short as he remembered something. "Anders? Is that really you?"

Anders offered him a crooked smile. "Well," he said, looking down at his hands and turning them over, "I'm not glowing, so I guess it must be." He sucked in a breath. "Maker, that was weird. Like being a passenger in my own body." Which must be what it was like for Justice all the time. A trapped observer. "Can we not do that again? I could live without doing that again."

Artemis's nervous laugh said he agreed. As it was, he wasn't sure how he was going to sleep after that, if that's where he went when he dreamed.

"Were you successful?" Marethari asked. "Your friends awakened before you did and did not know. Does Feynriel live?"

"Yes," Artemis replied. "He's just peachy. He conquered his demons, and he's not Tranquil or anything."

Marethari's shoulders sagged in relief. "Then I shall tell Arianni," she said. "You have my thanks for your help in this matter." She bowed her head and ducked out of the door.

Cormac stood up, dropping Isabela on her ass. "Don't look at me like that. You stabbed me in the kidney."

"You had shields! I didn't even connect!" She was on her feet in less time than it took her to fall.

"It's the principle of the thing," Cormac insisted, reaching out to help Anders up, before holding a hand out to Artemis. "You want to go home, Artie? We've got the real Anders back, and that means awesome back massages."

"It does!" Isabela agreed. "Oh, lucky you, tonight! Any chance I can borrow him, when you're done?"

"What?" Anders sputtered. "Have you been bribing your brother with me? I am not a commodity! I am a mage!"

Cormac smiled at Anders, like the moon and all the stars shone out of his ass. "But, you're the single most talented and amazing mage in all of Thedas! And nobody's got hands like you do, Anders! Come on. We'll get you drunk and load you up with sweet cakes and quail. We can all get trashed and ignore that any of that just happened, because I don't really want to deal with it, and neither do you."

Anders looked at Cormac, at Artemis, at the twin pleading looks they were giving him, and sighed. Maker, these two were worse than any demon. "Fine," he sighed. "Though you will just have to find a way to make it worth my while." He smirked and winked at Isabela, who grinned.

Artemis was feeling all kinds of wrung-out. A massage and drinking himself stupid sounded divine in that moment, never mind how he tended to act when he was drunk. And Fenris...

Fenris was waiting just outside, wasn't he?

"I don't want to see him right now," he said, staring at the door. He trusted that he wouldn't have to explain who he meant. He picked at a splinter in his staff. If he saw Fenris right now, he suspected he'd do something he'd regret.

"Izzy, you're with me. Anders, don't let anything happen to my brother." Cormac nudged Artemis back toward Anders, before opening the door for Isabela.

She preceded him out and spotted Fenris, immediately, as he rose to his feet, every inch of him tense and leaden. Cormac knew the feeling. Isabela shook her head. "He's fine, Broody. Mostly."

"Mostly?" Fenris's eyebrow lifted.

"Here's what's going to happen," Cormac said, pulling two sovereigns out of his pocket. "You and Isabela are going to go get smashingly drunk, together, and I'm going to take my brother home with me. I'll talk to him. Demons, all right? I get it. You _know_ I get it. He'll come around. But, this is the last time, Fenris. You hurt him again, and they won't find all the pieces of you, if they bring along a templar to sniff out the lyrium. That's my little brother, and I won't have it."

"And yet, you'll _have_ him," Fenris growled.

"You really want to have this conversation in front of Izzy?" Cormac asked, cocking a thumb at her. "You took a sword to Artemis. Yes, he's pissed. You really don't get to be. Not right now."

Isabela plucked the coins out of Cormac's hand and wound her other arm through Fenris's. "What's this? Something filthy and exciting that Cormac doesn't want to tell me? Let's have a drink, Fenris, and you can tell me all about it, just to spite him."

"I need to tell him..." Fenris protested, ignoring Isabela.

"Not right now, you don't. Go drink. Wallow in guilt. Whatever you have to do. But, Artie doesn't want to look at you, right now, and I'm not sure I blame him." Cormac did not look amused, in the least, and with how often he smiled, even at the worst of times, it was that much more disturbing. "Just go. Somewhere not here. I need to get him home. When he's ready to see you, he'll come back to you. This is the last fucking time, Fenris."

Fenris's eyes screwed shut. "It is," he said. "Or at least I pray it is. I do not enjoy hurting him any more than you do." Isabela tugged on his arm, and he allowed himself to be led away, shoulders slumped in defeat. He threw Cormac and the door one last desperate look before disappearing around the corner.


	59. Chapter 59

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confessions, dirty stories, and wholly unambiguous brotherly lust.

Artemis was getting crumbs and sugar everywhere, but he was drunk enough at this point not to care, not with the taste of raspberry tart in his mouth, not with a soft bed under him or Cormac and Anders to either side. It reminded him of when he was little, when he'd shared a room with his brothers and they'd keep each other awake, long past the point when their father would scold them for being too loud and told them to go to sleep. For the eighth time. 

Granted, he was much less drunk in those days, but he'd been much less a lot of things. He wished he could go back to that time, back when his father still had all the answers.

Anders had worked Cormac into something just short of a pile of drunken goo, and he was back to applying those magic fingers to Artemis's back. "You ever considered punching things on a regular basis?" Anders asked Artemis. "Your back would probably hurt less."

"Can it not be me? Carver punches me enough." Cormac muttered from under Artie's chin. He was draped loosely across his brother's side, sprawled out under his chin. They'd all been through so much -- nope. Bottle. Where had he left it? Had they finished that one, yet? He couldn't remember, and he was much too relaxed to move, at least physically.

"I could try punching Carver," Artie suggested with a lopsided smile. "He might prefer it over another force push down the stairs. I'm sure the dog would find it funny." He arched into Anders's touch as his fingers dug at a particularly stubborn knot.

"The dog finds everything funny," Anders replied. "And Carver might be too busy 'swording' to hold still for you, but you're welcome to try." He moved on to another knot lower in Artemis's back, and Artie hissed. Anders soothed the muscles with healing magic. "For purely medicinal purposes, of course." 

"Of course." Artemis shifted until he could pull the bottle out from where he'd accidentally sat on it. There were only a few sips left, and he downed them all. The hand not holding the bottle played idly with Cormac's hair.

"Or we could get you a thing for punching," Cormac suggested. "Or you could just keep poking me with your knob. At least I hope that's your knob, or I'm a lot drunker than I thought." There was definitely something of approximately that warmth and consistency pressing against the bottom of his ribs. He was sure that wasn't a knee, because he knew where all the knees were, in this pile.

"It's probably his knob," Anders agreed. "I'm working on that spot. You know what that does to _you_."

And then Cormac's knob took an interest in the proceedings, however slight. "Oh, yes. That spot. The one you poke me in when you're cheating."

"There is no cheating in war or in bed," Anders declared, looking as prim as it was possible to, while unshaven and naked in bed with two brothers.

"It _is_ cheating," Artemis protested, squirming under Anders's fingers, "when I'm drinking. You know what I'm like when I'm drinking." At this stage, half of _Kirkwall_ knew what he was like when he was drinking. He leaned against Anders, head pillowed on a bony shoulder, and listened to Cormac's breathing, the slow rise and fall of his brother's chest against him soothing.

Artemis couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Cormac as rattled as he'd been today, and it was a reminder that his big brother wasn't as invincible as he tried to be, shields or not. He knew Cormac didn't want to talk about it -- Maker, _he_ didn't want to talk about it -- but there was something his brother needed to know.

"Cormac," Artemis said, hand still in his brother's hair, "what the demon said to you... You know I'd never do that to you, don't you?" He hoped Cormac knew what he was talking about. He'd be lying if he said the thought had never crossed his mind, but... no. He couldn't do that to his brother. Or to his mother.

"To me?" Cormac scoffed. "Don't do it to you. Nevermind me. I'll just piss on your grave and call you Sally."

Still, Cormac's fingers dug into Artemis's knee. It had been one of those things he tried so hard not to consider. And he'd considered it less, as they got older. They'd made it this far... "You're fucking perfect, Artie. You're a weird, neurotic little shit, but that's who you're meant to be, and it's perfect. I love you, even when you're knocking shit over. Even when you've cleaned the same plate seven times in an hour. Even when you force push me down the damned stairs, you dick. You're everything you should be, and that's perfect. And don't let anyone tell you otherwise, especially demons. I'll kick their asses from here to Minrathous."

"And I'll clean up after him when he sprains his ankle doing it," Anders joked. "You know, I'd almost feel like you were my little brother too, but that would just be weird." Anders considered the context there. "I mean, I only had the one brother, and he was older. Nothing like you. Youngest. Totally spoilt."

Artemis huffed a laugh, smiling past the angry lump in his throat. "Spoilt. Yes that explains a lot. Does that make you the Carver of your family? Maker."

"I prefer to think of myself as the Bethany of the family," Anders replied. "Gorgeous, magical, and terrifying."

"As long as you are gorgeous, magical, and terrifying away from her," Artemis said sweetly. "Even better if you're gorgeous, magical, and terrifying and within reach of that other bottle over there." He gestured vaguely in the direction of the nightstand.

Anders smirked and took the empty bottle from Artemis, stretching to grab the next full one. "I'd say pace yourself, but I doubt you'd listen," he said as he pressed it into Artemis's hand.

"He is pacing himself. It's just a very rapid pace." Cormac laughed against Artemis's chest. "A decent clip. The kind that says, 'Oh, Maker, we're none of us drunk enough for any of this bullshit.' Which is probably the truth of it. Especially you, Anders."

"I can't drink. You know that." Anders looked vaguely uncomfortable.

"Which is why we got you all that ridiculously sweet stuff with the strawberries." Cormac grinned and nibbled at Artemis's chest, in a way he was sure would get him swatted. "And I met your 'can't drink'. He's got nice shoulders. Or, that's what Isabela thinks, anyway. I think my shoulders are nice enough for all three of us."

Anders sighed. "I used to have nice shoulders. You should have seen me when I was a Warden."

"You've still got nice legs," Cormac pointed out.

"And a lovely flagpole," Artemis added, the bottle against his lips distorting the sound, "which is even lovelier in jade." He chuckled, making Cormac's head bounce on his chest.

Anders grinned, settling back into the pile. "I thought you'd like it," he said. "Might reach places Fenris couldn't." And then Anders wanted to bite his tongue, because, really, he shouldn't be mentioning Fenris right now. And he didn't want to, not without quite a few expletives tacked onto the name.

Artemis chuffed, expression twisting. "There's a joke there about that glowy ghost-thing he does," he said, going for the obvious quip instead of lingering on that too long. " _Reaching things_ was never really his problem." Which was fine, since the ass had enough other problems.

"Happy thoughts. Happy thoughts." Cormac rubbed his brother's thigh. "Why don't you tell Anders how your smalls ended up under his pillow? I'm not sure I did the story justice."

"Justice had nothing to do with that, neither in person nor conceptually." Anders laughed squeezing Artemis's hips, before he reached for another strawberry cream cake. "But, I suspect I did get the abridged version. And I'm so sad I wasn't invited. Justice, however, seems to be somewhat relieved."

"Justice needs to get laid," Cormac muttered. "I should have talked him into Isabela, while we were in the Fade. You'd be better for it."

"If I haven't been able to talk him into it after all this time, I doubt even you could," Anders said with a mouth full of cake. "Not to cast aspersions on your abilities."

"Is there even anything under all that armour _to_ get laid?" Artemis asked. "I mean, his head was like a bucket. Is there even a face under there, let alone a knob?"

Anders paused mid-chew, gaze turning far away for a moment. "I don't think Justice likes you discussing his knob."

"So he has one?"

"Not sure," Anders sighed. "But either way, I don't think the spirit is willing. But go on. Tell me the Smalls Story. Cormac said something about you in a corset?"

Artemis let out a nervous laugh, passing a hand in front of his eyes. "Maker, that. Yes. Blame Aveline. And rum. Who knew those two things could be such a frightening combination?"

"I did!" Cormac raised his hand. "And what were you even doing getting drunk with Aveline? Somehow, I never heard this part of the story. You muttered something about a corset shop in Lowtown, but... Oh, tell me where that is, when we're less drunk, would you? Anders thinks my ass needs to come in pretty colours."

"No, I think I need to come in your pretty-coloured ass." Anders grinned at Cormac over Artemis's shoulder. "Still, most shops don't stock things like those smalls in your brother's size. He's a little larger in the hips and smaller in the ass than most ladies."

"I'm for anything that ends in you coming in my ass." Cormac grinned and pinched Artemis's thigh. "Weren't you telling a story?"

Artemis swatted his brother's hand away. "Yes, yes," he sighed. "Well... I took Aveline out for drinks because I was hoping she could give me some advice."

"What advice were you asking for that it ended in green panties?" Anders asked. Then his brow smoothed over, and he realised. "Ohh. Does this have to do with you, Fenris, and a distinct lack of earthquakes?"

Artemis groaned and let his head thunk back into Anders's shoulder. "Does everyone know about that? There really _are_ no secrets in Kirkwall."

"Earthquakes generally aren't the most subtle thing. But go on."

"So, anyway," Artemis continued. "Aveline and I got drunk off our asses as I explained the situation. 'Nice underwear' was the least objectionable of her suggestions, and she told me she knew a place. And no, Cormac, I don't know if I could find it, sober or not. I was much too drunk, and she was much too lost. I'm surprised we even made it back to the mansion."

"Andraste's ass. Can you please not get that drunk in public? Even and perhaps especially with the captain of the guard? It's not your virtue I'm worried about, it's just you getting stabbed in the face." Cormac rubbed his cheek against Artemis's chest. "You've got a very nice face. I'd hate for Anders to have to put it back together from scraps."

Anders stuck his strawberry cream covered fingers in Cormac's mouth. "Shut up, Cormac. Your brother's talking about Aveline putting him in a corset. Does this involve as much giggling and lace-pulling as I imagine it does? If not, don't ruin my illusions."

Artemis huffed and rolled his eyes. "Hooks, not laces," he said. "And more swearing than giggling, at least on my end. There were also these... ribbon things." He gestured over his legs in a zigzag pattern. "Hard to explain. I looked hot, though." He did, even if he hadn't been too thrilled with the idea at first. "I think Aveline paid for it, which was sweet. I'd say I owe her drink, but I have a feeling that would end in her getting me a thong."

"Now _there's_ a picture," Anders said, looking over Artemis's body suggestively.

"No," Artie said with a flat look. "I draw the line there." Anders opened his mouth to protest, and Artemis shook his head. "Don't, or I'll start talking about Justice's knob again. Do you want the story or not?"

"Yes," Anders sighed.

"Good. So, moving on... we stumbled back to the mansion -- Maker knows how -- and we found Fenris and Cormac in the drawing room. Oh, and I was wearing the new corset under my robes. And then... Maker, what even happened next?" He looked down at the top of Cormac's head, his hand sliding out of his brother's hair to rub at his nape.

Cormac tongued Anders's fingers out of his mouth. "Shit, I don't remember. I was just as drunk as you were. ... Oh! You said Aveline got you drunk and took you shopping, and I kept pestering you to show us what you'd bought. I don't know. It was Aveline. I was expecting something completely bizarre, but not... I was not expecting to find out a woman bought my brother underwear."

Anders shoved his fingers back in Cormac's mouth, as Cormac started to laugh, holding his tongue until the cackling let up. He wiped his fingers on Cormac's cheek, smiling at Artemis, the whole time.

"And then you got stuck in your robe, so I got up to help you out of it. I thought maybe you'd gotten Fenris's name tattooed on your ass, and I was winding up to be so pissed. And then Fenris and I almost choked on our tongues. Corset. Neither of us were expecting the corset. I think I said something about your hot ass, and then Fenris got all sappy and shit. I don't know, I was trying to drink myself into oblivion, because at the time, I was pretty sure that I really shouldn't have wanted to get down on my knees and lick your legs, but I was drunk and you were wearing ribbons."

Artemis continued his 'rapid pacing' with the bottle as Cormac spoke, until this last bit forced a hysterical giggle out of him. "I remember thinking I liked the way you were looking at me," he admitted, in that warm, floaty headspace only alcohol could bring him to. "Both of you." And now his knob was definitely poking at Cormac just thinking about it.

Artemis coughed and cleared his throat. "But yes, then... then Fenris said... something." His face fell. "'All of you', he said. 'I love all of you', magic and all. The lying little shit."

And, yep, Artemis was definitely not drunk enough for this. He suspected he could drink all the whiskey and rum in the world, and he'd still never be drunk enough for this.

"I don't think he was lying, Artie. I just think there are still things he loves more than you. That's what demons do, right? They exploit those things you don't think are going to come back and bite you in the ass. Shit, you heard what it said to me, and I wish you hadn't, but there it is. You have to know how hard it was for me to turn that down, but I knew it was lying. I knew in my bones, in the way we know because we're mages. He's not like us. We can say he should have known, but... He couldn't have. The thing got into his head, and he wasn't ready for it." Cormac pressed his lips to Artemis's chest. "Enough of this. This isn't the sexy part of the story. Skip it."

Anders wrapped an arm around Artemis's waist and kissed the top of his head. He said nothing, but the way the flagpole pressed itself against Artemis's back, he didn't have to. He hoped the kisses would say more.

"Skip to the part where I told him to eat your ass, and he looked at me like I was crazy. You'd think he'd never heard of such a thing, before!" Cormac laughed, maybe a little too loudly.

That made Artemis wonder, in hindsight, if maybe he hadn't. And that just led to questions he wasn't sure he wanted to ask. He paused to wet his throat, twice, before he continued.

"He said he wanted me on my knees," Artemis explained, shivering at memory of those words on Fenris's lips. "And Cormac suggested... that. Cormac was so very helpful." He paused to tousle Cormac's hair. It tickled where it touched his skin. "And, Maker, but Fenris did it. Not sure he knew what he was doing at first, but he is a fast learner." Artemis closed his eyes to better picture it, to remember it. "Maker, his tongue was... He kept making these growling sounds as he was doing it." The thought made him laugh even as his hips squirmed under Cormac.

"Now I _really_ wish you'd invited me," Anders said.

Cormac stretched and twisted, not so subtly pressing his side against Artemis's knob. He tipped his head back and nipped under his brother's chin. "Oh, I wanted to, Anders. But, you know how Fenris gets. I might have said your name once, and I thought he was going to start removing my internal organs."

"I could see where that might ruin the mood," Anders admitted. "Even for you."

"Oh, haaa. You're funny." Cormac did not look amused, but he dragged his nails down Artemis's thigh and kept talking. "You told me to stay, Artie. I remember that. He didn't look pleased, but you wanted me there, so you got me. And you threw your smalls in my face at some point, too. But, I was lying there on the couch, drinking to forget -- and I may never forget the parts I still remember -- just watching you rock your hips against his face, and I knew what you wanted. And I knew what Anders and I always did for you. And I don't remember the next part. I don't remember how it happened. Probably panic. I know I suggested he get you something to grind on... but... how we got from there..."

Artemis laughed weakly. "I'm not sure I remember either," he lied. "Something about a pillow... an embroidered one, I remember that. Which... ow. Next thing I know, you're... I'm... we're..." He remembered the heat of Cormac's body under his, that same heat that was pressed to his side even now.

How _had_ they gotten there? Through sheer madness, that's how.

Anders kept quiet, but his flagpole told Artemis that he was extremely interested in this story. And if Artie kept telling this story while he was drinking like this, he was going to end up doing something regrettable. He went on with the story anyway.

"Cormac took care of the grease, which was... something else Fenris didn't seem to have heard of. And then he was pushing into me, and _oh_." Artemis sighed at the memory and bit his lip.

"Tell me what he's like, Artie. Tell me how he fucks." Cormac squirmed, trying to keep himself in check. "All I could feel was you rutting against my ass. He was growling, you were making those desperate little noises you make, when you don't want anyone to hear how much you want it. It doesn't work, by the way. Anyone who's ever been close enough to hear you knows exactly how much you want it. Maker's breath."

Anders reached around Artemis and pinched one of Cormac's nipples, digging in his nail and tugging at it.

Cormac arched, nearly drooling down Artemis's chest. "Oh, shit. I know it was selfish. I know it was so fucking selfish, Artie, but I wanted you inside me so bad."

"Shit... Cormac..." Those words went straight to his knob the same way Fenris's growls had. He sat up and tugged on his brother's hair until Cormac was looking at him. "And I wanted you to scream for me the way you scream for Anders, but you were so quiet." His grip was tight in Cormac's hair, just tight enough to sting, and Artemis tried to reel himself in.

Fenris, he reminded himself. _His brother._

"Oh, fuck, Artie. I bit myself bloody. It wasn't about me. It was about you. You and Fenris. I was part of the furniture. I was just there to keep you from shooting out all over the carpet." Cormac writhed with Anders still toying with his nipples and Artemis pulling his hair. "Do you want me to scream for you? You know I will. I will lie down and let you tear me apart. Just please, please put it in me, Artie. Shove your knob up my ass and fuck me bloody."

Cormac's eyes drifted shut. That wasn't what he'd wanted to say. That wasn't something he'd ever wanted to say. He wanted that, sure, but there was a difference between wanting it and actually asking for it. Begging, really, in this case.

"Andraste's tits," Anders breathed, biting his lip as he watched this go on in his lap.

Knuckles white in Cormac's hair, Artemis stared down into his brother's face and fought to keep himself in check. That desire demon could take a few pointers from Cormac. And, Maker, but there was a thought. What if they were still in the Fade? What if they'd never left and this was the real test?

"I can't," he breathed. His lips were close enough to kiss, and when had _that_ happened? "I want to. _Maker_ , I want to, have wanted to for... but... Fenris. I love Fenris. I'm pissed as fuck all at him right now, but I can't... I can't do that to him." That was among one of the most painful things he'd ever said, aching as he was, _wanting_ as he was. 

"Then just let me hold you and stroke you off," Cormac sighed. His eyes didn't open. "If this is something you want... Maybe after you patch things up with him, we can make him an offer. You get to fuck me until I scream, and he gets to watch you do it. If we both make sad faces at him, maybe he'll let Anders watch, too."

"Without murdering me. Maybe he'll let me watch without _murdering_ me," Anders clarified. 

"Indeed," said Artemis, turning towards Anders while still looking at Cormac, "that would be a waste of a fine knob."

"A knob I'd say he's welcome to use," said Anders, "but that would almost definitely result in murder."

Artemis finally let go of Cormac's hair, however reluctantly, and smoothed it all back into place. "But to answer you, Cormac," he said, voice coming out rougher than expected, "I think I would like that, yes." An understatement, especially just now, but that was all right.

Cormac sat up, the sudden rush of air against his skin a welcome coolness. This... He'd made it past thirty without seeing his brother this way, but with Anders between them, everything had changed. He'd started to see Artemis as a _man_ , and not just as his brother. A terribly attractive man, who had apparently been looking at him much the same way, recently. 'Have wanted to for...' Artie hadn't finished the sentence, but Cormac assumed it had been at least a few months. At least since the party.

He stretched out on his side and reached out to pull Artemis to him. "Going to watch us, Anders?"

"Oh, Maker," Anders breathed, watching the brothers intertwine, "it's like my nameday and Wintersend wrapped up in one."

"I think that's a yes," Artemis said, handing his bottle off to Anders, who placed it back on the nightstand without looking away. "That's going to fall over if there's an earthquake, you know."

Anders cursed under his breath and climbed off the bed long enough to stash their bottles somewhere they weren't going to break or cause a mess. He couldn't care less, but he knew how Artemis was about messes. Artemis, who was now making out with his brother on his bed. Sweet Andraste's bosom.

Cormac's mind was busy twisting itself into a pretzel as his hands moved over Artemis's body. That was Artie's body pressed against him, solid knob jabbing him in the hip. Artie's ass in his hand. Artie's tongue in his mouth. These were all things that had happened before, but not all at once. Not all unavoidably leading to the same conclusion -- his brother actually wanted to fuck him, and the idea, the reality of it, really turned him on.

One hand slid down and squeezed Artemis's ass, which now that he had a moment to really appreciate it, instead of trying to pretend he wasn't, was an awful lot like his own, if a little thinner. But, Artie had always been thin, next to him and Anton. A little thinner, a little taller. It never meant anything, before. His other hand pushed up between them and hesitantly stroked Artemis's knob. His hips rolled, grinding them together. He wanted this. _Artie_ wanted this. Artie wanted it, and that made everything all right.

While Anders was still up, he asked, "Do you want me to find you one of Cormac's toys? Then you can have something that's not one of us. He can't possibly complain about you enjoying a knob that's not flesh."

Cormac coughed and looked down, then realised he was looking at his brother's knob and turned his face down against the pillow, instead. "One of. I... yeah. I have a few. All different."

Artemis laughed, a bit breathless after that kiss. "Somehow, I'm less surprised by that than you'd think," he said. Toys. Toys his brother used, had used. And wasn't _that_ just one of the filthiest mental images he wanted to hold onto? "And now I need to see this collection, so I can tease you about it later, when I'm less drunk and the blood's flowing in the other direction."

Artemis's hand wandered over Cormac's chest as he spoke, tracing the skin and muscle of a body he'd been telling himself he didn't want, feeling the slide of coarse hair under his palm. He nudged his brother's face away from the pillow with a hand on his chin, leaning in for another kiss, biting Cormac's lip just hard enough to bruise.

Anders plopped a nightstand drawer onto the bed.

"Oh, fuck, all of them, Anders? Really?" Cormac leaned in for another kiss, distracting Artemis as best he could as he reached for the drawer. Clattering and thumping ensued. No, not this one. Not the tentacle one Isabela had gotten him. Not that stepped one. Where were they? Oh, there was the ridged one, but... no. Where the fuck had he... And then he saw Anders smiling.

"You didn't think I wouldn't know which one you were looking for, did you?" Anders produced two more from behind his back, smooth black and white marble. "I couldn't decide if you'd be looking for yours or mine, but it had to be one of them."

"You didn't think I'd be looking for the canary?" Cormac sounded a little strangled.

"For your brother? No. You have the canary for Isabela, and we both know it." Anders held them out, climbing back onto the bed.

Artemis pulled back and tried to peek at the drawer, pushing up on one elbow and craning his neck. "Wow, you... certainly have a variety," he said. Was that a _tentacle_? "Now I know what you spent most of your share of the Deep Roads fortune on." Artie was impressed.

He took the two Anders was holding out. While different sizes, their veined marble made them look like part of a set. He gave Anders a wry look and held one up. "Why do I feel like I've seen this one before? Only in jade?"

Anders's wicked smile was answer enough. And that made him wonder where the other one had come from, though he supposed the answer should be obvious. "Is this one...?" He looked down at his brother's knob automatically before laughing nervously and looking away.

"It's... Yeah. It's so when someone tells me to fuck myself, I can tell them I already have. I'm pretty amazing, you know. Or, well, I guess you don't know. Not first hand. Not yet." Cormac kissed Artemis surprisingly gently, considering the preceding patter. "It's your ass. It's your choice. Anything you want, Artemis."

"Your brother may fuck himself, but for the record, I do not," Anders threw in. "Which makes both of you much braver men than I, and possessed of some profound intestinal fortitude. I've watched you both do it. I've felt you both do it. And my amazement will never cease. I must be doing some good work, somewhere, to have ended up with the two of you."

"'Intestinal fortitude'," Artemis repeated, shaking his head. "Something else that's genetic? No, never mind, I have too many siblings to want to think about that too closely."

And he wondered what it said about him that he _did_ want to think about it in regards to Cormac, that he was holding a piece of marble in the shape of his brother's knob and wanting it so bad his mouth was watering. He handed Anders back the other dildo with a smile that was more dazed than cocky. "I already have one of these at home," he said. "I'd like to try something different."

Artemis slid his chosen piece into Cormac's hand, his heart pounding against his ribcage. They were crossing another line here, he knew, but they'd already crossed more than he ever thought they would. He tried not to think about what Fenris would think of all this.

Cormac's chest tightened and he swallowed hard. Out of everything he had, Artemis had chosen this one -- had chosen _him_. He greased his other hand, letting go of Artemis for just long enough to stroke grease onto the black marble. Slick, his hand closed back around his brother's knob. 

"Which way do you want it?" Cormac reached over Artemis's thigh, nudging the dildo against him. "Like I'm behind you? Like I'm right here, in front of you? Like I'm kneeling across one of your thighs with your other knee bent over my shoulder? I'd go fingers first, but I know you like it big, and I'm... not really that big." He shrugged and glanced down at their knobs, which weren't so very different. Artie's a little longer, his own a little thicker. Much like the rest of them.

Artemis arched into Cormac's touch, face pressing into the pillow. "I want to see you," he breathed, clutching at Cormac's shoulder, at the back of his neck. Words came tumbling out in a drunken, impassioned heap. "I want to watch your face so I know you know what you do to me." 

And there he was, dangerously close again to confessing something he didn't dare admit to even himself, something he'd kept long buried for so many years. Something he'd been so sure his brother would hate him for.

"Oh, fuck, Artie. You're killing me." Cormac writhed and shuddered, breath warm against his brother's lips. Trying to get his head back together, he turned the dildo so it faced the same way as his knob and gently, slowly, eased the cold marble into Artemis. Stone slid so much more easily than flesh, but he kept it achingly slow, watching Artemis's face, the whole time. Waiting for everything to fall apart, for Artemis to suddenly change his mind, for something to go wrong.

His other hand caressed Artemis's knob, long reverent strokes of fingers over skin. "Show me. Show me what I do to you."

Artemis choked off a groan, hooking a leg over Cormac's. The stone was cold and slick inside him and, Maker, this was his brother, entering him with what was, for all intents and purposes, his knob. "Cormac," he groaned against his brother's lips, pressing in for another, breathless kiss. He clutched at his brother's arm, his shoulder, his back, his hair. "Keep talking. I love it when you talk." His voice wasn't Fenris's sinful growl, but he said the most deliciously wicked things.

Behind him, Anders barely dared to breathe. His hand ghosted over his own, _very_ interested knob.

"Thought you wanted me to scream for you," Cormac joked. The world spun around his head, dizzyingly. This was good. This was incredible, and no one was hurting him or touching his knob, and he did not care at all. "You're my world, Artie. My whole fucking world. I can't believe you want me like this, want me up inside you, grinding against you. You... I don't know when it happened. Watching you ride Anders like that... You just ... when did you get so beautiful, Artie?"

He sounded so honestly amazed, finally too far in to be afraid. His hands moved out of time with each other, as he pressed himself against Artemis, stroking them both together. His brother's knob in his palm, he reminded himself, but with Artie looking at him like that, he had no resistance left in him. He could have this. His other hand moved in an imitation of his hips, bobbing and grinding the marble knob into his beautiful brother's ass. And that thought ran a shiver down his spine. How had they come to this? Did it matter?

Anders settled back on his heels, just watching them touch each other. This, he knew, was what love looked like. He'd seen those looks before. Once upon a time, he'd seen those looks aimed at him. He'd looked at someone like that. He was so lucky to be here with two men who loved each other so much. The warmth just spilled off them, and he revelled in it as his hand stroked over his own flesh. They were so good to him.

Artemis's breath hitched as Cormac ground the toy in just right, and he arched his hips to keep hitting that angle, rocking back and forth between marble and skin. " _Cormac_." He said his brother's name like a mantra. More words spilled out of him, unchecked, between breathy sighs. 

"Always thought there was something wrong with me for wanting you like that," he panted, sheets bunching under him as he writhed. "I saw you once with that farmer boy in Lothering. Your voice shook the walls, and -- _oh_ \-- I wanted to know what it was like to touch you like that."

"You're fucking perfect, Artemis. That why you've been looking at me funny for fifteen years?" Cormac stole a lingering kiss, bobbing the dildo against that spot that made Artie writhe so prettily. "Was it in the summer? Out in the barn, when he took that knife to me, and made me bleed all over the hay?" Cormac's thrusts into his own hand, against his brother's knob, grew more forceful at the memory. At the idea of Artemis watching him. "I drew the lines. I drew the lines and begged him to cut them into me. I didn't think he would do it. Did you hear me beg him for it, or did you just hear me scream when I took him into me and he started cutting?"

"I... I heard everything," Artemis breathed, voice ragged. "I saw... I saw everything. I..." And, Maker, he knew he shouldn't have. He remembered watching, mouth agape, and knowing he should walk away, forget ever seeing that, but Cormac's face had twisted so beautifully. "Maker, you were... you are..."

A groan caught in his throat as he started to tremble, fingernails digging crescent-shaped marks in Cormac's shoulder. "Cormac, I'm... _Cormac_."

"Come for me, Artie. Just for me. Give me this," Cormac begged, grinding against Artemis, grinding that stone knob into him in time with his hips. "Shake the floor. Break my bed. Shake me to pieces. I want you. I want this. Fuck, Artie, can you feel how hard I am, just for you? You do this to me. And one day, I want to feel you do that to me, too. I want to see my blood on your hands. I want to scream for you. I want your name on my lips when I beg you to break me."

Cormac knew he wasn't going to follow his brother over, but Anders probably wouldn't either, and even if he did, that was _Anders_. He'd be good for more for hours, yet. Maybe he could talk them both into tearing him up a little.

" _Maker_ ," Artemis all but whimpered, breathy groans turning into short, choked-off shouts and curses. The bed started to shake, as if on cue. Cormac's toys rattled inside their drawer, and the headboard clattered against the wall. Each thrust sent sparks up Artie's spine, and his toes curled as he came over his brother's hand and knob.

"Oh, shit," he was panting as he came down, everything still hazy at the edges. "Oh, Cormac. Oh, shit. I..."

"You all right?" Cormac asked, quietly, raising his hand to his lips to lick it clean, before stroking Artemis's side. "Didn't break anything, did we?"

Cormac found himself suddenly unsure if this was the good kind of 'oh shit' or the kind he should be worried about. But, he kept his face calm and warm, knowing that if he looked at all uncertain, this would become something he'd have to worry about.

"Break anything?" Artemis asked with a dazed smile. "I was going to ask you."

He stroked Cormac's face with the back of his fingers, sensing the worry there even if he didn't see it. He knew his brother and knew Cormac _always_ worried about him. Even with Cormac's skin against his, the moment still didn't feel real. He wondered again if they were still in the Fade, wondered what kind of demonic genius they'd stumbled upon.

"I'm fine, Cormac," Artemis murmured, because, right now, he was. It hadn't quite hit him yet what they'd just done, so 'fine' might not last, but... "Better than. You?" And it occurred to him in a flash of panic that _Cormac_ might be the one with regrets, and he hadn't even finished.

"Anyone ever tell you how good you taste? Almost as good as me," Cormac purred, rolling onto his back and stretching -- hands pressing against the headboard, toes pointing and spreading. "I'm amazing, mostly... but, I've got one more offer for you. How about you and Anders pick through that drawer and decide how you're going to ruin me? Make me scream for you. Both of you. Just no blades, Artie. Not yet. I want you sober when you cut me for the first time."

Anders tried to convince himself to let go of his own knob, but first off, that had been amazing and second, Cormac was still saying amazingly sexy things. "I bet you know a few things I don't," he said to Artemis. "I bet I know a few you don't." He pulled a long, slim metal object out of the drawer, studded with tiny beads.

"Oh, shit." Cormac's hips rolled and his eyes widened. "Show him that."

Artemis slid the marble dildo out and tossed it to the far end of the bed to be cleaned later. He rolled up onto his knees as gracefully as he could considering how dazed he still felt. "Goodness," he said, taking the metal object from Anders and turning it over in his hands. "That's a new one for me. I'm intrigued, even if a part of me was hoping you'd go for the tentacle."

Anders laughed and pushed the drawer out of the way so he could scootch closer. "Maybe later," he said.

Smirking, Artemis turned back to his brother, crawling over him until he was kneeling between his legs. "Maker, Cormac," he said, his free hand kneading one of his brother's muscular thighs. "I swear, if there's one in there in the shape of a dragon's dick, I am leaving right now." 

" _Dragons_? Oh, I... no. No dragons." Cormac shuddered. "No horses, either. Had to hear about how popular that one was... Didn't... really want to know."

Anders moved closer and wrapped his hand around Cormac's knob, holding it up for Artemis. He tapped one end of the rod and pointed. "That goes in here. I usually like to lick him a bit, first, and that definitely wants a bit of grease, no matter what he has to say about it -- No, Cormac, I am not letting you do that again. I'll let you do a lot of things to yourself, but I'm not watching that again."

Cormac sputtered and fell into a dramatic sulk, crossing his arms and glaring at Anders. "Fine. Use grease. But, it makes pissing feel funny for _hours_."

"You've got a knobby bit of metal crammed up your knob! You can't tell me that doesn't make pissing feel funny, after!" Anders stared at him in wide-eyed bafflement.

"Yes, I can. I can even do it without lying." Cormac shrugged.

"Grease," Anders assured Artemis.

Artemis was still trying to compute the 'insert metal into penis' part of this conversation. "This goes...? Wow. Definitely a new one for me." It wasn't the sort of thing that would appeal to _him_ , but he could see how Cormac would enjoy it, the darling nutcase. "Grease. Yes. I can do that."

His casting was a bit sloppier than Cormac's or Anders's, but the result was the same. He rubbed slick on the metal object and smoothed the rest over Cormac's knob, his hand lingering for a few strokes. He marvelled at how painfully hard his brother was under his hand. "Was all this from me?" he asked with a wicked smile, looking up at Cormac's face. He bent to lick the head of his knob, tongue pressing into his slit. "I'm flattered."

"All you," Cormac grit out, hands clenching in the sheets as that talented tongue teased him. "Had bruises from the last time."

Anders winced at the memory. "He did. Wouldn't let me heal them, either. Well, not until I made them worse."

"Perfect opportunity. Couldn't let you waste it, when I could get you to suck it purple." Cormac's toes curled, and he bent his knee to stroke Artemis's side with his foot. "Nibbling is good. I love a little bit of teeth. And if you bite just right at the corner, there, I'll bleed for you."

"He might also come, if you do that," Anders warned, obviously having done this fairly regularly.

"I can keep it in!" Cormac protested, kneading his brother's back with his toes. Actually, he had no idea if he could, but he'd _try_. That was Artie's mouth on him. Frankly, he was a little amazed he hadn't shot all over himself like a teenager, yet.

Artemis chuckled, his breath hot against Cormac's skin. He nibbled where directed, but not hard enough to make it bleed. Just enough to keep Cormac frustrated. "Don't want to finish before you've gotten to play with your toy, now, do you?" he asked, voice low and husky. He leaned down to nuzzle at the crease between groin and thigh before sitting back on his heels.

He fiddled with the metal object in his hand for a moment, careful to keep his uncertainty from showing on his face. He didn't want to hurt Cormac, at least not accidentally, even if he was sure his brother would enjoy it. Darting a glance at Anders to make sure he was doing this right, Artie held Cormac's knob steady with one hand and slipped in the toy with the other.

Cormac's foot slid off his brother's side, heel slamming into the mattress as the first ball slipped in. By the third, every breath was a raw, desperate sound. By the time it was all the way in, it was sheer force of will that kept him from screaming Artemis's name. Something in the back of his head reminded him they were still upstairs, and there was nothing keeping Carver from hearing him. Or their mother. Everyone in the house was used to hearing him scream, but... there were limits to _what_ they should be hearing him scream. Instead, a wordless keening poured out of him as his thighs and ass tensed. 

"More," he panted, between jagged sounds. "It's so good. Doesn't hurt, just good. Aches. I want more. I _need_ more."

Anders offered a wicked smile to Artemis and touched his finger to the end of the rod. "Watch this."

Cormac arched up off the bed, screaming at the top of his lungs, as the electricity raced through him. His hands clenched in the sheets, toes curling so hard his feet seemed to bend in the middle. His head tipped back, baring his throat. "Yes! More! Squeeze tighter. Fuck me with it. And fuck, Anders, do that again."

Artemis swallowed, throat dry, as he watched his brother writhe, as he felt his brother's screams in his bones as well as heard them. "There we are," he purred. "Those are the sounds I was missing, you filthy thing." He pressed a kiss to the top of Cormac's knob and pulled at the toy with his teeth, using his mouth to pull and push it in and out. His hands pressed Cormac's thighs into the bed, digging his nails into the muscles.

When Artemis pulled back and licked his lips, Anders pressed his finger back to Cormac's knob and sent another jolt arching through the metal.

More ragged screaming followed. "Fuck! Fucking wring it out of me! I'm so fucking close!" Cormac was surprised and more than a little frustrated he'd held out this long, but after all these years, even the sight of Artemis kissing his knob wasn't quite enough. And there were a hundred ways he was sure that was both unforgivable and exactly the way it should be.

"Either take it out or hold on tight. If he goes with that inside him, it's not staying in, if you're not holding it," Anders warned. "One more jolt would probably tip him over, but I think it should be you."

Wrapping his hand around Artemis's, he curled their fingers tightly around Cormac's knob, thumbs pressing against the ring-end of the rod. "Thumb goes in here. Little circles. Don't be afraid to really squeeze him. Have you really watched his face, when he goes over? Great view, this time, but I suppose you've watched him over my shoulder. I love that dazed look, when the screaming stops."

Artemis did as he was instructed, eyes on Cormac's face all the while, and he hardly dared to blink, wanting to remember every agonised expression he was making. He wondered what would happen if he tried to make the metal piece quake the way he did with the stone dildos, but he didn't dare try it just yet, unsure if he had that kind of control. But a shock he could do, even if it came out a bit stronger than he would have liked. 

"Come for me, Cormac," he said, voice dark with want.

There was no need for a request. Cormac had already arched, teeth clamped shut, eyes wide and unseeing. His shoulders pulled back sharply, and his toes stretched and twitched. His hands gripped the sheets so hard they untucked. And he throbbed so very hard in Artemis's hand, dribbling around the rod inside him. It went on and on, the crackling along the underside of his skin eventually giving way to a tingle. Finally, he sagged back against the bed, panting and whimpering. 

It took him a good minute or two to find his hand and a bit longer to actually move it, but he stroked Artemis's wrist, fingers still shaking. Words. He was sure he'd known some, once. 

"Thank you," he breathed, finally, and so much more swirled in his eyes. That last jolt had been a little much, a little difficult to scream when you couldn't breathe out, but this was his brother. This was Artemis, not Anders (who was rightly a master of the magical bedroom arts). 

"C'mere, let me hold you," he slurred, still trying to remember how words went together. "Five minutes, Anders, and then my ass is all yours."

"You look like you could use the break," Artemis said with a laugh and a crooked smile. Maker, but he'd loved having that kind of control over Cormac, loved watching him writhe and shake apart, all because of him.

He crawled up and to the side, curling against Cormac's side and wrapping an arm around his waist. He was used to wrapping an arm around a much slimmer waist, used to cushioning his head on a bonier shoulder, used to the tickle of lyrium where skin met skin. The thought made his heart ache, like it did when Fenris clutched it so gently in Fade-blue hands. He nuzzled under his brother's jaw and pushed these thoughts from his mind.

Anders picked his way across the brothers to wrap himself around Cormac's other side. Reaching down, he tugged carefully at the ring, easing the rod back out of Cormac's body, amid gasps and groans. He tossed it toward the foot of the bed and set about gently wringing the rest of the trapped fluid out of Cormac's softening knob. Andraste's knickers, had they just done that? He was willing to operate under the assumption they had, from the evidence, and it was the be-all end-all of stories for him and Cormac to pant into each other's ears, when they were alone. For a moment, he almost wished Cormac loved him like that, but he knew how that ended. Love was just another thing for the demons and the templars to take away, another thing for them to corrupt, another thing that would get innocent people killed in his name -- but how innocent was Cormac, really? The man had been at his shoulder through things he would never have expected anyone to follow him into, never expected anyone to support him in. Still, Cormac deserved better than his madness, and likely a death on his shoulders if not at his hands. No, Cormac had no business being in love with him. Things were perfect, just like this.


	60. Chapter 60

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dear Fenris: Your head should not be among the things that go up your ass. Please see to that.

"Are they red?"

"No," Fenris grunted into his drink. He'd let Isabela order the drinks, and he wasn't even sure what his was, exactly, other than alcoholic. That suited him just fine tonight.

Izzy pursed her lips and tried again, chin tucked into her palm. "Blue?" 

"No." 

"Are they... green?"

Fenris growled and shook his head. He would forever associate green with Artemis, after seeing him in that corset. Mint green against dusky skin... "No." 

Isabela squinted at him. "Are you even _wearing_ smalls?"

Fenris smirked. "No."

"I should have guessed!" Isabela shook her head and leaned back on her stool, one hand clutching the bar, to get a better look at Fenris's backside. "In those pants I'd have seen the lines. Nothing there but smooth, pillowy booty. Do all elves have such fantastic asses?"

Fenris looked profoundly aggrieved. "My ass is not pillowy!"

"Looks pillowy from here. Maybe you'll let me rest my head on it and find out for sure." Isabela grinned teasingly. It wasn't that she was even that interested, not that she'd say no, if he offered, but he made the best faces when he was offended. She could completely understand why Anders spent so much time winding him up.

"Justice doesn't get to use my ass for a pillow, and neither do you!" Fenris insisted, pouring the entire glass of whatever that was down his throat.

"And here I thought that was an objection to his Fade-flavoured sparklies. There's not an ounce of magic in me, if you don't count a little sleight of hand." She pinched his ass sharply as she sat back up.

He hissed at her, his ears bristling. 

"What?" she asked, batting her eyes innocently. "I'll let you pinch mine." She wriggled her ass, making the stool wobble.

"I appreciate the offer, but no." That didn't stop him from taking a good look anyway. "And you're one to talk about pillowy asses."

There was only one person who was allowed to use _his_ ass as a pillow and, if that person was half as drunk as Fenris was, he was likely using someone _else's_ ass as a pillow. 

Fenris pointed at his empty glass as Corff walked by, and soon he had a fresh supply of the swill.

"You want to find out how pillowy my ass is?" Isabela invited, shoving a few more coins across the bar. "A few more drinks to loosen you up, so you're a little less pointy, and I'll let you try it out. I'll be honest with you, it's pretty fluffy and soft. A very nice place to rest your head." She paused for a beat. "Either head."

Fenris looked like he might crawl out of his skin, but he said nothing, for a long moment, wide-eyed and tense. He chugged another glass of ... whatever that was, he was ordering something less rank for his next drink. "Why?" he asked. It was a relatively safe question and it didn't answer the question, either.

"Why not? I'm rarely averse to a good time. You look like you could do with a little loosening up. And, as you say, my ass is very pillowy." Isabela grinned. "Besides, I've heard some interesting stories about you. Kinky glowing finger tricks?"

Fenris's glare threatened to burn a hole in the wall. Damn Cormac and his blathering, magey mouth. At least, he assumed it was Cormac... "I suspect that trick works best on mages," he said, "assuming it's their reaction to the lyrium." 

Not that Fenris had tried it out on any non-mages, so he couldn't be sure. He supposed it was only fair, considering how often mages stuck their fingers in his business. He should be allowed to stick his fingers in theirs.

"Why is it always mages, 'Bela?" Fenris complained into his drink. He was starting to slip into a more morose drunken state, and he usually saved that for when he could throw wine bottles at the walls. Which Artie never let him do anymore. 

"Because mages are amazing in bed, my spiky friend. I've never had a bad time with someone who could bring the fearsome powers of nature into the bedroom." Shrugging, Isabela ordered another drink for herself. "I can see where maybe you've had some different experiences, there, but you're not in the Imperium, now. There's no magisters, here, just gorgeous, glitter-handed, fuckable mage-trash, and _oh_ , I love the things that man can do with his hands. Cormac's not bad, either."

"You let that abomination touch you?" Fenris's face twisted asymmetrically, and he managed, just barely, not to look quite as entirely grossed out as he was. 

" _That abomination_ is handsome, tall, and extremely creative. And I've never seen him hurt someone who didn't have it coming, so you watch your mouth, when you talk about him. He's a good man, Fenris, just like you." Isabela looked slightly serious, for a split second. "And his other half has some very, very nice shoulders. Speaking of the Fade... what was in that book? Was it really what it looked like? Was that some naughty Tevinter sex manual?"

Fenris squirmed in his seat and took a long drink to keep from answering that for a moment. "I'm... not sure," he said, which was mostly true. "It clearly showed something different for each of us. I saw only pictures and not words, and they were..."

He had to take another drink just thinking about what they 'were'. The drink didn't help him collect his thoughts. If anything, it loosened them, sending them skittering out like marbles. "From the pictures, yes, I'd say that's exactly what it was."

Isabela squealed and pulled her seat closer. "Too bad we couldn't smuggle it with us," she said. She nudged Fenris's elbow with hers. "Come on, sweet thing, tell me about these pictures."

"They were obscene. I do not know what else to say." More alcohol went into Fenris. If he kept adding drink, he'd stop caring, eventually.

"Didn't you tell me there was a word for dick-sucking in there? Did you get pictures of that?" Isabela perched on the edge of her stool, pressed shoulder to shoulder with Fenris. "What else did it show you? Anything really interesting and unexpected? Anything you haven't tried yet?"

"Yes, there was a picture. Less dick-sucking. More face-fucking. I don't..." Fenris's ears twitched. "Most of what I saw was... questionable, at best. If I didn't know there were words to express those ideas, I would have thought them fully fictional fancies."

"Ohh, that sounds fun!" Izzy said with an exaggerated shiver. "Like what? Tell me!"

Fenris grappled with words for a moment, most of them in Tevene. "It's... I would need to draw a diagram to explain it," Fenris said. "I can only draw when I'm sober." And he'd probably only want to while he was drunk. It was a conundrum. 

Isabela pouted but let it be for now. "Oh well. What was that word again. Irrumambo?"

"Irrumabo," Fenris corrected, ears turning pink. "Roll your r's. Accent on the second to last syllable."

"Irrumabo," Isabela repeated, her accent a little less terrible. "Hey, sailor," she purred, "I want you to irrumabo me!"

"That's... that's not... no." Fenris wiped a hand over his face. "That would be... _irrumabis me_. Or _volo irrumare me_. But those really shouldn't be the first words in Tevene you learn."

"You got some better words I should learn first? I like to start with the angry words and the dirty words, because those are the ones you've got to watch out for." Isabela smiled like she wasn't asking the guy who had trouble saying the word knob in a public place to teach her dirty words.

"I would think learning to ask for directions or order a drink might serve you better, as jumping off points." Fenris's ears continued to twitch, and his eyes skittered away from Isabela. "I could teach you to talk about boats?"

"Boats are amazing, but, I think I'd rather talk about butts. Butts are also amazing, especially butts like yours. You've got a lucky boyfriend." Isabela sipped her drink and turned around on the stool, leaning back on the bar, so she could look Fenris in the face while he tried to explain these amazing words. "Come on, teach me how to talk about butts, in Tevene."

Fenris finished his drink and gestured desperately for another. "Please," he told Corff. Isabela just smiled at him sweetly, expectantly. "Well... uh. There are... multiple words. The most common word would be 'natis', which means..." He cleared his throat. "Means 'buttock'."

"Just the one?" Isabela laughed.

"Just the one," Fenris said, nodding. "To discuss them both, you say 'nates'. _Magnae nates_ is how you would say a 'great butt'. Oh! That would make you a ' _nauta magnis natibus_ '." He snickered to himself. "'A sailor with a great butt'."

"Oh, I like that!" Izzy laughed. "I should have that tattooed across my... mag... magnae nates." 

Fenris cringed at her pronunciation. 

"What other words are there?" Isabela asked. "You said there were a few."

Fenris gratefully accepted his new drink from Corff. Oh damn. He'd meant to order something else this time. Whatever. He drink it down anyway. "Well, there's _pugae_. Again, _magnae pugae_ for 'great butt'. You know, if someone is _depugis_ , it means they have a scrawny butt. So a... _depugis magus_ is a 'scrawny-butted mage'." He grinned. "Anders can have _that_ tattooed."

"Hey," Isabela laughed. "I'll have you know he was much less, what was it, 'depugis' when I first met him!"

"Be that as it may, _nunc depugis magus est_."

Isabela nudged him with her elbow. "Any other butt words?" she asked.

"Well, there is... um." Fenris coughed into his hand, ears turning red. " _Culus_. That is... a much ruder term, though. Specifically, it means the, uh. Well."

"The... uh... well?" Isabela teased. "Hmm... if you're not saying it, then how is it you'll play with it? What do you say to your Hawke-assed mage? 'I want to put my er... um... in your uh, well...'?"

Fenris growled and took another drink. Trust Isabela to clear up his mortification by pissing him off, instead. "We don't talk much." And that was such a lie. He could remember Artemis talking to him, asking for things Fenris would never be able to repeat. _He_ didn't talk much.

"Don't you? What a pity. You've got a voice I could listen to all night long. You should be using that to your advantage." Isabela elbowed him again. "Come on, teach me some other fun words. Why don't you teach me the words for all the things you do with your Hawke-assed mage, and I'll try saying them to my Hawke-assed mages? I don't know if Cormac speaks Tevene, but Bethany definitely does, at least a little. And Nevarran. She knows all the best Nevarran words. And if you tell me I couldn't do the things those words are for, with Bethany, I'm going to really doubt your creativity."

His voice? He thought he remembered Artemis saying as much once, but he'd been very drunk then. They'd been very drunk often, really. "I do not need to know what you are doing with the other Hawkes," he muttered, though really, the thought of Izzy and Bethany... He cleared his throat. "And it... it means anus. Culus, that is."

Isabela smirked. "You say that so clinically." She dropped her chin and imitated his solemn growl, "'It means anus'." She snickered into her drink. "Oh goodness, we should tell Anton that one! That's begging for a 'Cullen's culus' joke!"

Fenris groaned, slumping over the counter. "That is not an image I needed, Isabela," he said into his arms.

"Well, it's the one I've got!" Isabela laughed loudly enough that half the bar turned to look. And then she glared, and they stopped looking. Turning back to Fenris, the sly smirk returned. "Never mind what I'm doing with my Hawkes. Tell me all about what you're doing with yours. Tell me about your glowy finger tricks and all the kinky things you get up to. I'm sure there's some amazing things I could learn from you. And if you can't tell me, now, I'll buy you drinks until you can."

"That would be an amazing amount of alcohol," Fenris remarked, finishing his drink. This time he remembered to order actual rum, and not whatever bilgewater slog Isabela had him drinking.

"That's my boy!" Isabela paid for the bottle and Corff left it in front of them. "Drink up and teach me dirty things!"

He took a long pull of rum and -- ah, that was much better. He saluted Corff with the bottle before setting it down. "I'm not really sure I can teach you, if it's the 'glowy finger tricks' you're interested in. Unless you'd like to sign up to have lyrium carved into your skin too, but I'm not sure that's worth the sexual side-effects."

"All right," Izzy sighed, "but what do you _do_ with it? Do you just stick your hand in and flail about? Oh, do you only phase your hands or is it your whole body? Is it like fucking a ghost?"

Fenris sputtered. "No! Just... just the hands!" Though that was an interesting question... no, he could only see that ending in disaster. No. Well, maybe. But no. "As for how it feels, you'd have to ask Artemis."

Isabela had a hand over her mouth as she looked at him, struggling not to laugh. "Oh, you're so cute when you're flustered," she crooned. "Your ears sort of vibrate."

"They-- What." Fenris's hands grabbed at his ears. "They do not vibrate. There is no part of me that vibrates." Not by itself, anyway. With Artemis, though, all of him vibrated, and in the best possible -- nope. Not thinking about that. Not right now. His ears did turn bright red, though, and with assistance from the drink, the flush spread across his cheeks. He let go of his ears and they twitched.

"They do! It's adorable!" Isabela reached over and pinched the tip of his ear. 

Fenris turned faster than he'd thought he had in him, this drunk, and bit her fingers. "Do not touch my ears," he ground out around her fingertips.

Isabela petted his tongue. "Do you know where my fingers have been, today?" she asked, smiling sweetly. "'Cause I could tell you. Or you could just guess."

Fenris spat her fingers back out and rinsed his mouth with rum. "As long as they weren't anywhere near Cullen's culus," he muttered, scowl giving way to a smirk.

"Not _my_ fingers, no," Isabela said. She wiped off her hand on her tunic. "So you're a biter, hmm? I had a feeling."

"I bite fingers that touch my ears," Fenris said warily.

"But I bet that's not all you bite," Isabela purred. she bit her lip coyly. "Artie's 'magnae nates' is just begging to be bitten."

"I don't... um." Well, he did. Had. 

"You don't um? Yes you do. You just did," Isabela teased. "And if you're not biting that booty, you're doing it wrong."

"How would you know?" Fenris's ears twitched again. He couldn't imagine that Isabela would know. But, Artemis had obviously done those sorts of things before, and with other people, and ... he'd never actually asked.

"He's a Hawke. If you're not nibbling the nates, you're doing it wrong. That should be a verse in the Chant. It needs to be taught across the land to all people who can't see the obvious. That is, assuming he inherited that shapely posterior. Bethy tells me Carver didn't, the poor boy."

"I never needed to know that about Carver. Or about Bethany." At least she hadn't said anything about Artemis. She probably didn't know, first hand. He was still going to ask, at some point. Artemis, drunk, seemed likely to do just about anything, if that incident with the templar was anything to go by.

"Sure you did! You just don't have a use for that information, yet!" Isabela poured him another drink. "All information is something you need to know, eventually. It's just a matter of deciding where and when to apply it! And speaking of information I want to apply, weren't you going to tell me some wonderful words for plundering booty? You seem like the plundering sort."

"P-plundering," Fenris stuttered, ears vibrating again. "Well, uh. The Tevene words depend on the kind of... plundering going on. As well as the kind of booty being plundered."

Isabela rested her chin in her hands and batted her eyelashes at him. "How wonderfully specific," she said. "Must save a lot of trouble, upfront."

Fenris wouldn't know one way or the other. _Venhedis_ , how had he ended up in this discussion? "The... most common is _futuere_ ," he said, looking down at his drink and swirling it around with one hand. "It... implies plundering a specifically female booty. Well. Not _booty_ , but... _Fasta vass_. A man fucking a woman."

"So," Isabela said, drawing out that one syllable, "if I wanted to tell someone to 'fuck me'?"

" _'Futue me_ '."

"See? Useful information! But what about you and Artie? No female booties to plunder there."

"That would..." Fenris paused for another drink. Much more of this and he wouldn't be able to feel his fingers. "That would be _pedicare_. _Pedico eum_." If his ears vibrated any harder, they would take flight.

"You don't seem so easy saying that. Don't you talk dirty to your pretty little mage? I bet he'd like it if you did. I bet I'd like it, too. You've just got such a nice voice. You could make anything sound sexy. It's dangerous! You could use that as a weapon!" Isabela laughed and poured herself another drink, still a decent bit less drunk than Fenris.

"I have much more effective weapons at my disposal," Fenris muttered, pouring himself yet another drink. Fingers. Who needed them? If Isabela kept asking things like this, it was much more important that he get too drunk to feel his face.

"You could conquer a small nation with just your voice and that pillowy ass of yours," Isabela insisted.

"My ass is not _pillowy_!" Fenris sounded entirely aggrieved, and his ears stuck out at incongruent angles.

"That's not what Justice says." Isabela laughed. "Tell me more good words. What's the very dirtiest thing you want to do to that pretty little mage of yours, hmm? I'm sure there's a word for it. Maybe even a few words..."

"I want... _volo_..." Lips. He could tell his were moving because sound was coming out, but he couldn't feel them. And his tongue... " _Volo lambere culum ecfututum suum et facere eum quassum_." Quite a bit of that came out slurred but hopefully the general intent was clear.

"Ooh, what's all that mean?" Isabela purred.

Fenris smirked into his drink and said, "I'm not telling you."

* * *

Three days later, Fenris ran out of things to drink, and ten hours later, he woke up somewhat closer to sober on the floor of Varric's suite, with Isabela's head on his ass. Which was still _not pillowy_. He dragged himself out from under the pirate queen, took a piss he wasn't sure would ever stop, and decided it was probably time to go home. To his house. Which was probably full of workmen, but not yet containing Artie. He'd really fucked up, this time, hadn't he? Not that he hadn't fucked up, last time, but last time didn't involve any swords. His chest tightened so hard his fingers tingled. Home. He had to get home. Cormac had said Artie would come home when he was ready.

The house was in better condition than the last time he'd seen it, four days earlier, and it smelled of soup. Right. They had a cook. And if there was soup... Fenris's breath caught in his chest as he walked through the kitchen, helping himself to a roll from the pan sitting next to the stewpot. He headed up the back stairs and let himself into his dressing room. Even before he opened the door, he could hear Artemis making those delicious little sounds, the sound of the bed rocking against the wall. No, he wouldn't have. There were no other sounds, and the only one of them that quiet was the abomination.

He opened the door quietly, expecting to have to stab Anders, and found Artemis alone on the bed. He was on his knees with a pillow under him, toes curling in the sheets and that glorious ass on display. One hand was curled behind him and wrapped around something green, something green that plunged in and out of that ass with obscene, wet sounds that went straight to Fenris's knob.

Fenris felt his jaw drop. What was he...? This was...

"Oh Maker," Artemis panted, hips pressing back into the green thing in his hand, as Fenris stared. 

Fenris had been planning what to say to Artemis on the way over here, had planned for if he was angry or upset or... well. He certainly didn't plan for _this_. Bewildered, he stumbled back and headed back down the stairs.

* * *

Cormac came down the stairs, looking like he'd been up to a good bit more than just sleeping, hair rumpled and beard askew, dressed in a relatively simple robe, minus the usual sash. "Fenris? It's the middle of the night. Shouldn't you be home in bed with my brother?"

"It's... about your brother. I-- I don't--" Fenris's ears twitched.

"Is that _lipstick_ on your ears?" Cormac asked. "Is that _Isabela's_ lipstick on your ears? Have you even been home yet? I didn't think two sovereigns would buy you a three-day bender."

"It didn't. The rest of it came out of her pocket, which I suspect means it came out of my pocket. I haven't counted, yet." Fenris rubbed his face and then one of his ears, looking dismayed at the red smears on his fingers. "I woke up with my clothes on. She just... has a fetish. About my ears. I really don't--" His ears twitched, again.

"Well, they are kind of cute and twitchy," Cormac pointed out, still completely confused what he was doing out of bed.

"They are not twitchy," Fenris snapped as his ears twitched, "and they do not vibrate!" He looked about until he found a mirror in the hallway. Seeing the state he was in, he cursed and rubbed at his ears with his palms, like an angry cat. "But... I'm..." He tried to talk while rubbing make-up off his ears. "Fasta Vass! I'm here because I just went home."

"That doesn't make any sense. Artie's back at your place. He went home, yesterday. Wanted to see you. Wanted to sit down and have a nice long talk and sort shit out." Cormac rubbed his eye and tugged at his beard. "Look, if you're going to be here, be here. Go sit down in the library and I'll go find us some bread and cheese, and then you can tell me what you're doing here instead of making out with my brother. I'm just absolutely sure this isn't a conversation that needs to happen in the hall. It's bright and it echoes in here, and you're hung over, and I just got out of bed."

"I am not hung over," Fenris protested. "I'm still drunk."

"Well that makes everything better." Cormac nodded, waving Fenris in the direction of the library. "Bread and cheese. Just a minute."

It was more like two, but as promised, Cormac returned with bread and cheese and dropped into one of the chairs by the fire, setting the platter on the table. "Now, what the fuck are you doing in my library, instead of in my brother?"

Fenris sat for all of two seconds before getting up to pace in front of the fireplace. He ignored the bread and cheese for a couple of laps before grabbing a hunk of each on the third. "There's already something else _in_ your brother," Fenris said through a mouthful of cheese. Maker, he was ravenous. And confused. But mostly, he was drunk. "He was on the bed, and I heard him and I thought--It was green, whatever it was."

Fenris perched on the arm of a chair and nibbled at his bread like a squirrel.

Cormac knew exactly what that was. "The dildo. Have you really never seen one, or was it just so far in you couldn't tell?" Of course, Cormac wasn't entirely sure how 'dildo' wouldn't be the first guess, there. On the other hand, Fenris had been drunk for three days. "Yeah, he's got that for when he hasn't got someone to get him off. Doesn't have to explain the shaking to anyone else. I guess when you didn't come home..." He shrugged and grabbed a bit of cheese.

Fenris blinked at him, cheeks full of cheese. He forced himself to chew and swallow before trying to talk again. "For when he hasn't got... _Venhedis_ , so it's a stand-in for..." And really, that probably should have been obvious, in hindsight, the way Artemis had been twisting that... thing. "And he's... had this? For how long?"

"A while. I sprang for it so he'd stop doing stupid shit." Which was true. Cormac had _paid_ for it. It had been Anders's idea and Anders's gift, though, and there was no way he was telling Fenris that. "But, if he's at home riding that thing..." Cormac gave Fenris a pointed look.

And Fenris stared at him right back. "Yes? If you're expecting me to have a great realisation, you should wait until I'm less drunk."

Cormac shook his head. "I'm guessing he misses you." That or he really wanted a piece of Anders, but was too devoted to actually take advantage of the opportunity he'd had for two days. "He loves you, Fenris. I don't even... But, hey, it's him, not me. If it makes you feel any better, Anders offered and Artie turned him down." He left out the part where he'd offered, too, and Artie had only ... mostly turned him down. "We got him drunk, and he told Anders no. You get where I'm going with this?"

Fenris's expression softened, and he looked down at the last bite of bread in his hand. "Oh." He didn't realise how worried he'd been of that exact eventuality until just now, hearing that it didn't happen. "I get where you're going," he said. "And that's... that I should get going."

He got up and shoved the last bit of food into his mouth.

* * *

This time, he took the front stairs, opening the bedroom door just as quietly as he had, the first time, and slipping in to stand at the foot of the bed, just watching Artemis writhe, for a little while. "Did you miss me, Artemis?" he purred, remembering what Isabela had said about his voice. Maybe he could get something good out of that. Or he'd learn the truth and tell Isabela how wrong she was. Either way, he'd know. "Did you miss me so much, you resorted to this? Couldn't wait for me to come back to you?"

Artemis drew in a breath, Fenris's voice in his fantasies suddenly sounding all too real. His hand stilled as he looked over his shoulder. "Fen?" he breathed. He realised he must have made quite the sight, and he let out a short, self-deprecating laugh, his cheeks colouring even more than they already had. "I did. I did miss you. So much." He wondered what he should do, if he should stay like this or move. Then again, the way Fenris was staring at him, Artie didn't think he _could_ move, whether he wanted to or not.

"Don't stop." The words tumbled out of Fenris's mouth as he crawled up onto the bed. Isabela had told him to talk, and he was still drunk enough to seriously consider it. Maybe even drunk enough to do it. He remembered a few of the things he'd taught her to say, on the first night, and the tips of his ears coloured. "I want to watch you." He took another deep breath, eyes wandering over Artemis's bare body, lingering on the hand that clutched the... dildo. "Show me what you like."

Artemis's hand obeyed the order, adjusting its grip and pushing the jade rod back into him, grinding in at an angle he liked. Maker. Fenris was... "Shit," he breathed, eyes shuttering. "You have the sexiest voice, you know that?" He kept his pace slow, deep, wanting to savour this, and pressed back against the rod and into the pillow. His free hand snared in the bedsheets as he panted.

"Do I? I might have heard that once." A small smile tugged at the corners of Fenris's lips. "Is that what you like? The slow, deep grind?" His ears burned red, but he kept talking, forcing himself to take slow, deep breaths and not to close his eyes. Instead of that deep, sexy purr, his next words were breathy and amazed. "I ... You quiver inside, when I do that to you. You quiver and squeeze me. I like it."

"Oh, Maker, _Fen_ ," Artemis said, words and breath shivery. "The things you do to me." He tilted his head so he could better watch Fenris watching him. The look of wonder and hunger in his eyes was addicting. He pressed deeper, toes curling, and let out a low groan just for Fenris, just to see how it affected him.

Fenris's eyelids fluttered and he clutched at his own thighs. His heart raced, just watching this. "I want to do those things to you. I want to watch you teach me how to do them right -- the way you want." There was a whole lot more in that sentence, and Fenris debated whether he was going to admit to it. "I like watching you enjoy me. I'm starting to like watching you enjoy yourself."

"I was thinking about you," Artemis sighed, lips quirking in a lazy smile. He didn't say that he was also thinking about Cormac and Anders, because mostly? Yes. He was thinking about Fenris. He didn't need to know the rest. "I love when you touch me, when you're inside of me. No one can light me up the way you can." Words got a bit difficult after that, and he started to pick up the pace.

"I want to touch you. I want to touch every part of you. I want to put my hands in places no one else can reach." Fenris struggled not to interrupt. Struggled with himself to just let Artemis continue. Struggled with himself to stay still and not get up and take off his leggings because this was not a problem he needed to be having right now, but they were much, much too tight. "I want to watch you like this, but I want so much to be inside you. After... will you let me?"

Artemis bit his pillow around a groan at those words. " _Fuck_ , Fenris," he panted, spitting the bit of cloth back out, "keep talking like that, and you can have whatever part of me you want, however many times you want it." Which led to some interesting thoughts, if the offer was taken literally, but Artemis was too far gone to care.

Artie moved faster, hips slamming back into the rod, and his hand losing its rhythm. " _Fen_."

Fenris finally couldn't keep his hands to himself, settling one palm between Artemis's hips. "I'm here." And there was that sexy purr again. "I'm right here." He stroked Artemis's back, slowly, before fading his hand out and running his middle finger down Artemis's spine. It was all terribly surreal for him. The man he loved was curled up next to him, bringing himself off, and here he was with the deadliest weapon in his arsenal being used as a sex toy. And if that didn't make his knob throb...

Artie's eyes popped wide, hips jerking. He choked out some nonsense syllables amidst pleas to the Maker and what sounded like Fenris's name. He trembled under Fenris's hand, feeling the burn of lyrium against buried nerve endings. The headboard started to rattle and so did the stone inside of him, and then he was shuddering his release into the pillow.

As the shaking slowed, Fenris took back his hand long enough to stretch out alongside Artemis, stroking the skin of his back, this time. "I love you. Everything about you. And right now, I am so very drunk, and you are so very beautiful." A tiny smile crept onto his face. "Just like that night in the Deep Roads."

A laugh startled out of Artemis at that. He slid the dildo out with a hiss and tossed it aside, hearing it thunk against one of the bedposts. "Exactly like that night," he said, stretching out onto his stomach and reaching out to stroke back Fenris's hair. "You drunk and me beautiful, that is. Less threat of darkspawn, but well. We'll save that for the anniversary." Which was, of course, implying that they had one. Considering their track record, he suspected they would but only after pissing each other off a few more times. 

"Incidentally, I love you too, you know," he added, eyes soft. _Even with what happened in the Fade,_ went unsaid but implied _. Even knowing your ugliest fears._ "Now, why are your pants still on?"

"Obviously, because you haven't taken them off me." And there was that wicked smirk again. "Are you as drunk as I am, or can you actually untie those knots?" Yes, even too drunk to see, Fenris could untie his own pants, but there were very few other people who could, and he strongly suspected most of them were Qunari. Not that he'd ever had any Qunari try to untie his pants, but the knots were of a certain origin.

Artemis snorted and sat back on his knees, taking a moment to stretch his neck and his back before turning a critical eye towards the pants in question. "I am, for once, surprisingly sober," he said, "and capable of undoing pants. Even with your weird knots. Third from the top right?" Artie didn't wait for confirmation before undoing the laces. He bent in for a kiss as his fingers moved, trying to convey in that one press of lips just how much he'd missed Fenris.

As Artemis tugged his leggings down, Fenris's knob recoiled from where it had been trapped against his thigh, slapping loudly against his abs. And that was not something he'd been expecting. He choked out a laugh and tried to hide his face against Artemis's neck. He was drunk. Drunk and ridiculous. When had he come to this? Maybe love did make fools of all men, but he was expecting a little less slapstick.

"I-- I'm sorry. Not about that. About--" Fenris shrugged and took a deep breath. "Your brother threatened me. I'm inclined to take him seriously. I'm inclined to think he's right." _Even if he is a mage_. "I don't understand what happened. It seemed so simple, and then you were just... gone. I couldn't see you. And then Cormac hit me, and I knew what I'd done, and I -- I don't... I love you so much. Please don't let me kill you."

Artemis suspected this man would be the death of him one way or another anyway. He cradled Fenris's head in his hands and kissed him until he quieted. "I don't think my brother would let you kill me," he said archly. "Any brother. Or sister. As for me, I told you I was yours to do with as you wish, come what may." Usually Artie was the drunker party in this kind of conversation. In any kind of conversation. He wasn't quite sure if he was saying the right things, and that worry made him want to reach for a drink himself. 

"And that wasn't you," Artemis murmured, thumbs smoothing over Fenris's cheekbones. "I... I know that. The demons, they... well, we fear them for a reason." He sighed, shoulders sagging as he admitted, "I do wonder sometimes if we would both be happier without my magic."

"No." There was no hesitation. "You are a mage. I fell in love with a mage. I am still learning what that means, and it scares me, but this is what you are, and ... I ..." He sighed and pulled Artemis onto him. "The floor shaking is a nice touch. I can't explain it. It just feels good. Especially when you're not dropping wine on me with it."

Artemis chuckled, melting against his elf. "Right. I should leave all the wine-redecorating to you." He leaned in for another kiss, pausing to suck Fenris's lip between his teeth. "Now," he purred, his smile turning impish, "I made you an offer earlier. Care to collect?" He wriggled unsubtly against Fenris's knob. 

Fenris got caught in his shirt four times before he managed to pull it off. "Right here. In our bed. Yours and mine. No one but you and me. No interruptions. Nowhere else to be. And this time, I'm the drunk one." He laughed and tried to kick off his pants. "It's a nice change of pace."

* * *

Morning found Varric standing at the door, with a pair of clawed gautlets in his hand, and to his surprise the elf who answered the door was not the one to whom the gauntlets belonged. "Ah, hi! Who are you?"

"Oh! Yes, I'm Orana. I'm Messere Fenris's cook, but... he's not accepting company, right now." She smiled uncertainly.

"He's got the cook answering the door. I gotta have a talk with that boy." Varric handed her the gauntlets. "Well, he left these on my floor, the other night. I'm sure he'll be missing them as soon as he's done with his current round of entertaining."

Orana laughed and accepted the gauntlets. "You know him so well, messere."

"I'd better, by now." Varric stepped back off the doorstep, and headed out into Hightown. "Give him my best!"


	61. PART XIV: A SERIES OF MISFORTUNES

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A serial killer in Kirkwall. Conversations on the nature of magic and Kinloch Hold.

"Another embrium?" Aveline asked, smiling over her tea at whom she considered one of the least objectionable Hawkes. "I think the Knight-Captain might be serious, Anton."

Anton glanced at the aforementioned flower, which his mother had insisted on displaying on the mantel. The petals were starting to get a bit droopy, but no one had taken them down yet. "Serious? He can't be. I never take anything serious, and I take him."

Aveline made a face only to drown the look in tea. "All right, I won't pry," she said. "I'm sure I can ply your brothers for answers later."

"You're welcome to try, but I doubt you'll get any," Anton with a smirk, toying with his own cup. "Nothing useful, anyway."

Aveline's cup clinked against its saucer as she laid it down. "Say," she said, toying with the handle, "if someone wanted to pass some work your way..."

"Oh, so you weren't just here to admire my pretty flowers and prettier face?"

"I've got a thorn in my side inventing trouble and scaring people. A templar. Emeric. You don't know him, but he knows you." Aveline sounded like if she heard the Hawke name one more time, she'd strangle someone.

"Shit, is this about my brothers?" Anton asked, taking another sip of tea. He'd just talk to Cullen. Everything would be fine. "Bethy again?"

"No, no. Nothing like that," she was quick to say. "He wants your help, and some sort of official sanction."

"Official sanction?" Anton looked completely confused.

"For his 'investigation'." Aveline made finger quotes. "He's convinced that every random murder in the past few years is connected, and he won't be quiet."

"So, you want me to smooth this over? Check his work, reassure him he's imagining it?" Anton dipped a biscuit in his tea and chewed it thoughtfully. "What if he's not imagining it?"

"If it leads to something, I'll pick it up. Right now, he's just distracting my men. He's in the Gallows. Do what you can. I just can't do any more than I've done."

"Which is why you bring it to me, the non-magical master of the subtle arts."

"Thanks again, Anton. I'd say I'd try not to make a habit of this, but we both know it's too late for that."

"It's been too late for that since I bought your way into the city with a quick hand and a charming smile. And for what? Not even a kiss on the cheek!" Anton knew she wasn't interested, and he wasn't really either, but they danced the dance, all the same, because it was good to see her smile, even if she did usually end up socking him one.

"Of course I didn't kiss you! What were you, then, twelve?" Aveline teased, smiling slyly at him.

"I was a grown man! Twenty fucking three!" Anton complained, jabbing the biscuit at her.

"And look at you now!" Aveline said, snatching the biscuit from his fingers and dipping it in her own tea. "All grown up and giving me gifts! You keep on like this, and I'll start thinking you care."

Anton just laughed. He was starting to like Kirkwall. After all, where else could a man like him have been good friends with the captain of the guard, for this many years? Of course, just maybe he was trying not to make _too_ much trouble for her. Can't go around pissing off your friends and expect to keep them.

* * *

Brothers, on the other hand, were made to be pissed off, especially if one of those brothers happened to be Carver.

"Sure," he was muttering, "let's bring two mages into the Gallows. There's nothing to see here."

"Say it a little louder, why don't you?" Artemis snapped over his shoulder. His hands were doing that twitching thing like they wished the staff at his back were actually a broom handle.

"Oh, it's a lovely day, isn't it?" Merrill trilled. "The sunlight looks so pretty against the statuary." She arched her neck back to look about her and accidentally stepped on Carver's toes.

"The... slave statues?" Artie pointed out. 

Anton shook his head. Maybe bringing these three hadn't been the best idea. At least if he looked up, he could almost see Cullen's office from this angle.

"What did Aveline say this prick looked like?" Carver was not convinced this was a good idea. He was convinced this was a bad idea, even. None of his siblings ever had proper, well-thought out ideas. Especially Cormac, who thankfully had not been invited on this little outing. Cormac who'd been exploding templars, before Carver was even born, and couldn't help but piss off everything he talked to, except that stupid Warden in the cellar. But, no, this was another one of Anton's 'fly by the seat of your pants until you fall out of the sky' plans. How had he survived so long in this family? He asked himself that regularly.

"About like that, actually." Anton pointed to the middle-aged man in platemail with the hair that hung into the top of his wide gorget. Which, Anton thought, was such a poor design, but if most of your opponents were mages, he didn't suppose the plate helped much, anyway. Maybe he'd get Cullen an amulet. Something attractive and deflective.

"Captain Aveline tells me you've been giving her a hard time..." Anton grinned, holding out his hand. "Anton Hawke. At your service. And really, if you're going to be giving Aveline a hard time, it should be the fun kind, don't you think?"

"I asked her for reliable assistance, and she sends me someone who speaks of her like meat." Emeric radiated disapproval, but shook the hand anyway. "For the last few years, I have been investigating the deaths of Ninette, Mharen, and the other women. I believe I finally have a suspect! A man called Gascard du Puis."

"Really? _That's_ his name?" Anton's eyebrows arched up in amusement.

"It's Orlesian. I believe he is descended from nobility." Emeric looked distinctly bitter, as he went on. "When I became convinced of his guilt, I went to the city guard and demanded that they do something. The guards raided his mansion and found nothing. They were forced to apologise, and I was reprimanded."

Anton refrained from adjusting his trousers at the thought of Cullen reprimanding _anyone_. But, then, Knight-Captain. He should have figured that would come up eventually.

"Meredith forbade me from continuing my investigation, but she didn't say I couldn't seek outside help." Emeric gestured across the group before him.

Oh, Meredith. Well, that was less fun.

"Were you the only person investigating these murders?" Artemis asked, eyes narrowing, hand still bouncing against his thigh.

"Yes, unfortunately," said Emeric, his expression and tone long-suffering. "The Templar order believes this is a matter for the city guard. And the city guard... well. They rejected my evidence and dismissed the murders as isolated incidents." Long-suffering tone turned resentful as he spat, "They don't care, either."

"Well, now, that's a little unfair, don't you think?" Anton cut in, still smiling amiably. "Sounds like the guard have done all they can, and then Aveline sent us to you to do what they couldn't. I'd say somebody cares at least a little. Don't you think?" He turned to shrug at his brothers and Merrill.

"Ooh, I care!" said Merrill brightly, raising her hand.

"See?" said Anton.

"Women are dying out there!" Emeric snapped. "Could we maybe take this a bit more seriously?"

"Trust me," sighed Carver, "this is about as serious as he gets. I suggest you run with it."

Artemis and Anton traded a look. "All right," said Artie, "why don't you tell us about this... du Puis?"

* * *

"Demons," Varric grumbled, launching bolt after bolt into the advancing shades. "You know what? I don't even care about the murders, this guy's summoning _demons_ to protect his house. That's it. That's enough. I don't care if he's upstairs sleeping like a baby, I'm stabbing him in the neck."

"Well, we should probably figure out if he's actually guilty, first, so Emeric knows if he can stop looking for a killer. He did seem pretty convinced this guy was the one, though, and reading his notes, it's... not a bad conclusion." Anton found himself dismayed, as he so often was, that demons did not have junk that one could kick them in. It would have made everything so much easier. "There's some loose ends, sure, but even if this guy's not the killer, he knows something. He's _much_ too involved. Keeps showing up at terribly suspicious times and places."

"Or he's being framed," Varric pointed out. "Still going to kill him. _Demons_."

"Demons, alone," Carver argued, slicing through walls of nightmare blackness, "are not a reason to kill someone. Demons trying to eat us, on the other hand, probably is."

"You know what, Carver?" Artemis said as he knocked a pair of shades back with a ripple of magic. "Next time someone needs to go into the Fade, I'm volunteering you. _Then_ you can tell me what you think about demons."

"I just said demons eating us is a bad thing!"

Artemis brandished his staff at his youngest brother between demons. "Do I need to force push you down _these_ stairs too?"

"All right, boys, play nice," drawled Varric, his smile tighter than usual. "You can have a slap-fight when we're done killing the things trying to kill us."

"To be fair," Merrill said, vines twisting around her, "it seems like there's always something trying to kill us."

"Well, we do keep volunteering to do shit like pursue murderers into their lairs," Anton pointed out.

"I would like to point out that you volunteered us for this, Anton." Carver sliced through something that felt different, as the shades and their nightmare clouds began to disperse. "Is that a rage demon? That's a rage demon. Anton? Right in the face, when we get out of this."

"Please, not the face. I need this face. Punch me in the stomach, instead." Anton was glad he'd worn the fire-resistant boots, as he leapt onto the demon's back, still slicing and stabbing.

"What is it with you Hawkes and having preferred places to get hit?" Varric asked. "Most people prefer not to get hit _at all_."

"He's right, you know." Merrill slammed her staff against the ground. "Jump!"

Anton saw it coming and threw himself onto Carver, rolling them out of the way as the earth rose up and slammed into the demon. "Shit, Merrill, a little more warning, if you're going to do that?"

"I got distracted!" she complained, doing it again.

"And to answer the question," Anton heaved himself to his feet, "it's because I can either let him punch me, or he'll come do it while I'm sleeping."

Varric cursed, backing away to get a shot at a demon who was getting too friendly. With a curl of his fist, Artemis pulled the demon towards him and away from Varric. The bolt landed between its eyes. Well, where the eyes would be if it had any, anyway.

"What does it say about me that I'm the only brother you don't punch, Carver?" Artemis said, kicking the last demon to make sure it was dead before it disintegrated into ashes. The house was echoingly silent without the monsters roaring and flinging themselves every which way. 

"It says that I can blame most of the stupid things you do on Cormac," Carver replied, wiping dust off his rump, "who I would much rather punch."

Artie didn't have the heart to tell him just how many bad ideas had been his own. "That seems fair. Keep punching Cormac. He's bedding the healer."

Floorboards creaked under their feet as they made their upstairs and deeper into the house. They peeked behind doors into empty rooms, overturned furniture to look for more clues.

Carver kicked at a chest in one corner. "Clothes?" he said. " _Women's_ clothes? Gee, that's not suspicious."

"Maybe Gascard just likes to feel pretty," Artemis said, shrugging as he pulled out a dress by the embroidered sleeve. He looked up to see Anton biting back a smirk. "What?" His eyes narrowed and then popped wide. "Oh Maker. No. Anton, whatever rumours you've heard were false."

"Like what, that mint green is your colour?"

Artemis stuffed the dress back into the chest, cheeks burning.

"Did I miss something?" Merrill asked, blinking up at the brothers. "Was it dirty? Ooh, I bet it was dirty if it's making Artie blush."

"I got something, here." Varric held up a couple of letters he'd found stuck between books. "Looks like this guy is trading... wild animals, maybe? For some kind of artefacts? Man, I hope we didn't sell him anything. I don't want people looking at me like that. And, ah..." Varric squinted at the second one. "Something about missing mages from Starkhaven. First Enchanter doesn't seem real thrilled he's asking."

"Missing mages and artefacts?" Anton blinked. "I don't know what's going on, but I'm not sure I like it. I'm getting a creepy Old Gods feeling about this, especially with the demons in the hall."

"I've heard some rumours about cultists in the mountains." Carver shrugged. "Something about Dumat, I don't know. I don't listen to that shit, but the fruit lady at the market was talking to the butcher about it."

"Oh, that's great. Archdemon-worshipping loonies from the hills." Varric shook his head. "Dead archdemon, even. I'm liking this guy less and less."

And then a scream cut through the conversation. "Help me! Please!"

"Oh, that's a murderer." Varric ran into the hall, and the rest of them followed.

In the next room, a mage stood over a woman kneeling on the floor, still sobbing and shrieking, as seemed appropriate to the situation. "He's gone mad!" she cried out, as Carver appeared in the doorway.

"You're not... You're not _him_." The mage looked terribly confused as people filed into the room, arranging themselves to best bring him down. "Shit! I... I know what this looks like, but I didn't hurt her."

"Do I look like an idiot?" Carver asked.

"Don't answer that." Varric loaded Bianca with another bolt, and hung back, waiting.

"N-no!" stammered the mage, who, from the ridiculous Orlesian accent, had to be Gascard. "I... I don't know why you're here, but there's a killer out there and I think he's playing us both!" He patted the air in front of him, expression desperate. "Just... just let me explain!"

"Ohh," said Artemis, flexing his fingers against his staff menacingly, "this I have to hear."

Varric nudged Anton with his elbow and leaned in. "Hey," he said, "twenty silver if he says, 'It wasn't me! It was the one-armed man!'" Anton bit back a snicker.

Gascard looked back and forth between them, throwing a nervous glance over his shoulder at the kneeling woman. Sucking in a breath, he said, "Several years ago, my sister was murdered. The bastard's now in Kirkwall, killing again. The same way he killed my sister." He turned away a moment and seemed to collect himself. "It starts with a bouquet of lilies. He sends them to each new victim. Alessa was going to be next." He looked down at the trembling woman. She shrank back as he approached. "I took her so he'd have to come to me. I was finally going to face my sister's killer, but then you showed up..."

Gascard rubbed at the bridge of his nose and blew out a sigh. 

"He's lying!" Alessa said, voice choked by tears. "He hurt me!"

"I've explained this!" Gascard crouched in front of Alessa, apparently willing to turn his back on the rest of them. Brave or stupid, and Anton couldn't decide which. "I needed your blood to track you down, if he took you! It was for your protection."

"Let go of me!" Alessa scrambled to her feet and ran out of the room.

"She'll go straight to the city guard. They'll ruin everything!" Gascard gestured after her.

"Greeeeat. Blood magic." Varric sighed. "Nothing personal, Daisy."

Merrill huffed and inched closer to Carver.

"Yes, I've used blood magic and lyrium to augment my powers." Gascard said it like it was painfully obvious, as if there were no other rational choice in this situation. "I'm not proud of what I've done, but I had to. He took my sister from me!"

"Guys, I'd be pretty bent out of shape if somebody killed Bethany," Carver pointed out, "and if you think I'd be terrible, _Cormac_? You know how he feels about blood magic, but you know how he feels about Bethany. I mean, the chances of anyone _successfully_ killing Beth are so small, but... If it happened..."

Artemis twisted the staff in his hands, remembering how Cormac had been in the Fade, over _him_. He was glad the others hadn't seen that. "I don't know what I'd do," he admitted, because he didn't. He suspected there'd be force magic involved, possibly crushing someone's insides into paste the way he had with Hadriana. But if he couldn't? If he had to find the man responsible first? "I'd probably do the exact same thing." Artie cringed and added, "Don't... don't anyone tell Fenris I said that, please."

There were some things their relationship wouldn't survive. Him using blood magic was, he suspected, one of those things.

"Tell Broody?" Varric scoffed. "I'd like to keep my organs where they are, thank you."

"Oh, so when _you_ guys discuss blood magic, it's all right," Carver muttered. Merrill looked like she was biting her tongue.

"Carver," Artemis grated out, "we still have to go back down that staircase on the way out. It's up to you whether you'll be going down on your feet or your face."

"Anyway," Anton sighed, turning back to Gascard. "Emeric seemed convinced _you_ were the killer."

Gascard nodded, closing his eyes. "Of course he was," he said, shrugging. "But I was trying to find the killer, just like him."

"I gotta tell you, hanging out around crime scenes with no explanation doesn't exactly put you in an entirely positive light." Anton shrugged, still not having sheathed his daggers. "Easy to see where Emeric might jump to conclusions."

"He is dedicated. I will give him that."

"So, wait, back up. You know who this guy is? The one who killed your sister?" Carver dragged the conversation back around to the point -- there was a murderer, and this guy probably knew who it was.

"Yes, he's a powerful and experienced blood mage. I believe he uses the women for some ritual," Gascard explained. "The victims are attractive, healthy women, with few social ties."

"So, call me crazy but, isn't this usually the part where you tell that to the city guard, and they go arrest this ritual murderer?" Anton's face turned comically inquisitive.

"Why? I don't want him arrested. This isn't about justice. I need to be the one to bleed him dry." There was an unmistakeable rage just below the surface, there, and it bled out into the words. "Besides, they probably wouldn't even hear me out."

"Guys?" Anton looked over his shoulder. "What do we think?"

"I don't know how much of what he's saying is the truth," Artemis said, voice pitched low so that only their group could hear it. Unless Gascard had some sort of special, blood-magic hearing. "But... I don't think he's the murderer."

"So?" Varric grunted. "This is a guy who just threw a bunch of demons at us. A bolt between the eyes says we cover our asses and don't take the chance he's the real deal."

"You're just going to kill a man who only wants revenge for his sister?" Carver hissed. 

"No, Junior, I'm going to kill a man who just threw _demons_ at my face."

Artemis shook his head. "He might also be our best lead if the killer strikes again," he said. At least there was no more doubt that there _was_ a killer. Aveline and the guards would have to intervene now.

"Merrill? You want to weigh in or are you just going to lurk by my brother and disapprove intensely?" Anton asked.

"Oh! No, I... I don't think you should kill him _for being a blood mage_. He has his reasons. There are always reasons... But, that woman..." Merrill looked distressed. "She looked a lot more afraid than seems to fit. If what he's saying is true, he was terribly rough with her. We need to find her, if she's next."

"Daisy's right about the lady. If she's the next target, somebody should find her and stick by her," Varric agreed.

"And you!" Merrill got louder, pointing at Gascard. "You have to stop calling demons to fight for you! Working with one or two, occasionally, is one thing, but you can't keep dragging them out to fight your battles. They'll keep asking more and more, and you won't get what you really want, before they're costing you more than you want to give them -- and they're not going to ask, after a while. If you let them that far in, they're just going to take."

Carver blinked and cocked a thumb at Merrill. "She'd know."

"Keep an eye on this dickweasel, would you?" Anton muttered to Carver, as he turned back to Gascard. "These kindly gentlepersons and myself have decided to let you walk. You get any more leads, you let me know, or you go straight to Guard Captain Aveline. She knows what's going on, and she wants this guy as bad as you do. You tell her, because if you don't walk out of this, we're still stuck with the guy, you hear me?"

Gascard nodded, relief smoothing over his face. "I'm headed to Darktown," he said, making past them for the door. "If you learn anything new about the killer, find me there." Then, almost to himself, "I've a score to settle with him."

Varric watched him go and shook his head. "Well," he said, "let's hope that doesn't come back to bite us in the ass."

* * *

"I always wanted to be a templar," Cullen was explaining, stretched out in a garden chair, in the shade of a small cluster of ornamental lemon trees. "When I was young, I saw a mage manifest. The poor kid obliterated a room. I was poking toads with sticks outside, or something, and I saw it happen, through the window. And he looked so afraid. I remember his dad looked a lot like Cormac, actually. Funny thing. I don't know, I was young. He was the only Rivaini I'd ever seen, as far south as we were. But, the family was gone, the next week. Apostates, I guess. But, the Chantry taught us the templars were there to protect everyone -- protect people from mages, sure, but that's all anyone remembers. The other half of that was protecting mages from everyone else."

Anders sat on the other side of a greened bronze table, a punchbowl of cold spice tea and a box of raspberry duchess cakes between them. Anders flicked his fingers to chill the tea some more, before he took another cup, and Cullen twitched.

"I failed you, because I didn't know any better, and I should have. I failed you, and then the demons came. Whatever you think of me, don't think I didn't pay for my mistakes."

Anders laughed bitterly into his tea. "What kind of demons came for you? You tell me yours, I'll tell you mine."

Eyes screwed shut, Cullen remembered those hours of torment, nightmares behind his eyes and Andraste's name on trembling lips. He remembered demons who wore Solona's face like a mask, their touch scalding hot and electric all at once.

"What kind...? Mostly... mostly desire demons."

Cullen's ears flushed pink at the memory. Desire. Of all his weaknesses, the demons had exploited that one. Thinking of Anton, Cullen wondered if, maybe, that was because desire was his greatest weakness. Not desire in the physical sense, not entirely, but an aching for something more.

"They put me in a case," he said, eyes haunted, "and tempted me with her face. I couldn't... I couldn't tell what was real after a while."

"Solona. She told me about finding you. You were the last one left." And there was that laugh again, at least until Anders drowned it in his tea. "She told me because she said I sounded just like you, some nights. 'You're not real. I'm not here,' I used to tell her. She was a lot younger than me -- I guess not that much. Not any more, but... we were kids, then, you know? It's a lot more, then. But, she told me you said the same things to her, when she found you. I didn't have the heart to tell her it wasn't the demons that did that to me."

Anders picked apart a duchess cake with one hand, finally putting a bit of it in his mouth. He'd never talked about his Harrowing. Because you didn't. That was one of those things -- you just didn't. Everyone went through their own shit, and no one ever talked about it.

"But, you know what, I wouldn't have come back, if they'd given me desire, for my Harrowing. There would have been no reason to come back. I'd have died, sure, but I'd have died with the illusion of happiness, and I'd have been fine with that, then. It wasn't even as bad as it got, and I'd have been fine with it, even then. But, no. _That_ was what they put me up against. Despair. There was no way out, and there never would be." This time, the laugh was a little more hysterical, the cup clattering against Anders's teeth as he tried to cover it. "And faced with it? Faced with it, I could not abide it. I was a rebellious little fucker, thank the Maker. But, it was despair done up as the one dream that stayed with me, the whole time. The one thing that made me happy. I almost didn't make it. Demon nearly took me apart. I almost let it."

Cullen nibbled at his own duchess cake as he listened. Despair. He'd felt that often enough himself, especially in that cage, and he wondered why no demons had hounded him with that.

But a few of Anders's words stuck with him even after the mage had stopped talking, picking at another duchess cake. "What do you mean 'it wasn't the demons'?" he asked.

Anders's answering smile didn't reach his eyes. He paused to chew for a while, letting Cullen's question hang in the air. "Sometimes," he said, "people do evil things without demonic intervention."

And wasn't that terribly cryptic.

"How much of that did they -- did we do to you?" Cullen remembered the sight of that enormous scar, and the tendrils of other, older scars behind and around it. "You asked if they told me what they did to you. I remember that. I don't remember a lot of that night, but I remember that."

"Most of it. Not all of it, by a stretch, but most of it." The next laugh was unquestionably hysterical. "Not the one on my leg, no. That... Did anyone ever tell you about how darkspawn come into being? They're born of broodmothers. You know what broodmothers have? Tentacles. They have tentacles. Some of those tentacles may be razor sharp. So, no. Not all of them. But... this one--" He tapped his chest. "Yeah. The ones around it, yeah. I told you. They told you. They thought I was a blood mage. Well, with all the blood they let out of me, I'm pretty sure I would have _become_ one, if I hadn't been packed full of magebane. Not even on purpose. No demons required."

It wasn't quite the truth. Yes, all of those were from templars, but the one wasn't about him being a maleficar. It was about him being an abomination.

Cullen wiped a hand over his face. He wondered if Solona had scars like that or if it was just Anders. They had warned Cullen about him back in Kinloch Hold. A trouble-maker, they'd called him. Robe trash.

"That is... not what I signed up for," he murmured. Somewhere along the line he'd forgotten but, "We're supposed to look after the mages in our charge, to protect them." Even from themselves, he knew. "I am sorry, Anders. We failed you."

"Yeah, you did. Unquestionably. And now you get to be grateful we didn't fail you as badly." Anders stuffed the rest of the duchess cake into his mouth and pushed the box across the table toward Cullen. At this point, it wasn't even that he was angry, any more. Which isn't to say he wasn't angry, because he was pissed as a bereskarn covered in bees about the whole thing. But, it was about finally sitting across the table from a templar that he could _say_ that to, because it needed to be said.

"Uldred--" Cullen started.

"Uldred failed us all. That's what happens, when people are fucking terrified, all the time. They start doing stupid shit." Anders's hand shook as he dipped his cup into the bowl for more tea. "They tell you about the time I went out the window? That's how I ended up in the hole. A hundred and something feet off the ground with a torn up couple of sheets tied to a Tevinter bookcase. Stupid, stupid shit. Don't get me wrong, I blame Uldred. I blame the fuck out of Uldred. But, I know how he got there."

Cullen bit his tongue. "I understand that," he said. "I do. Mages shouldn't be afraid of their templar guardians, and templars shouldn't abuse their station. But at the same time, people like Uldred are why the templars exist in the first place, whether his reasons were good or not." Anders opened his mouth to say something, and Cullen shook his head. "We could argue that, I'm sure, but we'd just be running in circles -- as it were. I still think templars and the Circles are needed, but... changes need to be made, surely."

Justice bristled under Anders's skin but not to the point of glowing. Anders hid his distraction behind another sip of tea. "We can agree on the 'changes' part," he said, which was about as diplomatic as he was going to be on the subject. 

"It's a start." Cullen reached for a duchess cake and blushed as he realised what he had in his hand, with it halfway to his mouth. Damn Anton. He forced himself to eat the thing, trying to convince his mind to associate the cakes with this moment, not that one. And then he spotted the missing statue, in the line along the divide between the sitting part of the garden and the topiary. "Er, that... statue. Do you... What happened to it?"

"Let's just say you weren't the only one having fun out here, that night." Anders looked away and rubbed his face. Don't lie, but don't tell him the truth. "I guess it wasn't as well attached to the base as it should have been."

"Maker. I don't... That was a very dangerous cordial." Cullen stared at the statue base, as if trying to remember. "I could swear there was magic..."

"And, what, you thought you'd suddenly turned into a mage, while you weren't looking? Because I can promise you that you didn't. Neither did Anton. Most unmagical git in the room." Anders was actually having a bit of fun with this one, which was definitely an improvement over where they'd started. It needed to happen, but lingering on it wasn't going to help.

"Oh, I don't know if I'd say that... He's got some sparkle." Cullen smiled dreamily into the garden, tearing another half a cake for himself.

Anders smirked around a bite of cake. The man was so clearly smitten, it was almost painful. "Sparkle, huh?" he teased. He was so telling Cormac about that later.

As if summoned, Anton came racing into the garden in all his sparkling glory. Or lack thereof, Anders decided when he got a better look at him. His expression was much too grim to be sparkling.

"Well, if it isn't my favourite Warden and Knight-Captain," Anton said with a smile Anders didn't believe for a second. 

Cullen's cup clattered against the table as he set it down. "And if it isn't my favourite... well, everything." His ears turned pink again as he seemed to realise what he'd just said. He picked up his tea again after all and hid his face behind it. Anders shook his head. Maker, the man was hopeless.

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news," Anton said, picking up one of the cakes, "so I'm going to put that off for a minute. Did you buy duchess cakes, Cullen? Enjoying that memory?"

Cullen turned bright red as he tried very hard not to remember. Not right now. Not in front of Anders. Not in front of anyone who wasn't Anton. Ever. Oh, Maker. What.

"No, I bought them. That's why they're raspberry." Anders to the rescue. As usual, in so many ways. "How bad is your bad news on a scale of 'lost five sovereigns to Cormac' to 'there's an archdemon rising under Kirkwall'? Which there's not. I'd have noticed."

"It's... I'd call it a pretty solid midpoint." Anton kept eating cake, hip cocked as if he could fend off whatever this was with a wall of polished sass. Finally, he finished the cake and couldn't put it off, with both of them staring at him. Licking his fingers, he crouched in front of Cullen's chair, taking Cullen's hands in his own. "You need to hear this from me."

Anders set his cup down, clattering it against the table as he tried to still his hand. No, it might not be an archdemon, but this was serious. He'd made that face. He'd said some very similar words, countless times. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, watching.

"Anton?" Cullen said, thumbs tracing familiar calluses along Anton's palms. "What is it?" He couldn't remember the last time he saw Anton without a smile, real or not. 

"It's Ser Emeric," Anton said, eyes intent on Cullen's, making sure he heard. "He's been killed."

Cullen's hands stilled in Anton's. Ser Emeric, the older templar who'd offered him advice what seemed like an age ago. Advice that was fairly sound, considering Anton was still here with him. Emeric had suggested the orchids.

"What happened?" Cullen asked in his Knight-Captain voice. Emeric was hardly the first friend he'd lost, painful as that was, and memories of Kinloch Hold were still raw in his mind.

"I don't know how much you knew about it, but he was investigating a series of murders -- women, white lilies..."

"Of course! I brought him straight to Meredith, when he showed me the evidence. And she said it wasn't our concern, but the concern of the guard. He never spoke of it again, so I assumed she'd helped him take it to the Guard Captain." Cullen looked confused. "Was he still looking into it?"

"We think he got too close, and the murderer got the better of him. We're dealing with a maleficar. For real, this time, Anders, I can feel your eyes drilling holes in the side of my head." Anton took a deep breath and continued. "Actual blood magic. Actual demons. And that's what killed Emeric. I'm going to find this guy, Cullen. I know what I'm walking into, and I'm probably taking Anders with me, as soon as I've got a clean lead. And if I'd been just a little faster, Emeric would have known what he was walking into, too."

"Damned right I'm going with you!" Anders snatched up his tea again, eyes flashing blue. "Man set demons loose in my city. You can't just bring demons into the world and expect that's going to end well. And if you don't expect it to end well... Well, let's just say I know where I'm needed."

"What _is_ that?" Cullen asked, watching Anders as he talked. "You keep... flickering."

"That is something my good friend Kristoff picked up in Blackmarsh, once upon a time, and he passed it on to me shortly before I buried him. Poor bastard. Good man. Great warrior. Consider it one of those dirty Warden secrets. I'll tell you my dirty mage secrets, but not my dirty Warden secrets. Solona would come up here and light my ass on fire, and none of us want that."

"If you keep making Cormac scream like that," Anton drawled, " _I'll_ be able to tell Cullen all your dirty mage secrets."

That just put some interesting questions into Cullen's head, most of which he wasn't sure he wanted answers to. "Er." Cullen paused to clear his throat. He squeezed Anton's hands. "If there is a blood mage involved, then this really should be a templar matter."

Anton was sure Anders had something to say to that, so he cut in first. "Well, it still is, isn't it?" he said sweetly. "After all, here I am, reporting to you, Ser Cullen. _Knight-Captain_ Cullen." He added an extra purr to the titles just to watch Cullen squirm a bit. "And Meredith has already made it clear she does not want to be bothered with this."

"But that was before--"

"We'll keep you apprised, Captain. Don't worry." Anton stretched to peck Cullen on the lips, and Cullen gave him a look that all but admitted defeat.

"I don't like the idea of you going after a murderer," Cullen said softly.

"Did I ever tell you the story of how I got into Kirkwall?" Anton asked, smiling. "One murderer and a few demons aren't going to be enough to bring me down. I pissed off the Carta, and I'm still here."

"Did Varric buy you out of trouble for that one?" Anders asked, squinting over his tea at Anton.

"I didn't even know Varric, at the time. No, my brothers and I got ourselves out of that mess." Anton dropped into Cullen's lap, helping himself to another cake. "Cormac's been punched in the head by an ogre. We'll be fine. I'll be fine. Didn't there used to be a statue over there?"


	62. Chapter 62

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cormac is a sweetheart. Artemis, however, is kind of an asshole. This is not the way that's supposed to work, I'm sure of it.

Fenris watched Artemis flit back and forth, his desk the eye of his storm of activity. Books, parchment, inkpots, quills -- more than one. Fenris wasn't sure why he'd need more than one, but leave it to Artemis to have a spare... everything. 'Just in case', he was always saying. That was Fenris's philosophy about wine. Spare bottle or three. Just in case.

Fenris cleared his throat as Artie moved the desk chair out of the way and force pushed a bench in the direction of the desk. "Orana will want to know what you -- what we -- would like her to cook for tonight," he said.

Artemis looked up as he straightened the bench. "Ah. Food. Haven't thought about food. Do you have a preference?"

Fenris shrugged, a bit helplessly. He was used to scrounging food for himself, and before that he would just eat whatever his master would spare him. Food was fuel, something he'd often gone without, and though he'd developed a fondness for anything with apples, knowing he had an employee who would cook him anything was... well. Best to leave those decisions to Artemis.

And Artemis was giving him that funny look that said he knew what Fenris was thinking. "Never mind," he said. "I have something I'd like to talk about first. Come sit with me." He sat on one side of the bench and patted the vacant spot next to him.

Fenris could deny him nothing when Artemis smiled at him so hopefully. "Should I be worried?" he asked, sliding his rump onto the bench and sitting hip to hip with Artie. He considered the quills and parchment. "Are you going to ask me to draw dirty pictures too?"

Artemis chuffed and picked up a quill, checking its nib. "I did not realise that was one of your skills," he said. "You've been holding out on me."

"I did not say they were _good_ dirty pictures," Fenris drawled. "Imagine a pair of sticks rutting and you get the idea." There had been quite a bit of wine involved in that discovery, if he recalled correctly.

"Now you _definitely_ have to draw those later," Artemis laughed. "But, no, that's..." He twirled the quill in his hand. "You said something in the Fade, about how you couldn't read, and... Well. I thought I might teach you. If you like. Just an idea. If not, well, there's plenty of parchment for those naughty stick-people to frolic on and --" He quieted when Fenris's hand curled around his.

"Mage." It was difficult to speak with a lump in his throat. "I'd... I'd like that, yes." And Fenris thought it best to leave it at that, before his throat choked off words entirely.

A feather teased under his chin, and Fenris looked up to see Artemis's eyes soft on his. The mage, his mage, his lovely mage, pressed the quill into Fenris's hand, molded Fenris's fingers around it in a way that he said Fenris would get used to with practice. Then Artemis picked up the second quill and dipped it in the ink, and Fenris mimicked his every motion.

After an hour, there was ink everywhere. Spattered across the parchment, some of it in shaky but recognisable shapes. Spattered across the open pages of a book, the desk, Artie's sleeve. Fenris's fingers were black with it and left fingerprints on everything he touched. He could feel Artemis twitching next to him with the desire to clean it up, but the mage kept smiling, kept ignoring it, for as long as Fenris wanted to continue the lesson.

They only paused when Orana peeked in to ask about the food herself.

* * *

Sometime after midday, Cormac went down to make sure Anders was eating. That was a thing. He didn't. So, for months, Cormac had been making sure he did. And never just enough for Anders, either. Every day he went down to the clinic with a decent lunch for Anders and bread or cheese or day-old pastry for anyone else who happened to be there. Day-olds were easy. Anything that couldn't be sold at the end of the day and was more than a shop could use would be cheap enough to just buy up, and not that Cormac didn't think Lowtown needed that food, but Darktown needed it more. Yeah, he was bleeding money, but it wasn't enough to be crippling, and people who liked you didn't turn you in for being an apostate, as Anders had pointed out, more than once.

He kicked aside the curtain, making his way into the clinic with Anders's lunch on one arm and a sack of rolls, in the other hand. "Anybody using that table? Somebody get the bottle off of it."

A couple who had been rolling bandages got up and dragged the table out into the middle of the room, and Cormac dropped the sack of rolls onto it. "Bread, today. It's what I could get. Help yourselves, feed your neighbours. I'm going to go make sure your healer doesn't work himself into a coma."

He turned around and called up the room, "Hey, Anders! Are you dead yet?"

Anders barely glanced up from where he stood, smoothing healing magic into an older woman's broken hip. "Oh, hello, Cormac," he said, sounding as harried as he looked, hair coming free from its tie and spilling into his eyes. "Is it midday already? It can't be midday yet." Not that he could tell with the meagre sunlight coming in, which. Well. Which was why it was called Darktown, wasn't it?

The woman let out a sigh of relief, her whole body sagging with the motion. "Thank you, Messere," she said.

"Just Anders, please. I keep telling you. Now, you try to stay off your feet for a while. You know you shouldn't be taking those stairs..."

As Anders gently admonished his patient, Ser Nibbles bounced across the room to see Cormac, fluffy little tail arced high in the air. He pawed at Cormac's feet and looked at him seriously as he said, "Eee?"

"Aww! It's Lord Assbiter! Who's a fluffy little demon-spawn!" Cormac put the basket on a flat surface it probably didn't belong on and crouched down to pick up the little cat, cradling him in one crooked arm. "You are! Yes! You are the furry little rage-demon who keeps sticking his claws where they don't go!"

Cormac nuzzled the cat's belly and promptly got bit on the eyebrow. He looked disapprovingly at the cat, and spoke to Anders, instead. "Who's not serious? I'll start getting people out of here. You take care of anything that might be an emergency, and then we'll have lunch. You know you have to eat, or you'll never have nice shoulders again, and you'll just have to settle for envious thoughts about mine."

"I like your shoulders just fine," the old lady with the newly-repaired hip informed Anders. And winked.

Anders laughed nervously and helped her to the door, where her son waited. "Hear that, Cormac? You have competition." He squeezed Cormac's arm on the way back. "Looks like there's been an outbreak of the flu," he said. "I have one more bone to set, and then I'll see what I can do for them. Just... look after them as best you can and make sure Lord Assbiter doesn't bite off anybody's toes. Or asses."

"I think he's a little small to be biting off asses, just yet. I mean, you never know, maybe one day, he'll be as big as Mintaka, and won't we have troubles, then, but I can keep him off the toes." Cormac kissed Anders on the cheek, and across the room someone whistled. "You keep that up, and we'll get to you last!"

For about an hour, they worked together. Cormac's magic wasn't much for healing, but he could fix the little things -- scrapes and splinters, a couple of hairline fractures. Slowly, the clinic started to empty out, until there were more people working in it than patients. The sack of rolls was nearly empty.

Cormac looked back to where Anders was working on... someone. He couldn't tell what the problem was from across the room. "Is that one bleeding? Some kind of critical?"

Blood flowed around Anders's fingers as he tried to stem it, pushing enough magic into the injury to make sweat bead on his forehead. This man -- his patient -- had a gash running up the side of one leg, deep enough to nick an artery.

"Cormac, I could use a hand here," he called out. He was scraping the bottom of the barrel, magic-wise, after a morning of constant use. Thank the Maker Warden stamina was good for more than one thing, although this one thing was less fun.

Cormac didn't even have to look at the shelves to know which one he was reaching for, the lyrium potion appearing in his hand as he crossed to Anders. There was still a cat on his shoulder, chewing on the ends of his hair, as he uncorked it and held the bottle to Anders's lips. "Drink first. Then tell me what else you need."

This. Cormac hated to see this, almost as much as he hated to see Anders up for days, lost to the world, scrawling sentences that were missing the parts that would make them make sense. Cormac knew how they went together, though. He could find all the pieces in the scattered, ink-stained pages, and some nights, he would. He'd just sit and number the sections, as Anders knocked pages off the desk and tugged at his hair, unaware that Cormac was even in the room. There were two of them for a reason, Cormac figured. He thought that about his brothers, too, sometimes.

But, Anders pushed himself much too far, almost every day, and no man could live like that for long, but here they were, three years later, and Anders was ... almost looking better, if one ignored how often Justice distracted him. Looking more solid, at least, less like he'd blow away in a stiff wind. He was going to change the world, and Cormac meant to help him do it. This man was what Cormac had been waiting for, for most of his life. He only wished his father had lived to see it.

Anders drank the potion at his lips without asking what it was. He knew it was lyrium, knew that Cormac knew his rhythms better than he did and would know what he needed. The taste was sharp on his tongue, invigorating, and he sucked in a deep breath before pressing more healing into the wound his fingers held shut, stitching the leg up with magic from the inside out.

"Thank you," Anders said when he had the space to do so. "Keep him still for me." He trusted Cormac to do that too and slowly, painstakingly, finished closing up the man's wound.

Anders straightened and stretched his back with a satisfying crack. Offering Cormac a tired smile, he went over to the patient's family to tell them he would be fine and that he was sleeping for the moment. While they checked on him, Anders sat on the edge of the cot Purrcy had claimed and scratched under the cat's chin.

"You're covered in blood, sweet thing," Cormac said, quietly, holding out a damp rag. He didn't seem at all unsettled by this. It was just the way things were. "I got you cabbage salad and pork pies."

He dabbed at a blood spatter on Anders's cheek, when the rag didn't leave his hand fast enough, and after a moment, Anders took it. "One step at a time, right? I'm pretty sure you don't want to eat until after you wash, and there's nobody here who's going to drop dead if you take the time to eat. I checked. Just some more of the flu." He leaned down closer to Anders's ear. "And as much as I enjoy you as you are, the idea of you with shoulders like fucking buttresses just turns me on. Immensely. I'm always so afraid I'm going to break you, but, well... you _are_ the healer. You're looking a little less like bones, lately, though. It's a good look on you, actually having flesh."

Cormac sat down and unpacked lunch between them, nudging Purrcy out of the way. Purrcy flopped over an inch to the side and curled right back up, purring up to his name.

Anders smiled at them both as he wiped off his hands, scrubbing a bit at the caked-in blood around his nailbeds. "Shoulders like 'buttresses', hmm?" he said, poking at a bite of pork pie. "So I can just pick you up and throw you over my shoulder whenever I like?" He did miss having thicker shoulders. Thicker everything, really. "I could say something about you liking your men bigger, but we both know that."

Maker, but food tasted divine after all that. Lyrium was good in a pinch, but food and rest were the best ways to recuperate. Facts he often forgot applied to himself.

"I may be short, but I'm not tiny. I like someone I'm not going to accidentally turn into a pudding with a firm hug. Well, not in the bad way, anyway. I do like it when I can turn you all gooey in the good ways." Cormac snagged a pork pie for himself. Thank the Maker for a proper Fereldan restaurant. "Haven't seen you in bed, all week. You all right?"

Cormac knew exactly where Anders had been. He'd been there, too, but Anders didn't need to know that. He'd figure it out eventually, looking at the notes, and Cormac would bullshit about having gotten bored while Anders was working in the clinic. Cormac had stopped sleeping the way people usually slept, taking little naps between things, instead. Rout a gang in Lowtown, catch a couple of hours. Go talk to Aveline about the lily killer, have a nap -- sometimes in her office, which just annoyed her to no end. Anton had told him Aveline was starting to worry, but Cormac passed it off with a joke about stairs and getting old.

Anders chewed on his cabbage salad as an excuse not to answer for a moment. He considered telling him, about the black-outs, the gaps in his memory that were getting closer and closer together. He'd been in Lowtown last night, heading for the Hanged Man, only to find himself bent over his desk with a familiar cramp in his back and a dried-up quill in his hand.

Anders looked at Cormac and ended up saying, "Oh, I've just been busy. You know how it is. A gorgeous healer is always in high demand for one reason or another. Have you been missing the flagpole so terribly?" He smirked at Cormac through a large bite of pork pie, and really, only Anders could smirk with his cheeks bulging like a chipmunk's.

"I miss the flagpole every second of the day that I'm not sitting on it." Cormac smiled widely, mischief in his eyes. He wanted to call Anders out on it, but then he'd have to admit he'd been there. A hundred and something hours, at this point, Anders had been awake, as far as Cormac could tell. He wondered how much lyrium was needed to support that kind of ... dedication. "Come to bed, tonight. I mean it. Yes, Justice, I can hear you disapproving from here. Shut up. Anders needs to get laid." No, Anders needed to sleep, but they'd get there.

They were interrupted by a sudden flutter of motion at the front of the room. Wasn't that his brother's cook? What was she doing down here?

"Messeres! It's..." She paused to catch her breath.

"Is anyone dying?" Cormac asked.

"Not dying, no." Orana continued to look somewhat uncomfortable.

"Good! I'm not worried." Cormac grinned.

Anders took pity on the poor woman. "Alright," he sighed. "What have Messeres Fartemis done this time?"

"I think maybe, you should come with me, Messere..."

* * *

The first thing Fenris was aware of was the new sheets Artemis had bought. Some sort of Orlesian thing. They'd been sliding off him all night, much to his dismay, and taking the blanket with them. Now, the blanket was on the floor, Fenris was freezing, and the sheets were still slippery. Which he was suddenly reminded of as he rolled over to grab the blanket, and slid off the bed. "Fasta vass!"

Fine. The sheets had a vendetta or something. He'd just take the blanket and go sleep on the rug by the fire. Except that involved getting up and the floor seemed to be suffering the same issue as the sheets, for some reason. " _Futue tuam matrem auri!_ " His legs headed in opposite directions, and he threw himself at the floor, defensively.

"Artemis, tu fututor matris, what have you done to the floor?" Fenris shouted, clutching the floor for dear life. Except that didn't work, because the floor in here was stone, and the seams were nearly invisible.

Artemis came gliding into the doorway in socked feet, hands spread palm-out to keep his balance. "Good morning, Fenris," he said with the cheeriest smile. Fenris would crawl over to him and strangle him for that smile if his body could remember how friction worked. "What did you call me? You spit 'fututor' to yourself often enough that I guess it means fuck or fucker. Did you call me a mattress fucker?"

"No, I-- _argh_!" Fenris's fingers scrambled along the floor. "With those sheets, you can't do anything except fall to your death on that mattress anyway!"

"Oh, yes, the new sheets. Do you like them? That's the Orlesian silk I told you about. Remember?" Artemis's grin was equal parts sweet and mischievous. "As for the floor, I waxed it this morning. I thought it could use a little shine."

"Wax. On the floor?" Fenris looked at Artemis as if he'd gone mad. He remembered the gleam of the floors in Tevinter, but they weren't... deathtraps! Well, except the ones that were, but those weren't ... this. "Why would you do this? Is there not some less deadly way to, as you say, shine the floors?"

He pulled the corner of the blanket over himself, carefully. "And I'm sure you tidied my trousers into oblivion, again. Would you please bring me something to wear, before Orana comes running about the noise?"

"Oh, Orana has heard worse noise and seen worse things from you," Artemis said, sliding a little ways into the room, pushing one foot in front of the other as if he were skating. "And I'm rather enjoying watching you slide about on your lovely rump."

Fenris growled up at the mage and hated that his glare only seemed to make Artemis's shoulders shake with suppressed laughter. "This is not funny, mage. Fetch me my trousers."

Artemis tutted and slid over to the closet. "I think every bard that describes elves as graceful needs to see you first thing in the morning."

Before he could respond, Fenris found himself with a faceful of pants. "My buttocks thank you."

Now, of course, the issue remained of how to actually wear the pants. Standing up, like a normal person, seemed to be right out, so he tucked his feet into the legs and lifted them, pulling down toward his body. He didn't usually think about how tight he wore his clothes, but times like this, he'd make an exception, and he smacked his elbow into the floor, several times, spinning himself around.

He glared at Artemis. "Stop laughing! You got dressed when the floor was still a floor, and not some lunatic's impression of a floor, based on the remembrances of a drunken cleric sliding down a window!"

Artemis leaned against the wall, making high-pitched wheezing sounds he was laughing so hard. If Fenris glared any harder, Artemis would catch fire. "I'm sorry," Artemis panted. "But you just... you're like an angry wet cat."

Fenris snarled and attacked his pants with renewed determination, ears vibrating.

Artie snatched up his staff from where he'd tucked it against the doorjamb, and then he slid over to the flailing elf. With a strategic poke of his staff, Fenris went spinning again.

" _Mage_!" Fenris rolled to his knees, tugging the pants up over his hips. He tied one knot, just to keep them mostly closed, then slid one foot out in front of him. He could walk on ice, for Andraste's sake. He could do this. He shifted his weight to his toes, as he stood, lunging forward before his foot shot out from under him, and catching himself on the other foot, almost well enough to stay up. Almost. Both hands shot out and grabbed Artemis's staff, to steady him.

"And now, I'm awake." There were too many teeth in that smile, and Fenris clicked them together teasingly, just shy of Artemis's nose.

"And so you are," Artemis said with a smile of his own. Letting go of his staff, Artie propelled himself backward with a push of force magic, grinning and waving his fingers as he slid back out of the room, perfectly balanced.

Fenris leaned backward to compensate for the change of weight, using the staff to balance himself. Mages. Always mages.

"This--! This is not the way I meant to spend my morning," Fenris complained, spreading his feet and settling his weight more firmly. If what he was seeing worked then... He leaned forward and crouched slightly, before shoving off the side of the bed, using the staff.

"Hah!" Just like paddling a boat, he told himself, and that was something he knew how to do. After a few more tests, he shoved himself out the door, after Artemis. "Didn't think you'd confound me for that long, did you?"

"For that long?" Artie repeated. "Maker, no. You're moving slow this morning." He slid a few steps towards Fenris, then propelled himself forward again, the spark of magic making the lyrium on Fenris's skin prickle. Artemis slid just past him and spun, pinching Fenris's ass and making him jump before flying backwards again. Artemis's cackling was cut short when he clipped a doorframe on the way back, sending him spinning.

Fenris lashed out with the staff, just close enough to get in one good shove, knocking Artemis into the open room. "Got you now!" he crowed, poling his way the last few feet down the hall and into the room. He knew he'd get the hang of it, eventually. Except... shit. Force magic. He spun the staff out and caught himself in the doorway. There was a way around even this. There was always a way... He was still in the doorway, which meant he had a bit of a hand up, yet.

Then Artemis came gliding at him across the floor, hands outstretched and knees bent to tackle him, and Fenris pushed off one side of the doorframe, spinning to the side out of Artie's way. Artemis shot back out through the doorway, just missing him, and spun back to face him, laughing. "See? I told you we didn't need a rug up here," he said. The others he had rolled up and to the side for the waxing, but he was rather enjoying _this_ set-up.

They slid around each other on bare and socked feet, eyeing each other. Then Artemis curled a finger in a beckoning motion, and Fenris found himself shoved at the mage.

Fenris braced the staff along one arm, stretching it out to the side, as he flew toward Artemis. He could still come out of this on top. The staff caught Artemis in the chest, and he bounced off the rail, spinning around the decorative pillar that marked the head of the stairs.

"No!" Fenris dropped the staff and grabbed Artemis, but it was too late and they both pitched down the stairs, Fenris rolling to pull Artemis on top of him, before they collided with any steps. The journey to the bottom was short and painful, and then the staff caught up, slamming into Fenris's clenched teeth before it rolled off to the side, somewhere.

"... _Mages_ ," Fenris sighed, as his mouth filled with blood.

Artemis groaned against Fenris's chest, pulling his hand out from under them to clutch his shoulder. "Well," he choked out, "that ended about as well as I expected."

* * *

Anders found them on that staircase shortly after, though they were, by then, in less of a heap. And sitting upright. For certain values of upright. Artie leaned against the bannister with one hand clutching the opposite shoulder. Fenris had a hand to his mouth and a drying trail of blood down his chin and chest.

Anders stood over them with his arms folded across his chest. "Now, children, what have I said about running in the house?"

Fenris gave him a rude gesture.

"It wasn't running," Artie mumbled. "We were..." He made a swooping motion with the arm not bent at a painful angle. "...sliding. Ish."

"Stupid mage floors," Fenris mumbled. Artemis nodded.

"Do I even...?" Anders shook his head and glanced around. "I thought it looked a little shiny in here. This place looks great."

Anders continued to examine the main hall, while he channelled healing toward Fenris. "I love the sconces. Who picked those?"

"I did, messere." Orana stepped in, behind him, having finished whatever she was doing in the entrance hall. "The old ones were broken and much too gaudy."

"Smile for me, Fenris?" Anders crouched in front of him. "I just want to make sure I didn't do something ugly to your face."

Fenris's 'smile' looked more like a sneer.

"I don't think his face gets any uglier than that," Artemis mumbled.

Anders shrugged. "Close enough." He reached for Fenris's chin before thinking better of it. "Looks good," he decided. "You'll be back to biting my head off again in no time." He patted Fenris's head.

"I'll be biting your hand off in a moment," Fenris growled.

Artemis nudged Fenris's ribs with his elbow. "Be nice," he said. "The healer just fixed your pretty face."

"Still think you're prettier than he is," Anders said, backing up and gesturing to the floor. "If you did what I think you did, I need you to lie down, so I have the angle to put it back in, and you don't wind up with a completely useless arm that doesn't hurt."

"Usually someone buys me a drink before saying that," Artie said with a weak smile.

"I'll get you a drink when you've got enough feeling in your fingers not to pour it into your lap." Anders helped Artemis into a reasonable position on the floor, bracing one hand under his shoulder and using the other hand to pull Artemis's wrist down toward his knee. The shoulder hand flooded the joint with healing, as Anders carefully reseated it. The grinding squishing sounds were far more comforting than the choked noises of panic coming out of Artemis.

"You're fine. Give me a minute. I need to convince it not to swell up. If it swells, you're going to stop being fine." Anders let go of Artemis's wrist and tucked that hand behind the shoulder, checking the shoulderblade and the ribs. "Yeah, that wasn't too bad. You must have just caught it and twisted it on the way down."

"Fuck. Fuckity fuckpie, that hurts," Artemis said through grit teeth. He cautiously shook out his arm as he sat up. "All the times I've force pushed Carver down the stairs, he's landed on his ass with nothing but a bruise. I fall once and dislocate my shoulder. Well done, me."

"But you saved your own ass, which is much nicer," Anders said, squeezing Artie's uninjured shoulder.

Fenris's answering growl promised some kicking of asses if Anders continued in this vein.

"I think I'll just leave you two feral love-badgers to continue with your ... er ... sliding." Anders grinned and got to his feet. "Have you mentioned Cormac's ... suggestion, yet? Me, I've got no investment, either way, but ... If you're going to be knocking people down the stairs for a lark..."

He headed for the door, winking at Orana on his way out. "You're welcome to come see me for non-critical things, too."

Fenris narrowed his eyes at Anders's back, then turned that narrowed look at Artemis. "What's this about 'Cormac's suggestion?" he asked.

Artemis's gaze skittered away, looking at everything that wasn't Fenris, and his ears turned red. "Uh. Yes. About that." Artemis coughed into his fist. "We might need to be a bit drunker before talking about that."

Fenris frowned, ears twitching. "So it was _that_ kind of suggestion."


	63. Chapter 63

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weaponised dog farts. Varric finds Bartrand. Abject mayhem all around.

Cullen woke suddenly, choking on his own breath -- no, this wasn't that place. She wasn't here, and neither were the demons with her face. In fact, the only thing he was aware of, for a few moments, was the smell of dog-breath on his face. Dog. Anton's dog. Anton's dog and Anton's bed. And that was Anton pressed against his back, face buried in his neck. He was safe, here.

"Dog... Mintaka... move." He shoved the dog's muzzle out of his face, to no avail. In fact, he was met with a wet stripe of dog-tongue across his cheeks. "Dog, noooo! _Dog_!"

Mintaka seemed amused by his complaints, dropping a heavy forepaw across his shoulders and huffing in his face. Great. Now, he was stuck in a sweat sandwich between Anton and this furry sack of dog-breath. He was as Fereldan as the next man, but really, this was a bit much.

"Is this because I beat you at cards earlier?" he asked, voice pitched low so as not to wake Anton. Mintaka answered with a great whuff of breath in his face, cold where dog-spit was drying on Cullen's cheeks. "Don't give me that. I know Anton's teaching you how to cheat."

Mintaka looked as offended as a dog could. With another whuff of breath, he unhooked his forepaw from Cullen's shoulder and stood up.

"Thank the Maker," Cullen muttered, thinking Mintaka was going to jump down and drool over something else. But the dog just turned around and gave Cullen his hindquarters instead, flopping heavily back to the bed. "Dog," Cullen choked out from under deadweight dog-butt. He was pinned between man and beast. 

He was a templar. A Knight-Captain. This would not do. He tried to shove the dog off the bed -- it could only possibly weigh half what he did. And for a moment, it looked like he might succeed. At least until the other end of the dog whipped around and bit him on the thigh.

"Damn it!" Cullen ground out, and that sunk in to Anton's unconscious mind. He wound himself tighter around Cullen, like a gorgeous, rakish kraken. Cullen kicked the blanket down, trying to at least get some air on his skin, before he again attempted to get the dog's ass out of his face.

Maker. It was like negotiating a battlefield. He added his knees to the dog-shoving effect but only ended up pushing himself back into Anton. And Anton snuffled in his ear as Cullen held his breath, praying he hadn't woken him. He'd woken Anton on enough nights in less pleasant ways.

Mintaka took Cullen's movement as a cue to move with him, curving his back to mold along the front of Cullen's body. His butt stayed pressed to Cullen's cheek, and he now had most of the covers.

Fine. That was it. It was time to break out the less pleasant dog-removal tactics. Cullen pinched the dog sharply on the hip. Twice, for good measure. Mintaka moved, but not the way Cullen had intended. Now, instead of dog ass in his face, he had dog ass on his face. Maker's breath, what had he ever done to deserve this? Except he knew the answer to that, and it was pressed against his back. Anton Hawke, now with extra dog ass.

Cullen huffed in annoyance and tried to roll over and dump the dog off the bed, which actually worked, but not before Mintaka farted in his face. And wasn't that just the capstone to this entire situation. From the foul air at one end of a dog to the foul air at the other. He choked on it, and Anton finally woke up.

"Andraste's tits, what is that stink?" Anton pressed his face into the back of Cullen's neck, while Cullen continued to choke into the pillow, desperately trying to wipe the foulness off himself.

"Dog," The word came out strangled. "Dog farts."

Mintaka looked up at Anton's voice, nub of a tail wagging excitedly. He seemed extraordinarily pleased with himself for a dog who just dropped a stink grenade in his master's bed. Anton groaned and rolled out of the bed to open a window. Cullen had a fold of sheet over his nose and mouth.

"Mintaka, what have I told you?" Anton hissed, eyes still gummy from sleep. The dog ducked his head. "You save your farts for Carver."

Mintaka let out a low whine.

"I don't care if his door is closed," Anton replied. "I taught you to turn door handles for a reason!"

Cullen fumbled around in the cabinet beside the bed, eventually coming up with a brass burner and a handful of ... some kind of incense. It didn't matter which one. Anton had decent taste in scents and anything that came as incense would be better than dog farts. "Fire," he pleaded.

Anton handed him a candle. "Is that the dreamer blend?" he asked, trying to judge by the fall of the incense in the bowl.

"Do you care?" Cullen gasped, lighting the coals. "Dog farts. I'm as Fereldan as you are, but that sack of fart is sleeping on the floor, tonight. On the couch. On Carver's floor. Somewhere that does not put his foul, farting ass in my face."

"Mintaka! Did you fart in Cullen's face? Not only did you fart in my room, but in my-- in Cullen's _face_? No treats for you, this week." Anton crossed the room and opened the door. "Go get that out of your system. Go fart on Carver, if you must. ... Or Cormac. Maker, but he never shuts up. It's like living in a brothel."

Well. Dog-farts would certainly get Cormac screaming for another reason. Dog-farts aimed at either of his brothers in residence would be preferable, really. 

Mintaka whined, head down and eyes large, but Anton pointed to the door. The dog went, ears back and head bowed, to flop onto the sitting room couch and lick his crotch. 

Cullen breathed in the incense like a drowning man and caught Anton's eye. "Well," he huffed, lips quirking as he set down the burner. "Can't say that was the worst way I've woken up. You should find a way to weaponise that. The Qunari gaatlok has nothing on Mabari farts."

* * *

"You called?" Cormac walked into Varric's suite, where the dwarf sat staring into the fire. Brooding into the fire, really, from the look of it. And of all the looks Cormac had seen on Varric, 'brooding' did not usually make the list.

"I've got news. You might not want to be standing near anything breakable, when I tell you." Varric turned around, slowly, looking simultaneously uncertain and determined.

"I've got a bottle of rum, or at least that's what Corff says it is. Does that count?" Cormac smacked the bottle onto the table and kicked out a chair, sitting without an invitation. "Whatever it is, we'll get drunk and figure it out. No problem should be solved just sober. You solve it drunk, and then you check your work, sober."

Varric chuffed, lips curling at one corner. "Oh, I have a feeling we'll be killing that bottle before the end of the night," he said. "That bottle and any siblings it might have. And speaking of..." Varric's hand twitched as though wanting to reach for a drink already, but he just sat back instead. "I've had an ear out for Bartrand. After the Deep Roads, he ran to Rivain, probably because he knew I couldn't track him." His jaw worked for a moment before he continued. "But I hear he might be back in Kirkwall. He called in loans from a few of his contacts in Hightown.

"He's got contacts left in Hightown? I'd have thought Anton had stolen all his old buyers, by now." Cormac opened the bottle and took a swig straight from it, putting it into Varric's hand, this time. No sense in politesse at a time like this. "You're sure he's actually ... back, and not just passing through on his way to Orlais, or something? Seems a little risky, with all of us still in town."

"If my information is good—and it’s always good—he has a house there. Which gives us a good shot at having a word with my dear, sweet brother." Varric took a long drink. "I think we both know by now that Bartrand would risk anything for money. There’s a much better market here for that trinket he stole. And all his contacts are in Kirkwall, still. Somehow. At least I assume they're still talking to him, since it got back to me he's trying to get in touch with people, again."

"And you? How are you taking all this?" Cormac grinned. "Do I need to buy a brewery?"

Varric smirked into the bottle. "Buy one for you and your brothers," he said. "If you guys drink any more you'll drive Corff out of business. But me? Hey. My no-account, backstabbing brother is practically in arm's reach! I couldn't be better!" He gave Cormac a serrated smile and saluted him with the bottle. 

"We need some answers from your brother. You, most of all, but I'm sure Anders wouldn't mind a little Q and A, after that stunt." Those last moments before Anders gave way to Justice were startlingly clear in Cormac's mind, even now. 'I'm not alive', he'd meant to say, and Cormac knew that, now. Knew _why_ , too. And no, Bartrand couldn't have known, but what kind of asshole seals their brother in an abandoned thaig with the darkspawn?

"I agree!" Varric said, still with that forced glee. "Bianca's been missing him something awful. Let's stop by his new house. Welcome him to the neighbourhood, and all that."

* * *

Varric squinted into the boarded-up windows, hands cupped over his eyes. 

"Oh this is lovely," Aveline muttered, looking about her and shifting her weight nervously. "Staring into people's windows. This place looks abandoned. Are we sure it's Bartrand's?"

"Hey, you're the Guard Captain," Anders replied, shrugging. "If anyone asks, tell them you're doing guard-y things."

"Reassuring," Aveline sneered. She leaned back against the wall, aiming for natural but looking stiff.

Varric growled in frustration, smacking his palm against glass. "I don't get it," he said, running a hand over his hair. "My sources saw people making deliveries here just a week ago. This... looks like it's been empty for months."

"This is still our best lead. Besides, how long did Fenris live in that dump, before he let my brother do something with the place? Maybe he's just not ready to have to start hosting parties, yet." Cormac shrugged. "Might as well pop the lock. If nothing else, maybe there'll be something to tell us where he was heading."

The picks were already in Varric's hand. "My thoughts exactly. Blondie, show a little leg, so Aveline's got something nice to look at, while I do uncivilised things to this lock."

"Why is it always my legs? What's wrong with Cormac's legs? Cormac's got very nice legs!" Anders complained, stepping behind Varric, to block the view from the street.

"Cormac's legs also don't glow in the fucking dark," Varric pointed out, as the lock clacked open. "All right. We're in business. Take it slow. The place is probably trapped."

As the door swung open, the first thing Varric spotted wasn't a tripwire, but the outrageous number of guards that surged toward them. "Well, shit," he said, unshouldering Bianca with one hand and lobbing an explosive into the advancing horde.

"I'm seconding that assessment," Anders agreed, flicking his hand and sticking as many of them to the ground as he could.

"Shit? What shit? All I'm seeing is a massacre." Cormac followed with a stun that shoved back anything still moving forward.

Aveline waited for the spells and explosions to pass before barrelling in, shield first. The guards went down like dominoes with a shield to the face or a sword through the throat, and still they kept coming.

"What's wrong with them?" she shouted back over her shoulder, ducking to let Varric launch a bolt or three over her head. The guards charging them had crazed, wide eyes, and they attacked and attacked, uncaring of their injuries. 

"Shit," Varric spat again. "I think that's the word of the night."

Aveline stomped in the skull of a guard still clutching at her feet.

"Magic," Anders said, standing amidst the gore. "And not the fun kind. Varric, I think your brother has been getting involved in the wrong crowd."

Room after room passed in much the same way, wild-eyed guards and no signs of Bartrand. Eventually, even Anders had to switch from defending to attacking, pulling out spells Cormac hadn't realised he had. After the first time a guard imploded under the pressure of something that wasn't Cormac's will, he looked to the side to see Anders white-faced and panting, doing exactly what he'd been doing. Freeze a few and then crush them, before they could recover. It wasn't a good look on him.

"Anders?" Cormac asked, between rooms.

"I'm a healer, Cormac. I'm a fucking healer." Anders did not look well.

"Sweet thing, we've killed hundreds of people. Why's it getting to you, now?" Cormac kept his voice down.

"They don't stop coming. Usually, it's kind of a fair fight. I can wear them down. I can give them time to know what they're facing and make the choice to keep doing it. I can't do that, here. They're people, Cormac. And something's not right, they're not slowing down. They're not registering anything we do to them, until they die of it. I can't give them a choice to leave, because they don't seem to be able to make that choice. And they're not demons. You know that as well as I do." Anders put his hands on Cormac's shoulders and rested his forehead on the top of Cormac's head. "I can't do the things you do. Or, I can, but... I'm just a lot less comfortable opening with pulping someone's organs into a sphere. It bothers me. But, I'm not seeing where we really have a choice, here, and that bothers me even more."

"Anders? I don't think we're killing them. I think they're already dead, and they haven't had the time to notice. I don't think there's anything human left to save in there." Cormac put his arms around Anders. "If you can't do this, then just keep me alive, while I do it. I got you into this, and I'll get you out of this."

Cormac sounded so sincere that Anders scoffed, reflexively. "I got myself into this, but you're welcome to help me back out."

In the next room, three guards spontaneously burst into flame, along with a bookcase and a rubbish bin.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think we brought Artemis," Aveline remarked, drily, battering a guard with her shield, before she snuck in the sword, for a quick kill.

"My brother may have trash aim, but he usually doesn't _have_ to aim. He'll hit what he meant to. He'll just hit the five feet to either side of it, too." Cormac said, as one of the guards imploded in a shower of ice.

"That time with the slavers?" Aveline all but beheaded another guard.

"He was having some issues! Issues I like to call an inability to take his eyes off Fenris's ass, but issues nonetheless!" Cormac's fist clenched and more ice and bone cracked.

Varric caught the look on Aveline's face, a look that said 'yeah, okay, that's a valid reason', before he snorted and went back to disarming the tripwire at the base of the stairs. His brother had to be somewhere in this mess, he knew, and he had to wonder... was he going to be foaming at the mouth like these crazies or had he already been separated from his limbs?

The thought of Bartrand... Nah, brooding was Fenris's thing. He wasn't going to think about it. Nope. 

A few more traps and a few more dead bodies -- or pieces of bodies -- and they were on their way up the main steps to the second floor. Steps that were a little bit... gooier than usual, considering the carnage.

"Varric?" called out a voice from behind a pillar. Varric aimed Bianca at the sound and the dwarven-shaped shadow who followed it, stepping out into the light. "Is that you? Oh, praise the Ancestors!" A beardless dwarf in fine, if blood-smeared, clothing came into view, his hands up, palm out and shaking.

Varric motioned for the group to stand down. He kept his grip on Bianca but pointed her down. "Hold up -- I know this man. He's Bartrand's steward." To the steward, he asked, "Hugin? What happened here?"

"Varric, your brother… That statue he brought out of the Deep Roads… Bartrand said it sang to him. Even after he sold it. I’ve been hiding in here, but the guards… they’re like crazed animals. I didn’t dare go past them. Everyone in this house has gone mad!" Hugin looked terrified. Whatever had gone on in this house, it was serious, it was Bartrand's fault, and it had something to do with that red idol. The last was a little less surprising than it should have been.

"Is anyone other than you still alive? Do you know? I'm not counting the guards -- the guards are... you've seen them. Other servants? Friends? Brokers?" Survivors first, Cormac thought. Everything else could come later.

"I don’t know what Bartrand did to them. But by the Ancestors, the sounds coming from the study… They’re dead by now… I hope." Hugin shivered, eyes darting toward the wall the room shared with one they hadn't yet been in.

Varric looked like he didn't want to understand. "What do you mean you hope they’re dead?"

"Just… whoever… whatever you find in that room. Varric, give them a merciful death." Hugin looked terribly shaken by whatever he'd heard through the wall, and Anders didn't look much better.

"What was he doing, before you ended up in here, that you're so sure what you're hearing is him?" Cormac asked. Bartrand had been rude as fuck and a greedy, fratricidal bastard, but 'hope they're dead' seemed a little further out than the Bartrand he remembered. Of course, he'd really only known the guy a couple of weeks.

"He’s been forcing them to eat lyrium. Some of the servants, he… cut pieces off them while they were still alive. He says he’s trying to help them hear the song. Please, stop him," Hugin begged.

"Bartrand’s not exactly a nice guy, but… this doesn’t sound like my brother." Varric shook his head and looked back at Cormac and Anders.

"Forcing them to eat lyrium? That would explain quite a bit." Practically templars, Anders told himself, still trying to settle his mind and his stomach, after what they'd come through, downstairs. Lyrium-mad attack dogs.

"The idol... Demons, you think?" Cormac asked, trying to figure it out. Nothing quite fit together, however close it came.

"Can't be. He's a dwarf." Anders shrugged, just as confused.

"You said he sold the idol. If this is linked to the idol..." Cormac finally had the sense to look nervous. "Who'd he sell it to? Where did it end up?"

"I don’t know. It’s why we came back to Kirkwall. He was already starting to rant about the sodding idol and its singing. On his better days, he hated the thing, wanted to get rid of it. But the minute it was gone, he got worse." Hugin shook his head and looked nervously at the wall, again.

"Shit," Varric breathed. Definitely the word of the day. "This is a whole new level of crazy, even for Bartrand. All right, Hugin, just... stay out of trouble. We'll handle this."

"I wish I believed that," Hugin said shakily, looking down at his wringing hands. "Bartrand took the servants and locked himself inside the study. No one's come out for days." He looked past them towards the ruin of corpses. "And those sodding lunatics just keep prowling the halls."

Varric nodded and sucked in a breath, steeling himself, one finger already hooked around Bianca's trigger. "Then we go in after him," he said, slapping his rakish smile back in place. "Come on, guys. Let's finish this."

Anders opened the door while Aveline stood ready, feet shoulder-width apart and knees bent, shield braced and aimed at the doorway. But inside was a lone, raving dwarf, clawing at his head with blood-caked fingers. Through Bianca's sightline, Varric barely recognized his brother in the unseeing, bloodshot eyes.

"I can't... I can't hear it anymore..." Bartrand was mumbling, words slurring into each other. "I just want to hear the song again... Just for a minute..."

A shaky breath punched out of Varric at the sight, and he lowered Bianca, stepping around Aveline into the room. The others followed close behind, just as tightly strung. The room was a wreckage, shelves overturned and books torn. There was a mess of bodies scattered along the floor, smears of blood mapping gruesome trails along hardwood. 

"Shit," Varric breathed.

" _Stop saying that!_ " Bartrand roared, making them all jump. Magic twitched at Anders's fingertips before sparking out, and Varric realised the shout wasn't aimed at him or the word 'shit'. Bartrand was staring about him, eyes wide and glazed. " _I know I shouldn't have sold the idol to that woman! It was a mistake!_ A mistake..."

Varric threw Bianca over his shoulder and grabbed his brother by both of his. "Bartrand!" he snapped, giving his brother a hard shake. "Get a hold of yourself! Do you know where you are?" Another shake, another shout. "Do you know what you've _done_?"

"Varric," Bartrand breathed, bloodshot eyes focusing on Varric's for a moment, "you'll help me. Won't you, little brother?" Bartrand seemed so desperately happy to see him, like Varric was his salvation. Of all the reunions he'd considered, all the many ways he'd thought of tormenting Bartrand, Varric had never considered anything like this. "Help me find it again? You were always the good one..."

" _Help_ you?" Varric choked out, pushing his brother back. "Bartrand... you left me to _die_! You left all your men to die! And for what? Some trinkets?"

Whatever this was, Bartrand deserved it. He _deserved_ it. 

"Look at yourself!" Varric said, contempt written in the lines of his face. "Look at what you've done to the men and women who served you! Where's your nobility, brother? Where's your dwarven pride?"

Anders cut in, laying a hand on Varric's shoulder. "This doesn't feel natural. If he wasn't a dwarf, I'd think a demon did this. His mind has been poisoned by something powerful."

He nudged Varric aside and studied Bartrand for a moment, before the air around him took on weight and a blue glow. A sweep of one hand, like a benediction, and Bartrand's eyes cleared. Anders leaned heavily on Cormac, and not for the first time that day, Cormac wondered when Anders had last slept.

"That's all I can do. It won't last. I'm sorry." Anders struggled to keep his eyes open, and Cormac wordlessly heaved him over one shoulder. "The Hawke ass is fantastic, Cormac, but that's the wrong kind of stimulant for the situation."

"Oh, shut up, you distractable mountain savage. If you cast another spell, I'm knocking you out, for your own good." Cormac readjusted his grip and his gear to compensate for the sudden addition of Anders, who was very definitely finally putting on some weight.

"Such a charmer, Cormac. Swooning already," Anders muttered.

"If you'd quit swooning, maybe we wouldn't have this problem," Cormac teased.

Bartrand finally recovered his senses. "Varric?"

"I'm here." Varric reached out to hold his brother up.

"Varric, what have I done?" Bartrand looked around the room, confused.

"I don't know. I honestly don't know."

"Make it stop, little brother. Don't let me... Don't let House Tethras fall like this." Bartrand gripped Varric's shoulders desperately. "I know, I don't deserve it. But, please, Varric... Don't leave me like this. Make it stop."

Varric sighed, face softening. "Enough with the speeches. I'll get you to a healer. You'll be fine."

Except the best healer in the Marches was passed out over Cormac's shoulder, and he'd already tried. On the other hand, he'd been exhausted when he tried, so maybe in another day or so, after a good night's sleep and a couple of meals, he'd manage something more solid. They could hope.

"So what do we do with him?" Aveline asked in a subdued voice, and that was the question, wasn't it? Temporary, Anders had said, and they weren't equipped to care for Bartrand like this. _Varric_ wasn't equipped to care for Bartrand like this. He wondered if the idol had poisoned his brother down in the Deep Roads. Would it have worked that quickly?

It was hard to resent a man who was shaking like this and looking at him like he was... Ancestors, Varric didn't even know what.

"I'll send someone to come get him," Varric said, throat tight. The Sanitarium. Maybe they could do something for him. "Sit tight, brother. Help is on the way." Varric knew he shouldn't leave Bartrand alone, not when he was like this, but he needed to get out of there. "Come on," he said, backing out into the hall. "The sooner we get out of this house, the better."

He planned to drink until he didn't remember any of this.


	64. Chapter 64

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another fantastic party. Anders plays even less nice than usual. Carver picks a memorable fight.

"Cormac," Leandra sighed. "I know your father and I weren't the best examples, but please don't make the same mistake I did. You're my heir. You're my first son. Will you please just consider one of the de Launcet girls? I'm not trying to interfere in your relationship --"

"It's not a relationship. And no." Cormac poured himself a cup of tea and kept walking, heading for the cellar stairs.

"If it's not a relationship, then maybe you should be looking for a wife!" Leandra called after him. The only response was the sound of the cellar door slamming.

Downstairs, Anders was ink-stained and half-dressed, picking through his wardrobe. "I know we have that party at the de Launcets' next week. I just... I'm so tired of showing up in uniform. I left the Wardens. It just feels weird to keep showing up in Warden robes. Somebody's going to catch that, eventually."

"Well, as much as I might appreciate it, you can't show up naked." Cormac wrapped himself around Anders's back and put the cup of tea in his hand.

"Well, I could, but I don't think that's quite the impression you want me to make." Anders laughed and tossed a green Tevinter robe onto the bed.

"Mum wants me to find a wife. What the fuck am I going to do with a wife? I wonder if she'd shut up if I married Isabela. I wonder if Izzy would do that for me." Cormac sighed.

"Marrying a pirate queen to shut your mother up. That's a first. If you do it, tell Varric, first. I'm sure he'll want to be there for the whole story." Anders paused. "Isn't this an Orlesian-style ball?"

"What are you thinking?" Cormac stepped back as Anders turned to face him.

Anders looked down at himself. "I'm thinking I need to talk to Aveline about a corset and a very patient dressmaker."

* * *

A man in tight pants and a black mask announced the arrival of Messere Cormac Hawke. And Anders as Cormac's 'guest' on his arm. Heels clicked on marble floors as they swept into the room, blue fabric sweeping about Anders's feet. He'd practised this, walking without tripping over himself, kicking his feet up before each step to make sure he didn't step on his dress. And, Maker, what a dress it was. Fran had outdone herself. He knew that before coming here, but the looks in the de Launcet girls' eyes as he passed confirmed it.

An ornate black bodice fit snugly over Anders's torso, showing off his trim waist and branching out into feathered shoulders. Peacock feathers, because he looked fabulous in blue. The feathers around his collar were a bit tickly, but they reminded him to keep his head back at a sufficiently snooty angle. Under a matching peacock mask, Anders had even shaved for the occasion.

Said peacock mask was a bit over the top -- literally -- and he'd accidentally smacked Cormac in the face with it twice already, but it made quite a statement.

Cormac was considerably less ornate, in his blue-black coat, the gold trim and deep red accents bringing out the warm tones of his skin. He cut a fine figure, even if he was going to need help getting out of these pants, later. He wondered how Fenris managed it, all the time. Really, he missed his robes, which didn't ... squeeze and pinch.

Still, Anders looked amazing, if a bit amazonian. One didn't show up to a party with a six and a half foot tall individual decorated with half a peacock and expect to be subtle, though. The eyes were on them, no matter where they stood, as they worked their way across the room. Finally, Fifi cornered them by the wine.

"Oh! Cormac! Who is this lovely giantess? Wherever did you find such a ... woman?" It was all in the tone and the pauses. However much Fifi might be smiling and cooing, the delivery and the way her nearly taloned hands clutched at Cormac's arm told the rest of the story.

"She's Anders," Cormac replied, with a grin. "You know how big those mountain savages get. And this one is particularly savage, aren't you, darling?"

"Oh, terribly savage," Anders agreed, feathers flopping as he nodded. "I hunted down the wild peacock and plucked all his feathers myself. It is a rite of passage among my people."

"Oh my," gasped Fifi with an uncomfortable smile, fluttering a fan in front of her face. She squinted up at his masked face. "Is this the same Anders we met at Château Haine? You look so different without your... well. Whatever that was you were wearing." Her smile was gratingly sweet.

Anders met her smile with one of his own. "Oh, _have_ we met? I can't say I remember."

Cormac's grin remained immovable. Fifi had cornered them for hours at Château Haine. "What can I say, Fifi? I have a type -- big, bold, and beautiful. Mostly big. Very, very big." He ran a hand up Anders's back and smiled lecherously up at the edge of the ridiculously large mask. Unfortunately, he wasn't quite short enough to duck under the last few feathers -- they were about eyebrow height, and eye height if Anders wasn't standing straight.

"Oh, yes." Anders flipped open his fan. "He does like _big_." The mask hid what would have been a predatory grin.

"Do tell your father my mother says hello," Cormac said. "Assuming she hasn't already caught up with him. Just think! You could have been my sister, in another world."

The horrified look behind Fifi's fan was particularly satisfying. Anders gave her a charming wave as he steered Cormac off in another direction. Right into another Hawke.

"Scandalising the Orlesians already?" asked Anton, grin charming under his own black and gold mask. It was a simple thing that molded to the top half of his face, not at all like the feathery monstrosity on Anders. "You've barely been here five minutes. I'd say I'm impressed, but I'd expect no less, really."

Next to him, Cullen fidgeted with his wine glass, staring at Anders while desperately trying not to look like he was staring at Anders. "That is a, uh... lovely gown," he said.

"Of course it is. I know a very good dressmaker. Well, Aveline knows a very good dressmaker. Corsetiere, actually. Still, isn't it fantastic?" Anders twirled, mostly gracefully, swirling the lighter top layers of the skirt out and fluttering his fan near his face, somehow without catching it in the feathers on the mask. "I don't feel quite so ... cramped and official in this. You must know how it is, Ser Cullen -- all that platemail and the layers of drape."

Cullen fixed his eyes on the floor. "Drape. Yes. It's er... Your Warden uniform always looked so much lighter weight than my armour."

Anders winked at Anton and hooked a finger under Cullen's chin, tipping his head up. "That's because it is lighter. Leather and rings. You might consider letting Anton get you something less clattery to wear to the next event. No one could possibly blame you, as long as it conveys your stature and ... associations."

Cullen laughed nervously, glancing at Anton. "I'd certainly be in favour of something less 'clattery'," he said. "Or heavy. Bit hard to dance in platemail, you know. I don't think I have the figure to pull off a gown half as well as you do, however."

"Darling, few do," Anders quipped. But he leaned in and added, "But really, it's all in the corsetry. With the right material and boning, you can have any figure you want. Fran can work _wonders_. I can give you her address if you like..."

Cullen sputtered and turned a delightful shade of red. "T-That's... that's quite all right," he stammered. "I don't... that is... Wine. I need more wine." Anders had never seen a templar retreat from him quite so quickly, which was saying something.

"Sorry about your boyfriend, Anton," Cormac apologised, with as little actual apology as possible.

"Are you kidding? That was amazing." Anton turned to watch Cullen go for the wine. "And I do need to get him in something less ... full plate. I mean, sure, there's swooning, but there's not nearly as much swooning as there could be. I'm a good looking guy, he's a good looking guy. But, that plate just does not show off his best assets."

"His best assets are nothing compared to ours, o brother mine." Cormac tilted his glass toward Anton, who met it with his own.

"Yeah, I'll drink to that." Anton grinned lazily and finished his drink.

"I always make passes at men with Hawke asses," Anders added, from behind his fan.

"I'd say that's because you have impeccable taste," Anton replied, "but you're with Cormac, so..."

Anders snorted and was about to say something when a third Hawke sidled over. "Anton," said Artemis, fingers tapping on a mostly empty wine glass, "your templar is hogging the alcohol."

Fenris lurked at his shoulder like a disgruntled elf shadow. He eyed Anders up and down, eyebrow arching.

"Well, we're not at home, Artie. It's probably best you don't get as drunk as Fenris would like you to be." Anton laughed.

Cormac hid a smile behind the feathers on Anders's shoulder. "Yes, let's not get so drunk that you start kissing me in front of the de Launcets. Although, the look on Fifi's face might almost be worth it."

There was a muffled sound from behind Anders's mask that might have been a barely contained laugh. "It's not worth it. Kirkwall might never recover."

" _I_ might never recover," Fenris pointed out, tugging at the edge of his mask, which had started to slip down. These stupid things were designed for human ear-heights, and clearly no one had imagined an elf might try to put one on. The straps were all in stupid places.

Artemis made a choked sound in the back of his throat, grateful that his mask hid the worst of his blushing, even if the green fabric made the red of his ears stand out more. "Maker," he groaned, a hand over his eyes. "It's words like that like that make me _want_ to drink."

He peeked at Anton through his fingers, but his little brother looked more long-suffering than surprised. Sweet Andraste. Had he seen that kiss? Had _everyone_ seen that?

Fenris cleared his throat. "That said, I believe drunk Cullen is equally dangerous, if memory serves."

"Dangerous or entertaining?" Anders asked.

"I'm voting for entertaining, myself." Cormac relieved Anders of his glass, which was, unsurprisingly, still full. "Manhood. _Meat-pole_. You're lucky Varric wasn't there for that."

"Varric writing trashy Orlesian serials? Oooh. I don't know about that. Man's got a way with words, but... those words? Might be a little much, even for him." Anton shook his head and took the full glass out of Cormac's hand, stealing a sip.

"I suspect we should be grateful he was drunk," Fenris admitted. "I would hate to see what would have come of that, had he been sober enough to recognise Artemis's ... other talents."

Artemis downed the rest of his wine in one gulp. His memory of that night was still hazy at best, but he remembered the sound of the statue crumbling. He still couldn't wrap his head around the fact that he'd slept with a _templar_ , let alone Anton's templar. And somehow Fenris had seen all that and still wanted him back. His elf was a lunatic.

"Well, to be fair," said Anders with a shrug, "if he hadn't been drunk, I doubt it would have happened. Which would have been a shame, since we would have missed out on some first class entertainment!"

"I need more wine," Artie mumbled. 

"No, you don't," Fenris said, taking the empty glass from his mage's hand. He met Artemis's pleading eyes with a flat look of his own.

Cormac's eyes focused on something past Artemis's shoulder. "What the fuck...?"

"Is that Carver? Is that Carver ... shouting at your mother?" Anders blinked, following Cormac's eyes.

* * *

"Yes, mother, I do have a girlfriend. The same one I've had for the last three and a half years, and this is exactly why I haven't brought her home!" Carver's mask hid the anger on his face, but his voice made up for it, entire.

"Carver, please, it's your mum. She just doesn't know any better." Merrill tugged at his arm, rather accustomed to being ill-regarded by humans who weren't her friends, and sometimes, even by them.

Leandra lifted another glass of something fruity from the tray of a passing servant. "She is an _elf_ , Carver. I don't mind you enjoying yourself, but you cannot marry an elf."

"And you couldn't marry a mage," Carver shot back.

"Marry?" Anders mouthed to Cormac. Well. This party had just gotten interesting.

"Carver," said Leandra, expression tight, pained. "I loved your father. I always will. I do not regret my life with him for one moment, but it was a hard life. Always on the run, always worrying. I don't want that kind of a life for you."

"Well, it's too bad you don't have a say in the matter," Carver snapped. Merrill's hand on his arm squeezed.

" _Ma vhenan_ , you're making a scene," Merrill murmured, eyes wide.

* * *

"She doesn't want that kind of life for me, either," Cormac muttered to Anders. "Pity I'm already in the same boat dad was in. Real no-win situation, there. What's your take?"

"Blood magic. Demons." Anders snatched his glass back from Anton and took a sip. "I thought I knew what I was doing when I was twenty-three, too. You see how well that worked out for me."

"I did know what I was doing, when I was his age. Same thing I'm doing now, except with more... farmers' daughters and less of you. But, for a guy who can fall in love? Who am I to tell him not to? Damned if I'm not going to tell him to watch for the demon, though." Cormac shook his head. "That's really it, you know? That's my entire problem."

"I'm not too big on the blood magic thing, either, but... yeah. She's a nice girl, aside from the demon." Shrugging, Anders took another sip. "The more you nag, the worse he's going to be about it. Trust me. I'd know."

"Did you just compare yourself to my baby brother?" Cormac demanded. "You-- I -- If you didn't look so good in that dress, you'd be sleeping in your own bed, tonight."

"I'm sleeping in my own bed anyway. They can't hear you upstairs, from there." Anders laughed.

"I beg to differ," Anton said with a pained look.

Artemis nodded. "I'm surprised we can't hear him back at our place," he said.

"That's -- I -- how is that even possible?" Anders sputtered.

Anton smirked. "Because he hits octaves only dogs can hear?"

"Poor Mintaka," Artemis added.

"You are all simply envious of my superior lung volume and this fantastic man who makes the very best use of all the air that can be forced out of me."

"By forcing things into you," Anton grumbled. "Wait, are you telling me you're full of hot air? Because that's what I'm hearing."

"It's not the only hot thing he's full of." Anders grinned wickedly. "And, you know, Anton... offer's still open if you want to get in on that exchanging air for other hot things."

"Thanks, but I've got all the hot knob I can handle, right now." Anton glanced around, looking for Cullen. Platemail. Shouldn't be hard to -- Oh, shit, was that Babbette? Well, Cullen could probably extract himself from _one_ Orlesian noblewoman's clutches. At the least, it would be fun to watch him try.

Babbette was giggling and wiping a bit of imagined dirt off of Cullen's breastplate. Cullen threw Anton a desperate look, eyes wide like a frightened deer's, and Anton waved cheerfully. The man had faced demons and blood mages, and Anton had never seen him look so out of his depth.

"Your templar's rattling again," Anders pointed out, and Anton hummed.

Artemis nudged Cormac with his elbow, nodding in the direction of Carver, who was storming out of the hall with Merrill in tow. "Guess that didn't end well," he said, noting the distraught twist of their mother's features. "Here I thought she'd be happy at the prospect of grandchildren." He didn't linger on the fact that she'd been just as disapproving of _his_ relationship with an elf.

"At this rate, she's going to have no grandkids who aren't mages, between Bethy and Merrill." Cormac tipped his head to the side, considering it. "Shit, I think she was really holding out hope for Carver to find a nice guardswoman or something. You know she's still trying to set me up with Fifi. She couldn't bear the thought of marrying Guillame, and she's trying to set me up with his daughter."

"Maybe you should do it," Anders looked speculative. "It'd be an amazing power grab. The de Launcets are still actual Orlesian nobility."

"They sent their son to the Circle. How about no." Cormac's mask didn't cover enough of his face to hide that grimace. "How about if she never breathes near me again, it'll be too soon."

"I suspect Cormac would scandalise the in-laws in a matter of hours, anyway," Anton cut in. "He'd end up starting a war with Orlais."

"Maker, let's hope Kirkwall would win that war," Artemis said with mock horror. "My Orlesian is terrible, and their pants are much too tight."

"From the way Fenris is looking at your ass, I'd say the pants are just tight enough," Anders said with a grin. Fenris immediately pulled his eyes away from Artie's ass and threw a glare at Anders instead.

"Hours? You underestimate me. Minutes. At most." Cormac laughed. "Full-scale war, armies marching, wyverns flying -- eight minutes, tops."

Anton snatched the wine from Anders again, that being the only glass with anything still in it. "Wyverns. Let us never again speak of wyverns."

"No, instead let us speak of the fact that there are five of us hovering around a single glass of wine, because no one wants to walk past your mother, to get more." Anders groaned and adjusted his mask. "Fine. That will be me. I am going to go over there and get us some more wine."

Anders crossed the room, three sets of eyes watching him and one watching anything but him. And then there was a hand on his arm. "Have we met? It's so very good to see my son in the company of a well-dressed woman."

Anders peeked at Leandra through his mask's eyeholes. He considered lying, for a moment, and speaking in his best approximation of a woman's voice -- a talent he had honed by now for reasons he didn't want to get into -- just to see how long he could keep it up. He also considered smiling politely and diving for the wine, but Justice did not approve. 

"I suspect we have met," Anders said, hooking a thumb under the bottom of his mask and pushing it back to rest on his forehead. He offered her his most demure smile. "I'm afraid your son's 'company' is as deplorable as always."

"You-- What-- _Anders_?" Leandra looked utterly scandalised, at least in posture. The mask and the fan hid her face.

"You didn't think he'd found someone else this tall so quickly, did you?" Anders tugged the mask back down before too many people got a clear look at his face. "I hear you've been trying to set him up with Fifi, but I just don't think the de Launcets are his type. I mean, Emile? What would they do with another mage in the family?"

"They don't have to know!" Leandra insisted. "It isn't like all of Kirkwall knows every mage. He's been good and quiet with it."

"It's the only thing he's been quiet with," Anders scoffed, before realising that probably wasn't the thing to say to Cormac's mother. "Still... It would be like cutting off his arm. A mage isn't meant to live without magic."

"And yet, I don't see you making the obvious argument -- that you want to keep him for yourself." Leandra's voice was sharp.

"I -- that's --" A nervous laugh punched out of Anders. He was grateful the mask hid most of his face. "Leandra, what I want does not matter, one way or the other. We're talking about your son, and what _he_ wants. And, really, that's the problem, isn't it? We're talking _about_ what he wants, instead of you asking him directly."

Not that that was particularly easy. Anders couldn't pry a straight answer out of that man with a pair of tongs. But he supposed he was the last person who should complain about that.

"Anders, I..." Leandra looked past him at her eldest son, eyes wistful. "I just want him to be happy."

"Then you need to listen to him when he tells you what's going to make him _unhappy_. I might say the same about Carver, too." Anders shrugged, eyes drifting toward the wine, hopefully. "Telling him he can't have what he wants, when he's already got it, isn't going to work. And, really, Merrill's a nice girl. She's done some things I wouldn't do, Carver among them, but she really believes she can make the world a better place. She's _trying_. And really, if she's making Carver smile, what's it to us?"

"To you? Nothing. But, that's my _son_. The son of a _noble family_. He can't have a serious relationship with an _elf_." Leandra was insistent about that.

"Three of your children are apostates, because you married one. An elf is not really going to do much more to the family name," Anders drawled, quite finished being as polite as he'd managed, thus far. "On top of that, she's the First of a Dalish tribe. That's... She's basically a Dalish Sebastian. She's really very politically important, insofar as the Dalish do politics. She's in Kirkwall doing research, and if she's right, she'll be the Keeper of her tribe, one day. She's a damned princess. An actual magical elven princess, who wants to marry your youngest son. It doesn't get much more happy bedtime story than that." It wasn't quite true. There were still demons and blood magic involved, and he got the impression Merrill had been invited not to come home, but principally, it was accurate.

Under the edge of her mask, Leandra's jaw muscles fluttered. She was gritting her teeth against what she really wanted to say. Not here. Not in polite company. Not where she would make a scene. She drew in a breath, and her hand was gentle when she laid it on Anders's arm. "I know you care about Cormac," she said. "About all of them. And I appreciate that. I do. But it is up to me now to do what is best for the family. Thank you for the chat, Anders. That's a lovely dress."

As Leandra turned away, a proud set to her shoulders, Cullen sidled up into her space. He handed Anders a glass of wine. "Quick," he said. "Drink this and talk to me before Babbette comes back. Also, you looked like you could use it."

"Bless you, Ser Cullen." The wine went down Anders's throat before Justice could object. "That woman... Is this what the nobility is like? Are they all like this? I look around and I'm just ... I can't even be angry. I'm just disappointed. Maybe the tower changed how I think about elves. Maybe it changed how I think about mages. But, good gracious Andraste, I just can't comprehend what goes through these people's heads, some days."

He patted Cullen's arm, steering him toward the wine. Anders had come this way for several glasses of it, after all. "What was Babbette prattling about, this time? Or has she just not realised you and Anton are a thing? I think those sisters struggle with the idea."

Cullen sighed as though he held the weight of the world on his shoulders. He held the glasses for Anders as he poured the wine. "Mostly?" he said. "She seemed adamant that I admire her shoes. Which were very nice, I suppose. For shoes. Quite a bit more... sparkly than I would wear but..." He shrugged. "Beyond that, there was quite a bit of unnecessary touching. I didn't realise clinging to someone's shoulder was a necessary part of showing off one's shoes."

"Oh is it?" Anders said, smirking. "Is that why you haven't complimented mine? Here." Anders draped himself over Cullen's shoulder and slid out one foot until he was showing a scandalous amount of ankle. "What do you think of my shoes, Ser Cullen?" He batted his eyelashes, though the mask ruined the effect.

"They're... er." Cullen cleared his throat, face going that mottled shade of red again. "They're nice. Anders. Nice shoes."

"Of course they are. Cormac wouldn't let me come out in anything less. Trust me, I tried..." Anders picked up two glasses in each hand, from where they'd been setting them on the table. "That's four, and if you get the last two, that should be all of us. They sent me for wine. Or maybe I sent myself for wine. I'm not sure, at this point, but there was not nearly enough wine, and your boyfriend kept helping himself to mine."

"Oh. I... er... He ... does that." Well, Anton did that to _Cullen_ , but Cullen hadn't really given any thought to how that would apply to anyone else. 

"I know he does that. He does it when we're playing Wicked Grace, too. Keeps switching his empties out with Fenris or Cormac. One of these days, that's not going to end well, for him, and I'm hoping it's Cormac who notices, because at least that'll be funny instead of bloody. He doesn't usually go for mine, but I'm usually drinking _tea_ , which probably has something to do with it."

Looking up at the three brothers and Fenris, Cullen noticed Anders didn't say anything about Artie. Then it occurred to him that Artie probably drank his wine too fast for even Anton's hands to keep up. 

And speaking of Anton's hands, Cullen had to pull the wine glasses away sharply to avoid them, narrowing his eyes in reply to Anton's pout. "Who said this was for you?" he said, fake scowl pulling away at the edges. "Maybe it's for Babbette."

Anton tutted and wound himself around Cullen, plucking one glass from his hand from behind. "We both know this one's for me," he purred in Cullen's ear. "But you're welcome to give the other one to Babbette. Shall I call her over?"

Anton grinned at the look of terror on Cullen's face.


	65. PART XV: LOSING AND WINNING

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A game of Wicked Grace goes horribly wrong, for Artemis. Fenris takes advantage of this turn of events, until Artemis turns the tables on him.

"Come on, Artemis. It's been three weeks. Isabela's making sad faces at me. Have you ever seen Isabela make a sad face? I bet you haven't. She only makes them about you. And sometimes about Sebastian, but we all try not to be looking when that happens. And that's less about cards." Cormac thought about it for a few seconds. "Actually, it might not be entirely about cards with you, either. I hear she's still trying to get her Hawke count up. Still, though. Cards. You can take me for another twelve silver, making those damned faces at me over the table, when no one's looking. Distracting little shit."

He didn't put his foot on the coffee table. He didn't even put his glass on the table. This was his brother's house, and however terrible Cormac might have been while they were sharing space, the door to Artemis's house was the line, and that shit did not cross it. Doubly so, if he wanted his brother and Ser Broods A Lot to come back to the tavern and play cards, this week.

Artie sighed, picking at an imaginary bit of dirt on the table. He wasn't used to having company over, even if his brother hardly counted as company. But really, a place like this should have company. Shouldn't it? Big kitchen. Great cook. Plenty of seating.

"It's... has it been that long?" Artemis said. Maker, he hadn't realised. Excuses had just piled up, each one as flimsy as the next. He shook his head. Might as well stop making excuses. "Andraste's bosom, I feel like I'd need to get drunk just to _go_ to the Hanged Man, at this point, Cormac. And we both know how I am when I'm drunk."

It occurred to him that Cormac knew a little too well, and he coughed into his fist, looking away.

"You can do drunk. Fenris and I will be there. You know we won't let you do anything you'll regret too terribly in the morning. What's the worst case, really? You end up playing two or three hands and making out with Fenris all night. Isabela might -- well, no, she will. Absolutely. She'll start shouting suggestions, between rounds. But, that's not so bad. You should hear her heckle me and Anders. You _have_ heard her heckle me and Anders. And that, I guarantee is worse, because she knows more than enough about both of us to actually be dangerous."

Cormac applied his best wheedling face, big sad eyes and all. "Come on, Artie. We miss you. it's like you've just sucked up into your own ass, since you moved in here. I know we're not as awesomely tidy as you like, but... We're your friends. Shit, I'm your brother! You don't even come to see me, since you moved out. Mum's just having kittens about that, too. So, I don't know, maybe come out and play cards? At least visit Mum. I know she doesn't approve. She doesn't approve of anything. Welcome to the club. But, yeah. Grace night's tomorrow. I don't want to be staring at the empty seat."

Artemis rolled his eyes, but his lips pulled up in a smile. "No need to be so melodramatic, Cormac," he said, finally sitting back and relaxing. "Of course you miss me. I'm amazing." He nudged Cormac's foot with his. "How about a compromise?" he suggested. "Why don't we have Wicked Grace night here? Not everyone's seen it yet, post-corpse, and if anyone passes out on the floor, they can spend the night there. They'll likely regret it in the morning for reasons I will not elucidate, but the option is always there." At least his floors were clean.

"You _are_ amazing." Cormac smiled into his drink. "Here? You really think that's a good idea? Not that I don't love what you've done with the place, because I do. Which is... I'm just... Isabela. You saw what she did to the stairs at my place. I'm pretty sure she was trying to explain something to Fenris, which really makes me wonder what you guys have been getting up to. And speaking of Fenris, can you convince him not to spontaneously combust if Anders shows up _in his house_?"

Artie cringed at the thought of Isabela. Doing that. To _his_ staircase. "I'll make sure Izzy knows that she will have to clean up any mess she makes, and not in the fun way. In fact, I'll make sure she's wearing as much clothing as possible while she's doing it. Itchy wool sweaters that go down to her knees." That image would make any stair-carving worth it. "As for Anders, he has already shown up in our house. Solely in a healer capacity, mind you, and Fenris was already bleeding at the time, so..." Artemis shrugged. He wasn't sure if that counted. "Worst case, I will... find a way to distract him." He offered Cormac a devilish smile.

Oh, this had 'bad idea' written all over it.

"Oh, sure, you'll distract him here, but you won't let him distract you at the Hanged Man," Cormac teased. "Worst case, I've got shields. Worst worst case, you've got... those other shields. Oh, Maker, what I wouldn't give to see that." He cackled quietly. "So, I'll go put the word out that we're here, this week? I don't think we'll lose anyone, with the opportunity to see Kirkwall's most astonishing secret. That being the spotless interior, here, given the last time most of them saw it, it was covered in corpses and other questionable detritus. I mean, Anders was living in Darktown, but... I know I've said it before, but I'm still amazed you didn't just burn the place to the ground and start over."

"I almost did, once or twice," Artemis muttered, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "Maker. You only saw a room or two. The whole place was a disaster. The only thing approaching clean was Fenris's bed and -- ah, well." He cleared his throat. It hadn't stayed clean for long. Because of ... crumbs. Yes.

* * *

"And that's mine." Fenris spread his cards on the table and swept the pot toward him. "You seem distracted, tonight, Artemis. You're out an awful lot of coin, and you don't seem to be taking it back from your brothers, this time."

"Yeah, that's because I keep losing it to you, and Anton fucking cheats," Cormac muttered, one hand on his cards and the other one under the table. He was sitting next to Anders. No one was going to ask.

"Cheating? Me? Why, dear brother, how could you even suggest such a thing!" Anton looked scandalised, at least until Cormac's hand reappeared with two cards in it. "You _fucker_!"

Cormac tossed the cards on the table. "Cheating. You should stop keeping the cards in the same place you did when you were ten. I know where that is, by now."

Another hand disappeared under the table, this one Isabela's. Anton jumped. " _That_ is not where I keep my cards, Izzy," he said with a smirk.

"No?" Izzy purred. "Right. It's where you keep your loaded dice." He laughed, and she blew him a kiss, both hands back above the table.

Artie gnawed at the nails of one hand, attention caught between his terrible cards and the spill of wine by Varric's elbow. And the dust he'd missed on that shelf over there. Maker. "I really don't want to know the kind of rolls you're making with my little brother's dice, Izzy," he said distractedly, rearranging the cards so they made a nicer pattern. Too bad a nicer pattern didn't make his hand any less shitty.

"You're going to have to start betting more interesting things, soon, Artie," Varric teased from the far end of the table.

"I vote he bets his smalls," Anders threw in with a wicked grin and Aveline choked on her drink.

"Can we please not be discussing my brothers' nether regions at the card table?" Cormac pleaded. "Neither Anton's... dice nor Artie's smalls. Please? There are things a man just doesn't need to become aware of." Nevermind that he was already extremely aware of Artie's smalls and Artie's ... everything else. He could at least pretend. He looked across the table at Artemis and hid a sly smile behind his cards.

Artemis caught that look over his own cards and fought not to squirm in his seat. Wine. Yes. There was wine in front of him. Drink that and ignore Cormac. But don't drink too much of that or... Maker.

"I am not betting my smalls," he said, voice perhaps a bit strained. "Besides, they're still not your colour, Anders."

Fenris made a disgruntled sound into his cup and narrowed a look at him that Artie met with a sweet smile. That only made his eyes narrow further.

"Fenris," Artemis wheedled, changing tack, "Fenris, my darling, most handsome elf to have ever --"

"No," Fenris cut him off, turning blithely back to his cards. "I am not bailing you out, Artemis."

"But --"

"No. Find something else to wager. Though if you touch the nice silverware, Orana might cry."

"But, if he loses it to you, it's still in the house, isn't it?" Varric pointed out. "On the other hand, if he loses it to me, you're both shit out of luck. And silverware. I could do with some posh forks."

"I still think he should bet his smalls. I think this should be strip Grace." Isabela grinned down the table from where she sat at Anton's elbow.

"I think you're just looking for an excuse to take off your clothes in public." Aveline looked substantially less than amused with this idea.

Isabela grinned even wider. "What makes you think I need an excuse?" she asked, dealing the next hand.

"Can we please not put my brother's underthings on the table? Either of my brothers? I'd be worried about mine, but I'm not wearing any, thank you Anders." Cormac laughed and picked up his cards.

Artemis wiped a hand over his face. "And thank _you_ , Cormac, for that information," he drawled. "Can't we wager Aveline's smalls?"

"Excuse me?" Aveline said, voice and expression chilly.

"Sorry, kid," said Varric, who was enjoying this far too much, "you can't wager someone else's smalls."

Artie swore under his breath. Maker. That dust. On that shelf. He placed his cards face-down and got up to grab a duster. "Just... whatever," he said, shuffling the books around to clean between them. "I'll do whatever you want. In a non-sexual manner." He glared at Isabela. "And within reason." How one defined 'within reason' was up in the air. He was hoping they'd let him define what was 'within reason'.

Cormac considered folding right then and there. Not that his hand was bad, but if he won this one... there would be no end of shit, for both of them. On the other hand, probably better to keep himself in the running, with what he was holding. Less chance of Isabela taking unfair advantage of the one Hawke sibling who was completely uninterested. Artie had specified 'non-sexual', but... Izzy. Still dangerous.

"You're real sure he's going to win this hand, aren't you, kid?" Varric looked over his cards with no small amount of ... it was difficult to tell if that was respect or just shock.

"If I win this one, he's cleaning the ink off of my... everything. I don't think I have anything left that doesn't have fingerprints on it." Anders managed to look slightly enthused, even if he had been losing. He was even further in the hole than Artemis, but he was betting out of Cormac's pocket. Strangely, he didn't feel as bad about that as he probably should have, but Cormac just wasn't that attached to his coin.

"If I win this one--" Isabela started, but Aveline cut her off.

"He said 'non-sexual'. Even if you win, you still lose."

Artemis kept dusting. If he kept dusting, he could pretend they weren't discussing how to take advantage of this behind his back. Well. Behind his back in the literal sense, since he had to have his back to the table to clean these books.

Fenris leisurely rearranged his cards, his face a mask of calm as he eyed Artemis and tried to think about what _he_ would do. With Artie's stipulation, all the obvious choices were off the table, and Fenris found himself wishing he had more creativity. He was sure he'd think of something.

The rest of the table placed their bets -- all of the monetary sort -- and Varric called Artemis back to the table. 

The hand proceeded in the usual manner, with a great lot of swearing, slapping, and fingers in the discard pile, until Anders drew the Angel of Death. "Right. We're done. Anton, push up your damn sleeves, before you even reach for those cards."

"Seconded. Izzy, push up Anton's sleeves for him, would you?" Cormac chimed in.

"And do I hold her sleeves?" Anton demanded.

"She hasn't got sleeves. I haven't figured out where she's stashing cards yet." Anders shrugged.

"Not all magic comes from mages!" Isabela winked and pulled up Anton's sleeves. A card fell out of one cuff, onto the floor.

"And this is why you don't play cards with your brothers," Varric pointed out. "At some point, they figure out all your shit, and then they tell everyone else at the table. Because, hey, what are brothers for, right?"

"I'm not actually related," Anders reminded him.

"Brothers-in-law, fine." Varric shrugged.

Cormac blinked. "How drunk did we _get_ last weekend?"

"Not _that_ drunk," Anders assured him with a nervous laugh. "I hope."

Artemis chewed at his lip. No matter how many times he rearranged his final hand, it got no better. Maker. No matches. How had that even happened? He was even wearing the lucky underwear he'd worn the last two times he'd won. Maybe the suggestion of betting them had negated their lucky properties.

Fenris sidled over to peer at Artie's hand. "Well, that doesn't look too promising." He gave Artemis a wolfish grin.

Artemis laughed nervously, looking around the table for help. In the end, he laid out his cards and shrugged. "Be gentle with me," he said.

"Well, I don't know about the rest of you, but I need another drink!" Isabela got up to get another bottle of wine from the sideboard. As she leaned over to refill Artemis's glass, she whispered into Fenris's ear. "Orlesian maid outfit. Thank me later. Tell me all about it, too."

Aveline laughed. "I can't wait to see what passes for 'reasonable' from Brooding Stabbypants, over there."

"Oh, because pummelling people to death with your shield is so much more civilised. Excuse me." Fenris rolled his eyes, and struggled with the opportunity he'd been given.

"You could always dress him up as an Orlesian maid while he does that tidying thing he always does," Varric suggested.

That was two votes for this... 'Orlesian maid' thing. Fenris couldn't say he'd paid much attention to the servants at any of the events involving Orlesians. Elves, mostly, he thought.

Cormac caught his eye, from across the table, with a flick of eyes and a slim smile. Cormac apparently also agreed with this idea, so it couldn't be too horrible. Still... he had no idea what Orlesian maids wore. Well, if he said it, someone would tell him where to get such an outfit. Probably. It was one of many things that could be said, but someone -- one of them -- would probably tell him. "I think that's a wonderful idea, Varric."

" _What_?" Artemis sputtered. He shook his head vigorously. "No. No, it is not a wonderful idea, Varric. I -- you -- _what_?" 

"Oh Maker." Anders was stifling his laughter behind his palm. "That's so much better than betting his smalls!"

Artemis shot him a baleful look, ears burning red. Fenris had no idea what to expect, but if the reactions he was getting were anything to go by, it had been the right choice.

"Fenris," Artemis pleaded, "if this is because of the floors, you must know I am deeply, terribly sorry about that."

"On the contrary, Artemis," Fenris rumbled. "The floors look lovely. As will you, in an Orlesian maid's outfit." He wondered if Fran had anything like that. If not, he had a feeling she knew someone who would, from what Artie had told him.

Artemis looked at his brothers desperately.

Anton took the wine bottle from Isabela and drank straight from it. "I'm sure you'll be gorgeous. Maker knows, I am, and you and I aren't so different, I don't think. Not all thick and hairy, like Cormac."

"Hey, fuck you. I have nice shoulders." Cormac tossed a card at Anton's smug face. "Not that I'd look good in an Orlesian maid's outfit, though. And how the fuck do you know--"

"Serendipity. I don't want to talk about it." Anton took another long swig. "You'll be fine, Artie. It's just like robes, but shorter and fluffier."

"And every time you bend over, that delicious Hawke ass will be on display for your deliciously broody elf. I know you said non-sexual, but Maker, he's going to have trouble with those trousers." Isabela laughed gleefully and snatched the bottle back from Anton, now also drinking from it.

Artemis dropped his face into his hand. "Thank you, Izzy," he said, voice muffled by his palm. "Really."

"I'm a giver," Isabela said sweetly.

Fenris was liking his choice more and more.

* * *

Fenris liked his choice even more once he actually saw it. Artemis, naked, was a truly breathtaking sight, but Artemis in this... confection of frills and lace, it was like adding spice to cider -- making a good thing even better. Well, aside from the part where Artemis was still making wet cat faces at him. Had been through the entire process of buying the thing and putting it on. 

"I don't understand your objection." Fenris stepped behind Artemis, pulling him around to face the mirror. "Your legs are ... very beautiful." He was sure there were more appropriate words for that, but he wasn't sure which of those words were appropriate to say at times like this. Long, lean, strong, firm... He'd always appreciated Artemis's legs -- any sane man would -- but something about the skirt just made them look... more. There was no difference, but it was all the difference in the world. Isabela may have had a point about his trousers.

Artemis glared at Fenris through the mirror. The wet cat face hit straight on. "You don't understand my objection?" Artie drawled. "Really? Does that mean I can look forward to _you_ wearing this later?" 

"I... don't have your legs," Fenris said diplomatically. "I also would never have made such a bet."

"Really?" Artemis went on, expression turning devious. "You don't think the frills would show off your assets? You should show some leg more often, you know. Those tattoos show them off so nicely, and offset by those frills?"

"It is not happening, mage," Fenris said.

"You know, Isabela keeps asking me how far those tattoos go. I would really love to tell her how your bum glows in the dark."

"Mage," Fenris growled.

"Or perhaps I should mention something else that glows in the dark?"

"Who would ever believe I would be in my right mind after such a thing? Surely it couldn't be true. Of all the places to put lyrium, and with such... bloody and unpleasant methods. Even Isabela wouldn't believe you." Fenris smiled unpleasantly around Artemis's shoulder. "Even if it is true."

The smile softened, as he met Artemis's eyes in the mirror, hands smoothing over the waist of that sleek, black dress. "But, this is what you bet yourself into. Do be more cautious in the future. Imagine what would have happened had Isabela won that round. You'd be tidying the Hanged Man or worse. But, here you are, at home, tidying the same things you always do, but with your legs gloriously displayed for me, and only me. And I do appreciate the view."

Artemis huffed, but his lips twitched up in a smile. "Do us a favour, Fenris," he said, turning to look at the real thing instead of the reflection, "and next time you want that? Let me do it naked. Please." He swatted Fenris on the nose with the feather duster, grinning when the elf's nose wrinkled and he sneezed.

It wasn't until he was halfway down the stairs that Artemis remembered that Orana was on duty today. She froze in the kitchen doorway, a heavy dish balanced in her hands. "...good morning, Messere," she squeaked, staring down at his legs, then back up at him.

Artemis sucked his lips between his teeth and shook his head. "I'll be honest with you, Orana," he said. "If I keep drinking as much as I plan to after this, this probably isn't the worst thing you'll see me do."

"What will Messere be drinking?" Orana asked, looking anywhere except directly at Artemis. From the bottom of the stairs, that skirt was much too short. "I should -- Glasses. I should get down the right glasses."

Fenris appeared at the top of the stairs, wearing what appeared to be Artemis's pyjama pants, rolled up at the cuffs, and a dressing gown. Isabela had likely been right about the trousers and he was not going to suffer such discomfort nor suffer it obviously in his own home. His home. His mage. He was beginning to like having things. He smiled down at Orana. "Rum. I believe the occasion calls for rum punch, if you would, once you've finished serving breakfast. I fully intend to make the most of the morning."

"Yes, Messere. Rum punch." Orana turned around, heading back into the kitchen, to serve breakfast in the dining room, rather than bringing it up to them in bed. Such unusual men, her new masters. Employers. _Them_. They were strange, even and perhaps especially by Tevinter standards, but she rather liked them, even if she thought Messere Fenris was acting out by getting 'his mage' dressed up in such tiny things. Barely even clothing.

As Orana scuttled away, Artemis threw Fenris a look over his shoulder that promised vengeance. Fenris replied with a smile that said it was worth it. Heaving a sigh, Artie descended the last few steps, veering into the dining room to start straightening in there, and Fenris followed, taking his usual chair and sitting back to watch, balancing the chair on its back two feet. Artemis moved stiffly, keeping his knees close together as he arched up on tiptoes to reach the highest shelf. Fenris watched the play of ruffles against the back of Artemis's thighs.

"You missed a spot," Fenris said when Artie moved on to the next shelf.

Artie swore under his breath. "I am going to turn you into elf paste in a minute."

There was a knock on the door, and Fenris got to it first, still not quite accustomed to the idea of other people answering the door for him. He found a woman standing on the doorstep holding what appeared to be a bunch of flowers. Orana entered the hall, behind him, and stood back to make sure nothing went wrong. Fenris, she'd learnt, was not always the best with unexpected visitors.

"Ah! If you'll just sign for these, Messere, I'll let you get on with giving them to your lovely wife!" The woman at the door gestured to Orana, seeming completely unperturbed that there might be elves living in Hightown, which immediately convinced Fenris she wasn't from around here.

"Wife!? No, no... that's... that's not... no. That's my cook." Fenris looked utterly terrified, for a moment.

 _"I'm_ the wife!" Artemis exclaimed, wheeling about in his short, frilly skirt, which spun up as he moved, and stomping over to the door. His brows knit as he thought that over. "Wait. Hold on. No. That's not --"

"O-oh!" stammered the flower-wielding woman. She looked Artemis up and down, eyes wide and unblinking as they took in his outfit and long legs. "I... apologise. I guess these are for you then?"

Artemis snatched the flowers away from her, wishing the bouquet were large enough to hide him altogether. "I suppose they... yes. Thank you." The woman smiled awkwardly, eyes still bugging, and bowed her head as she stepped back from the door. Artemis was halfway through closing the door when he stopped and pulled it open again to shout to her in the street, "Boyfriend! That was the word! I'm his boyfriend! Not wife! Maker." This last was muttered under his breath as he finally shut the door.

"Who sent flowers to you?" Fenris asked, looking confused and possibly offended. He'd assumed they were actually for Orana, wife or not, but for Artemis? No. They had better not be from the abomination. On the other hand, Anders didn't seem like the flowers type. In all the years they'd been together, he'd never heard of him giving Cormac flowers. But, the more important point... "And did you just propose to me?"

Orana approached carefully, not sure if standing too close to either of them was the safest idea, right this moment. "Messere Artemis? Do you want me to put them in water? They should be cut and put in water before they start to wilt."

Artemis looked back and forth between the two elves, eyes wide. They weren't from Fenris? Were they even for him, then? "I... uh..." Artie avoided Fenris's second question for the moment by looking at the flowers and searching for a card. He found none. "What in the...?" 

And then Artemis _looked_ at the flowers. The large, red petals of fresh hibiscus dominated the bouquet, next to a sprig of narcissus, a dried yellow rose, and budding acacia. Any nobleman or woman could read the language of flowers, and Artemis knew exactly what that meant.

'I love you. You're beautiful. I'm not sorry.'

"Cormac," Artemis said, the name sounding like a curse. He handed the flowers over to Orana with a polite smile and ran a hand over his face to hide how brightly his cheeks were burning.

Fenris watched him expectantly, if guardedly, his ears twitching asymmetrically. Artemis coughed into his fist and looked at those ears instead of green eyes. "That is... not exactly a proposal, no," he said, "because if--" when "--I propose to you, it won't be while dressed like this."

"I... good. I would hope for a bit more, er --" Fenris gestured vaguely. Clothes? Propriety? But, those thoughts just made him look more closely at Artemis, and ... Yes, pyjamas had been an excellent idea. "I assume your brother is apologising for his role in getting you in to this frilled confection? I cannot imagine what else he would be sending flowers for, today, and I am certain Aveline went straight to him or Anton as soon as she left us. The timing is no coincidence. And, I admit, I would not have agreed to it without his blessing."

"Ah. The... dress. Right." Artemis wished he were still holding the flowers so that he would have something to fidget with. Of course Cormac had meant the outfit. Not -- of course. Maker. He'd just been standing in the front doorway wearing this, hadn't he? "Well, that was thoroughly humiliating. Fenris, do I really have to keep wearing this?" He tugged the back of the dress lower over his rump, for Orana's sake as well as his peace of mind.

"You could wear it for me, upstairs," Fenris purred, eyes lingering on the curves of leg and chest the dress displayed. "And nothing else with it. We could do away with the cleaning portion of the morning. But, oh! You did say nothing sexual, didn't you..." He traced one finger down Artemis's long neck. "So, I think perhaps you're stuck in it for a while. No one said you couldn't have rum punch with your potatoes and ham, if you think that would help." Fenris was strongly hoping it would help lift the non-sexual restriction, the longer he watched Artemis prance around in that _thing_.

Artemis bent to nip at the finger leaving a trail of sensation down his skin. "Or," he said, matching Fenris's seductive tone, "you could just tear this off me and then the non-sexual clause will no longer apply." This outfit was ridiculous, but he found he was minding it a little less after seeing the hunger in Fenris's eyes. He would stop minding it altogether if it ended up in a crumpled heap on the floor. Upstairs. No need to scar poor Orana further.

"Must I? I confess, the thought of you in it..." Fenris stalled for a moment, eyes even wider, mouth dry. "The thought of you in it, folded over the footboard, making those sweet sounds of desire... I would happily tear it off of you shortly thereafter. But, would you... let me...?"

His face was ashen, and the tips of his ears red and twitching. Isabela had been right. He was terrible at this. Completely, inexcusably terrible. But, there had to be a balance between what he wanted to do, what he wanted to say, and the fact that Orana was probably still close enough to hear him. 

Artemis traced the tip of one twitching ear with his finger, trying not to look smug. "My, my," he purred. "You're already in a state just picturing it, aren't you?" Not that Artie was faring much better after Fenris's request, a fact this accursed piece of clothing did nothing to hide, even under the flimsy apron. "But rules are rules, Fenris, and I am a man of honour." He affected a look of mock offence, even as he started to slink back towards the stairs. "I cannot do anything sexual that you _request_. You'll have to think more creatively."

With a parting smirk, Artemis headed back up the stairs, swishing his hips a bit more than necessary.

Fenris followed Artemis up the stairs. No requests? More creativity? He grabbed Artemis by one arm, once they'd made it to the bedroom, and slung him over the side of the bed, arm bent behind him. He'd let go, if asked, but perhaps this was what Artemis had in mind. "And if I stop asking?" Fenris purred, ripping those ridiculous smalls off of Artemis's shapely bottom. The starch seemed to make the dress hold itself out of his way. "If I just take what I want?" Still a question. Thinking too hard about what he was doing gave him chills, but if it was what Artemis meant for him to do, he'd learn to like it. Kicking Artemis's ankles apart, he stepped between them, pulling his mage's hips back with his free hand.

Artemis grinned against the sheets, arching back so that his ass brushed the front of Fenris's -- well, his -- pyjamas. "Well, then I guess that wouldn't count, would it?" Artemis said, a bit breathless. His heart pounded against his ribs, knob painfully hard at Fenris's voice at his ear, at the show of strength in those coiled muscles. Fenris could tear him apart in an instant if he wanted to, Artie knew, and in that moment, Artemis would have let him.

That sounded like acceptance, at least. Fenris leaned over -- Maker, why was this bed so big? -- and carefully grabbed the oil from the nightstand, without letting go of Artemis's arm. He struggled to figure out how to apply it one-handed, and then pulled the cork out with his teeth and took a deep breath before slipping the narrow neck of the bottle into Artemis's terribly inviting ass. He tilted the bottle and hoped for the best.

Artemis let out a high-pitched squeak, toes clawing into the rug. _Maker_ , that was _cold_! He clawed at the sheets to keep himself from swatting the hand and bottle away. " _Fenris_ ," he choked, "what are you--? _What_?"

"I didn't want to hurt you? Oil-- I ... One hand." Fenris looked exactly as panicked as he was at that moment, still holding the cork in his teeth, and quickly pulled back the bottle with a horrifying slurping-popping sound, as he tried to angle it not to spill on the floor. He corked the bottle and tossed it onto the bed. "Do you want me to stop? Did I do something wrong?"

Oil was spilling out of Artemis. It took a moment for it to register what Fenris had just done, and then Artemis turned his face into the sheets to muffle his snorting laughter. "Well," he said, gasping for breath, "I _did_ tell you to think creatively, didn't I?" He reached back with the hand not pinned and patted at whatever of Fenris he could reach. "You're fine. It's fine. And somehow, this damnable outfit is still fine."

"This damnable outfit displays you very well," Fenris growled, shoving down the pyjama pants and stepping out of them. There was definitely something to be said for looser clothing, when he meant to stay indoors. Perhaps he would invest in his own, at some point. He stepped back, for a moment, to enjoy the view -- a halo of starched ruffles around that incredible ass, and those long, tightly-muscled legs. This mage, _his_ mage, was quite beautiful at any angle. And that was the word -- beautiful. Not handsome or any of the other words one tended to use to describe a good-looking man, but _beautiful_. He could only assume the magic had kept him from seeing that, before their drunken escapades in the Deep Roads.

"Tell me what you want," he purred stepping forward again and lining himself up. "Beg me for it." He slammed in, all at once.

The shove of Fenris's hips hitched Artemis up the bed, startling a choked shout of him. "Fen," he breathed, free hand twisting in the sheets, feet braced against the rug. "I want... I want you. Take me. Hard. Rough. Just... use me." Maker. Maybe he'd keep this ridiculous, frilly thing if it inspired this kind of reaction. He continued to beg, short two or three words phrases all he could handle just then. "Keep talking. Take me. Please."

"Use you? You want me to please myself with your body?" Fenris rolled his hips, grinding in deep and hard. "That's a dangerous offer, _mage_. One never knows just how creative I might get..." Unfortunately, Fenris wasn't nearly as creative as that sentence implied, and his last attempt at creativity had ended... less well than intended. Still, he dipped his fingers through layers of muscle and organ, taking a tight grip on Artemis's hip, as he pounded in, hard and fast. "I thought it was just your brother who liked it rough. Tell me, how far shall I go? And tell me quickly, because, _oh_ , Artemis..." He sucked in a sharp breath. Artemis in this frilly confection, literally begging to be taken hard and rough? This was not going to last. _He_ was not going to last.

"Oh, fuck, Fenris--" Each pound of Fenris's hips knocked the breath out of Artemis, wringing desperate sounds from the back of his throat. His knob rubbed against the inside of the frilly skirt, fabric just this side of too rough, but he didn't care, not with Fenris pounding him like this, not with lyrium-lined fingers holding him by his bones. 

Fenris had asked a question, hadn't he? It was hard to think past the sparks behind his eyelids. "Fuck, Fenris," he groaned, "give me everything. Take me. Come on." It was unfair, the effect this man -- this elf -- had on him.

"Mine," Fenris growled. "You are mine, mage. All of you. You belong to me." As long as Artie let it go on, of course, but ... so far, so good. He slammed in harder, adjusting his stance for a better angle, as he phased out the tips of his fingers on the other hand and rubbed at the vertebrae under where he had Artemis's wrist pinned. "You let me touch you like this. You let me put my hands where no one else can reach. I might have killed you like this, once, but now--" The words cut off in a desperate groan, and Fenris's hips stuttered. "Now, you beg to have me inside you, and I want--" Again he cut himself off, panting. "Love you. Love this. Venhedis -- _Artemis_!"

Artemis writhed under and around Fenris, stoppering whimpers and shouts behind grit teeth. Fenris's fingers scraped over the nerves in his spine, making Artemis arch and buck under him. "Oh, Maker!" he choked. "Fen!" Fenris's thrusts were shaking the bed so hard that Artemis didn't notice when it started to rattle on its own, didn't notice the other furniture in the room clattering against the walls. Pleasure sparked up his spine, his world narrowing to Fenris's knob and Fenris's fingertips as his vision flashed white and he spilled into white ruffles and starched fabric.

It wasn't until Artemis clamped down around him that Fenris felt his knees go weak, as he shot out into his mage. His breath left him, too, in a hot rush. It felt like the force of his life had slammed six inches out of his body, in that moment, and he almost sank to the floor, falling forward onto Artemis's back, instead. "I'm tearing this thing off you, now. It itches." He rubbed his face against a patch of bared skin along the low back of the dress. "That what you wanted?"

"For you to tear the dress off? Oh yes." Artemis hummed, sinking into the mattress as best he could at this awkward angle, eyes drifting closed. He slipped his arm out from between them and flexed the shoulder, stretching the fingers to get the feeling back. He shifted under Fenris and winced at the brush of fabric against his knob. "Oh. Ow. More than itches. Yes, tear this off, please."

Fenris staggered back to his feet, grabbing for the dagger that had been stuck in that nightstand as long as he'd had the house. For some reason he'd never let Artemis get rid of it, and it had come in handy from time to time. Like right now. He slipped the blade into the back of the dress, sideways, and then turned it and pulled toward him, splitting the fabric. The tearing came easy, after that. One more cut opened the skirt, and he spread the fabric across the bed. 

"Have I hurt you?" he asked, stepping back to give Artemis room to get off the remains of the dress.

Artie stood as best as his noodly legs would let him, still wincing. "Not you," he sighed, glaring down at the ruined and stained tatters of the dress. "The fabric. Chafes." He wondered how awkward it would be to ask for some healing from Anders. He sure as fuck wasn't going to ask Cormac. He waved aside Fenris's concern and slid an arm around his elf's waist. "I've survived trees," he said. "Just... do we have a healing potion handy?"

"I will go -- I will _put pants on_ and then I will go ask Orana." Fenris handed himself the pyjama pants with his toes and pulled them on. "You... that was what you wanted?" He needed to be sure. He'd already asked, more than once, but... somewhere in the back of his head, it still felt strange and wrong. But, if Artemis told him this was right, that this was what he liked, Fenris thought he could quiet that sick feeling. It had been good, in the moment. Strange, but mostly good. The way that sense of complete power ran through him, ringing through his bones, but... where was the line, where that was concerned? When did he become the monster? He didn't know, but if Artemis liked it, he was probably still on the right side of the line, wherever it was. He'd learn, eventually.

Artemis was about to brush aside the question again, but he stepped back to look at Fenris, to truly _look_ , and saw the worry there. He remembered what Fenris had said about Hadriana, about Danarius, and it hit him like a splash of cold water that maybe _he_ had pushed too far.

Artie cupped Fenris's cheek, thumb smoothing over a fine cheekbone. "I love you," he said, making sure Fenris's eyes were meeting his, "and I trust you. And if that _hadn't_ been what I wanted, I would have force pushed you through a wall." His smile was light, teasing, but his tone was nothing less than serious. "But what about you? Was that... too much?" There were some things Fenris didn't talk about, some things Artemis didn't dare ask, but he found himself wondering what kind of mistreatment Fenris had suffered at the magisters' hands.

"I am not the one in need of a healing potion," Fenris pointed out, wrapping his arms around Artemis and pressing a kiss against his shoulder. "I adore you, mage. If you tell me this pleases you, I will trust you. I... I am ill-accustomed to --" He gestured vaguely with one hand. "So many things. But, you have given me this, and I will learn. I had no idea so much was missing in my life, before you..." He choked off a laugh. "Before you grabbed my ass."

"Oh, Maker," Artemis laughed, pressing his cheek to Fenris's. "I'm glad at least one good thing came out of my drunken... brazenness." Yes. That was the word he was going to use. He turned his head to kiss the cheek touching his and took a moment to marvel at where they were. "I wanted you from the moment I laid eyes on you, you know," he said against a pointed ear. "You sauntered into the Alienage in a whirl of violence, and I was absolutely smitten."

And then he'd watched Fenris's lip curl when the elf realised he was a mage. Doomed, he'd thought. Anything between them would be doomed and disastrous and likely end with Artie's organs on the wrong side of his skin.

"At the time? No. That was not the time. I didn't want, then. I didn't know how to want, then. But, you showed me, and now I don't think I will ever let go. Unless you want me to. For longer than it takes to bring you a healing potion." Fenris shifted from foot to foot. "Fasta vass! Sit down and let me get that!"

As Artemis sat at the edge of the bed and watched Fenris scamper from the room, he wondered what Fenris meant by 'didn't know how to want'. It was a worrisome line of thinking as he considered their times together, how Fenris had been so endearingly ignorant -- innocent -- in so many areas.

"Oh Maker," he murmured for the umpteenth time that morning.

Fenris returned with the potion, the bowl of rum punch, and the platter of breakfast they'd forgotten downstairs. "Artemis? Table. Please." There was still a knife stuck in it, and he didn't want to spill anything. Still, he'd been balancing sincerely stupid piles of poorly balanced crap for mages for years, so he could probably do this. "Wait. I think..." 

Punchbowl, first, since it was the only thing in that hand. Then hand the potion to Artemis. Then take the knife and put down the platter. The table really wasn't big enough for this, but as long as they were done ... doing that, they probably wouldn't knock anything over. "I thought you might enjoy your rum punch and eggs."

"You spoil me," Artemis said, admiring Fenris's balancing act before dishing out rum punch for each of them. Carefully. Knowing them, Artemis would manage to knock the thing over within seconds of Fenris setting it down. "This from the elf who knocked me down the stairs. Though perhaps I shouldn't remind you of the waxed floors while you have a knife in your hand." As it was, the bedsheets had reverted to their usual linen, although a finer threadcount than before. Artie saved the Orlesian bedsheets just to threaten Fenris with them from time to time.


	66. Chapter 66

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Should I say it with flowers? The answer is always yes. More Wicked Grace. A conversation about Cormac's... suggestion.

"You are -- That is -- Fenris, you're doing clean wrong."

Fenris stilled, the knife he was using as a strigil pausing mid-scrape down his shoulder. He wasn't aware one could _do_ clean wrong, but then again, Artemis was a master of the Neurotic Arts. "Um." He looked down at his naked body, his right ear twitching.

Artemis cursed under his breath and stepped into the bathroom properly, shutting the door behind him. "Sorry," he muttered. "That... came out funny. What I mean is, there's a bathtub right next to you, and we have running water. Why are you...? Hang on. Is this a Tevinter thing? This is a Tevinter thing, isn't it. Maker, I sound like an ass."

Artemis bit his tongue long enough to truly appreciate the sight in front of him. The oil Fenris was scraping off made him glisten in the sunlight, highlighting the sleek perfection of Fenris's body. Isabela would have kittens, if she saw this.

Andraste's tits, maybe _Artie_ was the one doing clean wrong.

"I use the water to rinse off after," Fenris said slowly, finally lowering the hand holding the strigil. He just looked confused.

Right. Slave. _Maker_. "Hang on," Artemis said, scratching his jaw. "Fenris. Have you never had a hot bath?"

Fenris's jaw worked around words for a moment. There had been that one time in Seheron, when he'd stumbled on those hot springs. He'd fallen asleep, much to his dismay, and woken to find his fingers pruny and his pants stolen. But a hot bath at home? "That is... that is a mage thing," he said, barely biting back any lingering contempt at the word 'mage'. _Those_ mages. _Tevinter_ mages. Not his mage.

And... oh. Mage. He had a mage now, didn't he?

Artemis clucked his tongue and sauntered over, brushing his lips against Fenris's and smiling. "I suppose it is," he said. "And now I'll make it a broody-elf thing. You just stand there and glisten for a moment, while I take care of this."

Turning the strigil over in his hand, Fenris watched Artie draw him a bath, long fingers dipping into the water and making it ripple with magic. When Fenris sank into that water, those same long fingers teased along his scalp and trailed down his neck to knead at knotted shoulders. Fenris all but purred under the attention, at the clever press of his mage's hands and the curl of heat soaking into sore muscles. Now this, he thought, was the height of decadence.

Fenris almost didn't mind when he woke up to pruny fingers and his pants gone. Again.

_Mages._

* * *

Cormac looked up from his book to find Bodhan standing in the doorway with a bouquet of flowers and an odd look on his face. "It seems you have an admirer, messere."

"What? No. You sure those aren't for Anton? Anton's got a sappy boyfriend who brings flowers." Cormac put down the book and got up for a closer look as Bodhan arranged the flowers in a vase atop the fireplace. Iris and bird's-foot. 'Good news! I'm going to kick your ass!' That fucker. He laughed. "They're from Artemis."

"Why is your brother sending you flowers, messere? Not that it's my business." Bodhan looked terribly curious.

"Prank war." Cormac grinned at the dwarf. "Here's what I want you to send back..."

Bodhan looked terribly confused as he stepped outside and hailed a messenger to send word to the florist. Flowers as pranks? Every time he thought he'd gotten the hang of the Hawkes, they got a little stranger.

* * *

Orana cleared her throat as Artemis came down the stairs. "Was that the door?" he asked. "What was it for?" He hoped there weren't kids leaving poop on his doorstep again.

"More flowers for you, Messere," Orana said, holding out a bouquet she'd already trimmed and placed in a vase.

Artemis took the vase and turned it around in his hand. Balsamine, lobelia, and... lime blossom? Red spilled over Artie's cheeks and down his chest. Roughly, 'Hurry up and kill me with your dick'. He could hear that in his brother's voice. Andraste's tits, he _had_ heard it in his brother's voice. _Maker_ , Cormac.

"Orana, my dear," he said with a tight smile, "could you do me a favour? I've another bouquet I'd like to send to the house..." Orana took the vase back with a puzzled look. "And, Orana? Please don't put those on the mantel."

* * *

The florist sighed with relief, when the next order from the Hawkes came through. Maker. Those brothers. She found herself increasingly glad she only had sisters, herself. But, after that last one... Had the older Hawke made a _mistake_ in his selections? Surely, he couldn't have meant... But, perhaps he had a lover staying with his brother. Ah, nobles, so little time, so much treachery. Still, the next order was a simple one, and she sent the single blossom out with a courier.

Bodhan accepted the flower at the door and brought it to Cormac. "Messere? A reply." He held out the single yellow carnation.

Cormac looked up and then doubled over laughing. Trust Artemis to keep it simple. 'No.' He'd been expecting a more thorough reaming, to be sure, but somehow the simple answer was even better.

He scratched out the reply on a scrap from Bethany's desk and handed it to Bodhan. "Thanks for putting up with this. Order a fruitcake for tonight, when you step out again? You and Sandal should have something nice."

* * *

"Venhedis," Fenris swore when Orana appeared in the doorway with another bouquet. He eyed Artemis across the table. "Who keeps sending you these?"

"Still Cormac, I suspect," Artemis replied, setting down his wine to get a better look. Bellflower, balm, buttercup. Ah. At least the message was family-friendly this time. By regular standards of family-friendly. An expression of disappointment and, "He wants to know if I'll be at Wicked Grace tonight."

Fenris squinted at the flowers. Plants could say that? Had to be a mage thing.

"Do you have a reply, Messere?" Orana asked.

Artemis chewed his lip for a moment and considered. "Yes. Yes I do."

* * *

The florist was getting curious. The last message hadn't made proper sense, either, and if the replies hadn't kept coming, she'd have thought the elder Messere Hawke to have just been making shit up. Perhaps the Hawkes had some other context for some of these flowers. She'd heard they were Fereldan, after all. Whatever was going on, after assembling this bouquet, she felt a little sorry for the younger brother, or whoever he was accepting flowers on behalf of.

"The fruitcake should arrive before supper, messere. But... More flowers." Bodhan presented another bouquet, already in a vase.

"That was quick. Let's see..." Lemon blossom, thyme, and rue? Ouch. 'Not if I keep losing like that.' Well, that was a fair point, after that last game. Still, it was Artie's own fault for making that bet. He was sure there were substantially worse things that could have happened, and he was absolutely sure this one had ended in his brother getting laid. There was no way it hadn't. Well, unless Fran had dressed him up as an _actual_ Orlesian maid, instead of the kind one found illustrated in trashy novels. Still, he doubted that.

Something encouraging this time, he thought. No promises. Just... suggestions. He wrote out another order and handed it to Bodhan. "I'm trying to talk him into a card game," he explained, which explained nothing at all, as far as the dwarf was concerned.

* * *

"I'm starting to run out of vases, Messere," Orana said, looking harried.

More flowers? In the same day? Maker, the florist must be having kittens. "You can put it in the vase with the last bouquet," Artemis said, "assuming they fit. Then again, they're from Cormac. You're welcome to just throw them out the window, if you wish." It was less about the display and more about the message, anyway. And throwing something out a window was another kind of message.

"Really?" Fenris drawled, peeking at the new flowers as Orana handed them over to Artie for examination. "We're defenestrating plants now?"

Celandine and Cowslip... hmm. A bit harder to parse, but the tone was coaxing overall. And there was a pun in there about 'winning grace'. "Cormac's trying to convince me to go to Wicked Grace tonight," he explained.

Fenris looked dubious. "With flowers."

"I... yes. With flowers." Artie wondered if Fenris had any brothers. He wasn't about to ask, with Fenris's memory the way it was. "Orana, could I...?"

"Yes, Messere. Just write down the order, please."

"You are a gem, Orana."

* * *

"A single stem, messere," Bodhan held out the most recent arrival.

"Ouch," Cormac muttered, once he got a good look at it. Well, it wasn't a 'no', but it wasn't the best series of things he'd ever been called. The kindest interpretation was 'liar'.

"Send back a full bouquet. A whole dozen. Thorns, leaves, and all." Cormac grabbed another slip of paper and scratched out another order. "Add a card, this time, to tell him Anders and I will be there at seven... ish. Assuming I can pry Anders away from whatever he's doing at the time."

* * *

Artemis didn't win big that night, but he considered it a victory that he wouldn't be in a skirt that barely covered his ass later. And he was still just sober enough to wonder what that said about him, that that was his new standard for successful gambling. Isabela had the opposite standard, however, and spent the whole night pouting and trying to coax Artie into putting the maid outfit on, just for them. Then Fenris had made things worse by announcing that the dress had been torn to pieces, and Artemis couldn't make eye-contact with his brothers for the rest of the night.

Eventually the game had fizzled out, somewhere around the time Aveline had said something about an early morning and stumbled home. The cards were still in a heap on the table, empty bottles cluttering the floor, and Artemis's brain was just saturated enough not to care. Cleaning would be sober Artie's problem, he decided. Or maybe Orana's, if he gave her large enough puppy eyes when she came in in the morning.

At some point Artemis found himself escorting Varric and Isabela to the door, if staggering in a generally doorward direction counted as escorting. Varric swatted at a flower on an end table, its stem just starting to droop. "Usually gardens are outside," he said, gesturing about at the absurd amount of plantlife in the room.

"It's a... Tevinter thing," Artemis slurred, earning him a narrowed look from Fenris across the room. "Yes."

"A Tevinter thing?" Isabela purred, turning around to back toward the door in front of Artemis. "I bet you know all about Tevinter things. Has he told you to... er..." She had to stop and think for a moment, and being drunk was not helping. "Irru-- something. Irrumambo?"

Fenris nearly glowed he turned so red, so fast. "Do not make me regret teaching you that word, Isabela. And you're still saying it wrong!"

Cormac shot an amused look at Fenris. "What, were you teaching her dirty words in Tevene? When? How drunk _were_ you?" He paused for a moment. "Was that the time you ended up with lipstick on your ears?"

Fenris buried his face in his hands as Varric dragged Isabela out the door.

"Come on, let's let Broody and Nervy get back to their evening. They don't need you telling them how to get it on," Varric tugged Isabela toward the door. "You can tell me all about why you know dirty words from Tevinter, on the way back to the Hanged Man, though. How much did you have to pour down him?"

Artemis shut the door behind them and staggered back over Fenris, flopping onto his lap. "Lipstick on your ears, hmm?" he slurred, eyes narrowed.

Fenris wrapped an arm around Artie's waist. "That was the only place there was lipstick," he was quick to say. "I swear. Your brother can cor... corroborate." Four syllables was too many after that many drinks.

"Can he now?" asked Anders, looking over at Cormac, regrettably sober, as always. "He checked everywhere else to be sure?"

Fenris made a choked sound in the back of his throat. " _No_!"

Artemis nibbled on Fenris's currently lipstick-free ear and locked eyes with Cormac over the elf's head. "He didn't? Shame."

"I'll tell you he was shitfaced and complaining about Izzy groping him. Whatever she might have done, it wasn't his fault. You know what she's like." Cormac shrugged. "It was... ah... _that_ night. After you went home, again. You were otherwise occupied. Fenris and I had a little chat about that."

Anders had been unaware it was possible for Fenris to look less amused than he had, but the look on his face after that bit of news was amazing. He suspected if Artemis hadn't been weighing the elf down, he might have had to perform an awful lot of healing very quickly. He glanced around the room, hoping to change the subject.

"Is that _lime blossom_?" Anders looked surprised. "Kinky, Fenris. I didn't take you for the type."

" _I_ didn't send them," Fenris snapped, glancing first at the flower Anders had indicated, then at Cormac. His grip was possessively tight on Artie's hip. He pulled his head to the side, pulling a twitching ear from between Artemis's teeth. "Artemis says they were from Cormac." He wanted to believe Artie, but there was something going on here. Something his mage wasn't telling him.

"They are," Artemis insisted, flush deepening. Fenris narrowed his eyes at the mage in his lap.

"You said they were a message about Wicked Grace tonight," he said, careful to keep his tone from sounding accusing.

"That's the next one. First I told him I wasn't sorry about the dress, then he threatened me, then I was just... Oh. You two haven't had that conversation have you. Oh, shit. I..." Cormac looked at Anders for help.

Anders shrugged. "Don't look at me. You dug this hole. I was in the clinic all day."

"I was just being kind of gross." Cormac laughed, a little self-consciously, not sure how much to admit to. 'Kind of gross' covered 'kill me with your dick' pretty well, even if it was well within the range of things he wouldn't mind. Possibly with a little less actual killing, though. "Then he got pissy, and then we started talking about cards."

"Pissy?" Artemis baulked as Fenris echoed, "Gross?"

Artie glanced at the unamused look on Fenris's face and wondered if he should really be sitting on his lap for this conversation. Then again, keeping him pinned was probably a good thing. So was distracting him with his ass against Fenris's crotch.

Fenris sucked in a steadying breath. "What, exactly, do the flowers say?" he asked. "For one. For another, what is this 'conversation' Artemis and I have not had?" He looked from one mage to the next. How was he always ending up in a room full of mages?

Artie reached behind him for the half-finished bottle of rum and shot Cormac a desperate look.

Anders examined the bouquet in question. "Is that... Impatience, malice, and lust? Hurry up and hate-fuck me?"

Cormac covered his face with both hands and prayed for a quick death. "'Hurry up and kill me with your dick' is what I was aiming for. In my defence, the preceding message was something along the lines of 'Good news! I'm going to kick your ass!' I was aiming for something ridiculous and worth a blush. The reaction's always half the game, and you can ask Bodhan about that."

"Kill me with your _dick_?" Fenris shifted from wrathful to completely confused and slightly horrified. "To your _brother_?" He did remember the blush, though. Cormac had been right about that. " _Mages_ ," he huffed.

Artemis wondered if there was enough alcohol in all of Thedas for him to be drunk enough for this conversation. There certainly wasn't room enough in his liver.

"I don't know if I would consider that a strictly mage thing," Anders said. "I think it's more of a Hawke thing. I think it's a more of a 'these two' thing."

"Anders," Artemis said, voice strained, "you're not helping."

"Who ever said I was going to help?" Anders said, shrugging. "Personally, I just want to see how hard Fenris's ears can vibrate."

"My ears _do not vibrate_!" Fenris snapped, lyrium lines flickering. Artemis tried to soothe him with a finger down the tattoos on his throat. That just earned him a growl and another ear twitch.

Cormac made a flapping gesture with his hands. "Like a butterfly. Come on, you saw that. You checked the mirror the last time I pointed it out. Of course, you were about this drunk, at the time, so maybe you don't remember."

A vague memory surfaced of checking the mirror in the entrance hall of the Hawke estate. Lipstick. Twitching. Perhaps that actually had happened. "I do not wish to discuss my ears. What is this conversation you think we should have had?"

"It's not on me to tell you," Cormac said, voice a lot steadier than he felt. "Artie and I had a little chat, while he was staying with me, and it's up to him how much of the conclusions he came to he wants to share with you. I just... thought one in particular might have come up. My mistake." Keep it general, he figured. Less murdering. Less of his brother murdering him, at the very least.

Artie was picking imagined lint off his sleeves again when Fenris looked at him. "It's... not exactly an easy subject to broach," Artemis muttered. "Especially sober. Maker." But he thought of Cormac against him, Cormac screaming for him, Cormac's taste on his lips. Shit. Yes, they needed to have this conversation.

"Fen," Artemis murmured, against the shell of his ear. "Can we talk in private a moment?"

Fenris looked at his mage, stomach knotting. "Very well," he said, brows knit in a question.

Artemis slipped off his lap, wobbling a bit when his feet touched the floor. "It's like we're on a boat," he said to his feet. "When did the floors get like this?"

Anders got up and hauled Cormac to his feet. "Probably around the time you waxed the floor, last. Sit. We'll step out and bother Orana for some more tea."

Cormac staggered up, kicking his chair back and trying to avoid cracking both his knees on the table. "We're less drunk, and it's your house," he explained, catching on to Anders's logic. "Just, you know, shout if you need us. Shields... healing..." Cormac laughed uncertainly.

They closed the door behind them, as they stepped out, and Anders gestured for Cormac to put his ear to it, while he made a point of audibly calling for Orana.

Artemis settled into the chair next to Fenris, angling it so that he was facing his elf. Fenris fought to keep his expression neutral, but Artie knew him well enough by now to see the worry he was hiding. And really, that just made Artie more nervous.

He opened his mouth to speak, paused to take a long drink instead. First, apply alcohol. _Then_ words.

"You and your brother had a discussion," Fenris prompted him.

"After the... mess with the Fade. Yes. Erm. You remember the corset? Of course you remember the corset. I was drunk off my ass and I'll never be able to unsee the corset." The corset which was definitely still in his closet somewhere. Not that he was going to admit it. "Anyway, Cormac was... I mean. You saw. You were... then he was... and um."

Fenris counted his breaths to keep his frustration under control. Artemis would get there eventually.

"He told me he wanted me," Artemis said all at once, in a great rush of breath.

Fenris was on his feet before he realised he was going to stand up. "I'll kill him."

He'd seen some wrong, in his day, but this was so wrong it wouldn't even fly in the Imperium. On a scale of one to Tevinter, this was the Black City. His mage subject to something like this, from a sibling? From Artemis's own older brother? Cormac pissed him off endlessly, but this just surpassed any previous annoyance by entire orders of magnitude. He had suspected, maybe, that there might be something like this going on, but for Artemis to confirm it... He lit blue and circled around behind Artemis's chair on the shortest path to the door.

"Fenris!" Artemis choked. He reached for the elf, but Fenris had gone ghost, and Artie's hand passed right through him. Panicked, he reacted with force magic, pulling Fenris back away from the door. "Don't! Please! No killing!"

Fenris turned his murderous look Artie's way, struggling to keep his balance after being pulled several feet back. "Magic," he growled. "You're using magic on me." This wasn't wax floors and harmless mischief. This was his mage using magic to restrain him.

Cringing, Artemis threw his hands palms up. "No, I... I'm sorry. The last time I tried to stop you from killing my brother, grabbing your ass worked, but it was... incorporeal this time. Your ass was. Your everything. I panicked." Oh Maker. This was a disaster. "Please, Fenris. Just... sit. Talk to me. If you still want to kill Cormac after, I doubt there's really much I could do to stop you, but talk to me first."

"Your brother ... wants you. Wants... to..." Fenris was still terrible with words around some subjects, this one among them. "Wants to do with you as I do. And you... don't want me to kill him? I don't think I understand. That is not the way things are done, in Tevinter. I understood things to be similar in the rest of Thedas. Have I heard wrong?"

It wasn't like he had any siblings to judge by. Well, except that theoretical and probably imaginary sister Hadriana had offered him. He had been alone so very long. Perhaps he had misjudged something? Misunderstood? It wasn't as if he could read books on the customs of other lands, although he had heard such things existed. Well, maybe some of them. Perhaps a children's history of the Marches might be a place to start, although he doubted very much that would cover the subjects he'd be looking for. He was at a somewhat awkward point in his education.

Artemis saw the disgust in Fenris's face, heard it in his voice. He felt like he might be sick and not just because of all that rum. He took one of Fenris's hands in both of his, which had started to shake, and coaxed him back into his seat. Fenris sat stiffly, reluctantly, one eye still on the door.

"Nothing about this is... normal, I suppose," Artemis said with a weak smile. "You are not wrong there. But it's..." Artemis swallowed, staring down at the clenched hand in his. "You seem... to be under the impression it's one-sided, which is my fault for the wording. And I... it... was. One-sided, that is. For a while. But... the other way around."

And that was it. Fenris was going to leave him. Fenris would find him disgusting and go off to find someone else whose head wasn't screwed on wrong, who wasn't a _mage_.

Fenris looked hurt, first. There was that invisible hand squeezing in his chest again. "You... Are you... Are you leaving me? For your brother?"

He supposed he deserved it, really. Things like this weren't meant to last, and he really had nothing to offer this mage. This nobleman. He was just an illiterate former slave. He was just an elf. "Do you... want me to go?"

"What? No!" Artemis stammered, eyes wide and pleading. "That's not... _Fuck_."

He was terrible at this. He was terrible at this and he kept hurting the man he loved. Artemis squeezed the hand in his and brought it to his lips. "I love you," he said against that hand. "So fucking much. You are enough for me, more than enough. If Cormac were... in the equation, it would only be in addition to you, not instead of. Never instead of. You must know that."

Artie prayed he wasn't making things worse. "I just... I-I just wanted you to know the whole story. Take it as you will."

Fenris sighed in shaky relief. "Like the corset. You mean he's volunteered himself to be your pillow, if you want him, and you ... do?" Well, that hadn't been entirely terrible, the first time. Aside from the part where he'd had to touch Cormac, it had been pretty good. Of course, Artemis made almost the same sounds with a pillow as he had with Cormac under him, but...

"I would not have to touch him?" Fenris asked.

Artemis's laugh came out a bit hysterical. "No, you don't have to touch him," he said. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to do. And... volunteering to be my pillow." Another punchy laugh forced out of him. "Not quite how I'd put it, but... close enough."

His thumb traced the shapes of Fenris's knuckles. "You don't find me disgusting, after that?" He looked everywhere but at Fenris's face.

"I... No. You are my mage, and I love you. Did I not tell you that I loved all of you? Every bit of your magic? Every one of your quirks?" Fenris reached up with his free hand and tugged at Artemis's chin, until he could look into those lovely blue eyes. "Perhaps I was drunker than I thought, but I remember saying that even after you used your brother for a pillow."

He kissed Artemis gently, chastely. "I don't know how to do this. I don't know at all. But, I'll learn it with you. And I'll try not to kill your brother. I'll try at least as hard as he tries my patience."

"I think all we can ever do is try not to kill Cormac," Artemis replied. Maker. Was Fenris agreeing? He not only wasn't leaving but was consenting to this?

Artie pulled Fenris closer by the collar, turning the chaste kiss into something more heated, one full of promise.

"And speaking of Cormac..." he said against Fenris's lips. With a push of force magic, he shoved open the door.


	67. Chapter 67

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris and Anders were not expecting the evening's entertainment to go quite like this. Artemis must remember to thank Orana for a table of the perfect height.

There was a clattering and Anders laughing, but Cormac appeared, uninjured in the doorway, as if he hadn't just been smacked with a door. Which he hadn't. That's what shields were for.

"So, am I walking into my death?" Cormac asked. "And if I am, is it at least going to be a sexy death of the sort Isabela would pay to have carved out for my memorial?"

"Please don't kill Cormac. I've been working all day. I really don't have it in me to keep him alive, if you try too hard," Anders groaned, shoving Cormac back into the room.

"I make no promises on the killing," Fenris drawled, hand sliding up and down Artie's arm, almost possessively before he stopped himself. 

"Okay, but if you _do_ kill him, please ask me first," Artemis said. "If he deserves it, I'll let you." Granted, Cormac deserved it most of the time. He wondered sometimes how long the man would have survived if he didn't have those shields. "But it looks like it might at least be the sexy sort of death, Cormac. Or should I have told you that via flowers?"

"It's a wonder Kirkwall still has a florist, after today. I wonder how the poor woman hasn't burst into flames. I have to wonder what the rumours will look like, tomorrow, because I can almost guarantee they will look nothing like the truth." Cormac swaggered across the room. "So... Is that a yes? You going to hurry up and kill me with your dick?"

Anders looked at Fenris and shrugged. Hawkes, right? Nothing for it.

Artemis coughed into his fist. He glanced at Fenris before twisting to look up at his brother. "If you're not dead by the end of this," he said, "it won't be from lack of trying. At least from my end." There was a joke or twelve in there about mage staffs or stabbing, but Artie's wits were too scattered to make them. 

Maker, this was... They were really going to...

"But -- yes. It's a yes, it seems."

"Now?" Cormac asked. "Here?"

He leaned down and rested his chin on Artemis's shoulder, whispering just behind his ear. "Fuck me, Artie. Fuck me raw, right here on this table, and I will lick it clean for you."

The whisper was, perhaps, not as quiet as it could have been, or years in the tower had really sharpened Anders's hearing. He cast a somewhat uncomfortable look at Fenris. "I left the tea over there. I'm going to go get the tea. If we're watching this, should I ask Orana for some biscuits?"

It wasn't that he was uncomfortable watching. Maker, no. He just wasn't quite sure how he was supposed to feel about the fact that he and Fenris were both in the room for it. And potentially not involved. Or if they were involved, this was going to get really weird, really quickly. And if only one of them was involved, someone was probably going to die.

Fenris looked between the three mages, eyes large and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Hold on. They were..? _Now_? No one had said anything about the abomination being here, and there were still cards on the table, and...

And Artie looked incredibly turned on by that filth his brother had just said. Venhedis. Fenris should have worn those loose pants again.

Artemis reached up to grab Cormac by the hair, dark fingers disappearing in darker strands. But he looked right at Fenris, brow arched in a question. 'Is this okay?' that look said. Fenris realised Artie was waiting for Fenris's consent.

Fenris finally pulled his tongue away from the roof of his mouth. "I think, perhaps, you should tell Orana to go out for a bit, while you're at it."

"Noon?" Anders asked, heading for the door again, a little light-headed. "I think I'll tell her noon. That's half a day away. That's... time enough for pants. Biscuits, tea, fifty silver for a night at the Hanged Man. I'd spot her more, but my pockets are empty. You know me."

This had been a very different thing, when it was happening in Cormac's bed. For starters, he'd been naked for that, which he really didn't expect to happen, this time. And there had been less angry elf, involved, although the angry elf looked a lot less angry and a lot more wobbly and disconcerted. Rather like he, himself, was feeling, actually. Seemed to be going around.

Cormac tipped his head pulling his hair tighter against Artemis's grip, as he rubbed his cheek against Artie's ear. "Hurt me," he whispered. "Make me feel you. Show me how you would have taken me, that day, all those years ago."

Artemis turned his head to nip at Cormac's jaw, just to the side of that ridiculous beard. He twisted his fingers a little tighter in his brother's hair and wondered if he should tell him... "You're making assumptions, brother-dear," he growled against Cormac's skin. "You're assuming I wanted to be the one taking _you_. Not that I would have minded, but."

Artie was hyper-aware of all the places Cormac touched or almost touched, aware of Cormac's breath against his cheek. Into Cormac's ear, soft enough for only his brother to hear, Artemis said, "Maybe I wanted my big, strong older brother taking me. Using me."

Fenris watched the exchange and swallowed heavily, hands clutching at his thighs.

Cormac nearly swooned as all the blood rushed out of his head. But... didn't end up where he expected it to. No, that was still a little too far, for him, for pretty much exactly the reasons Artie seemed to want it. And wasn't that a pisser. He took a few deep breaths and lifted his hand, in case Fenris could read lips.

"You've already had me inside you. I think it's my turn." It wasn't a good argument, really, but it was the only one he could muster without getting anywhere near the truth of the matter. And he wasn't going to tell that to Artemis. Not when he was still working on changing his own mind on the subject. And really, if Artie kept asking like that, it might not take _that_ many tries. "Just this once, Artie, please?"

Anders came back in carrying tea and biscuits, which he set on the end of the table and pulled up the chair on the other side of Fenris. "Still in negotiations, are they?" he asked, pouring a cup for himself and then another that he nudged toward Fenris. Might as well keep things polite.

Fenris grunted something, still too dazed to be annoyed by the abomination and his closeness. He acknowledged the tea with a blink but didn't touch it.

Artemis leaned to the side to consider his brother. 'Just this once', he'd asked. Implying more than once. Implying multiple instances of what was probably a terrible idea, but one that Artemis rather liked. There was a part of him that wanted to whine at Cormac the way he used to when they were younger, the way he used to when he wanted things to go his way. But this was Cormac wanting him and saying 'please'.

"Fine, since you ask so nicely," Artie said, hand slipping out of Cormac's hair to slide under his chin. "But next time? We do it my way."

"Fuck yes," Cormac panted, wits gone straight out the window. "Anything, Artie. You know that. Anything for you."

Anders looked on in amusement, long having wondered what Cormac's dazed and pleading face looked like from a different angle. He sipped his tea and helped himself to a biscuit, wondering how awkward this was going to get, between himself and Fenris, once things got going. He knew he could bring himself off without Fenris even becoming aware of it -- he'd done it enough times during boring lectures -- but he wondered at Fenris's talents in that regard.

"Thank you," Cormac said, pressing his lips to his brother's forehead. "I know I'm being selfish, but... ever since you... ever since we... Ever since that night with the corset, I haven't been able to stop thinking about what you would have felt like inside me. Anything you want from me, after this, Artie."

Artemis stood up on wobbly feet, heart pounding in his ears as the reality of what they were about to do started to hit him. He could feel Fenris's eyes on him, Anders's eyes, Cormac's eyes. This was happening. He _wanted_ it to happen.

"Anything?" Artemis said, lips quirking. "Careful, Cormac. We have witnesses who heard that. I'm sure Fran could find another Orlesian maid's outfit for you." He fumbled to push the chair out of the way, but it caught on the rug. Cursing, he knocked it over and force pushed it to the other end of the room. "We should... the cards." The last hand was still laid out on the table. They were Varric's, and he doubted Varric would be thrilled to get them back bent and covered in suspicious stains.

Fenris considered helping, but standing right now, in these pants? Not something he wanted to do. 

"If you do this for me... If you put your knob in my ass and make me scream for you, I will wear it, without complaint. I doubt you actually would want that, though. I don't really have the legs for it." Had Isabela been present, Cormac could have been used as an example of 'smouldering', in that moment.

Anders was on his feet without thinking about it. "I'm... table. No. Cards. I'll get the table cleared off, while the two of you get each other cleared off, and we can try this again with nothing in the way." He gathered cards in one hand, sweeping empty glasses and crumbs to the far end of the table, just to get everything into one place. Definitely had to move the glasses. Not only would they get knocked over in the usual way, this was Artie. Glasses had to go. He piled them onto the tray that had held sandwiches and grabbed the few bottles he could find under the table, before taking the tray and the cards out of the room. He'd just leave those in the kitchen for Orana.

Artemis looked down at himself. Cleared off. Right. By the time Anders had cleared off the table, Artie had flung his tunic in the direction of his abused chair. His pants took a bit more time to deal with. Laces. Laces were demons' work. Eventually his drunk brain caught up with what his fingers were doing, and he got the laces open, slid his pants down over his hips, and promptly forgot that he could only step out of them one foot at a time. 

Fenris caught Artemis as he started to teeter backward, half standing out of his chair. "All right?" he asked in Artie's ear, trying not to react to all that bare skin so close to him.

"Pants," Artemis answered helpfully. He finally kicked them off and righted himself. "Thank you. We'll try this with less rum next time." A few of those words got lost in the middle, but he was sure he'd made his point.

Cormac, meanwhile, had untied his sash and shrugged off the four layers of Chantry robe he had been wearing, taking the time to roughly fold the lot of cloth and hand it to Anders. He stepped behind Artemis, hands on those sharp hips, and whispered against the ear Fenris wasn't using. "I want you stone sober, when I fuck you like you've been aching for it, all these years."

Anders cursed himself for not having stayed quite close enough to make out whatever that had been. Given the look on Cormac's face, he vaguely wondered how Artemis hadn't spontaneously combusted, yet. But, maybe that was just him. 

"Is that a promise?" Artemis asked, unable to hide a shiver at Cormac's words, at Cormac's heat at his back. He looked back at Fenris, who still stood awkwardly half in his chair, and watched him visibly swallow. Artie threw him a wink and motioned for him to sit before turning in Cormac's grip. He looped his arms around Cormac's neck and pressed their bodies flush together, shivering again at the slide of hot skin against his.

Anders settled back in his chair, hardly daring to blink. He reached for a biscuit and shoved it whole in his mouth, all without taking his eyes off the Hawkes.

"It's a promise. It's a guarantee. I will do it, and I want you sober enough to remember all of it -- every inch of me sliding into you for the first time." Cormac wrapped his arms around Artemis, pressing them tight together. He just hoped he'd actually be able to do it, when the time came. The idea scared the fuck out of him, quite literally, and he wasn't sure he'd be able to get it up. Still, he'd try. He'd ask Anders. There had to be a spell for that, maybe a potion.

"How do you want to do this? Are we tall enough that if I sprawl across the table and put my knees over your shoulders, you can reach?" He patted the edge of the table and tried to judge. "I don't want to pick the wrong angle and have you wind up with a foot cramp or something."

"That's why we have a healer," Artemis said distractedly. Hard to judge depth with everything so fuzzy at the edges. "If it doesn't work, I'm having a new table made, just for that." Fenris was a bit shorter than he was, after all. It could be a gift for them both. Much more important than using the table for its intended use.

Artemis shrugged and grabbed Cormac under the thighs, hoisting him up onto the table. If this worked, Orana was getting a raise.

Cormac squeaked, as his feet left the ground. Blinking, he settled himself onto the very edge of the table, leaning forward to give Artemis a long, lingering kiss, before he stretched out across the reflectively-clean surface of the table ... which probably had a few wine stains on it, at this point, but they didn't really make it less blinding to engage directly. He hooked his heels on the edge of the table, to either side of his ass and spread his legs. This was actually happening. He was spread out on display, so his little brother -- his beautiful little brother -- could fuck him, while their lovers watched. Was lover really the word? He had no idea. Years, now, and he still didn't know how to refer to Anders, other than by name.

"Take me, Artie." Other things crossed his mind to say, but not in front of Fenris. They were no less true, but they weren't his to say.

Artemis took a moment to appreciate the sight, to remind himself that this was real. No demons here, just three men he trusted, two he loved, one he was in love with. And here was one of them, the brother he had loved and admired all his life, stretched out like an offering. Artie stepped forward, running his hands up Cormac's legs to rest at his knees. He bent to nip at the inside of one thigh, teasing at first, before sinking his teeth into the skin just under the joint where thigh met groin.

"Want me to take you like this?" Artemis growled, barely recognising his own voice. "Dry and rough? Until you bleed?" He wasn't one to hurt his lovers, but he knew what Cormac liked, what he craved. He was still going to ask first.

Cormac arched, screaming shrilly, as teeth sank into him. "Yes! _Yes_! Oh, fuck, _Artemis_!"

That hit him hard. Here he was, screaming his brother's name. That was his brother between his legs. And the only other people in the room were just there to watch. There was no 'and Anders' to hang this on, this time. This was just the two of them.

Gritting his teeth as some last ditch attempt to control his ragged breathing, Cormac looked down the table at Anders. "Make sure he doesn't hurt himself," he panted, before looking back down, between his legs. "And you... Oh, fuck, Artie. Do it. Just shove it all the way in. Pinch me, bite me, slap me, fuck me until I bleed for you. I need it. I need you in me. I need to see my blood on you. I need to feel you break me, tear me apart."

That was all the consent Artie needed. He left another bite under the last one, teeth worrying the skin, and wondered if Cormac would leave those bruises. "Keep saying my name like that," he growled as he straightened, hooking his hands under Cormac's heels and throwing them over his shoulders. Grabbing hold of Cormac by the thighs, Artemis pulled them flush together, knob spearing into his brother in one brutal thrust. 

And Artemis _swore_ , because, okay, that wasn't something he thought through. He sank his teeth into a leg by his face, muffling a squeak. 

"Artemis! Yes! _Please_ , yes! Fuck me Artie, just fucking _fuck me_!" Cormac howled, snapping his fingers where his arm lay stretched along the table in Anders's direction and pointing as subtly as he could manage at Artemis. 

Anders was already casting, having seen that stupid move start. He'd done that once or twice. It never ended well for anyone except Cormac. He tapped on the table until Artie looked at him, and made a couple of quick gestures. It was only fair. When the three of them were together, Cormac was usually inside him, so some of the finer details probably should be passed along.

"Please, Artie! It's so good... Make me bleed for you!" Cormac pleaded.

Healing magic washed over Artemis, and he could breathe again. Maker, what was it with him skinning his dick? "Always so demanding, Cormac," he said, voice still a bit tight. "Already pleading." He gave an experimental push of his hips, a bit dizzy from the heat and tightness surrounding him. He was rarely on this side of things, but everything about this situation was 'rare', to put it lightly.

Artie gave another shove, this one harder, and watched Cormac's face. He slid a hand along Cormac's thigh to dig his fingers into the bruises his teeth had left.

Fenris didn't realise his mouth was open until his tongue started to dry out. This was... "I've never seen him like this," he said, not realising he was saying this aloud. It was best he hadn't touched his tea. He'd have dropped it in his lap by now.

Anders washed down the mouthful of biscuit he had, and laughed quietly. "Did you miss the thing with Cullen, then? No. You were there for that. For certain values of 'there'. You should have been closer. That was ... phew." He fanned himself with his free hand and reached for another biscuit, flexing his thighs, under the table. There would come a point when he had to put the tea down for a bit, but he wasn't there yet.

"You, Artie. Pleading for _you_." Cormac panted between thrusts. "Fuck, you feel so good in me. Oh, _Artemis_! Better than I dreamed. Better than I imagined, and fuck, I imagined it. Imagined you taking me like this... Imagined you fucking me open and making me beg for you!"

Artemis groaned, nails digging into the meat of Cormac's thighs as he set up a rhythm, hard enough to jolt his brother against the table. "Maker, Cormac, you're killing me," he breathed. "Keep talking."

And that, Fenris realised, was a theme. Artie liked talking during sex. Or rather, liked being talked _to_. Yes. Maybe he could approach this as an... educational experience.

"Isabela's going to pitch a fit when she realises this is what she missed by leaving early," Anders said out of the side of his mouth.

Fenris sharpened a glare in Anders's direction without actually looking at him. He didn't think he could make eye-contact with the abomination right then. "Isabela is not going to find out about this," he said, voice steely.

"Didn't say I was going to tell her. Maker knows, it's been years since she and I..." Anders gestured vaguely. "Cormac's still doing her, though. He's the one to worry about. And since it's his ass, I'm thinking that's probably his decision, and neither of ours."

"Harder," Cormac begged. "Fuck me harder, Artemis!" He writhed against the table, each thrust hitting at a slightly different angle as his hips rolled. "Don't be so easy on me! I want you to break me. I want you to leave me fucked out and bleeding."

"Pinch him," Anders suggested. "Pinch his knob."

Artemis leaned forward, putting some of his weight on the backs of Cormac's thighs and thrust harder, as hard and deep as he dared to go, and then some when Cormac kept writhing under him. His lips formed the syllables of Cormac's name, but there wasn't air enough in his lungs to give them sound. 

"Pinch you?" he purred, finally forcing himself to remember how to breathe through all this heat. "Would you like that?"

Artemis didn't wait for a response. Hips still pistoning, he reach down between them and pinched Cormac's knob. Hard.

The scream was blood-curdling, and Cormac's entire body tensed, arching up off the table, legs squeezing Artemis's shoulders, ass wringing Artemis's knob. " _Fuck_!" he shouted. "Yes! Fuck! Artemis! Please!"

He licked his lips as coherence slowly returned to him and his body trembled as it settled back against the table. "Harder," he breathed, looking Artemis right in the eye. He moved his own hand between them, positioning Artie's fingers just how he knew he wanted them. "Right here. Dig your thumbnail in. Make me bleed for you." His hand lingered on Artemis's, and he hoped his eyes could say all the things he didn't dare let out of his mouth. "Just for you."

Artemis hesitated a moment, but Cormac looked so _sure_ and there was a healer nearby and -- and there wasn't much room left for thinking in his brain. He wasn't going to last much longer, not like this, not with Cormac looking at him like that, but he was determined to hold out, to wait for his brother to finish first. And if this was what Cormac wanted...

Artie dug his thumbnail in, pressed harder, harder, past the point he wanted to and into what Cormac was asking for. "Cormac," he panted. " _Cormac_."

Anders set down his tea, watching, hazy eyed, as a small sigh escaped him. An unconscionably smug smile spread across his face, and his eyes never wavered. This was, in some ways, even better than being between them. He could see them both at once.

Cormac screamed and arched, again, this time still writhing as he spurted through his brother's fingers. This time, the words that followed were slower, if no less loud, a gooey tone, as if Cormac's tongue had gone thick in his mouth. "Oh, _Artemis_. This. This is what you do to me, and I love it. Every second. Every inch." He flexed and twisted his hips back tugging at Artie's knob as he shifted the angle.

Sticky fingers moved to grip Cormac's hip as Artemis panted, a fine tremble taking root in his limbs. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room, over the sounds of Artemis's shivery breaths and Cormac's voice. "Cormac," he groaned, pleaded, "Cormac, I..."

Fenris knew that look, knew that voice. He reached for his tea cup to keep it from spilling seconds before the table and chairs started to shake. And wasn't that strange, feeling that from this angle? There was a sound of cursing next to him in the vicinity of the abomination, but Fenris's eyes were glued to the sight in front of him, to the lovely way Artemis's muscles tensed and his eyes rolled back. He hadn't seen that look from this angle, and it reaffirmed Fenris's assessment -- that his mage was beautiful.

Artemis's knuckles were white on Cormac's hips as he pressed them as close together as physically possible, spilling deep inside him. He sagged dizzily once the moment passed and wondered if that had actually happened. "Cormac," he panted, "are you...?" All right? Happy? Not freaking out?

"I'm right here," Cormac slurred, dizzily, a completely stupid smile on his face. "I'm also bleeding on your hand. C'mere, I'll lick it off."

The feeling slowly filtered back into various parts of Cormac's body. "Bled on. Past tense. Right. Move your arm and I'll get my leg down, so I can hold you up. Lean on me. 'S fine. I'm fine. I'm fucking great. I've got your knob in my ass, and I'm fucking amazing. You holding up?"

Anders knew that sound in Cormac's voice. He was going to have to heal that, before they tried to walk home. How had he managed to put his tea down _right then_? And what kind of idiot was he not to have picked it right back up? At least the cup wasn't broken. He stopped blotting at himself long enough to look up at the afterglow. They really were beautiful, especially together. Only together, in Cormac's case. Cormac was an outrageously good looking guy, but a whole other aesthetic, somehow.

"You better not have gotten tea on the rug," Fenris said, sipping at his own tea now with a calm at odds with his twitching ears and the state of his trousers.

Anders hoped not, for Artie's sake, or he'd never be invited to something like this again. He looked down and around him. "No, I think I got it mostly on my lap. My crotch saved your rug."

The tea wasn't quite scalding, but it was hot. Fenris could tell, and it made him smile. "Good," he said sweetly, reaching for a biscuit.

Artemis had shrugged Cormac's legs off his shoulders and slid out carefully, leaning against his brother and the table as he caught his breath.

Cormac eased himself up onto his elbows, pressing a kiss to Artemis's shoulder. "You still all right, Artie?" The words were clearer as Cormac's body settled, and more of his nerves started playing nice. " _You_ ," he said. "You understand me? _Always_. Whatever you want, next time. If you... want a next time. I mean... I'm not... It's up to you. But, I have absolutely no complaints. I'll be cursing you in three hours, but ..." He laughed. "That's the best way."

Anders stretched his legs, under the table. "So," he said to Fenris, "opinions?"

"My opinion?" Fenris said. "I think the tea should be hotter the next time you pour it into your lap." A non-answer, but Fenris was still trying to find a real answer to that question. Right now, his opinions centred around wanting to ravish his mage the first chance he got.

"Into that, are you?" Anders quipped. "Mm, kinky." Though really, that was nothing compared to what they'd just done, sitting here with tea and biscuits watching a pair of gorgeous brothers fuck on a table. 

Fenris gave Anders a flat look and dumped the rest of his tea in the abomination's lap, making Anders jump.

Artemis laughed even as he cringed. "I'm fine," he told Cormac. "But I'm more worried about the healer." He kissed the corner of Cormac's jaw and added in a low purr, "You _do_ have a promise to keep, don't forget."

"Have I ever forgotten?" Cormac breathed. "If you want it, it's yours."

"Don't worry about me. Cormac, I'm using your robes so I don't get tea on the rug. No, I didn't get it anywhere interesting. You can still walk across town looking like a templar lackey." Anders was mostly just muttering loudly, blotting at the tea Fenris had just added to his crotch. "You know, Fenris, if you want me to take my pants off, there are easier and more effective ways of making that happen. I mean, if you really want me to strip down and sit on your throbbing knob, that could be arranged, but it's probably best that we waited until after, because I'd totally block your view."

Cormac blinked, eyelashes fluttering against Artemis's neck. "Okay, _now_ I'm worried about him."

Fenris's grip tightened around his now empty tea cup. "There are also easier and more effective ways of asking me to kill you," he growled, eyes narrowing on the abomination.

"So you're not denying that you want me on your knob?" Anders countered.

Artemis exchanged a wide-eyed look with Cormac and hurried to intercept Fenris. "All right, now, children, play nice," he said, a hand on Fenris's shoulder keeping the elf in his seat. "No stabbing, please."

"Please don't stab my... Warden." Cormac groaned and dragged himself into a sitting position. "Unless you want to stab him with your dick, and then go right ahead. There's still biscuits left. I'm in."

"See? Cormac's for it!" Anders laughed and then tossed the damp robes to Cormac. "Seriously, though, stop talking. I don't want to clean that mess up. More importantly, Artie doesn't want to clean that mess up."

Cormac slid off the table to pull them on, sucking in a long breath as his feet connected with the ground. "I remember exactly how many muscles are near my hips every time I do that, don't I?"

"Every time," Anders agreed, flicking a hand in Cormac's direction without asking. He'd been doing this long enough to know how much was too much. 

Artemis gave Cormac a once-over to make sure he was all right. He knew Anders understood Cormac's limits better than he did and would have stopped them if there had been a problem. As it was, he rather liked the thought of Cormac feeling him for a while.

"Yes, everyone, please stop tormenting my elf," he said, trailing the hand on Fenris's shoulder up to card through his hair. Not that the thought of Fenris and Anders wasn't tempting -- because, Maker, was it ever -- but Artie doubted Fenris would go for that. Unless Fenris were into things even he didn't know about.

Artemis cleared his throat. "So how was the, uh... tea?" he asked their audience.

"Hot," Anders replied, raising an eyebrow at Fenris. "What tea made it into my mouth instead of getting poured on my crotch was good, though. I think the performance was even better than the tea. You are just as beautiful as I remember, Artemis."

"Take the fucking compliment. He never calls me beautiful," Cormac complained, trying to get his sash wrapped properly. 

"That's because you're not, Cormac. You're a thick, hairy slab of man-meat." Anders laughed. "I don't know how the two of you are related, but I guess it shows in the cheeks and the cheeks."

"You see what I put up with?" Cormac sighed melodramatically, finally tying his sash correctly. "He's right though, Artie. You're beautiful. When the Maker made the Hawkes, he made me in Dad's image, and then he made you perfect."

"I will pour tea on all of you," Artemis muttered, though he was smirking as he finally pulled on his trousers. The accursed trousers with the accursed laces. "Even though that sounds incredibly messy. I will."

Fenris was still holding his teacup, just for something to clutch, as he watched all that lovely skin disappear. "Loath as I am to agree with the abomination," he said, "he is right. You are beautiful, and Cormac is not." He wasn't thrilled with the reminder that Anders had slept with Artemis, but his mage had requested no stabbing.

Artie snorted, left his pants loose around his hips and threw on his tunic. Once he found it. He also righted the chair he'd knocked into the wall.

"And on that note, I will relieve you of my charming sylvan companion, before he starts dripping sap on the rug." Anders stood up and stepped around Fenris's chair, careful to keep a wide circle around Artemis. "Come on, Cormac, let's leave your brother and his angry elf in peace. I have suspicions Fenris and I are in much the same condition, after that, and I don't think either of us are going to solve that problem with the other in the room." Not that he wouldn't, but the elf had issues.

"I am not sappy!" Cormac insisted, swatting Anders across the ass. "I just... have a little difficulty with words, sometimes, after I've had my brains fucked out. I'm a little giddy, maybe." He tugged Anders out of the way and went to say goodnight to his brother. 

"Send a messenger, if you need anything before the next game," Cormac said, wrapping his arms around Artemis, and pressing a kiss just below his ear. "Love you, Artie." He let go and stepped back. "We'll be back to spill more wine on your table in a week! I'm sure I'll see you both before then. I think I've got a message from the Viscount sitting on my desk. Sleep well! Don't do too much I wouldn't do!"

Anders laughed and manhandled Cormac in the direction of the door.

Artie was going to offer to let them stay the night -- they had guest rooms, after all -- but the look in Fenris's eyes made him keep the words behind his teeth. A full night of Cormac's screams would likely end in murder, anyway. 

Once they were alone, Artie leaned back against the table and made a point to eye Fenris's trousers. "I wonder if there's any tea left," he said, his smile teasing.

"Have your tea later," Fenris growled, rising to his feet. He looked like he wanted to throw Artie over his shoulder and carry him off... or maybe just throw him over the table. The spot was still warm where Cormac had laid down, and Artemis was tempted to say so. Instead Fenris grabbed Artie's hand and pulled him towards the door. "Bed. Now."

Artie laughed as he was elfhandled up the stairs.


	68. PART XVI: STRANGE REVELATIONS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missing Qunari, trouble in the Chantry, bad news followed by worse.

Cormac's desk was a disaster, as usual. Piles of invoices, messages from noble ladies he was not going to have tea with under any circumstance, a few notes from actual friends, account statements regarding the mine -- he'd have to look at those, later, and go talk to the union steward again -- and... there it was. A letter from the Viscount. Why it was addressed to him and not to Anton, he wasn't quite sure.

Blah, blah, thanks for not letting the city fall to poison gas... yeah, this was actually for Anton. Missing Qunari delegates... that was... actually serious. Shit.

He caught up with Anton in the game room, cheating at kaisa with Isabela. "Anton, letter from the Viscount. It's got my name on it for some stupid reason, but this is kind of serious. Serious like put on your nice pants, we have to go up to the Keep, serious. If we don't fix this, there's going to be war." He handed the letter to Anton and waved to Isabela.

"I don't have to put on my nice pants, do I?" Isabela asked.

Anton threw her a wry look. "Do you even _have_ any pants?"

"Sure, I do!" Izzy said with a devilish smile. "They're just all on someone else's floors."

Anton shook his head, smirking as he looked over the letter. That smirk slipped as he read on. "Looks like Qunari business, Izzy," he said, and her smile slipped too. "You should probably stay here in your pantsless glory."

Not that he knew why Izzy got squirmy around mentions of Qunari, but she did. He wondered if it had to do with her general pantslessness.

"All right, Cormac," Anton said, folding the letter back up. "Give me five minutes."

* * *

Anton struggled to keep a straight face, with Cormac and Bethany slapping at each other, behind him. Maker, what had he ever done to get siblings like this? They were at least pretending not to be mages -- Bethy with her spear and Cormac with his glaive, today, and Artie just looked snooty enough that no one was going to ask. He stopped to talk to Seneschal Bran, holding up the letter, as they approached.

"Missing Qunari delegates, is it? You guys just can't catch a break!" Anton looked something like sympathetic. He occasionally played cards with the seneschal.

"Yes, I am intended to assist you in this matter. Viscount Dumar would appreciate your discretion, as always." Bran shrugged, eyeing Anton somewhat balefully, especially after that last game. "I would prefer you were not involved at all, but that is neither here nor there."

"Oh, you love me, Bran. You're just pissed I keep taking your money." Anton laughed. "Are we sure they're really missing? That this isn't just some stunt to give them a hand up?"

"Would Qunari stoop to treachery? There is no precedent, but there is unfortunate evidence of influence on our side." Bran picked nervously at his fingernails, a habit Anton knew well from their games.

"Still, I'm having trouble envisioning the abduction of a Qunari entourage. Especially quietly. How did no one see this? How did no one end up dead?" Anton shook his head, trying to imagine how that would even have worked.

"Unfortunately, they were not at their best. Their swords were tied into the sheaths, as I advised. It seemed a respectful compromise. Even I know you cannot separate a Qunari from his weapon." And there it was. Bran looked desperate, but subtly so. He'd gotten his position rightfully, but Anton whipped his ass at Wicked Grace for a reason.

"Well, shit. That's not going to look good. Has anyone told the Arishok, yet?" Anton looked like he expected to be informed of the Qunari response, but...

"Maker, no! I'd be signing the messenger's death warrant!"

"I beg to differ," Fenris objected. "There is no point in executing the bringer of bad news. It changes nothing, and it is unlikely the messenger is the responsible party."

Bran continued as if the elf hadn't dared to speak to him at all. He was, even after all these years, not accustomed to _elves_ speaking to him as if they had a place in the conversation. "He'll find out soon enough, of course, and when he does, the viscount is rightly concerned the illusion of peace will dissolve."

"And somehow you have _absolutely no idea_ what might have happened," Anton drawled.

"I have some concerns, but little evidence. This could not have escaped the notice of the city guard, unless they were involved." Bran's eyes shot to Aveline, inquisitively.

"Have any failed to report?" she asked, trying very hard not to take offence at the implication.

"Several. I have a list of names. You might start with them." Bran handed over the list and stepped past Anton to look out over the floor below. "Although where you would find a swordsman so eager to sell his honour and duty, I'm sure I don't know."

"The Hanged Man," Anders piped up.

"Hanged Man," Fenris agreed.

"Bit obvious, really," Bethany sniffed. Anton nodded.

"Right," Bran huffed, shaking his head as he turned back to face them. "Then you know what to look for. I can't imagine this has occurred without notice. There is always a weak link."

"Hanged Man it is," Anton said brightly, nudging Artie's elbow with his. "We can say hello to Varric while we're there. He still owes me a drink from that last game of Wicked Grace." To the Seneschal, he said, "Don't worry, Bran. We'll have this taken care of before you can say 'Viddathari'."

Bran caught Anton's arm as he turned to go. "Please keep this quiet," he said in a low voice. "The Viscount is under enough scrutiny as it is."

"Oh, you know me, Bran. I am the very model of discretion."

* * *

The Hanged Man was as busy as it ever was, and one man -- one Aveline recognised -- stood by the bar, buying rounds. "That's Orwald," she muttered to Anton.

"That's a lot of coin, for this place," Anders pointed out, to no one in particular, but the man at the bar -- Orwald -- turned to answer, all the same.

"That's right, pal. Tonight I'm paid and blessed, and all I had to do was turn my head." Orwald snatched up the bottle as Corff placed it before him and crossed to a few other men sitting at one of the tables. "To all my friends," he toasted, holding up the bottle.

Anton stepped up behind him, Aveline close by his side, but before he could speak, Orwald spotted him.

"Hey, you, step back! I know important people in this city. We're going to show this city what we do with heathen oxmen!"

Anton smiled widely and rolled his head to the side, blinking up at Aveline. "Guard Captain! Would you like to have a word with your man? He seems a little confused about how things are done in Kirkwall."

"Guard Captain?" Orwald finally looked nervous.

"Who?" Aveline demanded, shoving Anton out of her way.

"What?" Orwald sputtered and backed away.

Aveline grabbed him by the shirt-front, pushing him back against a table and leaning threateningly over him. " _Who_?"

"I -- I don't know what you're talking about!" Orwald insisted, eyes darting around for an escape route. "Who _what_? What are you talking about?"

Bethany giggled and fished a lemon sweet out of her bag, popping it into her mouth. "She's good! Look at that! Five silver says he wees himself," she said to Fenris.

"He's lost control of his mouth, but I doubt that will reach his bladder. You're on." The corner of Fenris's mouth tipped up in a tiny smile. He really should have been more afraid of Bethany, he knew, but other than the time she dropped him in the fire -- which was at least partly his fault for lunging over it, like a fool -- she'd never treated him much differently to her brothers. Well, okay, the one talk they'd had about Artemis, in which she'd threatened to make his time in Tevinter seem like a pleasant dream, but he could hardly hold that against her. He would have made very similar threats on Artie's behalf. He had made very similar threats on Artie's behalf. He found it odd, sometimes, how much Bethany and Artemis looked alike, given how different the other three looked to each other.

On the other side of the room, Aveline was still snarling. "Who bought you? Who bought the honour of a proud guard of Kirkwall and turned him into a drunken mabari bitch?"

"I don't-- I don't know." Orwald's voice firmed up a little, and Bethany thought she might lose a few silver, tonight. "He was a templar. I swear! He had the seal of the Grand Cleric and everything!" Ah, there was the panic. "It's true!"

"The penalty for abandoning your post is ten days on the wall. I expect you to report in the morning." Aveline let go and straightened up, and Orwald took a moment to cower and whimper, before he ran off, the inside of one trouser leg suspiciously dark.

Bethany held out her hand. "Told you."

"What is he even doing on the guard, if that's his response to a threat?" Fenris grumbled, fishing a few coins out of the cuff of his gauntlet, and slapping them into Bethany's palm.

"He's drunk," Bethany pointed out. "That always helps, one way or the other."

"There's your answer," Aveline told Anton, "a templar."

Cormac grabbed Anders's arm and bounced excitedly against his side. "We're gonna hunt some templars! We're gonna hunt some templars!"

"And with the Grand Cleric's seal, no less," Anton mused, not really liking where this was going. "Good catch. Pint, before we head out?"

Anders flickered blue, a genuinely unpleasant smile on his face, as he caressed Cormac's cheek, fondly. "They will never harm another mage again," Justice's voice was quiet, but it shivered through Cormac's bones.

"Please let us have a drink, before we set out, my darling blue mountain of malice?" Cormac purred, batting his eyes. "Just one, I promise. I won't get you drunk."

"I am not malicious!" Justice insisted, looking entirely put out. "I am--"

"You are Justice. Yes. I apologise. 'My darling blue mountain of justice,' I should have said," Cormac's smile was still mischievous and eager. "Just one. I know you both can handle one. It's a celebration, before we go into battle."

Justice grumbled. "One. One drink." The blue faded away, and Anders wobbled a bit.

* * *

At Fenris's suggestion, they took a detour into the Qunari Compound before the templar-hunting fun could begin.

"The Arishok will find out before long anyway," he said. "It is better that he hear it from us first. The seneschal's cowardice would not endear us to him." 

"Oh, I love it when you talk politics," Artemis purred, hooking an arm through Fenris's. Anders threw him a pained look, and Artie rethought that statement. "Well. Qunari politics. Not about mages, and -- say something dirty in Qunlat!"

"Please don't," muttered Aveline.

They gathered in front of the Arishok's throne, war-painted Qunari watching them from all sides. The Arishok narrowed his eyes at them, leaning forward with his forearms on his knees. "What do you want, Hawke?" he growled, eyes on Anton indicating which Hawke he was referring to. "I have no interest in adding to my distractions."

"It's good to see you too," Anton said with a bright smile. "You're looking well! Have you been polishing your horns?"

Fenris dropped his face into his hands.

The Arishok's eyes narrowed further, turning to slits. "I trust you did not come here to exchange pleasantries, Hawke? If that is what you can call this."

"Unfortunately, no," said Anton, expression sobering. "Much as I enjoy your company. I understand you sent a delegate to see the viscount?"

The Arishok sat back. "A brief attempt to educate," he said. "If the dwarf had stolen the saar-qamek, it could have been used to show the price of greed." He scoffed, shaking his head. "But you know the outcome of that. These fools are determined to be wrong. I won't waste the effort again."

Anton glanced at Fenris, who nodded. He squared his shoulders and said, "Then I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Arishok, but the delegate and his guards are missing."

Clawed hands clutched at the throne's wooden arms, the Arishok's nostrils flaring in barely suppressed anger. "Anyone else," the Qunari grated out through his teeth, "and those words would have been their last. You will handle this? Not your buffoon of a viscount?"

Well, no murder yet. That was always a good sign. "I will," said Anton. "I am. You are in Kirkwall's most capable hands."

"I fear that is not saying much," replied the Arishok. "I will wait. But know this." He straightened in his seat, strong chin at an imperious angle. "The provocations we have suffered have worked. If this is not resolved, I can fulfil my duty to the Qun with far less annoyance by sifting through rubble."

A wave of his hand indicated they were dismissed.

Next to Anton, Aveline huffed. "As if there wasn't enough pressure," she said to him under her breath.

* * *

Anders insisted on confronting the Grand Cleric about her seal, before charging off in pursuit of unnamed templars, however much he might enjoy just killing them all. Coming into the Chantry, they found Sebastian attending to his usual duties, which as far as Anders was concerned appeared to be lighting candles and singing silly songs. Bethany explained the situation to him, as they walked across the enormous atrium.

"But, the man was a drunk! You can't possibly think Grand Cleric Elthina had anything to do with funding zealots!" Sebastian protested, as Anton climbed the stairs.

"It's a careful chat about missing Qunari. Nothing more." Anton grinned over his shoulder. "Just a friendly chat about the grave troubles in our city."

Bethany smiled and patted Sebastian's arm. "Just be glad it's Anton. We could have decided to let Cormac do the talking."

"Hey, I resemble that remark!" Cormac reached up and flicked one of the sticks holding Bethany's hair.

"Keep an open mind, Anton. Elthina isn't behind this," Sebastian insisted.

"The Grand Cleric, please," Anton said to the woman kneeling in prayer. "Tell her... Tell her it concerns the Qunari."

The woman bowed silently and left the group of them to wait, as she went off to find Elthina. A more familiar cleric appeared in her stead, turning around from where she stood over a book on the lectern. "Serah Hawke."

"One of them, yes. If it isn't Sister Petrice!" Cormac looked less than entirely thrilled, as he stepped to his brother's side, putting himself between Anders and this particularly irritating cleric.

"Mother Petrice. Time has changed us both, I see, but it's done nothing for your beard." Petrice looked terribly sure of herself.

"I rather like his beard!" Anders called out, from behind everyone else.

"My beard is a work of art," Cormac declared. "But, don't mind us. We're just here to speak with the Grand Cleric."

"Grand Cleric Elthina cannot grant an audience to just anyone. What is this about?" Petrice asked, and Bethany gritted her teeth. Not in front of Sebastian.

"It's funny how you and issues with the Qunari seem to go hand in hand." Cormac smiled blandly and blinked a few times. 

"And you always assume their side," Petrice retorted. "I was naive, when last we met. I did not want you dead, but I felt a death was necessary. That may be too fine a point for you to understand, but you must admit, you came out the better for it."

"I _must_ admit nothing. What I will admit is that a templar may have overextended himself, using the Grand Cleric's seal in an unintended fashion. In pursuit of valour, many a young man makes questionable judgements." Cormac decided to fall just on the side of generosity, knowing his words would be taken as exactly the jab they were meant to be.

"I assure you the templars would never embarrass the Chantry, at the risk of the Knight-Commander's wrath." Petrice tipped her chin up, dismissively.

"Men were hired for the righteous task of kidnapping a Qunari delegate," Anton put in, and Petrice just glowered for a long moment. "A pause that says you knew. But, does Her Grace?"

"The Grand Cleric trusts her stewards to enact the wishes of the Maker." Petrice did not waver.

Cormac and Anton looked at each other.

"Naughty girl!" Cormac purred, with the wickedest smile he could muster.

"It sounds like you've been bad," Anton agreed, hardly looking more sympathetic. "What will Her Grace say about this, I wonder?"

Petrice scowled, the crease between her eyebrows deepening. "Stubborn," she muttered, shaking her head. Lifting her chin, she approached, not noticing the way Anton reached for the knife up his sleeve, just in case. "All right, Serah Hawke," she said to him, adding a glare in Cormac's direction, "if you won't abandon this, let me offer you something. The templar you seek is a radical who has grown... unreliable. Confronting him may do us all a favour."

"I'm sure," Artemis muttered under his breath.

Anton folded his arms across his chest. "And what is he to you, exactly?" 

"He is my former bodyguard, Ser Varnell."

"Ah yes, Ser Varnell," Anders said with a cheerful smile. "I remember him. _Charming_ fellow."

Petrice turned her icy look in Anders's direction before dismissing him as inconsequential. "Assume what you wish," she said, "but I offer him to you as... reconciliation."

Anton kept his expression cheerfully neutral, drawing on all his practice playing Wicked Grace. Pointing the finger at someone else as 'reconciliation'? That sounded about right. "I'd say templars aren't really my type, but I'd be lying," he said.

Petrice's lip curled at the comment, and she handed him a slip of paper. "Meet me at this location," she said. "I invite you, Serah Hawke. Come see the unrest the Qunari have inspired." She turned and headed back towards the candlelit altar.

Artemis exchanged looks with his brothers and sister. "Oh, this can't possibly end well," he said.

* * *

"Nice place for a rally," Anders observed, cattily, as he followed the Hawkes into Darktown. "Good choice, Varnell."

"Petrice is here, somewhere," Cormac pointed out.

"Wonderful," Anders sighed.

They followed the sound of zealotry, Varnell's voice leading them ever closer to his rally. "Qunari hold no real power. They areabsent inthe eyes of the Maker." The words were difficult to make out, until they came around the last wall.

"Like any beast, remove the fangs and it is lost. They are weak before the faithful of the Maker. The only certainty in their precious Qun is death before the righteous." Varnell punched a chained Qunari in the stomach, and the horned warrior glared down at him.

"Ser Varnell!" Petrice charged past the Hawkes and their companions.

"Take a knee, faithful, the Chantry blesses us," Varnell invited them.

"You claim a blessing when you have used the authority of the Grand Cleric so openly? You have brought wrath down upon you. You remember Serah Hawke?" Petrice strutted before Varnell. "The Qunari have friends, Templar. How will you answer their allegations?"

"Picking on a man in chains?" Anton tutted disapprovingly.

"Of course he is," Anders drawled, from the back, "he's a Templar, isn't he?"

"And you, Petrice? Pot, kettle?" Cormac gave a broad shrug. "Seems like a Kirkwall tradition, at this point. Everyone's taking advantage of Elthina."

"Never mind the Granny Cleric." Fenris waved a hand. "This man is trying to start a war with the Qunari. Something I believe Sister Petrice has also attempted. As the Tevinter in your midst, let me remind you what a poor idea that actually is. The Imperium failed to retake the Marches after the blight, _because of the Qunari_. Kirkwall is unto itself, because the Imperium cannot spare the men to take it back, _because of the Qunari_. Is this a war that sounds wise, to you?"

"Grand Cleric, Fenris," Bethany pointed out.

"I know that. She just seems very ... grandmotherly. Had I a grandmother, I would want one like her. Granny... Cleric." Fenris squinted at Bethany, in annoyance, one ear twitching. "Shut up, little sister. The point still stands. Starting a war with the Qunari is an idiot venture, and this man is clearly an idiot."

"Man's got a point," Anders agreed. "You're an idiot, Varnell."

"And where's the Maker's grace that you'd beat a man unarmed and bound?" Cormac asked. "If this is what the Chantry's come to, conversion looks more and more like a good decision!"

"I don't think you'd much like the Qun, Cormac," Fenris reminded him.

"Who said anything about the Qun? I've heard the elves have an amazingly accepting pantheon." Cormac grinned over his shoulder.

"Back to the point here," Anton said, "you're an idiot. You're an idiot with a very large problem that's about to become serious. There are two ways out of this. You can give us the Qunari and scurry back to your hole, or we can kill you and take them home. Either way, the Qunari is coming with us."

Bethany waved to the chained warrior behind Varnell. "Hello! We're here to rescue you!"

Varnell sneered, turning to slit the Qunari warrior's throat, all in one motion, before he dropped screaming to the ground, and his entourage charged the Hawkes. Confusion reigned, as Bethany laid wave after wave of hexes and delusions on the approaching horde, and Anders started sticking them to the ground.

"It's like stabbing fish in a barrel!" Anton laughed and started weaving between the frozen ranks, slitting throats.

Artemis stopped a casting of Maker's Fist mid-gesture, magic stuttering out awkwardly. "Maker dammit, Anton!" he cursed. "You're in the way!"

"Am not! Use a different spell!"

Artie switched gears and sent out a branch of lightning instead, lighting up the tunnel as it bounced from body to body. "Next time I'm just smacking you into the ground too!" he shouted.

"And this is why we have a healer," Aveline called back, a spray of blood painting a line across her shield.

The battle was quick, if bloody. Aside from Varnell, these were zealots, not warriors, and they were mowed down in a matter of seconds. Varnell would have given them more trouble, Anton suspected, if they hadn't brought Bethany along. The man was a screaming, flailing mess on the ground, fingers scrabbling at his head, while Bethy just watched, smiling sweetly.

Fenris put the templar out of his misery with a heavy chop of his blade. He knew what it was like to be at the other end of that spell, and the thought made him shudder. He pointed his sword at Bethany. 

"You?" he said. "Are a frightening woman."

Artemis muttered something about Cormac getting blood on him again as Anton looked about. None of the dead bodies looked like Petrice. Damn.

"Did Petrice run off?" Anton asked, wiping off his knives on the sleeve of a new corpse. "She ran off, didn't she? Maker, she's good at that. And this is coming from me."

"You say the sweetest things, Fenris." Bethany winked and blew a kiss, before taking a quick look around for Petrice. "I don't hear any screaming. I think she's gone."

"None of these bodies look familiar," Anders confirmed. "This is the _second time_. I'm not looking forward to the next time she tries to bring the Qunari down on us -- because she will try again. You know she will."

"We'll take this to the viscount. Unfortunately, she covered her ass a lot better, this time. It's not going to be enough." Cormac shook his head. "Still, we've got to clean up this mess, before we break anything else. Aveline, why don't you and Anton go tell the viscount what's happened. He'll probably want Bran to come down and look at the damage. I don't want anyone -- Petrice, in particular -- moving shit around down here, until one of his representatives has seen it."

Aveline nodded. This was also part of being Guard Captain, she knew, being the bearer of bad news. Anton had been summoned to handle this, and between the two of them, the truth would be difficult to dispute. There was some wisdom, she thought, in not bringing along any of the mages, since this had been, at least nominally, the doing of a templar.

* * *

They returned with the viscount, himself, who looked none too thrilled with what he found. "Madness... Madness!" Viscount Dumar turned in a circle, taking in the bodies, the angles of the battle.

"Yes, Excellency," Anton replied.

"Chantry involvement! Even if they are fringe elements. It could not be worse." Viscount Dumar paused, for a long moment, head down. "You killed them? All of them?" he asked, finally.

"A mother serving the Grand Cleric allowed this to happen," Anton explained, gesturing to the floor and looking pointedly at the viscount. "We did not find her body among the fallen."

The viscount cast a sharp eye on him. "Are you quite sure? She held a blade with them? Told them to fight you?"

"No, I cannot say that." Anton glanced at his siblings for help.

"No, of course not..." Viscount Dumar sighed and gestured frustratedly. "A blasted Mother... You have no idea the storm these allegations would cause. They would destroy what little support I do have."

"We've had trouble with her before," Cormac said. "She's slippery as a wet fish."

"Slicker than a greased elf," Anders agreed, cursing quietly when Fenris kneed him in the ass.

"I understand," said the viscount, nodding. "I will make my inquiries. Gently. And you should be careful in your associations. For now, we have other problems." He glanced at the Qunari corpse beside him. "I have the delegate, but I can't return the body to the Qunari in this state. Serah Hawke, you know the Arishok. What should I do?"

"You need to tell him what's happened. Take responsibility for solving the problem, as best you were able," Fenris suggested, still lurking irritatedly behind Anders.

Anton nodded. "I agree. You can't hide this. That would only make this worse, and the last thing this situation needs is worse."

"It would, wouldn't it. I'm losing my sense of how to balance this nightmare." Viscount Dumar rubbed his face. "I appreciate your help in this matter. As bad as this is, it could have been much worse without you. Kirkwall owes you. I owe you."

"Careful, Viscount, Anton's the kind of guy to take you up on that," Cormac warned.

"Can you not be a dick for ten seconds, Cormac?" Anton rubbed his fist against his forehead, and then looked back at the viscount. 

"What my brothers mean to say, of course, is that we're happy to help." Bethany stepped out from amid the group, still strangely spotless, for all the blood around them. "The Hawkes are always available for the good of Kirkwall, and thus, we are at your service, Excellency." She curtsied like she was meeting the Empress of Orlais.

"Is that your sister?" Viscount Dumar asked. "I like her already." He nodded deeply to Bethany. "A pleasure doing business, young lady. Your brothers would do well to follow your example."

"Thank you, Excellency. Have you brought enough of your guard, or shall we see you back to the Keep? One never knows in delicate situations like these."

"Guard Captain, your office is near mine, isn't it? It's a lovely day for a walk." The viscount smiled at Bethany and waited a moment for Aveline to join him. "I will trust you to inform the Arishok, Serah Hawke, since you seem to have his trust, as well."

Anton sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Always 'Serah Hawke this' or 'Serah Hawke that'," he muttered once the viscount had left.

"To be fair, there are five of us," Artemis replied. He met his brother's look with a shrug.

* * *

"So," rumbled the Arishok, "you could not rescue my delegate, but you killed those responsible." His eyes narrowed, clawed hand gesturing expansively as he asked, "How do you explain the condition of their bodies?"

The Arishok spoke in the same measured tone as always, but Anton could read the strain in his shoulders, in the clenching of his jaw. If this were a game of cards, it was the sort of body language Anton would have exploited. Right now, it was the sort of body language that Kirkwall was going to be fucked, sooner or later.

"Insanity," Anton answered. "That's how I explain it. The same kind of insanity as that elf with the saar-qamek. A fanatic used them to incite others of his kind."

Anton held his breath. Here came the explosions, the rush of anger -- 

The Arishok nodded. "I accept that," he said, sitting back.

"You... accept that?" Anton repeated. 

"I have seen every vice and weakness of your kind -- and how few of you take responsibility," the Arishok explained, expression stone-still. "Your viscount remains a fool, but you are not. Panahedan, Hawke. I will keep one good thought about your kind."

As they turned to leave, Fenris fell into step beside Anton. "I hope you realise that's as close to a compliment as a Qunari gives a human," he said.

"Is it?" Anton asked wryly, eyebrow quirking. "'Not a fool'. High praise indeed."

"Oh, you've been called worse things," Bethany said, one hand waving aside the comment. "Mostly by Carver."

* * *

They still hadn't let the Grand Cleric know what was going on, Anton realised, deciding to stop at the Chantry as they crossed Hightown. Anders, of course, had nothing pleasant to say about this decision, but Cormac managed to shut him up, after a few moments, and Anton wasn't sure which sounds he'd liked less. And that... Right in the middle of the room, between them and where they needed to be...

"Hello, Mother Petrice!" The words were simply the friendliest of accusations.

"Serah Hawke! It is good to see you. The shame that Varnell brought to his order is most unfortunate." Petrice clasped her hands and attempted to look pious, but only succeeded in looking smug.

Bethany caught up, trailing Sebastian, just in time. She'd been explaining the situation, and what they'd discovered. Sebastian blinked at Petrice. "The shame _he_ brought?"

"Praise the Maker you were his champion in that dark place, Serah Hawke," Petrice went on, as if Sebastian hadn't spoken at all.

"Look, we're both adults, here, so you can drop the pretence," Anton drawled.

Bethany laughed brightly. "Oh, Anton, no need for that! Come, Mother Petrice! Tell Sebastian and myself everything you've learnt about Varnell's vile plan."

"Yes." Sebastian forced a smile. "Tell us everything." What in the Maker's name was Bethany _doing_?

"I only know what my brothers found down in the depths of Darktown. But, surely, if you're back here... you must have found something notable! Something that unravels the entire affair!" Bethany's smile didn't falter in the least. "Come, come! I have a packet of biscuits, and I'll share! I simply must know! Sebastian speaks so well of the Mothers here, I can't wait to hear all about it!"

Cormac hid a smile behind his hand, and Fenris looked at Bethany like she'd lost her mind.

"Oh, don't go poisoning my sister's mind with your lies, _Mother_ ," Anton snarled, and that was the last push.

"Why, certainly, child! Tell me, what do you know of the Qunari?" Petrice smiled unpleasantly at Anton, as Bethany led her away, Sebastian following after.

"Your sister is terrifying," Anders breathed.

"And I love her," Cormac sighed, grinning up at the healer. "So, now that we've gotten the shit out of the path, do we just tell Elthina everything?"

Anton caught the attention of one of the sisters, and asked to see the Grand Cleric. "We certainly tell her something. If she didn't put her seal on those documents, she'll want to know what they were used for."

Elthina appeared, shortly. "Is something troubling you?" she asked, from beneath a thin veneer of calm.

"Did you know someone used the authority of your name to instigate a crime against the Qunari?" Anton asked. "It doesn't sound much like the sort of thing you'd have ordered."

"The path to righteousness is never as straight and narrow as we wish," she replied.

Fenris growled, quietly, and Cormac grabbed Anders's arm, for all the good it wouldn't do.

"I truly hoped this would not go so far. But, do not trouble yourselves. I will step in, when it's time," Elthina assured them.

"Are you intending to stay neutral about the Qunari and mages, forever?" Anton asked, disbelief thick on the words.

"The Maker's time is not men's time. We do not need to rush." Apparently the answer to that question was 'yes'.

"But, it's men's problem, and it's your _job_!" Anders snapped.

"The Chantry is not a domineering father, with the whip always in hand. She is a gentle mother who knows her children learn best when allowed to learn for themselves."

"You are oppressing my people with a whip you don't even see yourself holding!" Anders would not be appeased.

"Warden," Anton said, not looking away from Elthina. "We're here about the Qunari, this time. You and my brother can come discuss the plight of mages, later. We are on the Viscount's business."

"Okay. Okay, you're right." Anders looked down and tugged his arm out of Cormac's grasp, to wrap it around his shoulders.

"This cannot be allowed to go on, Grand Cleric. Look into your own flock and weed out the wolves, before we have any more problems," Anton warned. "The Maker aside, as the Warden says, it's men's problem, and it's a problem with men who claim they've devoted themselves to the Maker. If those beneath you bring war to Kirkwall, where will faith in the Maker be, then?"

"That is my concern and His, child. We will do what must be done. Go, then, and be at peace." Elthina dismissed them, and turned away, to return to her other work.


	69. Chapter 69

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An assortment of loose ends. Puns. Secrets. Templar problems.

Cormac crept down the stairs with the branch of chestnut blossoms, knowing that Anders would be busy at the clinic, at this hour. It was the perfect time to hide them in plain sight and make sure he was nowhere near them, when Anders found them. This pun? This pun might get him killed. By the healer. Because if you're going to die, you might as well die ironically.

He tucked the end of the branch into a shelf that Anders couldn't possibly miss, high enough the cats wouldn't be able to reach. After a moment spent cuddling Purrcy and Lord Assbiter, he let himself out, picking up a bottle of wine, as he passed through the cellar. This would be a good one. 'Here lies our brother', his monument would read, 'who died of wicked punnishment.'

Anders almost did miss the branch on that obvious shelf, his mind whirring with the next words of his manifesto and his fingers itching for a quill and ink. It was Lord Assbiter who brought it to his attention, prancing in tight circles under the dangling blossoms and mewing in frustration.

"What have we here?" he asked the mewling ball of fur, bending to scratch behind Lord Assbiter's ears before reaching for the flowers. "Who left these, my darling fluffy terror?" He turned the flowers over in his hand, brow furrowing as he saw what they were. A flush mottled Anders's cheeks.

Chestnut blossoms. 

" _Cormac_!" he shouted.

There were three flights of stairs between them, and Cormac was sprawled across his bed, one hand traced in indigo, as he tried to work out a spell from the book in the other hand. There were some amazing books in the Gallows, and since Anders had shown him how to sneak into the cellar, he'd been helping himself to the best of them, every once in a while.

"You're looking a little red, sweet thing," he said looking over the top of the book, as Anders stormed in. "Templar troubles? Cats get into the potions again?" He shook out his hand and tossed the book aside. "Or are you just going to toss me over your knee and switch me with that branch in your hand?"

"I _do_ have half a mind to smack you with these," Anders said, brandishing the blossoms, "but you'd probably enjoy it, wouldn't you? It would rather defeat the purpose."

Chestnut blossoms. Of all the ridiculous... the... Anders didn't even have a good noun for this.

'Do me justice', they usually meant. Except this was Cormac, and punctuation was important. 

"'Do me, Justice'? Really?"

"Aw, come on. I was taking the piss out of Artie, last week, and I thought I'd share. It was a great pun." Cormac grinned and stretched out a hand, invitingly. "Besides, with the number of times Justice has bit my tongue, I figured maybe I should smooth things over a little. I don't kiss you, Anders. I don't really kiss him, either, but I do shut him up, sometimes. A human pace for human changes and all."

And, really, was it such a bad idea? He already knew Anders's body. Same body, different kinks. It could be fun. Not that he'd meant it anything like seriously, but... He wasn't really sure he'd object, either.

"Figured maybe I should prop the door open, there. I'm still yours, even if you're blue and glowy." He didn't think about the words; they just came out.

And Anders wasn't sure how to respond to that, at first. 'Still yours'. But how much of that 'blue and glowy' was Anders, really? He kept saying that he and Justice were one person now, one mind with different thoughts, but that wasn't entirely true, not with the gaping black spots in his memory, not with... whatever that was in the Fade. 

Anders knew Cormac liked to live dangerously, but... "A Fade spirit?" he said archly. "Really? That's a bit kinky even for you."

He toyed with the branch in his hands. The flowers really were quite pretty, painful pun aside.

"My brother likes to get his internal organs groped by the broody death elf, and _I'm_ kinky?" Cormac laughed. 

"I'm just saying, Anders. I know you, and I met Justice, in the Fade. I know you're not just you. I know there hasn't been a 'just you', the whole time we've known each other. I'm good with that. I don't just tolerate your weird shit because you've got the hottest knob in all of Thedas. I tolerate it because you can do amazing things with electricity." He threw his hands up and laughed again. "No, really. I don't tolerate it. There's nothing to put up with, except the occasional complete disregard for the bounds of politesse, but hey, you're a dick, I'm a dick. I've got brothers ruder than your evil twin. -- Who's not evil, yes, I know that. I can hear you from all the way over here, Justice. -- You're starting to feel like part of the family, and I want you to know I mean both of you. All of you. And if that means I get some Fade-glow to go with the flagpole, I'm okay with that."

And that hadn't been where he was going with this at all, honestly, but it was no less true for having not occurred to him until after the fact. He'd really just meant to get a rise out of Anders, and it appeared he'd succeeded admirably, there.

"Tree," Anders reminded him with a crooked smile. "You're about ready to sprout leaves. Even Justice thinks so."

Which was a lie, really. Justice didn't think any such thing and was more interested in why this other human had bought them flowers. Bought _him_ flowers. They were technically addressed to Justice, after all.

Anders wasn't quite looking at Cormac when he said, "And, Maker, don't the Hawkes have enough crazy mages? Are you taking in strays now?" The closest thing to a 'family' he'd had before were the Wardens, and that had ended _spectacularly_.

"Now? What do you mean 'now'? How long have you been living in my cellar?" Cormac snorted and pushed his hair back. "And I am _not_ being sappy! How, exactly, is 'hey, I don't mind if your evil twin wants to bang me in the ass' sappy? Andraste's tits, Anders, are you sure you've been eating, lately?"

Cormac didn't have a romantic bone in his body, as far as he could tell. Even the flowers were bad jokes and terrible puns. But, he'd always sort of worried about Anders, to some degree, moreso now that the healer was back to an inhuman pace, working all day and writing all night, more often than not. He expected Anders would wear down again, in a few weeks -- go back to actually sleeping two out of three nights. So, yes, concerned, maybe. But, not romantic. And certainly not _sappy_. Sappy was... _Cullen_ was sappy, at least to hear Anton tell stories. Embrium! Hah! No. Cormac just stuck to bad puns and the occasional knob joke.

"I ate yesterday," Anders said with a tired laugh and a dismissive flap of his hand. "And from you? That is sappy. I mean, you bought me _flowers_." Anders tilted his head, thoughts turning inward. "...okay, you bought Justice flowers. He wants you to know that no one's ever bought him flowers before."

Justice had memories of buying flowers, or rather he had Kristoff's memories. And wasn't that odd, remembering something through a spirit that he remembered through a corpse. He wondered what the original Kristoff would think of that, but then, he was a Warden. Fucked-up was the adjective of the day where the Wardens were concerned.

"The flowers were a shite pun!" Cormac insisted. "Shite puns are like the opposite of sappy by their very nature!"

He sat up and reached for the half sandwich still sitting on the nightstand, where he'd forgotten it to his reading. Patting the bed with one hand, he held out the plate to Anders with the other. "Yesterday isn't recent enough, and this barely counts as food, but it's tasty and it's better than nothing."

"And really, I'm not surprised no one ever bought Justice flowers. He's only had... what, five years on this side of the veil? And the two of you are always working! You're not really prime candidates for flowers, if nobody ever sees you but people who are too poor to eat or people who couldn't romance if their lives depended on it. So, there. I bought you a shite pun. Take it as you will."

Still trying to figure out the shite pun, Justice only gave a token protest at this distraction. They'd been about to work on the manifesto, but. Sandwich. Cormac's logic was sound there.

Anders didn't so much sit on the bed as fall on it ass-first. "I'm always a prime candidate for flowers," he said through a mouthful of bread. "Even in Darktown. Men and women swoon at the sight of me. Then again, that might just be the blood loss, since they're in my clinic." He paused to take another mammoth bite. Maker. He always forgot how hungry he was until he took the time to eat. It was always easier to just ignore his hunger until it faded to a background complaint. "And I _will_ take it," he added. "Justice likes the flowers. So does Lord Assbiter, who, as you well know, bites more than asses. He has decided the flowers must be prey."

Anders bonked Cormac in the face with the flowers.

Cormac tugged at the flowers with his teeth. "I could see it. They're satisfyingly firm to bite. Just like your ass." He considered that for a moment. "Let's assume I didn't just compare your ass to wood, and move on. Maybe that's why I had a sandwich up here."

Letting go of the flowers, Cormac gnawed idly on Anders's shoulder, which was not feathered, for a change. "As for people swooning when you pass, it's the cut of your coat, like you always said. Damn fine tailor. I do think you're working your way back up to nice shoulders and a fantastic ass, though. Soon, it's not going to be all coat, and you'll really have your pick of Darktown's swooningest individuals. Possibly even some that aren't wobbling with blood loss. Ah! Poor me!"

Cormac reached out and snagged a slice of pickled beet from the bottom of the sandwich. Damned if he wasn't getting a little more of that, before it all ended up in Anders.

Anders chuckled around the last few bites of sandwich, holding the rest of it out of Cormac's reach, even if it had been Cormac's to begin with. "Imagine all the flowers -- excuse me, 'shite puns' -- I will be getting then," he said. "There's already a lovely older woman who comes by the clinic every week. She has a new reason each time, but I think she's only there to ogle my ass. Or, well, the illusion of an ass my coat creates. You have some serious competition, Cormac."

"Hey, I fell deeply in lust with that illusion! And then I actually met your ass, which may be a little narrower than the coat suggests, but it is a damn fine ass, and I am still madly, deeply, ravenously in lust not only with it, but all the rest of you, as well." Cormac snatched the plate as the last of the sandwich went into Anders's mouth, setting it back on a nightstand, before he draped himself across Anders's lap. "And I won't have serious competition until you find someone else who can keep up with the combination of the flagpole and your ludicrous Warden stamina. Which, barring any of your former Warden companions, limits my actual competition to Artemis, who is elsewise occupied with his organ-fondling elf."

"Well, I don't know," Anders said, bouncing his thigh to jostle Cormac a bit. "That woman I mentioned would make a fine Warden. She could use that walking stick to fend off darkspawn." He laughed because becoming a Warden wasn't something to be laughed about, not when he _really_ knew what it was like. 

He thought of Cormac as a Warden for the barest moment, and even his nervous smile slipped. Cormac would look nice in blue, certainly, if not as nice as Anders. But there were some things he'd seen that he was glad Cormac and his family hadn't.

Justice was a weight in the back of his skull, sharing all these thoughts but saying nothing.

"Oh, is that how it's going to be? Finding excuses to run off with a little old lady?" Cormac laid the back of his hand against his forehead, with a melodramatic look. "I don't suppose I can compete with a little old lady Warden, being so very young and lacking in lady-bits, not to mention not being a Warden. Truly, my desire to actually get a good night's sleep, instead of powering through hordes of darkspawn at all hours, is such a strike against me. And... maybe you _are_ getting old, Anders, you dirty old man. Imagining the benefits of old ladies with a delicious young thing like me in your lap!"

"Oh?" Anders purred, grin turning coy. The flowers lay next to them on the bedspread. "Are there other things I should be imagining, then?" He shifted under Cormac suggestively. "Your brother, for instance? I don't mind imagining the benefits of him. Isabela? Fenris? Andraste's face on Sebastian's crotch?"

"Maybe you should imagine us going downstairs and having some actual food. You did just eat half my sandwich. The sandwich I made for me, because I was hungry and wanted to eat something. You should probably also eat something." Cormac wriggled and batted his eyes. "And then maybe you should eat me."

Justice threw out a token complaint that Anders brushed aside for the moment. His stomach grumbled more loudly than the Fade spirit now that there was something in. "Save you for dessert, shall I?" he said, leaning over the man in his lap. His fingers teased under the sash at Cormac's waist. "And disappoint my elderly suitor? Maybe I'll keep you in the running, after all." 

Anders nudged Cormac off of his lap. "And, Cormac?" he said. "The next time you want me to eat you out, you could just ask. You don't need to get me flowers."

* * *

It was a pleasant day, warm and humid -- the kind of seaside warmth that clung to the skin, but didn't manage cloying. Bethany intended to meet up with Sebastian, at the Nevarran place, in Lowtown. She was a bit of a sight, for this part of town, she supposed, dressed as she was -- the gown was last year's fashion, but it was still more fabric than went into the clothes for a small family, in Lowtown. But, she and her brothers had a bit of a reputation. Friends of the healer. People who kept the Carta out of the streets -- or at least the violent part of Carta business. She and her brothers didn't much care about the smuggling. Lowtown was better for their intervention, and also for the time that had passed. She smiled and waved to the incense girl, stopped for a chat with a fruit vendor, who warned her that one of the local gangs had been getting bold, and finally arrived at the restaurant. 

"Tyrone!" Bethany called out, leaning through the door to wave to the chef. "I'm sitting on the patio! Sebastian's going to meet me. You know what we want!"

"You and that Chantry boy!" Tyrone called back, from amid the kettles and spits. "You should have gone to Nevarra and found yourself a nice Mortalitasi! Someone who understands you and your thing with the tombs!"

Bethany laughed. "My thing with the tombs? It's just a study of architectural styles across the history of the Grand Necropolis!"

"Crazy Fereldan," Tyrone huffed, fondly, flicking his fingers in her direction.

Bethany gave him a winsome smile and took her favoured seat, in a swath of shade made by the patio's canopy and facing the street. Out here, she could enjoy the warmth and the sea breeze without the sun in her eyes, all while watching the people and keeping an eye out for Sebastian.

It was a busy day in the Lowtown market, loud with the clamour of voices, of merchants selling their wares. 

A waiter arrived with mint tea, pouring her a cup before disappearing with a demure nod. She smiled around her first sip. This was turning out ot be a lovely day. At least until the shouting started. Oh, dear.

A man with a long red sash tied at his waist and two very obvious and very ornate daggers walked through the centre of the market, loudly chanting some praise of his gang, and the people who followed behind him, dressed similarly, stared at other people in the market until they looked away. 

"So, go ahead and call the guards! These streets belong to us now, because we're the Doglords!" the man finished, gazing around the market like a king taking in his lands.

Bethany fluffed the side of her skirts closer to the street, and the gang leader's eyes lit on her. 

"Looks like the pretty young noblewoman needs to pay Lowtown's new nobility tax!" He swaggered toward her, the rest of the gang hanging back, just behind him. "It's to keep us poor Fereldan refugees out of the gutter."

Bethany smiled in a way that would have turned her brothers' blood cold, but the gang leader didn't seem to recognise the danger. She took a sovereign out of her purse and pressed it into his hand, using both of her hands to cup his. "Is it? That's so very sweet and kind of you. I hope this helps many of my poor and starving people." Her accent was thickly Fereldan, which got his attention -- a _Fereldan_ noble? In Kirkwall?

The spell curled along her fingers, as she spoke. She held it there, suspended between them, as the leader stared at her, dumbstruck. It wasn't until she went back to her tea, taking a dainty sip, that she let the spell fall.

Chaos. That was the only word that could describe the cluster of posturing Doglords now. From this vantage point, Bethany could see the leader's eyes bug, could see the scream building up his throat before it hit. She watched, unflinching, as he and many of his men fell to the ground, some still as death, some writhing and whimpering in agony. Those still on their feet but caught in the spell drew knives, eyes large and crazed as they lashed out at whatever or whomever was next to them.

The crowd looked on in awestruck horror. A few screamed. A few fled. A few more did both.

Sebastian's voice echoed across the market, panicked. "Bethany!" Dodging the flailing gang members and their knives, he dashed across the plaza, hopping over the patio rail to land beside her table. "Come on, let's get you out of here. They--"

Bethany was smiling as she poured another cup of tea from the pot. "Sit, Sebastian. It's fine. Just a gang that's lost its hold on Lowtown. They won't come over here -- look, they're much too occupied with themselves."

As the gang leader tried to drag himself to his feet, she flicked her fingers and he dropped, unconscious, beside the rail, the sovereign finally falling from his hand. Sebastian had a sudden, terrible suspicion, but held it in, as Tyrone leaned out the door and shouted in Nevarran. A girl hiding behind one of the merchants' carts leapt up and waved, running off toward the docks to get the guards.

"Magic?" Sebastian breathed, knees a little weak at the thought. He wasn't quite sure how to feel about this -- an uncontrolled mage, casting extremely dangerous spells, in a public place. On the other hand, she'd probably just saved a lot of innocent people. On the other other hand, she was-- they were-- He'd been considering this a fairly serious relationship. Himself. With a mage. With an _apostate_. How many things had she brushed off as coincidence...?

"Is it?" Bethany asked sweetly, and for the first time that innocent smile made a cold sweat break out along Sebastian's neck. "Looks to me like a gang fight gone horribly wrong."

"They're... they're writhing in agony," Sebastian countered, fighting not to sputter.

"Could be lyrium-addled." And still she smiled and smiled, but in a way that said she knew Sebastian didn't believe her. "Really, Sebastian," she said. "Don't just stand there gathering dust. Have a seat. I've already ordered for us. Have some tea and enjoy the fresh air."

Fresh air that smelled of blood as one gang member stabbed another in the throat. Bethany clucked her tongue, gathering her skirts under the table. That spatter had landed closer than she would like.

Sebastian sat heavily, moving dazedly as though on puppet strings. He should leave. He should call the guards or the Chantry. The templars. He should...

Maker.

* * *

For once, Anton came in by way of the door. Somehow that didn't settle Cullen's nerves, at all, nor did the grim look on Anton's face. 

"Speak to me about this, tomorrow, Keran," Cullen said to the recruit leaning over the side of his desk, pointing to something in the papers. "I'll take a look tonight, and see what I can do, but I have a meeting, right now."

"Yes, Knight-Captain. Thank you." Keran smiled and bowed, letting himself out.

"The door? It must be serious," Cullen joked, standing up to pull Anton into his arms. "What's happened? Have you found Emeric's killer?"

"Unfortunately, no." Anton planted a quick kiss on Cullen's cheek, before stepping back and unloading a pile of documents into the last clean spot on Cullen's desk. "There are some problems with some of your men, and I don't think you've been informed. At least, I strongly doubt anyone's told you. The most recent... You heard about Ser Varnell?"

Varnell. Cullen had only known him peripherally. He remembered him having a nasally voice, a voice he used often to talk about the dangers of the Qunari presence, if in much less polite terms. Cullen hadn't considered that the man hated Qunari enough to try to start a holy war.

"I have heard," Cullen said, voice steely. "And if what I've heard is true, that man deserved every inch of what he got."

Anton wasn't going to deny that.

"But," said Cullen, eyes narrowing, "from what I understand, he was acting alone, at least within the Order. But you said 'some of' my men."

Anton shook his head. "There's a bit of a trend... Not just against the Qunari, but templars violating everything the order is meant to stand for, and I would like to believe they're doing it without any backing. Still, supported or not, they're getting dangerous, and it's been going on for years, now. When the mages struck against Ser Alrik... I have evidence that wasn't just because he was in the way. It wasn't just because he was a templar."

Fishing two letters out of the pile, Anton handed them to Cullen. "I didn't tell you, because I assumed you would know. I thought someone would pass on what was happening, but it just keeps happening, and I can't imagine you'd let this go on."

Cullen read the notes in his hand. "Alrik was acting without sanction, then? It looks like the Knight-Commander didn't intend to let him follow through..."

"Read the next one." Anton looked grim.

"And he used his rank to force others to do his bidding. I knew this mage. He was a bit of a loudmouth -- a philosopher and an activist, but never a threat. His worst sin was engaging in unpopular politics. _Dangerous_? I suppose it's possible, but... I was told he'd been killed trying to escape the Circle." An unpleasant tingle chased down Cullen's spine.

"He'd been made Tranquil and used as bait to capture certain apostates, who I understand were not meant to survive the encounter. As I understand it, a Harrowed mage isn't to be made Tranquil -- is that right?" Anton looked at Cullen like there might be some corollary he'd been missing, a hopeful look.

Cullen rubbed at his forehead, wishing the pieces he was seeing didn't add up to what they did. "A Harrowed mage? Tranquil?" He shook his head, stomach twisting. "No, that's against Chantry law." And Cullen knew more than he'd ever want to know about Harrowings. He had been present for enough of them to haunt his dreams for years. He remembered Solona's Harrowing, remembered watching over her troubled sleep, sweat pooling between palm and glove as he gripped his sword. When she awakened, he'd breathed more prayers of thanks to the Maker than he knew he had in his vocabulary.

But as for Alrik and Varnell... Cullen was Knight-Captain, so how was he always the last to know? "Thank you, Anton," he said. "For bringing this to my attention. I will make sure the Knight-Commander is made aware of all this." He brandished the notes in his hand.

Anton bit his tongue against a snide remark. Tell Meredith, sure. For all the good it would do them. "They're not the only ones. Read the rest." 

He sighed, and then re-composed his expression, smiling as best he was able. "But, let it never be said I bring you nothing but trouble. Or at least that I only bring unenjoyable trouble. In fact, if you're up to it, I thought we might go to lunch, and then enjoy a little trouble, together. You're in a meeting, right? Make it a lunch meeting. No one will miss you for an hour or two!"

Cullen gestured futilely at his desk. "I have work!"

"Work appears to mostly be paper, and paper is much more patient than I am." Anton grinned, teasingly. "If you leave me waiting, I'm going to sulk until you make it up to me. I even came in through the door, just for you."

Cullen gave him and the door a wry look. Anton was a distraction, but a pleasant one, and everyone needed to eat. Cullen looked down at the sheaves of paper in his head, the damning bundle Anton had brought him, and thought that, maybe, this 'meeting' was more important than whatever else he had to do.

"All right," Cullen sighed as though greatly put-upon. "Where to?"

"I'm feeling Nevarran."

As they came down into Lowtown, Anton eyed the confusion in the market with some amount of trepidation. Guards everywhere, merchant's stalls tipped into the plaza, a few small fires -- and there was his sister, drinking tea out in front of the Nevarran restaurant, with Sebastian. Sebastian who did not look thrilled with the situation and seemed to be eyeing Bethany nervously. Oh. Oh, _no_.

"You know, maybe not Nevarran. That looks like quite a mess, and we probably shouldn't stick our feet in it. How about that place by the docks, with the chowder you like?" Anton suggested.

Cullen observed the mayhem in the plaza. "Do you think we should go help? That looks pretty bad."

"Oh, you know how the guards get about templars stepping on their toes. You're still in uniform. We'll just go somewhere else." Anton linked his arm through Cullen's and set off in a broad, easy turn that would end with them heading toward the docks.


	70. Chapter 70

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian's got problems. Bethany's willing to help him solve them. Demons. Why is it always demons?

Bethany put her quill back in the ink pot and looked over her shoulder as Bodhan cleared his throat.

"Visitor for you," Bodhan said, stepping out from in front of Sebastian. "Do you need anything?"

"Just tea. Bring it to the west sitting room. Thank you, Bodhan." Bethany stood up and crossed to Sebastian, taking his hand, with a smile. "Come, let's sit somewhere that isn't full of my work."

"What are you working on?" Sebastian asked, looking over her shoulder, but much too far away to see the details. Sketches of statues and engravings were spread across every flat surface in that corner of the library.

"Oh, just some questions about spells and rituals that may only be preserved on the inside of older crypts. None of the texts I've been able to get my hands on describe what I'm seeing in these images, but it's definitely magic." Leading Sebastian down the hall, Bethany continued. "Regardless of my own personal attachments to magical subjects, I really am a scholar of the history of Nevarran tombs. There's some truly amazing things that I suspect have been lost to the turbulent political situation, a couple centuries ago."

"Necromancy." Sebastian sounded entirely less than thrilled.

"They're corpses! Corpses don't mind! We burn the dead, here, but in Nevarra, they find other uses for them. The moral implications of actually performing any of the necromantic arts is really less important than an accurate view of the potential dangers. How do you warn someone away from doing something, if you don't know what it does? Documentation is extremely important, particularly in magic. Mages do stupid and dangerous things, because no one ever handed them a manual on how to do similar, but less stupid and dangerous things. Shame is not the answer, Sebastian. You, particularly, should know this." Bethany opened the sitting room door. How long had that peculiar dent been in the rug? She led Sebastian to a couch and sat down, beside him. "But, enough about my research. Have you just come to distract me? Perhaps for my own good?"

Sebastian suspected she was better at distracting _him_ , but he didn't say as much. "As happy as I always am to distract you, Bethany," he said, "I'm afraid that's not why I'm here."

"So serious," said Bethany, eyebrows arching. "Has something happened?"

Bodhan arrived then with their tea, setting the tray down on the coffee table and pouring two cups. Sebastian took his with a polite smile.

"Is there anything else I can get you, messeres?" Bodhan asked, clasping his hands in front of his stomach and smiling earnestly.

"No, Bodhan," Bethany answered. "Thank you."

Sebastian waited until the dwarf had left before answering Bethany's question. "I've learned who hired the Flint Company," he said, setting his tea back down, untouched. Bethany watched him over the lip of hers. "The Harimanns, a noble family of Kirkwall."

"Ah, yes! The ones who've never come to any of our parties! I had wondered. There are rumours Lady Jehane has become quite reclusive since her father died. Poor woman." Bethany sipped her tea and watched Sebastian's face. "Do you think it was her father? I heard he met a violent end. The timing seems a little too close to be coincidence, but what good would it have done? There's little direct gain that I can see."

"I don't know. Money? Power? It's hard to say." Sebastian turned the teacup around on the saucer with one finger. "I don't think it was Lord Harimann. I remember him dying before this began. Lady Jehane, however, was always jealous of my family for being royalty, while hers were mere nobility."

"Envious, dear. It's not jealousy unless you've had it and lost it," Bethany murmured across her tea.

"Still, I can't imagine _that_ pushing her into outright murder. Maybe if her family _had_ lost a title in Starkhaven, but they hadn't." Sebastian picked up his tea and put it back down. "Envy, then."

Bethany took another sip, brow creased in thought, before cradling the teacup in her lap. "So what do you intend to do?" she asked.

"I plan to speak with Lady Harimann," Sebastian said, "and find out what drove her to this madness."

"Do you really think there can be a peaceful solution to this?" Bethany asked. "She tried to have you killed."

"I have to try," Sebastian said with a helpless shrug. "I don't want to start a war."

"Technically, if there is a war, she'd be the one starting it," Bethany replied. "But I see your point. Best to find out what you're dealing with. You, however, should not go alone. Peaceful intentions or not, you are the last of your line."

"I am. I'm sure I can hire a bodyguard to prevent any troubles." The tea finally made it to Sebastian's mouth.

"Or, I could go with you," Bethany offered. "I'm probably a little more effective than most of what you'll find for hire, even from the dwarves. I don't even have to kill anyone. They'll just have some profound regrets."

"I am once again humbled by your interest in my family's plight." Sebastian bowed his head. "But, I shouldn't put you in harm's way."

"It's a personal interest in you not getting murdered, Sebastian, dear. And harm should be more concerned with being in my way." A pleasant smile lit Bethany's face. "If you like, we can take some of my brothers along, just to be sure nothing terrible gets near us."

"Not the loud one, please? I mean to come out of this without having _inspired_ any attacks on my person," Sebastian protested.

"No Carver and no Cormac, then. Anton's reasonably polite, and Artie can usually keep it down. You'll be introducing your new friends the Hawkes to your old friends the Harimanns. Just a social call."

"I do enjoy the way your mind works, even if it is terrifying at times." Sebastian smiled warmly over his teacup.

* * *

It was a short walk to the Harimann Estate. Anders had agreed to join them at Bethany's request -- something else Sebastian had seemed less than thrilled about -- and they stopped to pick up 'Messeres Fartemis' on the way. Hightown was, by now, familiar with the Hawkes and their eccentricities, so if they arrived at the Harimanns' doorstep more armed than necessary for a social visit, no one questioned them. Not aloud, anyway.

Sebastian raised his hand to knock only to pause, brows knit, when he found the door ajar. "That's strange," he said, nudging the door open with his fingertips and peering inside. The main hall was empty. "The door is open, and no guards are posted."

"Well, then there's no harm in popping in, is there?" Anton asked cheerfully, pushing past Sebastian into the estate. He was almost disappointed that he hadn't needed to pick the locks.

The rest of their group followed, spilling into the empty hall, and Sebastian shook his head. "This is not the Lady Harimann I remember," he murmured. "I have a bad feeling about this."

"This woman tried to kill you," replied Artie, "and you're only _now_ having a bad feeling?"

Room after room passed, with no signs of life. "Are you sure they're not having a holiday in Orlais?" Bethany asked, rifling through some papers that had been left out.

"If they are, they didn't announce it. Everyone seems to think they're still in town, but this doesn't look right at all." Sebastian pointedly ran a finger through the dust on the desk.

"Well, we can at least check to be sure they haven't been robbed," Anton suggested. "Lock the door on the way out."

"Robbed is the least of my concerns," Sebastian decided, leading them out of the room.

It was on the stairs into the kitchen that they first heard a voice. "More, you lazy son of a bitch! What's taking so long?" a woman cried out from amid the barrels of wine below.

Sebastian knew her. "Flora?"

"Why does no one in this house care what I want?" Flora complained. "More wine! Or I swear I will drown you in the dregs!"

"Aw, she sounds like you after the first two bottles!" Anton nudged his brother.

"I'll drown _you_ in the dregs," Artemis muttered. Fenris bit his lip against a chuckle, and Artemis narrowed his eyes at him and added, "You too."

"She'll be hating herself in the morning," Anders said, shaking his head at the way Flora swayed and stumbled.

Sebastian approached Flora, searching her face, but she looked through him as though he weren't there. "She can't even see us," he murmured. "This is no normal wine."

Anders and Bethany exchanged glances. "There is magic at work here," Bethany said. "I wouldn't get too close, Sebastian." The air was heavy with it, under the smell of wine, now that she noticed. She took Sebastian's hand and steered him away from Flora.

"Let's see what everyone else is up to," Anton said, already padding back up the stairs.

A few rooms deeper into the house, they could hear another voice making desperate demands, as they approached. "More logs. It must be molten. You! More coins. I want every scrap of gold in this house."

"Please, messere!" a young elven woman cried out, as Sebastian stepped into the room. One servant held another at knifepoint, while a nobleman looked on.

"There's nothing to fear," the noble insisted. "You'll be beautiful!" He pointed to a pot of molten gold, commanding, "Pour it over her."

"Don't! You'll kill her!" Sebastian cried out, to no effect. "He can't hear me..."

As the servant turned to claim the pot of gold, Sebastian solved the problem by punching him in the face, and the elven woman ran out of the room.

"Perhaps I should be the one..." the nobleman speculated, gazing thoughtfully out the window.

"We must end this madness," Sebastian said to Bethany.

"We must figure out what this madness is, first." Bethany patted him on the arm.

They continued their exploration of the mansion, Sebastian's distress clear on his face. Bethany had a hand on her spear, and she slipped her other hand under Sebastian's bicep, thumb tracing circles along white plate.

"I visited this house often as a child," Sebastian said to her. "They could not have concealed such goings on."

Bethany suspected these weren't the same people he knew as a child.

Up a flight of stairs and past more empty rooms, Sebastian heard a voice through an open bedroom door, a voice making what he thought were sounds of pain until he got close enough. His steps stuttered to a stop in the doorway. "Oh Maker," he swore under his breath.

"Oh," groaned a mostly-naked man on the bed, "lower... lower..." An equally unclothed elf was smearing a line of kisses down his stomach.

"Oh my," murmured Bethany, a hand going up to cover her smirk.

"And that," Anders said, leaning in between the Hawke brothers, "is what Artie sounds like after the _next_ two bottles."

"Things I didn't need to know about my older brother, part seven thousand, thank you Anders." Anton turned an aggrieved look on the healer. "Cormac's bad enough, I don't need to know these things about Artie."

"No! The feather! Use the feather!" the naked man demanded.

"He's got good taste. I don't just wear them because they look good on me," Anders added, with a grin, before he straightened up. "Still, that's ... wine, women, and gold -- it's not quite right, but it's not far off." He nudged Artemis, and voiced the worst possibility. "Desire?"

"Where have you been all my life?" the naked man asked, standing as the elf backed away. "Today I am more than a man! Come! Felicitate me!"

"I promise that's not the word that goes in that sentence," Fenris muttered.

"He has no idea we're here," Sebastian marvelled. "I've known Ruxton Harimann my whole life! He's a complete prude!"

"That's a lot coming from you, Chantry boy," Anders teased. "Maybe it's a mid-life crisis. Or, I'm right, and it's demons."

"Where's your brother?" Ruxton asked the elf. "Let's ask him to join us..."

Anders looked at Fenris and they both looked away, to opposite sides of the room. This was not a subject that would be coming up. No.

Artemis coughed awkwardly into his fist. "Right," he said with a nervous laugh. "I think we've seen enough of this. Do you think we've seen enough of this? I think we've seen enough of this."

"I agree," said Sebastian, eyes wide in a look somewhere between horrified and amazed. He ushered Bethany through the door in front of him and followed at her heels.

As they left the room, Ruxton's voice filtered back to them, "I have the manacles right here!"

Anton bit back a laugh, passing a hand over his face.

"Manacles," Fenris repeated, shaking his head.

Artemis hummed, throwing one last look over his shoulder. "Anders is right. He does have good taste."

"What?" squeaked Fenris.

"What? Nothing!"

A few more rooms passed before Anders spotted a book on someone's desk. Flora Harimann's desk, to judge by the content. "I think this is important," he muttered, paging through it. "Looks like whatever this was started last Harvestmere with the expansion of the house -- that carved up hill out there." He pointed out the window. "So, whatever's going on, perhaps we should be looking at any newer construction? I'm still pretty sure the problem is demons. I'm still pretty sure I'd rather not deal with demons, but hey, saving the world, getting the girls."

He handed the diary to Sebastian and walked out of the room, promptly getting turned around.

"These aren't the stairs we came up," Fenris pointed out.

"No, they're not..." Anders sounded confused. "Where did we...?"

"It's the cellar," Sebastian said, pushing past to examine a corpse at the bottom of the stairs. "And that's a Flint Company mercenary, from the look of those colours."

The three Harimanns they'd found stepped out of the shadows, and Flora addressed them. "Turn back. There is nothing here for you."

"Keeping it all for yourself?" Anton joked. "I don't think there's much left to keep. You've already drunk all the wine."

"You shall not pass."

Flora was the first to fall, and everyone looked at Bethany, who shrugged, confused. And then the other two Harimanns fell, demons rising from them all.

"Called it!" Anders seemed much too cheerful for the situation, as he unshouldered his staff, laying down a tempest.

"Oh look, a desire demon," Artemis said, his expression long-suffering as a stone fist launched her back into the wall. "Brings back fond memories of the Fade."

Fenris grimaced at that reminder even as he sliced through a shade, his brands glowing, and Sebastian followed the attack with a flurry of arrows, cursing the close quarters under his breath. Magic rained down on the demons from all sides, battering them where blades and arrows hadn't already.

The battle was fierce, chaotic, but over in a matter of minutes. Anton stuck a blade through the desire demon's spine, and she disintegrated in a cloud of ash. He looked around to find the shades in a similar state. "I think fighting demons is becoming our thing," he said, flicking the blood off his knife.

"It's how our family bonds," Bethany said, hair and clothes still somehow immaculate.

Sebastian gathered up his arrows, a determined set to his jaw. "Let's see what greater evil these demons were protecting," he said, leading them deeper into the cellar, through a rough-hewn passage. The passage smoothed out, carved stairs and peaked arches becoming apparent, the deeper they went.

"A ruin? This close to Hightown? I remember no such thing." Sebastian's eyes were more on the increasingly ornate walls than the stairs in front of him.

"One, we're under Hightown. Technically, this is _in_ Hightown, not near it. Two, you're from Starkhaven, and this isn't your house. I doubt the Harimanns let you play in the cellar, unattended," Anders pointed out, just as enthralled by the sudden shift in architecture.

At the bottom of the stairs, they hammered their way through shades and rage demons that rose up from the ground. Still, as Anton had pointed out, it was becoming a thing, and they were quite skilled at it.

"Oh, great. Not just ruins, but _demon-infested_ ruins! Oh, my property values!" Anton complained. "I don't even want to know what these are the ruins of, if there are this many demons, already."

Demons, more demons, and an Arcane horror, for flavour, before they reached two ladies, deep in conversation. No, Anders reconsidered that opinion, at a second glance, a lady and a desire demon. Maker, but he _hated_ being right, sometimes.

"You must give me more," the lady was begging -- no, demanding -- on her knees. "Starkhaven will not submit. I put that idiot Goren Vael into the prince's seat, but the other families won't heed him." Her eyes were fever-bright as she continued ranting. "I must marry him to Flora and solidify our hold. But I need more power."

"I've given you much," the demon answered, voice echoing with the Fade. "Your desires run deep. You've already traded your husband and your children. What more can you offer?"

Sebastian's grip was tight on his bow, leather-wrapped handle creaking.

"Well," said Bethany, stepping forward with her chin tilted high, "at the Blooming Rose, fifty silver's standard for a whore."

"Do I even want to know how you know that?" Artemis asked, squinting down at his little sister.

"Probably not," Bethany replied. Sebastian opened his mouth to say something, only to close it again with a click when she turned her sweetest smile his way.

"Oh good," muttered Anton, "let's add that to today's pile of 'more information than I needed'."

"You'll hardly find my services standard," the demon purred, turning to face them.

"Who is this!?" Lady Harimann demanded, rising and turning, just a little behind the demon. "Who are you? How did you get here?" She paused. "Sebastian...?"

Sebastian's eyes flashed, and Bethany's hand settled on his arm. Right. Try talking first. Don't start a war. "You were my mother's friend! How could you murder her?"

"Such an ugly word, murder," the demon chimed in. "I prefer to say 'removed the only obstacle between her and her dreams'."

"This was _your_ idea!" Sebastian accused, eyes settling on the demon, and Anders made no move to correct him. He'd find out soon enough.

"I could create such desires, if I wished, but it's far easier to nurture those that already exist." The demon seemed almost flattered by the accusation. "The desire for power is easy to find. You and your lady-friend both possess it, do you not? You both wish to rise."

"Not this again," Anders sighed, striking out with the one spell he'd least wanted to use, but this had the potential to become a lot more dangerous than he wanted to deal with. The demon's head bent down, her shoulders pulling in. She struggled to move, choked sounds of pain escaping her throat, as the spell held her in place.

Artemis took one look at Anders, at the grim set of his jaw and the pale sheen of his face, and followed his lead. He threw out a hand, and a wave of force hit the demon, first pulling her foward and then rocketing her back into the ancient altarpiece behind her.

"No!" Lady Harimann roared, pulling free her staff.

"Oh look," Fenris sighed, "another mage." Mages and demons. When had that become his life?

He readied his sword and Sebastian nocked an arrow, but suddenly the woman went rigid, eyes popping wide. It was only then that they realised that the shadow behind her was Anton and that he currently had a knife in her ribs.

Sebastian returned the arrow to his quiver. "I must pray for Lady Harimann's soul, when I get back to the Chantry."

"Truly? She murdered your family, consorted with demons, and tried to kill you! Sometimes, Sebastian, I wonder at your grace." Bethany shook her head. "Had I the room to be half as forgiving..."

Fenris agreed with Bethany, but said nothing. Mages. How did he continually find himself agreeing with mages, recently? It was a distressing habit, and one he considered expending the energy to break. His own mage was enough. He could agree with Artemis, when he felt the urge come on. The thought continued to trouble him, as they returned to the cellar, proper.

Flora Harimann awaited them. "Sebastian! I am so, so... 'sorry' is such an inadequate word. When I think of what Mother made us do, what those creatures made us do..."

"We were _friends_ , Flora." Sebastian sounded a lot less forgiving, now.

"It was like a cloud came down on me. All I could think or feel was what the demon allowed!"

Fenris was a little too familiar with that feeling. He had some sympathy for this poor woman -- she hadn't sought this out. She hadn't even done life-threateningly stupid things, as far as he could tell. At least he'd walked into the Fade and picked a fight.

"How did this demon come to you?" Anders asked. "Did your mother summon it, somehow?"

"We've never had magic in our line," Flora said, shaking her head, her eyes dazed. "Perhaps that made Mother too confident. She thought she could deal with a demon and not fall prey to it."

Artemis avoided glancing back at Fenris, tried not to think about what had happened between them in the Fade.

"Right," said Anders. "It is demons who should be feared, not mages."

"No harm in being wary of them both," Fenris muttered.

"Don't start, you two," Anton groaned.

Sebastian ignored them, his attention still on Flora. "These ruins were unearthed when we expanded the house," she said, looking about her at the rough-hewn walls. "Mother found the demon inside. I think she had signed her bargain before we even knew."

Bethany stepped forward, drawing Flora's gaze. "Did your mother order the attack on Sebastian's family?" she asked.

"She did." Flora nodded. "You... You know mother, Sebastian. She was always so jealous of your parents. The demon twisted that until it was all she could think of. She was determined to seize Starkhaven for herself."

"Don't blame your mother," Sebastian sighed. "The desire demon made this happen. I'll pray for her, when I get back to the Chantry."

"I doubt many people will be so forgiving." Flora looked at the ground between them, before looking Sebastian in the eye. "If it takes every last coin my family owns, I will make reparations to everyone we've wronged. Starting with you, Sebastian. We weren't the only ones vying for Starkhaven. If you face more opposition, you have my support."

"It will not make up for what happened," Sebastian noted, pointedly.

"No, that's true," Flora agreed.

"But, I'll tell you when I need you." Sebastian looked a good deal less pious and more reluctant with his forgiveness, this time.

"It's always hard when your friends betray you, even when it's against their will," Anders sighed, patting Sebastian's shoulder.

"You say this like it happens to you often," Sebastian said, almost a question.

"Define 'often'," Anders replied.

Artie could see Fenris's ear twitch out of the corner of his eye.

They left Flora in the basement, with her mother's corpse and the memory of a demon. Outside, it was still afternoon, warm and sunny in a way that felt incongruent with the horrors beneath them.

"So," said Artemis brightly. "I could go for a sandwich. Who wants a sandwich?"


	71. Chapter 71

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An end and two beginnings. All of this is unusual, even for Kirkwall.

Sebastian looked unwell, when Bodhan brought Bethany out to where he sat in the garden, quietly sipping tea. He stared across the lawn, red-eyed and tired, moments from pouring tea into his own lap, as Bethany joined him.

"Aren't you a vision of good cheer!" Bethany poured herself a cup of tea. "What's wrong, pumpkin?"

"I had hoped prayer might cleanse me of the desire demon's touch." Sebastian put down his cup, still staring. "But, I still hear her voice so clearly. I feel like I've bathed in filth that will never come off."

"Well, I'm sure I've got something for that," Bethany teased.

Sebastian blinked and finally looked at her. "Do you, then? Would you, even now?"

"Even now, what? We killed a demon. You didn't give in to her, no matter what she might have offered you -- and I don't pretend to have heard it all. I know they don't say the same things to all people, even to all the people in a room."  Bethany shrugged. "You could have taken what she was offering. Maker knows, that's already happened once, this year. But, you didn't, and that's the important thing. There's enough you left in you to feel dirty about even hearing her speak."

"The demon was right. I used to be bitterly jealous of my brother -- envious, I suppose. I wanted to be prince. Now everything he had is mine, and he lies in ashes." Sebastian shook his head. "I keep asking myself, do I want to take Starkhaven because it's right or simply to have what I never thought I could."

"You didn't ask for this. I'm not sure it matters if you wanted it or not, since it was never about you. Lady Harimann and her demon meant to put your cousin on the throne, not you. The only thing your desire does is ensure you don't hate your job, if you step up." Bethany sipped her tea and reached across the table to take Sebastian's hand. "If you let her drive you away from it, it's just as bad as letting her force you to take it. Do what you want, and nevermind the demon."

"Always such a reasonable mind. Some days, I wonder if I'll wake and find you're truly the demon, here." Sebastian smiled wryly and picked up his tea again.

"If I was a demon, I'm sure I'd tell you I wasn't. If I'm not a demon, I'm sure I'd tell you I wasn't. All the same, Sebastian? I'm not a demon. Demons rarely have loving families and good tea." Bethany's eyes sparkled with amusement, and Sebastian laughed.

* * *

* * *

Anton, Varric, and Isabela were lucky enough to nab a table in the main room, if crushed into the corner, knees knocking knees. It was Corff's nameday, and half of Lowtown had shown up to honour him with their drunkenmost selves. The Hanged Man smelled of even more booze, vomit, and body odor than usual, but Anton loved every minute of it.

Isabela went to get the next round of drinks while Varric dealt out the next round of Wicked Grace. She had to muscle her way through the crowd, and Anton saw an elbow or two connect with someone's face on her way by. Anton didn't even bother with being subtle. He peeked at Izzy's hand once Varric had dealt it, angling the cards so that Varric could see them too. That was the thing about playing with rogues: everyone cheated and everyone knew it. Besides, sitting this close made it impossible not to see each other's hand.

"Your dog would be growling at you right now," Varric said, voice raised to be heard over the din.

"The dog's not here," Anton reminded him. "Are you volunteering to stand in for the night?"

"He's little and furry! He'd make a great dog!" Isabela laughed, setting the drinks on the table. "He even catches you cheating, just like your real dog."

Another dwarf bumped into Isabela from behind, and the drinks sloshed onto the table. "Oh, here, let me help you with that," the dwarf apologised, blotting at the table with a kerchief. He made a few passes over the drinks, drunkenly blotting at the spread of little puddles on the scarred wood.

"Why don't you go sit down, before something else gets knocked over," Varric suggested, a little unpleasantly. Carta dwarf, from the look of the guy, and the Carta never presaged anything good.

The other dwarf squinted at Varric, before stumbling off, still apologising, bumping into a few more tables.

"Varric!" Isabela sounded disapproving, as she sat down and picked up one of the tankards. "Was that really necessary?"

"Carta. Maker only knows what he's up to, and I'm not letting the Carta get too close to where I'm sitting, for long." Varric leaned to the side, checking under the table. Nothing but beer running between the boards. Maybe it was nothing, then.

"You could try barking at them," Anton said, moving his chair a bit to avoid any other drunken patrons knocking into him. "That's what a good watch-dog does."

By the time Varric looked up again, the Carta dwarf had disappeared into the crowd, and he put it from his mind. "If you start calling me Mintaka, you can go sit somewhere else," Varric said, picking up his cards again. "And don't expect me to lick your face."

"Not even if I rub your belly?" Isabela purred, eyebrows arching suggestively. 

"I never said I wouldn't lick _your_ face."

"I suspect that's not all you'd be licking," Anton said, picking up his refilled tankard and clacking it against the side of Isabela's.

Somewhere in the middle of the tankard, Anton started to think he was drunk. This was, of course, extremely unlikely. "You been getting Corff to slip rum into the ale?" he asked Isabela, squinting over his cards at her.

Isabela was sitting at a strange angle, as if halfway to her left was straight up. "It's just ale. I think all the good stuff's been paid for already. I think we all bought it for Corff, tonight!" She laughed and slipped off her stool, to the side, somehow landing on her feet. "You tipping my chair again, Hawke?"

"I'm nowhere near your chair." Anton shot a look at Varric. "How are you holding up, Barky?"

"That's it." Varric shoved one sleeve up, stood up, and promptly sat back down. He eyed the contents of the table. "I'm going to strongly advise against finishing what's in these cups. Possibly also against touching anything that Carta jerk might've touched. I've got a real bad feeling all of a sudden."

Anton set down his drink a bit more heavily than he meant to. He didn't remember the table being that close. "Is that bad feeling vertigo?" he asked. "Because if so, I have that bad feeling too." He held a hand out to steady himself, his other hand reaching for the knife at his hip, the feel of cold steel giving him something to focus on.

The Carta dwarf from earlier slipped back out of the crowd, looking decidedly less drunk than before, and either Anton was seeing triple or he'd brought along a few friends with matching hoods.

"Him," said the first dwarf to his mini entourage as he pointed at Anton. "He's the Hawke."

"Varric?" Anton said, struggling to start upright. "Might want to start barking."

Varric sighed and picked up Bianca from next to his seat. Firing into a crowded bar while drugged was not on the list of things he really wanted to do, but the situation wasn't going to improve itself. At least he didn't have to be standing up for it.

And suddenly, Isabela wasn't there. Anton wasn't quite sure if she'd ever been where he'd thought she was, a moment ago, but she wasn't there, now. There was a brief flash of movement at the edge of the crowd, and then a flurry of elbows and fists, as Isabela reappeared, elbowing a dwarf in the back of the head, grabbing his beard, and slamming his head into the edge of the table. "Do you know how much time I spent drugged, in my life? It'll take more than that to put me down."

She wasn't quite steady, but she was in much better shape than Anton or Varric.

"Get the Hawke!" the dwarf on the floor shouted, trying to rub the blood from the gash on his forehead out of his eyes. He didn't get the chance to recover, as Anton's heel slammed into his face, the second blow knocking him out.

Varric squinted down his crossbow. Isabela was a blur of limbs among the dwarves, and he tried to aim at somewhere she wasn't, but he didn't remember her having that many arms when all this started. She knocked a Carta stumbling his way, and Varric reacted before thinking, kicking out a leg to knock him to the floor, launching a bolt into his face a moment later. It was much easier to shoot someone lying on the floor. Easier still when that someone was only a few feet away.

Anton felt himself slipping from his chair and lurched upright, the back of his head knocking the dwarf he didn't see come up behind him. Isabela grabbed the dazed dwarf by the hood and launched him backwards into the crowd. The dwarf ricocheted off a pair of scruffy men with sailor tattoos. In an instant, the brawl spread to the rest of the bar, fists and bottles flying, and the dwarf disappeared, likely trampled into oblivion.

On the other side of the bar, Corff looked about him in dismay.

"Any of them still alive?" Anton asked, clinging to he table to keep himself upright, as the bar-fight raged on behind him.

"Not if I've got anything to say about it," Isabela muttered, blotting at some blood on her arm.

"Well, shit. If it was just some Carta dwarves after me, that's easy enough to explain. Never did stop stepping on their toes." Anton laughed, before deciding laughing was a terrible idea that made the room get all sloshy. "But, 'the Hawke'? That doesn't sound nearly as personal."

"I've got contacts," Varric assured him, staggering to his feet. "But, right now--" He didn't stay standing for long. "Right now, someone needs to get Anders."

"One two three, not it!" Anton lost his battle with gravity and pulled himself under the table, for some protection against the ongoing brawl.

"You two are hopeless," Isabela grumbled, staggering toward the door. "Don't get killed while I'm gone."

* * *

* * *

Fenris was making a face at the ceiling, like he'd eaten some bad fruit.

"Can't say that was the reaction I was going for," Artie said with a nervous laugh as he adjusted his grip. "All right?"

Under him, Fenris was silent for a moment as he squirmed, wincing. "I... still don't see the appeal," he said stiffly. He peered down at Artemis. "You don't find this... uncomfortable?"

"Generally, I find this amazing. Hold on, maybe a different angle..."

Fenris hissed, fingers bunching in the sheets but not in a good way. "I am no less uncomfortable."

Artemis frowned, wondering if he was doing this wrong. He enjoyed it. Cormac enjoyed it. And -- oh. That was it, wasn't it? He and Cormac had a different threshold for this sort of thing. 

Fenris tried not to tip his hips in any direction, as every direction was fairly terrible. He'd been decently sure he'd met all the horrors mages had to offer, but this was a new one. Still, he'd watched Artemis do exactly this to himself on several occasions, and this was not the reaction he'd witnessed. Did Artemis just enjoy pain? No, that couldn't be right. Maybe the problem was that he was an elf. Some subtle difference of anatomy. Or that he was just that little bit smaller than Artemis, over all. Actually, quite a bit smaller.

"I couldn't help but notice this is much larger than your..." He cleared his throat. "Is this... the usual size?"

Artemis stopped moving the toy in case he made it worse. "No," he said. "Not the usual size. Quite on the large side, in fact, and... probably not the best place to start, in hindsight." It was a good thing Fenris didn't know where the toy had come from, not really. There wouldn't be enough pieces left of Artie to deliver to his mother if Fenris knew this was modelled off of Anders's knob.

Gently, Artemis slid the toy back out of Fenris. This wasn't working. Not like this.

Fenris eyed the jade-green thing, warily. That was much larger than his own knob. He'd never really thought about it before -- a knob was a knob, wasn't it? -- but Artemis seemed to have a taste for the upper end of things. At least he hoped that was the upper end. For humans, anyway, and that was a thought he pushed away as soon as it entered his head.

"You enjoy that -- I have watched you enjoy it. I have helped you enjoy it. And I am... still enough for you?" Again, not something he'd ever given any thought to, but with the obvious size difference having already been pointed out, and the fact that he, himself, was clearly not cut out for the 'large size'...

Artemis threw the toy to the side, letting it bounce on the sheets, and crawled back up over Fenris. "More than enough," he purred. "You're all the elf I can handle. I think the earthquakes can attest to that, otherwise we'd be able to have a mirror in the bedroom again." He leaned in and kissed his elf gently. "Maybe something smaller? A bit more... proportional? I don't have anything smaller, but I know someone who does."

He wasn't going to say who. That was something else that would get him murdered.

"Your fingers were not unpleasant. Perhaps smaller would be less ... uncomfortable." Fenris tried to wrap his mind around the idea that he was even willing to consider continuing this experiment, but he did want to understand what it was his mage got out of these ... things. "I trust you to know your way around ... these things. You seem much more experienced than I, and I ... I am willing to learn more of this from you. You enjoy it so much. It seems I might be missing out on something."

And Artemis thought he was, and he wanted to share this with Fenris. "We'll try again," he said, "the right way. And if you still don't like it then, that's fine. There are plenty of ways for me to have my wicked way with you." He kissed Fenris again, a bit more deeply, and made a note to send a message to Cormac later.

* * *

  
Bodhan stepped into the sitting room, where Cormac was cursing into a book, something about the translator being useless. "Flowers for you, messere. I believe them to be from your brother."

"Stupid bastard can't tell the difference between -- What? Oh, just leave them on the ... wait." Cormac swung his feet off the couch -- another benefit to Artemis having moved out -- and stood up to get a closer look. "What the fuck...?" That didn't make sense at all. "Put them in water, and bring them back in here. I have to think about this one."

Bodhan bowed and went to do so. "Yes, messere."

Viscaria. An invitation to dance. Possibly even 'May I have this dance,' depending on the surrounding context. And... Aster. A token of love. Maybe a locket, sometimes a favour... What the fuck was Artemis trying to say? Broader. He'd have to go broader. Okay, a request and a symbol of love. An object. A token. A symbol... A dance. Oh, no.

He burst out laughing, as Bodhan came back in with the vase. "Wait right here. I'll have a package that needs to go out in just a moment."

Cormac went upstairs to get the one he assumed Artemis meant, wrapping it in a silk pillowcase and tucking it into a box. "Return this with a sprig of mint and narcissus." An accusation, certainly, but if he'd read this correctly, not an unfounded one. 'May I dance with your dildo', indeed...

* * *

The last time Fenris had been this drunk at the Hanged Man, he'd taught all sorts of naughty Tevene to Isabela for her to abuse. Tonight, he was sitting in the same seat at the bar, but he'd traded in one blade-wielding woman for another.

"So," Fenris said once awkward conversation had turned into drunken, awkward conversation, "Artemis tells me you helped him, when we were... when there were no earthquakes?" He ordered another round and didn't have to worry about his drink mate stealing coin out of his pockets. He hoped.

Aveline made a noise somewhere between a hum and a squeal, her cheeks noticeably red even in the dim lighting. "Yes, with the corset," she slurred, grinning. "Mint is a good colour for him."

"It was a fine choice. I... thank you for that." The words were stiff, as if Fenris resented that he even thought to say them -- that anyone but he had seen Artemis in that ... thing. "But, I have ... other questions. I am afraid I do not understand the ways of human romance, except what is sung in songs. Since you seem to be so, ah, insightful, I was hoping you might be able to help me, as well."

It was utterly foolish, he knew, but he didn't dare ask Cormac or Anders... not after ... no. And Isabela would never give him a proper answer. She'd tell him all sorts of strange things, just to make trouble. He'd considered Varric, briefly, but Varric didn't seem to be much into humans. So, Aveline. Aveline who had already proven her skill in these things.

"Trouble again? You need fancy underwear, now?" Aveline asked, squinting at him pointedly. "I don't think the mint's your colour, but I'm sure Fran can find you something."

"What? I -- no!" Some of Fenris's drink sputtered out with the words. "My underwear is... sufficient." His underwear was nonexistent, but that was probably more than Aveline needed to know. "I... merely wonder if the rest of me is." It was difficult keeping up with his mage, with his experiences as limited as they were.

"Well, to be fair, Artemis thought his underwear was 'sufficient' too," Aveline replied, "but I talked him into it. And here you are."

"And here I am," said Fenris miserably into his drink.

"Maybe you do need better underwear," Aveline prodded. "If you're wondering if all of you is as sufficient as the underwear I can tell you're not wearing."

"It is not that obvious!" Fenris insisted.

"Yeah, it kind of is, the way you wear pants. Maybe it's different in Tevinter, because of all the robes, but you get an eye for it, around here. You'd have lines," Aveline patted Fenris's hand.

"How do I show myself to be... more than I appear? How can I -- I don't even know! He says that I am enough for him, but he keeps ... toys. I don't understand the toys. No, I understand how the toys work. I enjoy him enjoying them. I do not understand why he enjoys them. I do not understand what position this puts me in. He is so quick to reassure me -- I do not know what to believe." Toys. Yes. He was sure he could refer to both Cormac and the ... dildo that way. Aveline didn't need to know. Really he was sure Aveline didn't need to know half of that, but he wanted to make sure she had the right idea of what he needed, for this situation.

"If you want to appear to be more, there's underwear that can help with that too," Aveline said. She patted his hand again. "I don't think he's going to replace you with a toy, Fenris."

Fenris's ears twitched. Definitely best not to tell her about Cormac. Ever.

"But you don't want that," Aveline said, brow furrowing as she considered. "You want to prove that you love him."

And Fenris wondered what that said about him that that was something he thought he needed to prove.  "And if I do? What then?"

"Well, if you want to go big, you could always pay his dowry. Back home that was a goat and three sheaves of wheat, most of the time." Aveline finished her drink.

"Dowry? What... purpose would that serve?" Fenris tried to look at least a little less confused than he was.

"I thought elves had dowries, too!"

"I am less an elf, as you think of 'elf', than you might imagine, looking at me," Fenris reminded her. "Explain this to me."

"I keep forgetting you're not from around here." Aveline chuckled awkwardly. "Dowry. It's when you pay the family for the right to woo the person. It's one of the steps in proposing, which would definitely make the point."

"So, before I propose, I should buy his... family... a goat?" Fenris looked even more confused by this.

"Traditionally, yes," Aveline said, nodding sagely. "And I imagine Lady Leandra is fond of that sort of thing."

That piqued Fenris's interest. He hadn't spent much time around Leandra but knew that she wasn't fond of _him_. "A goat," he said, nodding. "I can get her a goat." He wasn't sure where Leandra would put it. Perhaps out back with the topiary and that fuckawful tree.

Fenris was glad Aveline was here to explain these things to him.

"See?" Aveline beamed. "We found a solution, and we didn't even need to buy you special underwear! Not that it's too late to do that too."

"I think the goat should be sufficient for now."


	72. PART XVII: THE BLOOD OF THE HAWKE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Difficulties with dwarves and maybe with demons. Blood magic? Lyrium? How old _is_ this place?

"Varric?" Cormac asked, heading back into the parlour with a punchbowl of cream tea. "Would you like to tell me why I've been beating crazed dwarves back from the door, all week? Anton said something about the Carta and that you were looking into it?"

"They didn't seem to mean to kill your brother, for what it's worth," Anders noted, setting down a plate of sandwiches, before he dropped into a chair and pulled Cormac into his lap. "Isabela was right about that. It wasn't a poison, just a knockout drug. Even if he'd had the whole pint of ale, he'd only have been out ten or twelve hours. Long enough to get him out of town, that's for sure."

Cormac shifted uncomfortably, eyes shooting toward the door. Isabela patted his knee. "Don't worry, Mage-shoulders. Fenris and Aveline won't let anything happen to Artie. They'll be here soon."

"And I'm here, now," Anton said, leaping over the back of the couch to land next to Varric. He helped himself to a cup of tea and a sandwich. "Bethy said she'd be down as soon as she finished this paragraph. You know how she gets when she's writing."

"Well, there's two of you here, at least, and all I can tell you is my Carta contacts know nothing about this, specifically. There's nobody interested in you guys. There is, however, a ranking individual and his men who've gone missing, in recent months. It was assumed he'd packed up and moved on to stake out a Carta claim in another city, but if there's something that looks like Carta and nobody knows about it, it's probably that guy."

Carver came in from the garden and grabbed a sandwich. "What guy?"

"The guy who's trying to kidnap your brothers," Isabela answered. "You should probably sit down. Have they come for you, too? Dwarves in poor taste?"

"That's going to end up on my monument, you know. 'Murdered by tasteless dwarves'." Cormac leaned forward and got himself a cup of tea, which Anders relieved him of, before it reached his mouth. "Damn it, Anders!"

"Not all dwarves have Varric's taste," said Artemis as he swept into the room, smile a bit manic, "or his fashion sense." Aveline and Fenris followed at his heels, the elf looking like he was ready to murder something -- or had recently murdered something.

"He's got a point," Varric said, fingers running over his cleanshaven jaw.

"Does this have to do with the dwarf I found in my kitchen?" Artie said, bouncing his staff against the floor in agitation. "Because I found a dwarf in my kitchen."

"Artemis beat him half to death with a broomstick," Fenris told Cormac.

"I was cleaning and I didn't have my staff! I panicked!"

"Is he still alive?" Varric asked. "I mean, if you only beat him half to death, I got a couple questions I want to ask this jerkoff. Some parts of what I got just don't quite make sense."

"Rings," Cormac said, before clarifying. "I'm getting you some runed rings, Artie. Even if you don't have your staff, you'll have enough to focus. Mostly. Not so sure it'll do any good for your aim, but hey, Force. You don't need aim, you just need a direction."

"Orana might be upset about what else he'd hit. Perhaps we should just solve the dwarf problem," Anders pointed out.

"Still. Point stands. Not that he can't do an awful lot of damage without the help, right Carver?" Cormac grinned at his youngest brother.

Carver stopped, mouth full of sandwich, and glared at Cormac. "Shut up," he muttered, trying not to spit crumbs, "or I will punch you right in your stupid face."

"Boys, boys!" Isabela waved her hands calmingly, as Bethany joined them. "Less punching, more pounding."

"Are you inciting my brothers to unspeakable things?" Bethany asked, getting a cup of tea and taking the seat beside Carver.

"I highly doubt they need to be incited to do unspeakable things," Aveline said, leaning back against the doorway. Artemis glanced at Cormac, then away, turning to straighten a painting's frame to avoid eye-contact with anyone.

Fenris noted the exchange and cleared his throat, right ear twitching. "Why are there dwarves after the Hawkes?" he said. "Cormac, what did you do?"

"For once, I don't think this is Cormac's fault," Anders, taking another sip of Cormac's tea. "Surprising, I know."

"I think the more important question," Aveline said, "is what are we going to do about this? I don't think Artemis's cleaning equipment would survive another attack."

"Neither would my drinking habit," Anton muttered.

"I'd like to say this has nothing to do with me. I haven't pissed off the Carta in recent memory, and from what Varric's saying, these guys aren't actually Carta?" Cormac shrugged in Varric's direction.

"They're technically still Carta, but they're not part of Kirkwall's clique any more. I'm sure there's someone still expecting to hear from them, but that someone's probably in Orzammar. Everything goes back to Orzammar, in the end. Except us. Still, I don't know where these roaches are coming from, or where they're going. They vanish off the Carta's rolls, and then nothing. Maybe up in the mountains, somewhere, but that's a lot of space. We might need to release one into the wild and follow his ass." Varric grabbed a sandwich. "Hence the question. Is yours still alive, or do we have to wait for another attempt?"

"Didn't Anton tell me they were drugged, and not poisoned?" Bethany asked. "Maybe we should volunteer to go along, willingly. Just us. And the rest of you follow, just in case."

"Go along with the people trying to kidnap us?" Carver scoffed. "Really? Great plan."

"No, she has a point," Anton said, twirling a biscuit around his fingers. "Whoever they are, they seemed driven, the type that isn't going to give up after losing a few people. Best to walk into their trap armed to the teeth than to fall into it with our pants down."

Fenris looked at his mage and fought not to bristle. "I do not like this plan," he growled.

"Regardless," Artemis said, "he's alive. Barely. Currently tied up and locked in the basement. I'd really rather not be chaining up dwarves in my basement."

"I prefer not to chain anyone in the basement. Unless they're into that." Cormac grinned and tried very hard not to think of his own cellar. "I'm with Bethany, I think. If Varric can't get this guy to talk, we should probably go with him. At least a few of us. If you don't like it, Carver, you can just follow us up. Or stay home with a sandwich and your sword. Nothing to me, either way."

"Can we leave my sword out of this?" Carver sounded dreadfully aggrieved.

"I don't think you'll be of much use, without it," Fenris pointed out.

"That's not what I meant! That's not what _he_ meant!" Carver jabbed a finger at Cormac.

"I dunno, Bark-boy, I think that might just be you," Isabela teased. "A little too much swording on the brain."

"Can we please not talk about Carver's swording?" Artemis groaned. "Today has been stressful enough without that added trauma."

"Trauma?" Isabela teased. "But Merrill says he's a _master_ at swording!"

"Yes, that visual image. Trauma."

Anton nodded in agreement, and Carver threw them both rude gestures.

"All right then," said Anton, "let's introduce the dwarf in your basement to the beardless wonder over here and see what we can find out."

* * *

"This place shouldn't be here," Varric muttered, looking around, as they followed the Hawkes and the suspicious dwarf up the mountain, to some strange ruins. "There's just a big blank spot on the map, here. This place is invisible."

"Or everyone who ever got this close got killed," Anders muttered, chills creeping down his spine. Justice felt stronger, the closer they got to the ruins. "Some of this looks like recent construction, but under it, that's been here a long while."

"I don't like it. _Bianca_ doesn't like it. I've never seen her this suspicious, and she's twitchy to begin with." Varric kept his eye out for an ambush.

"Oh, I'm sure this is all some terrible misunderstanding," Isabela joked. "Later we'll all have tea, and we'll laugh."

"Oh, your name is _Hawke_!" Varric pressed a hand to his chest and faked surprise. "I thought it was Locke!"

"Yes, we were looking for some other combination of general and ringmaster," Anders drawled.

Up ahead, things got interesting. A voice called out from the gate. "You! You're all here! The Hawkes -- you've come!" A black-bearded dwarf greeted them with an amazed smile, as if they were heroes or bards of legend.

"I guess we're in the right place," Anton said, clapping Carver on the back.

"Everyone!" the dwarf at the gate called out, shaking hands with the dwarf who'd led them. "It's the children of Malcolm Hawke! They've come to us!"

"Malcolm...?" Artemis echoed, eyes narrowing. "What does our father have to do with this?"

There was something... off, in the dwarf's smile, in the way the light shone off his eyes. Something in the dwarf's filmy stare made Anders shiver.

"It began with him and ends with you!" the dwarf declaimed. "Blood for blood! That's what we were told!"

"Wait, did _Dad_ piss off the Carta?" Anton asked, eyebrows shooting up towards his hairline. "I'm impressed."

The dwarf continued his fevered ranting. "You've come to us now, and that's the only thing that matters!" he said as though they were long-lost relatives of his.

"Well, your invitation was so _cordial_ ," Artie drawled. "Next time? Send flowers."

"We must have the blood! You don't understand!" The dwarf raved.

"Blood?" Cormac asked, grinning a little too broadly as he cocked his hip forward. "Well, well. I hardly even know you!"

"Andraste's bleeding cooch, Cormac, shut _up_!" Carver demanded.

"We will take it! Corypheus will walk in the sun once more!" The dwarf gestured, and his reinforcements appeared, including the dwarf who'd led them up the mountain.

"Right. So much for conversation, then." Anton drew his blades and stepped into the shadow of the gate.

Bethany smiled and spread her hands. "Sacrifice? How sad. We're much more enjoyable, alive." 

The dwarves before them turned on each other, intermittently clawing at themselves, as the rest of their companions caught up. Through the gate, more Carta dwarves realised there was a problem, and moved to secure their prize.

Artemis focused his attacks on the dwarves farther away, where his force magic wouldn't accidentally knock his friends and siblings into stone. 

"It's a bit like dwarf tossing!" Artie said with a giddy laugh. One spell hit at just the right -- or wrong -- angle and knocked a pair of dwarves back into the spiked gateway. Artemis winced at the spray of blood, even at this distance. "Or not."

"Don't ever mention dwarf tossing again," Varric said even as he aimed and fired. "Or this next bolt will end up in your ass."

"Do not injure my mage's ass," Fenris growled, one glowing hand caught in someone's intestines. "I am not done with it."

Carver finished off the dwarves Bethany still had writhing on the ground. "And you complained about my swording," he muttered.

They pushed forward into the heart of the hastily-constructed fort, picking off the remaining dwarves as they passed. 

"Something written on that..." Anders muttered, spotting a much older stone pillar. He crossed to it and placed his palm on it, turning around it in a circle. "And there, and there. This place was important."

"That's dwarven. Get your hand off it, so I can see," Varric muttered, stepping up for a closer look. He whistled. "One watcher, each generation, will be chosen from the Warrior Caste. He will stand guard until his death. No fucking around here... Something about the vigilance of the dwarves keeping the foulness of... I can't tell if this is a name, or a word I just don't know. 'Malvernis'? Keeping the foulness of Malvernis at bay. Blah blah, surfacer sacrifice, sunlight is horrible, signed Paragon Ilona."

Varric paused. "Ilona? I don't know an Ilona. Well, these dwarves weren't from Orzammar, at least, which means we're standing on something that might be older than the Blight. We started losing cities to the darkspawn, between the First and Second Blight. Where the shit _are_ we?"

"I don't know, and the idea there might be some ancient demon trapped here does not make me any happier about this place," Anders complained. "Demons, and there are dwarves after your blood? If I didn't know it was impossible for a dwarf to use magic, I'd have some extremely unpleasant suspicions. But, then, once you add something that old into the mix... I'm not sure I want to know what's possible."

Anton wiped a hand over his face, accidentally smearing a bit of blood along his cheek. "So this place has a history of crazy dwarves," he said. "Good to know."

"A history of something," Bethany murmured, examining the stone from all angles. "How interesting."

"Interesting," Artemis sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "Yes, that's one word for it." He was liking this less and less. "In fact, 'interesting' just about sums up our family outings, doesn't it?"

"That's why I love your family outings," Isabela said, throwing an arm around Bethany's shoulders. "I am never bored!"

They continued along the mountain path, under crumbling archways and scaffolding, until Varric motioned for them to stop. "Sweet Ancestors, look at that," he said, followed by a low whistle.

Fenris squinted in the direction the dwarf pointed. "Who would build a fortress out here?" he asked.

"Other than these Carta weirdoes?" Cormac asked. "Probably crazed surface dwarves, trying to contain demons. This is just how I wanted to spend my family holiday! Walking into ancient dwarven demon-traps!"

Varric nudged Fenris away from another pillar, squinting at it. "I'm not sure that thing's a demon. I don't know _what_ it is. 'The Pestilent One' that 'devoured thaigs', turning them into 'noxious waste'. Turned warriors into pools of slime. Consumed the bones of the ancestors... This thing is _not_ fucking around. Whatever we're here for, I just hope it's not this thing. It's 'chained in lyrium, stained with the blood of a hundred warriors', and I really hope that's an exaggeration, because that's... there's a way of writing that, in the old stories, that means those warriors are dead. That's not just a cut your finger and wipe it, here. That's a hundred dwarven warriors sacrificed to contain this thing. Lyrium and blood..."

"That's blood magic." Anders looked completely horrified. "Dwarven blood magic."

"Dwarf mages doing blood magic. Is this day going to keep getting better?" Fenris's ears twitched in annoyance.

"I'm still not sure they're mages," Varric said. "All the mentions of rank or status have been _warriors_. Lyrium crafting is an old tradition, and one that requires a _lack_ of magic to work. Still, I'm not liking it. I'm not liking it at all."

"Does anyone remember the last time we got near ancient dwarfy things?" Isabela asked. "Because I sure do! At least this time we're not going to get stuck _underground_."

"Oh, don't say that aloud," Artie groaned. "You've just jinxed it. I know you've just jinxed it."

"Maker, I hope not," Anders said with a shrill laugh.

"Relax, Blondie, Nervy," Varric coaxed. "No one is getting trapped anywhere today. That's what we did for _my_ last family outing. I'm sure we'll be back by lunch time!"

"You just jinxed that, too," Artemis muttered sullenly. Fenris patted his arm.

The construction looked newer as they travelled on, the stonework repaired and reinforced, adorned with more spikes than Fenris's armour. A hooded figure ran past, and they gave chase.

"Wait," Anton called as they turned a corner.

"I see it, Stabby," Varric said, holding a hand out to force the others to stop. He knelt down in front of the pressure plate and let out another whistle. "Speaking of stabby," he said, noting the twisted spikes ready to spring up. "That would have been painful.

As Varric cleared the trap from their path, the runner got where he was going, summoning more creepy Carta dwarves from the repaired buildings, this time with huge beasts. Bethany got the first shot, again, and this time, fewer of them fell to her influence.

"Artie? I've got trouble. They're resistant." Bethany had finally stopped smiling.

"It's in their heads, isn't it," Cormac sighed, slamming a wall of ice through a group of dwarves. "That's fucking great. What the fuck is this thing?"

"Rogues," Varric muttered, firing again and again. "I don't think there's a warrior down there. Where are the warriors?"

"The cities fell, Varric. Where would still be sending warriors?" Anders laid a tempest down in the courtyard, and a few nearby plants spontaneously burst into flame. "This thing's been without a guard for almost as long as it's been here."

Still, they chewed through the dwarves fairly quickly. Where nightmares and confusion failed, force still worked just fine. Carver headed into the fortress, sword still drawn. "Don't let them get behind us. Come on. We need to make sure we got all of them, or we're going to get stuck somewhere nasty."


	73. Chapter 73

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More dwarves, lots of dwarves. Some unpleasant realisations about who and where.

Inside looked like the interior of an abandoned mine. Floorboards had rotted and buckled, and sunlight streamed in through holes in the ceiling, but lit braziers and the ridiculous amount of traps said the mine wasn't as abandoned as it looked. So did all the screaming dwarves.

They were cut down as easily as the rest, and Artie nudged Anders for a lyrium potion, the tingle of magic at his fingertips turning into a burn.

"Definitely some weird magic going on," said Varric. "Carta wouldn't just charge us like this. They're stupid, but they're not _that_ stupid."

Anton was off poking at another corpse, this one decayed enough to have not been their doing. He pocketed a few coins and drew out a few blood-smeared sheets of paper. "Weird magic, you were saying?" he said with a strained smile. He twisted to look at their healer. "Anders, you're not going to like this."

"I already don't like this," Anders said, "but do tell me how it's going to get worse."

"This letter was written by a scout sent to evaluate this fortress," Anton said. He skimmed through much of the letter but read a portion aloud: "'Two levels below the surface, we discovered a series of twisting, underground passages, chiseled out of the mountain itself. I commanded the men to set up camp there. Not an hour later, one of the newer men reported voices from the depths...'"

"Underground. We're going underground again, this time with creepy voices in the depths. Oh, tell me again how this is an improvement over the last time we were anywhere near traditional dwarven architecture?" Anders snatched the letter from Anton's hands, leaving the edge of one ancient page between Anton's fingertips. "What, _Wardens_? _Here_? Oh, that's fantastic. This shit was partially built by dwarves -- and we know how long they would have lasted here -- and then expanded by the Wardens. That's amazing. It's true. You can't ever leave the Wardens. I'm in the middle of a mountainous wasteland, and I walk right into an abandoned Warden fortress -- abandoned during the Tevinter retreat, for extra points on the excitement scale. Great! I'm walking into a dwarven demon trap that's probably full of ancient Tevinter magic! Because that ended well, the last time I did it..."

"Anders." Cormac's hands settled on his shoulders. "Breathe."

"I'm breathing! If I wasn't breathing, I wouldn't be making any sound!" Anders protested, looking a little whiffy.

Fenris did not look amused. "Are we doing this again? Why are we doing this again? Do we need the abomination with us? We're just here to clear out the Carta infestation."

"No need to be rude, Broody." Isabela wrapped and arm around Fenris's shoulders. "He's the healer. Unless you want to leave the safety of that pillowy ass in Cormac's barely-capable hands, he's coming with us."

Fenris sulked and muttered something about his ass not being pillowy but stopped protesting.

"All this ancient bullshit is making me glad I live on the surface," Varric muttered, leaning Bianca against his shoulder. "What is it with you Hawkes with dwarves and Deep Roads?"

"We could ask you the same thing," Artie said, shrugging.

"I _am_ a dwarf. I have an excuse."

"Fair point."

They ventured deeper into the mines, manoeuvring through half-collapsed tunnels and stepping over rubble. Hushed voices echoed back to them, the words 'blood' and 'Hawke' and 'Master' standing out. The next dwarves they encountered seemed even more crazed than the last, a pale film covering their eyes, and they continued to mutter gibberish about blood and someone named Corypheus.

"That name. I had to hear it a few times, to be sure, but that's a Tevinter name," Fenris pointed out. "It's not common, but it's old. The kind of name that gets passed down a family." He didn't want to think too much about the fact that this fortress had been abandoned since the Tevinter retreat. Blood magic and old names... That was not going to end well. Perhaps it was just an ancient family that had stayed behind in the Marches. Still, mages. Blood magic.

"Are you telling me we might be facing off a magister?" Cormac asked. "What would a magister want with us?"

"We're our father's children," Bethany reminded him. "They did say this was about dad, and no one knows where he was from or what he might have been involved in, before he met mum."

"Our father was not a damned magister," Carver cut in. "No blood magic. No demons. And I never heard him speak anything but Common."

"No, but he still might have pissed one off," Cormac muttered. "He had a bit of a talent for that sort of thing -- healing and pissing people off."

"Kind of like you, Anders," Bethany said, with an all-too-sweet smile.

"Can we please not talk about how my ... about how Anders reminds you of dad? Because that's just going to make things terribly awkward, when we get home." Cormac looked a little bit ill.

"It's making things terribly awkward right now," Artemis muttered, earning a smirk from Bethany.

They were interrupted by another glazed-eyed dwarf running at them, this one stopping to rave, "The Hawke's blood! The Master will rise. He will be free!"

" _Gerav_?" Varric asked, pushing his way to the front, mouth hanging open.

"Do you know him?" Carver asked, eyes narrowed. The dwarf did seem to follow Varric's aesthetic, clean-shaven and all.

"Varric?" Gerav asked, coming up short. He blinked, brows knit, as though trying to focus. "N-no one told me you would be part of this. We were just going after the Hawke."

Anton turned to Varric. "Care to ask your friend why the Carta's been attacking us?"

Gerav shook his head as though to clear it, the words that followed sounding like they were pulled through his teeth. "I c-can't say," he struggled. "The Master must be free..."

"Really, Gerav? I thought better of you than this." Varric looked disappointed. "I mean, gutting the occasional competitor for fun and profit, that's the game. But, what are you all even doing here? Worshipping demons?"

"We drink the darkspawn blood. He calls us!" Gerav sounded like he was trying to convince Varric of the most obvious thing in the world.

"Darkspawn blood? How is he not dead?" Anders asked, and then the obvious answer occurred to him, and all the blood ran out of his face. Blood magic. Darkspawn blood. Wardens... "Oh, shit no. Guys, treat the dwarves like darkspawn. I'll try to keep you from having any open wounds, but don't swallow too much blood." He still wasn't sure what would happen, but that wasn't something he really wanted to find out, while underground with a bunch of demi-Warden dwarves.

"How _are_ you not dead? Won't you just die?" Cormac asked.

"It's the only way... to hear the music." Again, Gerav sounded like he was stating the obvious.

"Oh, come on, you nug-licker! Snap out of it. There's no gold in hallucinating!" Varric's fear for his old friend hung heavy under the disgust in his voice -- hearing the music, like Bartrand. Could they learn anything here to help his brother?

"Manners, Varric!" Bethany stepped up, hooking an arm through Varric's. "Introduce me to your lunatic friend."

"Hawkes, Hawkette," Varric said, gesturing sarcastically at Gerav, "this is Gerav. He's a greedy, brilliant, son-of-a-nug from the Carta." He turned back to Gerav and gestured behind him at the Hawkes. "Gerav, these are the Hawkes. The ones whose blood you want to drink or bathe in or... whatever. But, if you're after eternal youth, I have to tell you, none of them are virgins."

"No, they are not," Isabela purred, throwing Cormac a wink. "Even Junior's got some swording experience."

"Again, with the swording?" Artie groaned.

Gerav shook his head again, more urgently this time. "The Master is calling," he said. "He needs the blood."

"Gerav... buddy..." Varric wheedled, laughing nervously. "This isn't like you." He pulled Bianca back out, cradling her almost reverently. "Look. I've still Bianca. Never misfired a day in her life. You don't want her to see her papa like this, do you?"

"Varric," Cormac started, resting a hand on his shoulder. "You want to spare this bastard?" It was an honest question. Cormac might not have held it against Varric, if he did -- they'd just have to tie the guy up.

"Not if he's after you guys." Varric extracted himself from Bethany and Cormac, raising his crossbow. "Bianca, I think it's time to say goodbye."

The first bolt ended Gerav, but more Carta dwarves swarmed in. Still, barely as many as there were Hawkes, and they were quickly added to the growing trail of bodies. Once they were sure no more were coming, Varric knelt down beside the body of his friend.

"You poor, stupid bastard." He shook his head and rifled Gerav's pockets. "I used to do business with the Carta, back in the day. Gerav was a nutcase then, too, but in a good way. He was trying to design a new kind of repeating crossbow. Bianca was the only one that ever worked. I can't believe he ended up like that."

Varric wasn't sure if he wanted to mourn the idiot or spit on his corpse. Probably the latter, but that took more effort than the bastard deserved.

"Come on, Hawkes and friends," Varric said, once more shouldering Bianca, "let's get this over with."

The portcullis wasn't a good sign. Nor was the massive bronto Artemis could see through the bars. "All this for us?" he quipped, glancing at Cormac. "If I'd known we were coming to a party, I'd have worn my nice trousers."

Anton was already at work on the portcullis's lock, deft fingers working until the lock opened with a click, the gate drawing up. "I'd ask what kind of parties _you've_ been going to," he said, "but I already know the answer to that."

"Break that, would you please?" Anders asked Anton. "As lovely as this all is, I'd rather not leave anyone the opportunity to get us on the wrong side of any gates or doors or ... large angry dragons. You know how it is. Get stuck in the Deep Roads once, it's enough for a lifetime." The smile that followed those words was a lot less merry than he'd meant it to be.

"Done." Anton picked up some old tools from nearby, that looked like they might have been left from the original occupation and bent the lock out. He didn't much relish the idea of getting trapped underground again either, although it was more the trapped than the underground, for him.

After a bit more looking around and picking up old, weird artefacts from under centuries of dust, they were intercepted by another dwarf, this one with an enormous moustache and those same nearly-opaque looking blue eyes.

"Hawke. They told me you were going to be trouble." He seemed to be addressing Anton, which was unsurprising, since Anton was the one of them most likely to know and be known by the Carta, in his line of work. "And look, you brought the whole family. How generous. I swore to Corypheus we'd bring him Malcolm Hawke's blood one way or another."

"What does this have to do with our father?" Anton asked.

"The Master wants you. I don't ask why," the dwarf replied, dismissively.

"The Master," Fenris muttered, quietly. "I like this less and less. A 'master' with a Tevinter name."

"So, it's Corypheus who's after us." Anton hooked his thumb in the back of his belt, just under the hilt of a dagger.

"What Corypheus wants, Corypheus gets. From us or from someone..." The dwarf sounded much as Gerav had -- as if he were explaining the obvious.

"Oh, Corypheus wants some blood?" Anton scoffed. "Sure! Let me just open a vein... How about a kidney too?" Anton drew the dagger at his belt and rested the blade against his wrist mockingly. "Between the five of us, I'm sure we could spare something!"

"Speak for yourself," said Bethany, "but they're welcome to Carver's kidneys."

"Hey!" spat Carver.

The dwarf ignored them, glassy eyes turning towards the ceiling. "Corypheus, we have done as you command!" he shouted to the room at large -- and the room _was_ large, debris pushed aside so that floor acted like an arena, space enough for the bronto. On a platform above, more crazed dwarves loaded their crossbows. "Your sacrifice is here! You will see the surface once more!"

Behind them, the portcullis creaked.

"Bloody blighted ass," Anders remarked, almost conversationally, as the portcullis slammed down again, behind them. Stunning might not work, but sticking people to the floor still did, and he proceeded to do so with reckless abandon, which didn't much help with the crossbows, but it certainly slowed the bronto. _Slowed_.

Bethany's usual feats of nightmare were useless against these dwarves, and got more and more useless the deeper in they got. Instead, she turned to spirit-fuelled explosives, which weren't nearly as quick, but were easily as devastating. On the other hand, she wasn't doing nearly the damage Artemis was managing, the skinny little git.

And then, it was snowing. "Really?" Carver demanded, shooting a look back at Cormac.

"What? It's a little chilly, but it works! -- Whoops, back up!" Cormac waved Carver back as the edge of the blizzard rolled out and licked at the toes of his boots. That slowed down the crossbowmen, but Varric was already working his way through them.

Fenris huffed, standing off to the side and letting his sword rest on the ground. "I'm not going in that," he said in reply to Artie's questioning look, gesturing at the blizzard with a flippant wave of his hand.

"Sure. Leave all the work to the mages."

Fenris growled, and Artemis smiled sweetly, knowing he was cute enough to get away with the comment.

After a few more whirlwind spells and more ducking of crossbow bolts, the chaos came to an end. When the blizzard cleared, it displayed the wreckage it had left behind, a fine layer of snow still dusting the ground and the fallen bodies caught in its midst. 


	74. Chapter 74

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A staff is found. The Carta gives way to more interesting troubles.
> 
> (Whoops! Forgot to hit submit, last night!)

Cormac ducked through the last few flurries and flipped over the lead dwarf's body with his foot, to get a better look at the glowing blue... something. "What the...?" He crouched down. A staff. It was some sort of bizarrely ornate staff, and it was glowing. "Anders? Artie? Bethy? What the fuck is this?"  
  
Anders made his way over to the staff and examined it, unwilling to touch it while it was glowing like that. He had enough bright blue problems in his life. "It sings... Justice tells me it's not for us, but we can hear it calling for the one it lost. I think he just doesn't like the idea of any more competition for my attention."  
  
"Blood of the Hawke," Bethany speculated. "You don't think it's meant for one of us, do you? You're the obvious choice, Cormac. You're the heir."  
  
"Hey, I look like dad, but Artie casts like dad," Cormac protested, jabbing a finger at his brother. "And we still have no proof this ever even was his. I mean, there's demons and blood mages around here, somewhere, at least if we trust the stones... and the dwarves."  
  
Cormac sighed and reached for the staff. "Shit. Knock me out if I need it, would you, Bethy?"  
  
"Always happy to make you unconscious, dear brother mine." Bethany practically sparkled with the invitation.  
  
"Whoa, whoa, hang on." Artie's hand snapped out and caught Cormac's by the wrist. "That thing is obviously magic. You don't know what touching it will do. You said yourself I cast like dad. Let me do it."   
  
"Artie, if it hurts you... If it's not dad's..." Cormac looked twenty-something years of concerned, all at once. "You sure you want to stick your hand in this, instead of letting me take the hit?"  
  
"You're always taking the hit," Artemis said, his smile teasing but eyes soft. "And I don't think your shield's going to help with this, anyway."  
  
Artie reached for the staff before anyone else could argue -- Fenris certainly looked like he was about to -- and the moment his hand curled around the wood, his vision went white, his muscles locking. He made a choked sound of pain, staggering back, as striations of light rippled up along his skin.  
  
"What is this?" Artemis grit out. "I can feel it inside me!"  
  
The light across his skin flickered out, and the staff stopped glowing. Artie let out a shaky breath and shook the spots from his eyes.  
  
It was over before Cormac could get up and across the body, but he ran his hands over Artemis's shoulders patting his sides and chest. "You, ah... done having your ecstatic moment with the staff, then? Nothing's broken? Nothing's on fire?"  
  
"What is it with you and feeling great big mage staves inside you, Artie?" Anders asked, trying not to look as concerned as he was.  
  
"Must be a talent," Artemis replied, if distractedly, a beat behind. He swatted his brother's hands away. "I'm fine, Cormac. You're fussing again."  
  
"Of course I'm fussing! You were glowing in the dark!" Cormac shook out his hand and huffed. "Getting to be a habit, around here. Glowing blue and getting into my little brother."  
  
"So, the enchantment did need one of us. What did our father know?" Carver asked, gazing at Artemis in horror. His brother had just lit up like the glowy elf, and then there were jokes about things he never wanted to think about in the context of any of his brothers. Without taking his eyes off Artie, he crossed to Cormac and punched his oldest brother solidly in the kidney... A hit that bounced off, anyway.  
  
"Did you really think you'd get away with that? _Here_? If there were ever a time I'd have my shields up..." Cormac gestured at the assortment of dwarf corpses. "Try it again when we get home. I might let you, just for the dog."  
  
Over Carver's shoulder, Artemis locked eyes with Fenris, whose ears were twitching the way they did when he was struggling to look calm. Artie pushed past his squabbling brothers and looped an arm around Fenris's waist. "I'm all right, Fen. You can stop with the puppy eyes."  
  
"There are still no puppy eyes."  
  
"This is me, nodding like I believe you." Artemis looked back over his shoulder at his siblings. "Hopefully this will lead us to this Corypheus." He brandished his new staff, feeling its every movement in his bones, as if there were a tether tying them together. "Wow, this is strange," he muttered to himself.  
  
There was movement to the side, the sound of scrabbling feet, as a pair of dwarves they'd somehow missed in the carnage tried to flee. Carver took off after them, and after a second everyone else followed, chasing the dwarves down a flight of stairs. As they passed through the arch between the first and second parts of the staircase, Cormac reeled, and spun, staggering down the last few steps backward. Bethany also stumbled, but Artemis seemed to be fine, possibly because of the staff. It didn't hit Anders as hard, but he still noticed it.  
  
"What--?" Anders looked back and froze.  
  
Varric turned around to look. "Those sons of bitches... The whole thing's sealed over."  
  
"What did I say about traditional dwarven architecture?" Anders did not look well, but Cormac wrapped an arm casually around his waist, holding him firmly upright.  
  
"I'm sure there's another way out," Cormac reassured them. "That or we kill the asshole responsible, and this way out opens up again. Either way, we do what we came to do, and then we leave."  
  
"Magic," Fenris snarled, looking just about as spooked as Anders. "Blood magic. Ancient Tevinter names and dwarves using blood magic."  
  
"I guess regular old humans and elves using blood magic was getting a bit stale," Artie said with a weak laugh, staff bouncing against the stone floor. He bounced it one too many times and sparks shot out of the bottom. "Ooh, okay, let's maybe not do that," he muttered to himself.  
  
Isabela and Anton padded ahead of the group, stopping in front of a balcony that looked out over the chasm. A tower jutted up from the chasm, its walls and floors showing signs of decay and wear. Sand crunched underfoot as dark shapes ran along the tower walls.  
  
"Darkspawn," Bethany said as she approached. "What a surprise."  
  
Isabela leaned in to Anton. "I prefer towers filled with coin to towers filled with darkspawn," she said. "For future reference."  
  
"Guess I'll have to return your nameday gift then," Anton countered.  
  
They made short work of the darkspawn -- obviously not the intelligent kind --and turned an eye to the glowing red spots in the walls. "Well, that's new," Cormac remarked. "It's usually blue and glowy with us, not red and glowy."  
  
"Blood magic," Fenris grumbled.  
  
Cormac prodded at what he thought was a Warden crest carved into the stone. A voice echoed through the room -- or at least he thought it was through the room. Maybe it was just through his head. He couldn't quite be sure, with all the ringing.  
  
"Be bound here for eternity, hunger stilled, rage smothered, desire dampened, pride crushed. In the name of the Maker, so it be."  
  
Cormac listened, waiting for it to say something else, but the voice was silent. Hunger, rage, desire, pride... "Demons," he muttered, eyeing the crest on the other side of the room. What might have been an alcove was sealed off with a barrier similar to the one that had trapped them down here. "I have a thought. It's going to involve killing demons, but it might get us out of here."  
  
Artemis was still looking around him for the source of that voice. That had sounded like -- no. It couldn't be.   
  
"An idea?" he asked, shaking off the sense of 'weird'. "Is this anything like your 'let's touch the glowy staff' idea? Just because no one died that time doesn't mean you'll have the same luck twice."  
  
Fenris was muttering something about mages as he looked about him, at the glowing, blood-smeared crest on the wall.  
  
"Well, if it's going to be one of us, this time, it's going to be me. Anders? Keep my brother alive." Cormac crossed the room and pressed his hand to the next crest. Nothing seemed to change, no voice echoed through the chamber, this time. Wait, no, there was only one light on the barrier, where there had been two. He studied the light.  
  
"Fenris, Carver?" Cormac pointed to the two sides of the barrier. "Anders, get behind me. Artie, here's where you really get to test out that new staff. If I open this up on a demon, please punch the shit out of it. Let's work with the expectation that I'm going to be incapacitated. I have no idea what's going to happen, but that sounds like the safest assumption."  
  
Isabela sidled up next to Cormac. "I'm not real big on demons, so how about I catch you when you magically fall on your magical ass?"  
  
"Looking for excuses to grab my magical ass? You don't need excuses, Izzy. The ass is yours whenever you want it." Cormac grinned, took a deep breath, and put his hand into the light.  
  
The barrier faded, and Cormac remained standing, as shades began to rise out of the ground.  
  
"Shades?" Varric asked. "That hardly counts! Here I was expecting something challenging!"  
  
"Cormac," Artie said, gathering magic under his fingertips, "your magical ass is in the way."  
  
Izzy steered Cormac to the side, and Artemis threw a wave of force magic at the shades, shoving them back into the alcove. The strength of it knocked Artie back a step and shook loose some debris from the ceiling. "Ho shit!"   
  
"Careful where you aim that, kid," said Varric, firing a stream of bolts into the pinned shades. It was like shooting fish in a barrel... if fish were incorporeal terrors of the Fade.  
  
"I could do nothing about the Wardens' use of demons, in this horrid place," the voice began again.  
  
"Is that... dad?" Cormac still looked a little stunned, maybe more stunned now that this thought had occurred to him.  
  
"But, I will have no one say any magic of mine ever released one into the world."  
  
"That does sound like our father," Anton agreed, "but how?"  
  
Anders gestured at the open niche. "Demons?"  
  
Fenris pointed at one of the crests. "Blood magic?"  
  
"I am really not liking this," Carver muttered. "Dad's been dead what, ten years? His voice shouldn't be echoing through some Warden fortress inhabited by possessed dwarves."  
  
Bethany tapped her teeth. "Does anyone else recognise the voice, or is it just us? Izzy? Varric?"  
  
"I never heard your father speak. Pity I never met him. He sounds like a lot of fun," Isabela said.  
  
"No, I mean, does it only sound like our father to us, because we're us?"  
  
Isabela shrugged. "I didn't have a father."  
  
"That's not _my_ dad," Varric said.  
  
"Let's not discuss my parents, but no. Doesn't sound like anyone I know." Anders shook his head and checked Cormac for any lingering magics.  
  
Fenris merely shook his head, saying nothing.  
  
"Never thought I'd hear his voice again," Artemis murmured, fidgeting with the staff in his hands. Dad's staff. The thought made him ache.  
  
"Looks like your magical ass is still intact," Anders told Cormac, smiling awkwardly to hide his relief, "and untouched by magic. Well. _This_ place's magic."  
  
"And thank the Maker for that," Izzy teased, giving said ass an appreciative tap as she passed by.  
  
Anton scouted ahead, stepping around debris and into shadows. They had finally reached a walkway that would lead them into the tower, when he motioned for them to stop, coming back out into the torchlight.  
  
"The key!" A doddering old man in Warden's robes rushed toward them as best he could, around the wreckage on the path. "Did they find it? The Dwarves? I heard them ... looking...  digging. How do you bring the key here?"  
  
"You mean this?" Anton gestured to the staff Artemis held. "How is that a key?"  
  
"Magic, old magic it is. Magic from the blood." The old warden nodded.  
  
Anders sighed and looked at Fenris. "Blood magic. I'm just overjoyed. You?"  
  
" _Mages_ ," Fenris grumbled.  
  
"It made the seals," the Warden went on. "It can destroy them."  
  
"We came here to find Corypheus. Do you know where... or what he is?" Cormac asked.  
  
"Do not say his name! He will hear you! You will wake him!" The Warden waved frantically. "Not when you hold the key!"  
  
"Please tell me that armour looks better on me than it does on him," Anders muttered, counting the studs in Anton's belt, to keep himself standing. It was looking more and more Deep Roads-y down here, and there were even Wardens, now. Creepy old wardens who probably should have given in to the Calling long before now.  
  
"I don't know, Blondie," Varric said with a shaky laugh. "That bloodstained blue really brings out the 'crazy' in his eyes."  
  
Artie noticed the green tinge to Anders's face. He nudged Anders gently with his elbow. "If it makes you feel better," he said, "I'm sure the armour looks better off you than him."  
  
"It doesn't make _me_ feel better," Fenris deadpanned.  
  
Bethany pushed past her idiot brothers to stand in front of the Warden. "The door seems to have closed behind us," she said. "Is there another way out?"  
  
The Warden shook his head, shoulders hunching as he muttered more to himself than to them, "No way out while the walls stand. The Wardens built their prisons well. If the centre holds, who cares what else is trapped?"  
  
"Sorry, Hawkes," said Varric, "but I don't think we're getting any help here."  
  
"Hawke!" The Warden's head snapped up at the name, filmy eyes widening, lingering on Cormac, with something like recognition. "You return-- but that's not... The blood of the Hawke?" His eyes darted first to Bethany then to Artemis, stare settling on the staff in his hands. "Yes, I smell the magic on all of you. But _you_ hold the key! The key to his death... Yes. I can show you out, yes."  
  
"Who are you? What's wrong with you?" Carver asked.  
  
"You ask me that? I am the one who belongs here, not you! You are no darkspawn!" The Warden looked utterly offended.  
  
"That armour..." Anders muttered. "It's Warden issue. No one has that, but us. If there were questions, that's an answer."  
  
"You hear it, no? Hear it calling? I smell it in you." The Warden jabbed a finger at Anders. "I know the way out. Follow me. Down and in. Down and in."  
  
"Because I always like to follow the advice of tainted crazy people..." Cormac sighed.  
  
"Hey, you're still following me around!" Anders pointed out.  
  
"No, not crazy. Trust me. I know the prison's secrets." The Warden twisted at an impossible angle to look behind himself. "The seals hold us in. Anything comes in. Nothing ever leaves. Not without the key. You must use it, yes, on the seals. Every seal, you touch the key to it. Only then they open. Only for the Hawke. Not back. Not up. The only way out is down and through the heart. Down... Down in the depths."  
  
"Down in the dark. Why is it always down in the dark?" Anders had one hand on his staff and the other on Cormac's arm, knuckles white.  
  
"Hey, we got out last time, didn't we?" Artemis said at his other side. That wasn't half as reassuring as he thought it was. "We could always set up a tent and re-enact the fun part too," he added in a lower voice, waggling his eyebrows.  
  
"No," said Fenris simply.   
  
"But --"  
  
"No."  
  
"I was just trying to lighten the mood. You're no fun."  
  
Ahead of them, the old Warden limped into the tower, and Anton turned to look at his siblings. "Shall we?" he said. "Before our brother finds a way to get drunk down here too?"  
  
"Hey!"


	75. Chapter 75

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This had been bad, when it was raids by Carta dwarves. It had gotten worse with the addition of demons and blood magic. And now they were once again trapped in a darkspawn-filled underground nightmare-hole, this time with some ancient beast -- or possibly an immortal magister, if Fenris's suggestions were valid -- that wanted their dad's blood. This day just kept improving, Anton thought.

The others ignored his protests as they followed after the tottering old man. The room he led them into was lined with more crests -- griffons, for the Wardens -- and a dais stood in the middle, glowing with green light.  
  
"Ooh, green," Isabela purred. "We're going through all the glowy colours now!"  
  
"The seal." The old Warden pointed.  
  
"I don't like this," Anders declared, in case anyone was unsure on that point.  
  
"I don't think anybody likes this, Blondie. Still, we're stuck here, until this nug-licking loony gets us out." Varric walked around the edge of the seal, studying it. "Whatever this is, it's all Warden. There's nothing dwarven about it. This is definitely later than the stuff upstairs."  
  
"I'm inclined to agree," Fenris said, looking at the walls. "This place may date back to when the Marches were still in Tevinter control, but I don't think this is Tevinter architecture -- which implies the Wardens who built it weren't Tevinter, either."  
  
"Be careful, Artie," Cormac warned, elbowing Anders. "Eyes on my brother. I know you don't mind the view."  
  
"I'm not even going to push you down the stairs, Cormac, I'm just going to toss you over the balcony," Carver grumbled. "What is it with the three of you?"  
  
"We have nice asses." Cormac grinned unapologetically. "I'd say you should try it sometime, but I think it's genetic, and you already missed that chance."  
  
"There's nothing wrong with my ass," Carver protested. "And even if there was, you're enough of an ass for both of us!"  
  
"You'll hear no arguments from me," Fenris muttered under his breath. He kept his eyes on Artie, clutching his sword and turning the hilt over in his hands. Magic. Always more magic. And this was a kind of magic he'd rather not touch with a ten foot pole.  
  
Artemis stepped up onto the dais, sweat lining his palms where he gripped the staff. He conjured up a cheeky smile for Cormac's sake before holding the staff out in front of him. The four braziers at the platform's corners pulsed and glowed, blue light arcing from all sides into the staff. Artie grit his teeth and braced himself.   
  
When the light show had ended, the braziers had burned out, and no one had died. The staff seemed to hum in Artie's hands. "Huh."  
  
"The blood works," Larius called out. "It is good!"  
  
"Artie! Move!" Anton shouted, daggers suddenly in his hands.  
  
"Demon!" Cormac yelled, wrapping his brother in a shield as Varric started hammering the thing with crossbow bolts.  
  
This fight was not short or quick, but there were enough of them to beat the thing down. Anders kept the bleeding to a minimum, and after what felt like much too long, the demon fell, vanishing into a scorch mark on the stone.  
  
"Two thousand years, the magic holds, never broken." The old Warden looked at Artemis, fascinated. "You give it the key, and it takes the magic back to itself. Absorbs it, all who came before..."  
  
"Look, thanks for the help, but who are you? Do you have a name?" Anton asked.  
  
"Name... So long since I've said my name. La... Larius! I was Larius!" The old Warden looked triumphant that he could remember that. "There was a title, too... Commander... Commander of the Grey."  
  
"Called it," Anders muttered, fingers back to digging into Cormac's shoulder. "But, crazier. You've had your Calling, haven't you."  
  
"Yes! The Calling! The songs get louder... only death stops them." Larius nodded lurching over to look up at Anders. "I am dead. But, I never died."  
  
"And I'm dead, but I did die. Pleased to meet you." Anders's grin was a little hysterical.  
  
"So you _are_ a Warden," Artemis said, looking over the tattered uniform. "But... how did you end up like this? I thought Wardens were immune to the taint?" He looked back at Anders.  
  
Anders couldn't quite meet his eyes, his grip on Cormac's shoulder tightening. "For while, anyway. And then... You remember when he said he belonged here and we didn't because we weren't darkspawn? He's... basically hyperintelligent darkspawn, at this point. I've met those, independently of any Warden associations, and they're some creepy shit, but that's... more or less... It catches up, in the end, but it doesn't kill us. No one's immune forever."  
  
"The Calling," Larius said, nodding. "It comes to us all. The voice we can't resist. Our death."

Wide-eyed, Artemis looked back and forth between them, words sticking in his throat.

"Well, that sounds like fun!" Cormac wasn't so much grinning as grimacing. "My sexy Warden's going to turn into a sexy darkspawn, one of these days, won't that be a riot?" He reached up and grabbed Anders's hand. "Don't worry, sweetness, I'm not going to hold it against you. Just add another item on the list of crazy shit I've done in bed." Later, Cormac reassured himself. He'd have time to panic about that, later.

"Andraste's brazen ass, Cormac, I thought there'd be limits, even for _you_!" Carver complained.  
  
"There are limits! This just isn't one of them." Cormac shrugged and looked over his shoulder at Carver. "This dude seems roughly coherent, at least mostly. Old people lose their memories and say crazy shit. I just get the added bonus of the crazy shit involving the singing of the darkspawn. And maybe not being that old. I don't know. Anders? You going to be old when this happens?"  
  
"They gave me about thirty years, give or take." Anders tried to ignore the sweat running down his spine like a river.  
  
"So, we're going to be old anyway! Shit, at this rate, we might already be dead!" Cormac shrugged again. "Can't care. Still got twenty something years before it matters."  
  
Anders wondered if Cormac had thought about that sentence at all. The idea that twenty something years from now, they'd still be together... But, Cormac was stubborn like that. He had expectations of stability, or at least the illusion of stability, and he did his damnedest to keep those up. So, maybe that was it. Cormac was just so used to having him around that the idea of him not being there in twenty years wasn't even in his head. "I'll drive you crazy before it matters," Anders promised.  
  
"Future tense?" Artemis said with a weak laugh. "He's already crazy."  
  
'Nothing serious', his brother and Anders had insisted. Nothing serious, and yet here they were, talking about this. Cormac was always good at throwing up shields, but Artie could see the barest panic in his eyes.  
  
"Shit," Varric swore. "Just... we opened the seal thing. Can we go now? I think we've had enough of death and darkspawn to last us a lifetime."  
  
But Larius shook his head. "There are more," he said. "Follow them in. All the way to the heart. Many locks. Only one key."   
  
Artie groaned, thunking his head against the staff-key-thing.  
  
Larius's head snapped up and to the side, as though he were listening for something. Next to Cormac, Anders tensed even more. "C-Corypheus calls! In the darkness!" Larius wandered off towards some imagined sound, as though pulled, still muttering to himself. "What waits there?"  
  
"... Darkspawn. Darkspawn wait there. That's great." Cormac stared down the bridge at the massive wall of angry taint-beast holding a giant spiked shield. He clenched his hand and slammed the bottom of his staff against the ground, and the creature bent, but didn't compact. "I don't think I've got a wide enough grip for something that size..." he muttered.  
  
Still, he'd pinned it, and the rest of the group made short work of the beast, once it couldn't use the shield to defend itself. "That is one heavy looking shield," Varric noted, standing next to it, once the creature had fallen. The angled iron stood as high as his head, even fallen, and it was taller than it was deep.  
  
Around them, darkspawn ran through the arched halls that looked out over the deep centre of the tower. "Isn't it odd that a darkspawn-filled pit is making me feel closer to our father?" Anton speculated, dragging a hand down his face.  
  
This had been bad, when it was raids by Carta dwarves. It had gotten worse with the addition of demons and blood magic. And now they were once again trapped in a darkspawn-filled underground nightmare-hole, this time with some ancient beast -- or possibly an immortal magister, if Fenris's suggestions were valid -- that wanted their dad's blood. This day just kept improving, Anton thought.  
  
Down and in, the crazy not-quite-darkspawn Warden had said. And into the tower they went, avoiding darkspawn for the moment, but hearing their footsteps far ahead. The halls seemed to wind around the tower in a descending spiral, and slowly they made their way down as well as in.  
  
Isabela whacked Anton's arm to get his attention. "Look," she said, "more glowy things! I'll take that as a sign we're going the right way. Or... well, if not the right way, the consistent way."  
  
This glow was the red kind, the kind they'd encountered before hearing their father's voice for the first time. The kind that was sealing in a demon.  
  
"Well," said Bethany, "we know touching it doesn't kill Cormac." She nudged her eldest brother in front of her.  
  
Cormac grumbled, and took his time letting go of Anders. "Demons. Everyone happy with where you're standing in relation to the thing?" He moved through the first two red spheres, with no further messages from their father, and then opened the barrier.  
  
"That used to be human," were the first words out of Anders. Sealed in a tiny stone room with a demon. For... how old was Cormac? Probably thirty years, at least, if Cormac didn't know about any of this. The fight went on around him and Justice clattered against the inside of his skin. Heal. Don't think, just heal. He still wondered if that had been a mage when it went into the room, or if it had already been taken. 'Couldn't stop the Wardens from using demons', the voice had said. Using demons to _what_?  
  
"Anders... _Anders_!"  
  
Cormac was standing in front of him, looking concerned. The demons were gone. "Sorry. Underground. Not really my happy place."  
  
Anton stepped into the niche to pick through the remains, and then the voice returned.  
  
"I may have left the circle, but I took a vow. My magic will serve that which is best in me, not that which is most base."  
  
"That which is best in me. Just like dad always said, when he was teaching us, right Artie?" Cormac's arm slid around Anders's waist, and he tried to keep that smile on his face, however shaky it might have looked, in that moment. That was the other thing dad used to say. Keep smiling; don't let them get you down. And, Maker, he was trying.  
  
Anders held Cormac to him, his own grip bruisingly tight.  
  
"Right," Artemis agreed with a weak smile of his own. He could see his brother was barely holding it together, and he tried to distract him. "Do you remember what else Dad used to say all the time? 'Cormac, no'. You were always getting me into trouble." He nudged Cormac's arm. "Do you remember the first time we saw snow? You put up a shield and convinced me to force push you down a hill. Dad was so pissed, I could see steam coming out of his ears."  
  
Anton snorted. "I remember that."  
  
"No, you know what I remember? Mum and Carver. Same day. We were heading south? I don't even remember what was south, other than not the Imperial Highway. Snow on everything in sight, when we got up. And Carver must have been... what, three? Four? And he stuck his hands in the snow--"  
  
"You are not telling this story, Cormac. I have a sword." Carver covered his face with one hand and got a tighter grip on the hilt with the other.  
  
"A sword you still can't hit me with," Cormac shot back. "He stuck his hands in the snow, and got this look on his face -- surprised, confused, horrified -- and let out this howl you probably could have heard in the tower. We were nearly in the Wilds. He picks up two fistfuls of snow, yelling, 'it's coooooold!' at the top of his lungs." Cormac couldn't stop laughing. "And mum... She's right there, looking at him like he's got three heads. 'Of course it's cold, Carver. It's snow. Put it down.' The 'dumbass' was implied."  
  
"I will fucking stab you, Cormac. Those shields have to come down sometime." Carver groaned and looked at anything that wasn't one of his relations.  
  
"You were not a very bright child, were you, Carver? Age seems to have improved you, somewhat," Fenris gritted out, jaw clenched to keep from laughing. "...Somewhat."  
  
"I'm writing this down," Varric said. "As soon as we're out of this shithole, I'm writing this down."  
  
Anders struggled to keep Cormac upright, as Cormac continued to cackle hysterically.  
  
"What about that one time I covered for you, after the thing with the elves?" Cormac choked out. "Dad-- dad never found out about that one time. Or at least not the interesting parts. Maker, he'd have killed us both!"  
  
"Oh, Maker," Artie groaned, splaying a hand over his face to hide the blushing. "Why must that keep coming up?"  
  
"Does this have to do with that Dalish at Merrill's camp," Fenris asked, eyes narrowing, "the one who called you... what was it... 'Earthquake Boy'?"   
  
Artie peeked at Fenris through his fingers and watched for the realisation to hit. Green eyes suddenly popped wide.  
  
"'EARTHQUAKE BOY'?" he squeaked. "You and--? Fasta vass! Isabela, you are buying me a drink after all this."  
  
Isabela was wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. "Only one, sweet thing? What kind?"  
  
"The bottomless kind."  
  
Artemis groaned. He pulled his hand down from his face to focus a glare in Cormac's direction. "You just had to bring that up, didn't you," he said and, with a malice only a little brother with a secret could have, he added, "'Nice Ass'?"  
  
"Do I want to know why your little brother is talking about your ass?" Varric asked.  
  
"My little brother -- at least that one -- knows all about my ass. Anders, would you like to explain why?" Cormac looked strangely more relaxed, like he'd identified a recognisable threat, and he knew exactly what to do with it.  
  
"You mean the number of times he mistook it for mine and grabbed it?" Anders threw in, with a laugh.  
  
"The three of you!?" Isabela was scandalised, in the best possible way. "And nobody invited me? I missed out on a Hawke! Shame on both of you!"  
  
"Don't give us that look, Fenris. You know all about how nice my ass is." Cormac grinned.  
  
Varric looked around the room. "I think I'm the only person here who's never seen Cormac's ass, and I'm okay with that. Please, don't share."  
  
Carver looked like his brain might start running out his ear any second. "That-- that's -- How are you two even still looking at each other? How drunk did you get Artemis? I swear it, Cormac, I'm going to stab you. Twice."  
  
"Oh, come off it, Carver," Bethany nudged him. "You're the only one of us that didn't end up with the legendary Hawke ass."  
  
"There is nothing wrong with my ass!" Carver insisted, storming out of the room, in the direction they'd been going.  
  
"You guys are going to break him, one of these days," Anton remarked, tucking a few shiny things into his belt.  
  
"This probably goes without saying," Artie said through a cringing laugh, "but I am _so_ not drunk enough for any of this." He slung an arm around Cormac's mage-shoulders and tousled his hair with an affectionate smile, then pulled away and followed the path Carver stomped for them.  
  
"Are all families like this?" Fenris asked at his side. He couldn't decide if that was something he wished he had or something he was glad he didn't.  
  
"I don't think Thedas would survive if so."  
  
"I didn't have a family," Isabela said, shrugging.  
  
"You've _met_ my brother," Varric muttered.  
  
"I spent a lot of years in the Circle, but my family was a lot less exciting, from what I remember." Anders laughed nervously.  
  
"Aw, _fuck_!" Carver shouted from ahead of them, and they rushed to help him through the next troupe of darkspawn.  
  
"Yell if you get hit," Anders reminded them all. "And try not to get too much blood on you!"


	76. Chapter 76

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CORMAC NO. ANTON YES. ANTON _NO_. Also, Fenris is kind of a nerd.

They pressed through the trapped horde, one troupe at a time, Anton and Isabela flitting about the rooms like magpies, grabbing anything that looked shiny. By the time they came to another yellow barrier, Anton was wearing an ancient crown, and Isabela was examining what appeared to be a ritual dagger.  
  
"Tevinter make," Fenris pointed out, reaching out and running a finger along the design carved into the blade. "That dragon is Dumat, the first archdemon. Probably still a god, when this was made."  
  
"Another one of these things? Merciful Andraste, dad, what the fuck were you _doing_ here?" Cormac shook his head and got everyone reasonably placed, before he opened the next barrier. On a desire demon.  
  
Anders blinked and flatly expressed his opinion on that revelation. "No."

He and Cormac hit it at the same time, both with the same spell, and it didn't last long under the onslaught. Behind them, an army of skeletons rose up, but were quickly put down.  
  
"Ah, desire, always my weakness," Cormac sighed, smiling blandly. "Well, I have a weakness for killing them, anyway." He stepped into the alcove, and the voice began again. Lights in the darkness glowed at the right height for eyes, the same blue as his own.  
  
"I've bought our freedom, Leandra. We can go home now, us and the baby. We'll be together. I hope it takes after you, love. I would wish this magic on no one."  
  
"You _fucker_!" Cormac shouted, and it echoed in the tiny space. "... That was _me_. Wish this on no one? It's not a fucking _curse_! _You_ taught me that!"  
  
The voice went on, as if he'd never spoken, just a recording, an essence of a message hidden behind magic and demons. "May they never learn what I've done here."  
  
"Father didn't want a child with magic? He got that one wrong, three times over," Carver joked.  
  
Cormac wasn't even aware he was moving until he punched Carver square in the cheek. "Don't start, Carver. Don't." It was the first time in his life he'd actually hit Carver. Shoved him off of things, tripped him, threw him in the mud, all that and more, but he'd never actually slugged his baby brother, no matter how many times Carver had decked him. "You and Anton were the ones he _wanted_. Don't think I didn't know. I was his general, but you were his _son_. Mum's not _afraid_ of _you_." Cormac leaned heavily on the wall, face ashy and stunned. "I just never thought I'd hear him say it."  
  
"Hey." Artemis handed his staff off to Fenris for a minute and went over to his older brother (not seeing the wide-eyed look on Fenris's face or the way the elf carefully leaned the staff against the wall instead). "If we hit Carver everytime he says something stupid, he'll be bruised forever." He cupped Cormac's cheeks, forced his brother to look at him. "You know dad loved you. He just blamed himself that you didn't get to have a normal life. There's nothing wrong with us." For the first time, Artie was able to say that and believe it. "Well. Not because of magic, anyway. There are a few things wrong in your head, but that has nothing to do with being a mage," he teased.  
  
"Twenty years, I've been not punching Carver in the face. I owed him one. Probably more than one, but I think one's enough." Cormac tipped his head forward, resting his forehead against Artemis's. "And dad... Dad may have blamed himself for me, but then he blamed me for you. Well, mostly the non-mage things that are wrong with you. I blame me, too. More for the things he didn't know about than the ones he did, because half of those were me covering your ass, anyway. _You hear me, Carver?_ Artie makes his own trouble, with or without my help." Cormac sighed. "I know it was before us. Before he knew us. Before he... Did we change him? I don't think we _did_."  
  
"I don't know," Artemis replied. "After having five kids like us, it's kind of hard to be the same person." He could still remember the terror in their father's eyes when _his_ magic had manifested. Another force mage. "Now, come on. You were laughing a minute ago, you great turnip. Do I need to bring up more embarrassing stories? About the adventures of Nice Ass and Earthquake Boy?"  
  
"I have a feeling this isn't a story I want to know," Anton muttered to Isabela.  
  
"Really?" she said. "I had the exact opposite feeling."  
  
"You start telling those, Artie, I swear on Andraste's pyre, I'll finish them. You don't want me doing that." Cormac pinched Artemis just above the hip. "And that's parsnip, not turnip, you nug-licking cad."  
  
"Horseradish," Anders declared.  
  
Cormac didn't look away from his brother, when he responded to Anders. "Thick and spicy?"  
  
Varric patted Fenris on the arm. "Come on, Broody, let's leave the crazy mages to their horseradish measuring contest."  
  
"No one's measuring anyone's horseradishes," Artie said. He winked at Cormac before gently swatting him upside the head and pulling away. "Personally, my horseradish would like to be out of here already."  
  
Fenris nodded. "Mine too," he grumbled.  
  
"Your horseradish is spicy too," Artemis said, waggling his eyebrows at Fenris as he retrieved his staff.  
  
The group and their respective horseradishes continued twisting through the tower, until a green glow up ahead indicated the presence of another seal. And until an ogre's bulk eclipsed that green glow.  
  
"Oh my, that's an ugly one," Bethany muttered.  
  
Artie nudged Cormac with his elbow. "Are you going to let this one punch you in the face, too? Worked great last time!"  
  
"Fuck. This is because I punched Carver, isn't it. This is some pretty quick holy retribution, don't you think, Maker?" This time, Cormac didn't charge it. He clenched his hand and hoped for the best.  
  
"Fight me, Jimmy!" Anders shouted from beside him, sticking the ogre to the ground, before it could even consider going anywhere.  
  
The ogre just looked confused.   
  
"You ass. You're never going to let me live that down, are you? Any of you..." Cormac muttered, slinging more spells.  
  
"Hey, now I know two mages who shouted that at an ogre. I just had to find myself in a position where I could do it. You're in good company." Anders laughed.  
  
"He really did that?" Varric asked. "You weren't just making that up for the good of the story?"  
  
"No, I really did that. Broke my nose and everything," Cormac sighed. "It seemed like a good idea at the time!"  
  
"Honestly," Fenris called back over his shoulder, eyes on the ogre, "for all the things that pass as 'good ideas' in your head, how are you even still alive?"  
  
"Shields," Artemis said, his siblings nodding in agreement.  
  
One confused ogre against all of them didn't stand a chance. Once a flurry of spells had knocked it to the floor, Carver and Fenris made short work of it. They didn't even need to use Cormac's face as a shield.  
  
"You're up, kid," Varric said to Artemis, pointing at the seal.  
  
"Let's everyone get in place, first," said Anton, wiping a smear of blood off his cheek, "in case another demon decides to pop out and say hello to us."  
  
They arranged themselves in a loose circle around the dais, and Artemis stepped up, feeling magic course into his staff the moment both feet were planted.   
  
"Keep my brother alive," Cormac muttered to Anders, as the next demon surfaced.  
  
"You really don't need to keep reminding me. I have just as much interest in keeping that delightful ass attached to a living, breathing body as you do." Anders sounded amused.  
  
This demon seemed to be more talented than the last few, vanishing and re-appearing in a group of mirror-images of itself. Still, with Anders and Cormac's constant stream of blizzard and tempest, it didn't much matter who hit what. Everything was going down. Bethany added her own nightmarish blend of, well, nightmares into the mix. Confusion reigned, and flurries of snow fluttered up from where Artemis slammed force and the floor into things.  
  
Fenris and Carver, of course, charged right in, hacking at anything that stood taller than Anders -- which was one of the few distinctions it was possible to make in that storm -- and the rogues danced around the edges, making sure nothing got out of the circle of ice and lightning. It wasn't a short battle, but it was an effective one, and in the end, the demon and its echoes fell.  
  
Anders handed a lyrium potion to Bethany and healed Carver's wrenched arm (but not his bruising cheek), and as they filed out of the round room, Larius shuffled up to them again.  
  
"Where does he keep coming from?" Anton muttered.  
  
"He is waking," Larius said with a triumphant, if small, smile. "The magic grows lax. He feels us walk where no step goes."  
  
"Are you talking about this Corypheus?" Fenris asked, squinting at the Warden. He didn't understand half of that.  
  
"He calls," Larius said, nodding. "Like an Old God. He mimics their cry. He calls them to free him. The dark children and the light, any with taint in their blood." He looked right at Anders as he said this last.  
  
"If Corypheus isn't an Old God, what is he? Human, demon, darkspawn?" Anton asked.  
  
"More than human. More than darkspawn. He thinks. He talks. He pierces the Veil." Larius didn't look at any of them as he spoke, a distracted and somewhat fearful look on his face.  
  
"I pierce the Veil," Fenris muttered, and then something occurred to him. "Oh, wouldn't that be fun. I suppose this madness had to have started somewhere."  
  
"Like the Architect," Anders breathed. He'd been there for that. He just hoped there wouldn't be any brood mothers, this time. "Oh, this is going to be all the excitement I need for the rest of my life. Assuming there is a rest of my life."  
  
"He wants what was once his," Larius insisted.  
  
"I don't like the sound of that." Fenris shifted from foot to foot, glancing around.  
  
"I'm with Broody." Anders's grip on his staff tightened.  
  
"But, if he's asleep," Bethany asked, "how is he sending people after us?"  
  
"He can call, dream, but not know," Larius explained. "When the seals are gone, he will wake. And he must die."  
  
"Somniari?" Cormac whispered to Artemis. "Shit, I hope not."  
  
"That was fun enough last time," Artemis whispered back. "I'd rather not relive that nightmare." He paused. "So to speak."  
  
"Say, Loony," said Varric, squinting up at Larius, "when you run off, where do you go?"  
  
Larius looked too distracted to be offended by the moniker. He glanced over his shoulder, fingers twitching. "I know the darkness before the seals," he said. "Here, the voice is too strong." He started to back away, shoulders hunching inwards. "I cannot stay!"  
  
Larius turned and shuffled into the dark and out of sight. Anton tried to follow, but when he turned a corner, Larius was gone. "There's a neat trick," Anton muttered, a little enviously.  
  
"He's right, though," Anders said, rubbing his temple. "It really is a little loud. More than just the hum of the darkspawn."  
  
"You can hear it?" Cormac asked. "Hear him?"  
  
"Of course I can. I'm just... I can't tell you what he's saying, because I don't want to start listening. I don't want to... " Anders shrugged. "You saw the dwarves, upstairs. I don't want to hear him any more clearly than I do."  
  
"Shit. You going to be all right?"  
  
"Please. I survived the Circle, the Wardens, and being stabbed in the chest by a templar. And I'm still too young to be Called." The strained smile on Anders's face was less than entirely reassuring, but he led the way, in and down.  
  
The architecture turned dwarven, as they descended, the walls of the tower giving way to the rough-hewn walls of the Deep Roads. Weird lizard things scurried around, before noticing them, and darting away, all in the same direction.  
  
"Deepstalkers," Anders grumbled, throwing a tempest into the clearing the lizards had vanished into. "It's a trap. It's always a trap."  
  
The number of singed and lightly charred lizards left, after the storm cleared, proved him right. "Anyone want to stop for lunch? They're edible, and they're already mostly cooked." Anders flipped over a dead lizard with his foot. He remembered them tasting a bit like chicken.  
  
"That is disgusting, thank you," Carver replied. He didn't mention that, last time they were stuck in the Deep Roads, he would have killed for food like that after Maker knows how many days they spent down there.  
  
"They're a delicacy in Orzammar, you know," Varric said, taking the time to kick one still-smoking deepstalker aside as he trudged past.  
  
Fog curled around their feet as they walked, lichen making the underground lakes glow green. Unsurprisingly, dwarven armour jutted up around ancient bones scattered around the foggy ground.  
  
"That looks like Legion of the Dead armour," Varric commented, checking one of the skeletons.  
  
"I knew a girl from the Legion, once. Not nearly as dour as you'd think." Anders winked at Artemis. "Amazing sense of humour, she had."  
  
"Exalted Age, to judge by his notes," Varric said, still rifling the skeleton's effects. "Can we lay them to rest, do you think? I can't imagine them being stuck here, in this lunatic prison, all these hundreds of years. Not that Legionnaires expect to be commended to the Ancestors, but..."  
  
"We've seen them, and we know. We're probably the only ones who know." Anton nodded. "Atrast tunsha. Totarnia amgetol tavash aeduc," he recited over the skeleton.  
  
Varric looked at Anton oddly.  
  
"What? You act like this is the first time I've had dealings with the Carta. I know what a dwarven funeral looks like -- at least a little. At least a Surfacer's funeral." Anton arranged a few stones in the appropriate fashion. "So, we'll do this, as we pass them. The rest of you can use the time to check for ambushes and bloody demons."  
  
"Merciful fuck, can we not have any more demons, today?" Cormac complained.  
  
Fenris wordlessly pointed at Anders, who didn't notice.  
  
"Play nice," Artemis said, grabbing that pointing finger.   
  
Fenris huffed but kept an eye on the abomination as they continued on, through the fog and the gloom. Every now and then, Anders would shake his head as though trying to clear it. Fenris kept a hand on his sword.  
  
Red torchlight broke the darkness ahead, flanking a set of steps. Isabela and Anton exchanged glances with each other and the group before scouting ahead, knives in their hands as they slipped into the shadows.  
  
"Ooh, more red glowy magic," Isabela said. "That hasn't been working out so well. Shall we let mage-shoulders poke this one too?"  
  
"Seems different," Anton said, stepping closer to what appeared to be an altar, complete with creepy-looking statue. "And I think my brothers had been poking enough glowy things lately."  
  
"That is an altar to Dumat. Many of them still stand in the cities of Tevinter. For all that the people have turned away from the Old Gods, in the wake of the Blights, there is a strong sense of history," Fenris explained. "The dagger you found was probably used in sacrifices, here. Although I am curious what such an altar is doing in the Deep Roads. If it is of a later vintage, like the tower above us, I wonder even more, since there were no Wardens until the First Blight -- the Blight of Dumat. Either way, it will not do us well to linger."  
  
"Let's leave the creepy altar to the archdemon alone, yes?" Anders clutched his staff, squinting at the red glow as if he had a headache.  
  
Anton examined the engravings, before taking off the crown still perched on his head. "This matches. There's a pattern here that's repeated on the crown."  
  
"Beware how many ritual trappings you bring to the altar," Fenris warned.  
  
Setting the crown back on his head at a jaunty angle, Anton picked at the lacings on his trousers. "Oh, I'm not putting it down. I have only one thing to offer Dumat." A moment later, the splash of liquid on stone could be heard. "Suck my spicy Fereldan horseradish."  
  
Fenris made a strangled sound in the back of his throat.   
  
"Anton, I swear," Artemis said with a nervous laugh, "if you somehow start another Blight by peeing on an altar, I better live long enough to pee on your memorial."  
  
"You're just envious because I look better in a crown," Anton said over his shoulder, shaking off his 'horseradish' before doing up his laces again. Isabela wiped tears of laughter from her eyes.  
  
Dumat's statue looked on disapprovingly, and the red glow burned brighter. The ground trembled, and a pair of rage demons erupted from fissures in the ground.  
  
"You just _had_ to do that, didn't you?" Carver snapped, drawing up his sword again. "You just _had_ to pee on the red glowy thing?"  
  
"Dammit, Anton! What did I _just_ say about demons?" Cormac sighed and iced a demon. "Too damned many demons for one day."


	77. Chapter 77

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders slips. Cormac proves himself the master of bad decisions. The Hawke ass saves the day once more.

Fortunately, rage demons were never the brightest, and these were no exception -- they fell swiftly, compared the the demons guarding the seals. They continued on, after felling the demons, returning fallen dwarves to the Stone and bringing down the darkspawn that had probably killed them. Strange, though, that there were so few darkspawn corpses, among the twisted heaps of armour. Perhaps they didn't die of age. Perhaps these were the same darkspawn, still trapped here since the Exalted Age, or before it. That was a chilling thought.  
  
"This was the prince," Varric said, picking through the remains of another dwarf. "Thanks, Anton. That was real sweet of you."  
  
"Sweet, nothing. I just know none of my brothers could dwarf their way out of a wet paper sack, and I like having something to hold over them."  
  
"You already have dog farts for that," Carver muttered.  
  
"Force push," Artie reminded Carver. "Down the stairs. The dog knows I won't do that if he farts on me."  
  
Carver gave Artemis a sour look while Bethany giggled.  
  
"I'm starting to think the dog's smarter than Carver," Varric said to Fenris out of the side of his mouth.  
  
"That's because he is," Fenris replied.  
  
The path grew less foggy as they continued up ahead, the air somehow smelling clearer, courtesy of the slice of sky that opened above them. Maker knew where they were by now or how far they'd walked.  
  
Anders's steps started to drag, his breathing growing laboured as he swayed. Face pale, he tried to conjure a reassuring smile for Cormac, only to stop short, doubling over with a cry of pain, hands clawing at his head.  
  
"Anders?" Cormac's arm wrapped around him, trying to hold him up. "I think we need to stop. He's not looking so good, and my fingers ache. I don't think we can take another fight, like this."  
  
"I can't... The voices..." Anders groaned.  
  
Of all of them, Fenris looked terrified. This was some deranged constellation of his hates and fears, and now it had taken the healer -- the healer he didn't trust, some seventy percent of the time, but who had never failed to keep his organs in.  
  
"Make it stop. Make him stop talking!" Anders demanded, clawing at himself. "I can't shut him out!"  
  
"He can hear Corypheus, just like that loony, Larius," Bethany pointed out, a sleep spell leaping to the tips of her fingers. "Do you want me to put him down for a bit, Cormac?"  
  
"Anders? You need a nap? Would sleeping help?" Cormac stroked Anders's hair, concern on his face.  
  
Anders just made a pained sound, and Cormac nodded at his sister. She tried, tried again, and shook her head. "It's in him. I can't get a grip. Like the dwarves."  
  
"Cormac, help me," Anders begged. "I will not... be... " The blue glow raced along his skin, and for a moment, Cormac was relieved. Justice would stand against this. "-- controlled." Anders rose back up, shrugging off Cormac and Bethany, blazing blue.  
  
"Good! There we are, gorgeous. You feeling a bit more--"  
  
Cormac was cut off by the shades that suddenly flanked Anders, and the fireball Anders landed on him. His shields prevented the worst of the damage, but he was still a little singed. "Get the shades and get out of range!" Cormac shouted. "Don't hit the healer! I got this!"  
  
"Cormac--?" Artemis didn't realise he was moving towards his brother, until Fenris grabbed him about the waist and hauled him back.  
  
"Mage," Fenris said at Artie's ear. "Focus. Keep the shades away from your brother."  
  
Artemis nodded, eyes wide, and forced himself to focus, a spell at his fingertips pulling the shades closer and into Carver and Fenris's blades. Warriors and rogues let loose on the demons, while he and Bethany cast what they could in all the chaos, both keeping an eye on Cormac and Anders -- on _Justice_.  
  
Cormac hung himself from Anders's shoulders, purring against his neck, as Anders hammered spell after spell against his shields. "Come on, my glowy, blue mountain savage! Is this the way you treat the man who sucks your dick?" He'd keep reminding Anders who he was and what was going on, and just maybe, he'd get through. It usually worked with Justice, eventually. If nothing else, he was pretty heavy, and he'd slow Anders down. Fenris and Bethany wouldn't let anything happen to the rest of the family.  
  
Anders slid a hand through the shield, moving cautiously enough that Cormac let it happen, and then fired a bolt of lightning against Cormac's neck. That landed, and everything in Cormac's vision turned white, muscles clenching and unclenching. Somehow, he managed not to let go, and the thrashing dragged Anders down with him. This wasn't working. He was too willing to trust, and Corypheus was taking advantage of Anders's memories or something.  
  
There was one more thing to try. Cormac wasn't ready to try it -- he'd barely managed to make it work in controlled situations, yet -- but he needed something that would get him out of the way of the magic. He closed his eyes and pressed his face against Anders's ear. "This is not just. This is not even excusable. Look around yourself. It's just _us_ , Anders."  
  
The words poured out as he twisted reality around him. The Veil was thin, here, or so they'd been told. And there it was, the cold wash of the Fade along his burning limbs, a deep indigo glow tracing the lines of Cormac's body, as he stepped out, just a little. He needed to heal himself, but he didn't dare let go of Anders, and the air between them took on an almost royal blue cast.  
  
Fenris's eyes popped wide as the Veil bent and warped in a way that was familiar, and he looked down instinctively to make sure his own body wasn't glowing. Lyrium tattoos sang in sympathy, and Fenris shook his head, grip tight on his mage's arm.  
  
"What did your brother just do?" he asked, voice shaking.  
  
Artemis gaped, turned to see similar looks of wide-eyed shock on his siblings' faces. "Shit if I know," he breathed. Glowing. His brother was glowing. That was not a thing his brother usually did.  
  
There was confusion in the swirl of blue-glowing limbs. Justice surged forward, drinking in the feel of the Fade, suddenly in his arms, as Corypheus shied away from it. Memories chased their own tails in Anders's head -- his own, Justice's, Kristoff's, Corypheus's -- and he couldn't tell what was real any more. All of it was real, somewhere, some time, but he couldn't find here and now.  
  
Justice, on the other hand, was suddenly extremely clear on here and now. "SO CLOSE, I CAN ALMOST TOUCH IT. YOU FEEL LIKE HOME. LIKE THE POOLS WE DIDN'T WALK IN."  
  
"That's great," Cormac gasped. "Can I get you to heal me?"  
  
"I CANNOT REACH YOU. YOU ARE TOO FAR AWAY."  
  
Of course. He'd stepped out so the magic wouldn't reach. Cormac tried his own half-assed healing, first, just to get the worst of it, but that was going to scar horribly, if it didn't get fixed right. Burns. He hated burns. At least they stopped _hurting_. "Too far away? I'm right here. You're pinning me to the ground in an amazingly non-threatening manner. Are you done threatening? Are we maybe into enjoying and possibly sleeping?"  
  
The feel of the Fade so close was dizzying to Justice, filling him with a swell of homesickness no spirit should know enough to feel. "TOO FAR AWAY," Justice said again, clinging to what he could of this human wrapped in the Fade, pressing close until they all but occupied the same space.  
  
"Hoo, boy," said Varric, running a gloved hand over his hair. "If this is going where I think it is... Carver, cover your sister's eyes."  
  
"Who's going to cover _my_ eyes?" Carver protested.  
  
"I will, sweet thing," Isabela volunteered, reaching for him.  
  
"...those aren't my eyes."  
  
"You know, you could get a whole lot closer to me." Cormac grinned. This wasn't what he expected from Justice. But, then, he'd never done ... _this_. And there was the matter of this being in front of his entire family and two other uninterested parties, and one other very interested party, because why wouldn't Izzy be watching. And there really wasn't anywhere to improve the situation -- they were in the deepest, darkest hole in the ground, in the middle of a dwarven demon trap turned creepy Warden prison, and it was full of darkspawn. If ever there had been a completely inappropriate time to consider getting boned, this was it. But, Cormac needed Justice to trust him. He needed Anders to come back. And if that meant he was going to get nailed by a Fade spirit in full view of his entire family, then that was what it meant.  
  
Closer. Memories that were and weren't Justice's came to the fore, memories of a more corporeal embrace, Kristoff and Aura, Anders and Cormac, Anders and... so very many people, actually. The thought should sicken him -- no, the thought should not affect him at all, not a spirit -- but Cormac's body sang in a way he could feel in bones that were and weren't his. Closer. He had to get closer. He had to go home again.  
  
Artemis squinted at the pair of glowing bodies. "Are they...? Sweet Andraste's ass, they are." And oh, ha. Wow. It looked like Justice _did_ have a knob, even if that knob was Anders's.  
  
Fenris's skin still itched with the Fade, and he looked at anything that wasn't Cormac and Justice. "Next time, let's just let the Carta take Cormac," he said.  
  
Anton had turned his back, whole minutes ago. "Oh, come off it. If the Carta took Cormac, we'd still have to deal with this Corypheus thing, except he'd be awake, and we'd be out the ogre-charging asshole. Can't expect to take on something that ugly without a professional target. And speaking of targets..."  
  
"Justice sure is nailing _his_ target," Varric muttered, trying to pretend he wasn't watching. This was going in a book. This was going to be an entire book. A romance. This was weird enough to get him into that market.  
  
Cormac's teeth sank into his arm as he struggled to stay quiet. Screaming was all well and good, when one wasn't in the middle of enemy territory, fighting things that had been there since the Exalted Age. As it was, he tried to pretend he wasn't being watched. Tried to pretend this wasn't the weirdest and potentially most terrifying thing he'd ever done. But, when Justice pushed into him, there was no way to pretend he couldn't feel all of it -- couldn't distinguish between Justice and Anders, because he could _tell_. He was in two places at once, and they didn't occupy quite the same space inside him. The timing was off, a split second between the physical thrust and the one in the Fade.  
  
"Justice..." he panted against his forearm.  
  
Justice relied on Anders's muscle memory as he moved, on the instincts of the mortal body he was tied to. Fade magic sang through and around him, and he let out a pleased breath against Cormac's neck. It was addicting, this feeling, both physical and spiritual pleasure. He pressed in as deep as he could go to surround himself with it.  
  
Carver walked a short ways back down the path. "I'm going to go guard over here," he said. "Yep. Bethany, come with me." Bethany looked a bit more reluctant to do so, but she trotted after him.  
  
Artemis and Isabela were the only ones not even bothering to pretend not to look. Artemis wondered if this felt at all like Fenris's organ-fondling thing, but he wasn't about to say so.  
  
"Feel it..." Cormac panted. "Feel me... Let go -- let it happen..." He hoped Justice would be as quick as Anders, and a little less resilient. He wasn't sure he could take hours of this, in the shape he was in. He wasn't sure the rest of the family could take hours of this, regardless of anyone's condition. As far as Cormac was concerned, he just needed to get Justice off. Hopefully, that would be enough to scramble his and Anders's brain long enough for Bethany to sneak in a sleep spell. They needed to rest. _Cormac_ needed to rest.  
  
This should have been amazing, Cormac knew, and under any other circumstances, it probably would have been -- being fucked in two planes of existence, the drip of blood down the crack of his ass -- this was the kind of thing Cormac lived for. He just didn't have room to enjoy it the way he wanted to. Desire, Anders had told him, was the difference between spirits and demons, and he hoped he hadn't just ruined Justice. But, like so many things, he didn't know what else to do, and now Justice was nailing him with that enormous flagpole and no lube. It should have been so good, and he just hung onto that. He hoped Anders didn't sleep too long, after this, because he was really going to need a healer.   
  
"Oh, Justice," Cormac moaned, quietly, spreading his legs further and tilting his hips in that way Anders couldn't resist. "Do it. Let go. Come inside me." He didn't actually know if that was possible for Justice, but it was definitely possible for Anders's body, and hopefully that would be enough.  
  
Justice made sound where Anders normally didn't, grunting into the Fade echo of the cave around them, eyes wide in Anders's face in the physical world and behind his helmet in the Fade world. He shoved into Cormac harder, faster, reaching heights no spirit should, reaching for... reaching...   
  
Anders spilled into Cormac, while Justice shuddered, blue glow rippling, and he clung to this feeling, this... euphoria, only to remember that it wasn't so much the Fade that he was clinging to as it was a human wrapped in it like a cloak. The spark of sensation was enough to jar Anders to the forefront again, eyes flickering between blue and brown.  
  
"Cormac? What...?"


	78. Chapter 78

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner and most of a necessary conversation, as well as a completely unnecessary conversation.

"I will thank every god in existence, Anders, if you will heal me. I'll explain everything, but healing, and then sleep, and then details." Cormac's hands fluttered over Anders's still mostly-dressed body, before one settled against his cheek. "Also, the entire family was watching that, which is a discussion you might want to have with your not-so-evil twin, later."  
  
"Aw, they're back to the squishy parts," Isabela huffed, elbowing Artemis. "You're still into him, aren't you?"  
  
"Let us not discuss 'into' and my mage," Fenris growled, still not looking anywhere near where Cormac was slowly fading back into the world. That bothered him profoundly, really. He'd always supposed his power was unique -- that had been the point of it, really -- but if a mage could do the same, what purpose did his suffering serve?  
  
"Or you could tell me all about you getting into your mage," Isabela teased. "That would be just as good. Does he really have the Hawke ass? Is it just as amazing as every other Hawke ass?"  
  
"My ass _is_ amazing," Artemis said as though that should be obvious, "but Fenris isn't exactly in a position to, uh, compare Hawke asses." Anders was, but he figured saying that aloud would end in murder. "At least I hope not, unless there's something he hasn't been telling me."  
  
"One Hawke is enough of an ass for anyone," Fenris said archly, earning a grin from Artie. Fenris was still feeling rattled, and Artemis looked like he was ready to bolt to his brother's side at the first opportunity, but they were both used to burying their nerves.  
  
Anders's hands shook as they trailed over Cormac, flooding him with healing, with more healing probably than Cormac would have wanted. "Cormac, I'm so sorry," he was babbling. "I don't know what happened. How could Justice...? He couldn't... I thought... I..."  
  
"Sorry, nothing. I know exactly what happened, and it's not really your fault. Corypheus happened. You said it, yourself, not that I expect you to remember that. Corypheus happened, and then I did something outrageously stupid, and here we are. I'm not missing any of my beard, am I? If I have to shave it off and start over, I'm going to be so upset. Chest hair's a loss, though. I can smell that. But, me? I'm fine, Anders. And you're... not a scary ancient demon. So, I think we're good. But, if I don't get a nap, soon, I'm going to stop being able to feel my fingers. Too many demons, too fast."  
  
"Can anyone hear what they're talking about?" Varric asked. "I'm going to have to completely make up dialogue for this scene, aren't I?"  
  
Bethany returned from further down the path. "Oh, don't worry, Varric! It's Cormac. I have volumes of documentation you can choose from."  
  
Varric grinned. "I might just take you up on that," he said. Then, over his shoulder, "Come on back, Junior! Everyone's putting away their funbits."  
  
"Say that again when the 'funbits' have been put away," Carver called back. "Past tense."  
  
Anders sat back on his haunches, shaky fingers struggling with the laces to his trousers. "I really need to stay out of the Deep Roads," he said with a brittle laugh. He bit his tongue against more nervous rambling, more nonsense words to fill the silence and talk over Corypheus who was still there, if more distant. Justice was a confused jumble of glowy spirit in the back of his head. He shuffled around Cormac until he could rest Cormac's head on his knees. "Just rest for a bit. The others can take care of any demons or darkspawn. Artie can cook us some more deepstalkers, if you're feeling hungry."  
  
"Bethy? Come here a minute. I need you to make our Warden unconscious," Cormac called out, curling up around Anders's legs. "It's nothing personal, sweet thing, but you need rest as much as I do, and if that ... _thing_ walks in dreams, I need to know you won't be dreaming. The rest of us will probably be all right, but you... it seems to have latched on to you, because whatever Warden shit you've got going on." He paused. "Did you just suggest Artie should _cook_ something? That's... no. That's not how food works. That's not how my brother works."  
  
Cormac reached out his hand and set a couple piles of deepstalker shit on fire. The magic came more slowly than it should have, and Anders twitched with each burst of flame. "Can't let people get cold, because I'm too busy sleeping. 'Sides, Anton actually can cook, but he'd need fire to do it."  
  
The rambling stopped as Bethany towered over the two of them, and she laid the first sleep spell on Cormac. "He never shuts up, I swear. You going to let me do this, Anders? I don't think I can manage it, unless you do. That spirit's not in the habit of sleeping."  
  
Anders ran his hand through Cormac's hair, brushed back strands that had pulled free of its tie. Natural sleep in this place, with Corypheus's voice in his ear, would be more dangerous than staying awake, but a magic, dreamless sleep... Justice was being unusually docile in the wake of what had just happened, and it was the sort of thing Anders would joke about if he weren't so rattled himself. "Yes," he said, "all right." His nerves and magic were frayed about the edges, and he needed the sleep.   
  
Carefully, Anders laid Cormac's head back down, unclasping his feathery pauldrons to use as a makeshift pillow for them both, and scooted back down until he was lying curled around Cormac. Bethany waved her hand, and Anders's eyes slid shut, body sagging.  
  
Artemis came up next to Bethany, looking over the sleeping mages. "Let's hope that helps," he said, shrugging. "I worry about what will happen when we come up against Corypheus. I have a feeling we're going to need our healer."  
  
"I will stab him in the fucking knee," Anton said, patting Artemis on the back. "I will stab him in the fucking knee, and then we'll kill him. Did you want to eat? I'm pretty sure I can turn those lizard things into something edible. Might as well get that out of the way, if we're stopped."  
  
"I am not eating anything that looks like a leech," Carver protested.  
  
"You'd be surprised, Junior. Those things are pretty good. Dwarves keep them for food, back in Orzammar -- I've only had them on the surface, of course, but you can buy them from a couple places in the market. Good stuff," Varric rambled, loading Bianca and taking a look around. "I bet we can take down a few. Probably the only thing I've seen down here that I'd be willing to put in my mouth."  
  
"Food might not be terrible," Artie said with a shrug. Maker knew how long they'd been down here. "Should at least have something for glowy and glowier when they wake up, just in case."  
  
Anton nodded, pulling a dagger out of its sheath with a twirl. "All right, Varric. Izzy. Let's go hunting."  
  
"Try not to do anything stupid," Artemis called out to him. "Enough of my brothers have been punched today for their stupidity."  
  
Anton didn't turn around but acknowledged the words with a jaunty wave of his hand.  
  
"Maker," Artie muttered, leaning his forehead against Fenris's shoulder, only to think better of it when spiky armour poked him in the cheek. "This is so not how I thought today was going to go."  
  
As it turned out, Varric hadn't been joking about the deepstalkers. They were a little plain, given that they were unseasoned and roasted whole and un-skinned over shitfire, but they were definitely edible. Probably good with some pepper and thyme, Anton decided. Next time. Next time he went on a spontaneous venture into the Deep Roads, he'd take some seasonings.

* * *

Cormac woke first, slowly, taking in the warmth of the long, lean body beside him, and after a few moments, the smell of burning everything. Some of that, it filtered back to him, was himself. Maker-damned sonofabitchin' wizards. He was allowed to complain. He was one.   
  
"Do I smell food, under that stench of blazing shit, or is that just wishful thinking?" he asked, rubbing his eye, but not yet sitting up. Count the limbs. Check for any unexpected damage. He was in surprisingly good shape, all things considered, which was the way it should be. Anders was the best for a reason. Speaking of Anders...  
  
"Wake up, sleeping beauty. Places to go, ancient demons to kill." Cormac shook Anders, gently.  
  
Anders made a sleepy noise of complaint against Cormac's shoulder, his grip on Cormac tightening, before he opened his eyes. There was a rock digging uncomfortably into his hip. They were sleeping on the ground. Why were they sleeping on the ground?   
  
Then he remembered: darkspawn, demons, underground, _Justice_. Anders bolted upright, sucking in a breath. Another sleep spell twitched to Bethany's fingers, just in case.  
  
"Hey, whoa, relax," Artie said as soothingly as he could, kneeling beside the entangled pair. "It's just us. Carver's face isn't a pretty thing to wake up to, I know, but here, I saved you two a drumstick!" He waved the haunch of meat in front of them enticingly.  
  
"You are the best brother. I know, I know, stating the obvious again, but it's so very true." Cormac twisted a strip of meat off the bone and folded it into his mouth. "I love you too, Anton!" He was guessing. Might well have been Varric's doing, for all he knew.  
  
"He's the best brother?" Anton put his knuckles on his hips, trying to keep the lizard grease off his clothes. "I slave over a shitfire for hours for you, and he's the best? I see how you mages are." He couldn't keep a straight face for long, and the laughter rolled out of him as he crouched next to the fire. "There's one more left. It's almost done."  
  
"I have the best family! My sister knocks me out and my brothers make me food. This is what you were missing, in the Circle, you know. Family outings into the Deep Roads, complete with face punching and samples of the local cuisine." Cormac kissed Anders behind the ear. "Everything, including my ass, is fine, Anders. Well, except the part where we still have to find this Corypheshithead and kick his ass. And I'm going to kick his ass. Soundly. Nobody does shit like that to my Warden."  
  
Anders let out a shaky breath but smiled softly for Cormac. He could still hear Corypheus, in the back of his head, but the chatter going on around him helped relegate him to white noise. Bethany watched him and relaxed, letting the spell in her hand dissipate.   
  
"I'll have you know it was just one brother who made you food," Anton said, peering at the roasting lizard. "Carver sulked and Artemis served the food like a glorified tavern wench."  
  
"Excuse you," Artie huffed. "If I were a tavern wench, there'd be alcohol too." He snagged another bite of meat from Fenris's portion, settling back against his elf. "And no, I'm not dressing like a tavern wench later. Don't get any ideas."  
  
Fenris smirked, licking grease off of gauntlet-free fingers.  
  
"Another mental image I did not need," Carver muttered, still sulking.  
  
Isabela leaned over Artemis's shoulder. "Oh, but I'd like to see that. You'd be so very pretty, and I can just imagine you showing those long legs. Which I think everyone except me has seen, and my envy knows no bounds."  
  
Cormac kept picking apart the lizard haunch, feeding bits of meat to Anders. "Just so you know," he murmured, leaning closer, "I'd like to try that again, sometime. In a slightly less 'fuck or die' situation. That was intensely bizarre, and I feel like it could have been amazingly hot. You know, if you're comfortable having threesomes with your not-so-evil twin."  
  
"Tell him if he doesn't, you'll show him your boobs," Anton suggested to Isabela.  
  
"Boobs do not motivate me one way or another," Artemis said primly, "even if they're like Isabela's, large enough to be used as floatation devices."  
  
Varric chortled around a bite of meat. "So if the ship goes down, I should make a grab for Izzy's buoys?"  
  
Isabela smirked and pressed her 'floatation devices' against Artie's arm. "You know, if _you_ grab my buoys," she purred in his ear, "it won't be a ship going down."  
  
"That's... sweet of you, Izzy," Artemis said, pulling his arm away from her and swinging around to sit in Fenris's lap. "But you should know, I get seasick."  
  
Anders half listened to all of this chatter, his attention on Cormac. "Seriously?" he murmured. "This is something you'd...?" He didn't know how he felt about that. Besides terrified, that is. He definitely felt terrified. And a little violated, in the aftermath. With a nervous laugh, he added, "I think maybe Justice took your chestnut blossoms a little too seriously."  
  
"I told you I did something stupid," Cormac muttered. "I wasn't really talking about flowers. You were... you weren't you, but I couldn't hurt you. You know that. Didn't stop Corypheus from taking advantage of your magic and Justice. I just wanted to keep you from getting to anyone else. Keep _him_ from getting to anyone else, because they probably wouldn't have the same compunctions about pounding the crap out of you. Shields only help so much, against magic. I wasn't doing so hot."  
  
Cormac took a deep breath, and kept his voice low. "Do you remember the book I was reading, when you found those flowers? A little something I liberated from the Gallows. Fancy stunts of the Arcane school. Apparently the 'deepest wells of Fade power' are good for more than just channelling. Justice got a little excited. I figured if I could keep him focused, the two of you could shake the influence. It was stupid. Still worked. Saving the world with the power of the Hawke ass, once again."  
  
"That _was_ stupid," Anders said with awe in his voice. "Incredibly stupid. Exactly the kind of stupid I expect from you, really, but... Maker, Cormac. Next time just punch me, will you? If something had happened to you, if Justice had..." Anders sucked in a ragged breath. He couldn't think that way. It _hadn't_ happened, even if it could have. Like with that girl he'd -- they'd -- saved from Alrik. "The world needs your Hawke ass more than it needs my flagpole."   
  
Justice didn't quite agree with that. Not regarding the flagpole bit but regarding the overall sentiment. But, really, Justice didn't get to have a say in the matter after behaving that way, even if Cormac was saying he wanted it to happen again.   
  
"That's just because you can't count, sweet thing. There are multiple instances of the Hawke ass in this generation. Mine won't be much of a loss. But you? You're the best healer in the Marches. Possibly the best still living. My history's not so hot, so I'm not going to speculate about the dead." Cormac nuzzled behind Anders's ear. "You'll save the world, one of these days. And I'm not going to punch you. If I ever punch you, check for demons. And make sure you're not standing in front of Carver."  
  
Staggering to his feet -- three hours really wasn't enough sleep, but it would keep him casting -- Cormac held out a hand to Anders. "Come on, before they eat the last lizard thing, without us. We can eat while we walk. The sooner I end this nug-farming dreamsucker, the better I'm going to feel about all of this."


	79. Chapter 79

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things progress from unpleasant to less pleasant than that. Artie solves problems. Anton's the wrong colour. Carver is sick of all of you fucks and just wants to go home.

The group chatted as they walked, munching on deepstalker and trying to keep the mood light. Anton considered singing drinking songs again, but Justice hadn't been too thrilled with that last time, and this part of the Deep Roads echoed.   
  
They followed another glow of green light to another seal, passing into an arcaded dome. The fog lifted to show that they were walking on a sea of skeletons.   
  
"Good thing we already ate," Isabela said, tiptoeing around them, "or that would have just ruined my appetite."  
  
"Messy," Artie muttered, face scrunching as he stepped up onto another dais. The grit of the Deep Roads was getting into his clothes and under his fingernails, and he was ready to be out of here, thank you. "Places, everyone."   
  
The braziers hummed with a familiar surge of magic, and Fenris pulled Artemis back just as another demon appeared, this time right on top of him.  
  
"Holy mother of tits and bits, have we not had enough demons for one damned day?" Carver shouted, racing in to hack at the demon's leg.  
  
He knew it wouldn't be the answer it was with lesser demons, but Cormac clenched his fist, and watched the demon stagger in the sudden clutch. "I've got it! Move, Artie!"  
  
The demon flickered out and reappeared in quintuplicate. Bethany groaned and brought down a cloud over the round room.  
  
"Clear the deck!" Anders shouted, bringing a tempest to bear -- and that was strange. Something twinged in the back of his mind as the lightning left his fingers. What had he done? What had he lost, this time?  
  
This demon was tougher than its brethren, dividing their attention, illusions flickering in and out around the room. By the time Isabela stabbed the last apparition in the eye, they were all considerably more bruised and singed than when the battle had started.  
  
"Please tell me that was the last one," Carver groaned.   
  
"I'd be happy to tell you that," Anton said with a painfully bright smile. "I have no idea if it would be true or not, but I could tell you that."  
  
Anders smoothed some healing into Varric's shoulder, ignoring the dwarf's muttering about repairing his favourite coat. He caught himself on Varric's chest as an earthquake interrupted his concentration.  
  
Everyone turned to look at Artemis, who held up his hands defensively. "Don't look at me!" he said, offended. "My clothes are on and my hands and Fenris's hands are where everybody can see them!"  
  
Larius came shuffling towards them out of the shadows as if on cue. "He feels the seals weaken. He knows you are close. You must be ready..." He tottered toward them, eyes wide. "What -- who's that? No, no! They're here! The Wardens. They listen to Corypheus. They want to bring him the light. Stop them. You must stop them."  
  
Larius fled, as voices came around a wall. "Something's happening. The prison's breaking down. But, it's stood up to tunnelling, before. What could--" A woman in Warden armour appeared with three other wardens following. "You! You have the key! And you've come through the seals! But how?"  
  
Anders took one look at the cut of her armour and hissed, "Mage." Which wasn't to say he wasn't both a Warden and a mage, himself, but it was the kind of subtle point it was best to be aware of, up front, if one was about to get into an angry tango with someone.  
  
"The Carta said they were close. You must be the ones. I am Janeka. I lead this unit of Grey Wardens."  
  
"And... why are the Wardens so interested in our father?" Bethany asked, back straightening.  
  
"Then you don't know?" said Janeka, eyebrows arching as she looked from one Hawke to another. "Without Malcolm, this prison would have fallen thirty years ago."   
  
"Let me guess," Artemis said, "it had something to do with this fancy thing?" He shook the glowy staff in the air.  
  
Janeka's expression was hard as she approached. Artie kept his grip tight on the staff. "The Grey Wardens built this prison to contain one of the most powerful darkspawn we've ever encountered," she said, hands cutting the air. "But even the best magic fades. The Wardens need to reinforce the seals."  
  
"And, what, the Wardens didn't have enough mages of their own?" Anders asked with an unfriendly smile.  
  
Janeka shook her head. "This requires the blood of a mage untainted by... Warden training. The last to perform the ritual was your father."  
  
"In other words," said Bethany, "you needed someone who couldn't hear Corypheus."  
  
"That's why the Carta came after us," Anton groaned. "But, why me? I'm not a mage."  
  
Janeka squinted at Anton for a moment. "Aren't you a little white to be Malcolm's get?"  
  
"We take after our mother," Carver said, resting a hand on Anton's shoulder. "Make your point. What do you need with us?"  
  
"We need your help. I have done extensive research on this darkspawn, and I believe the original Wardens were wrong. He isn't a threat to humanity, he's our greatest opportunity -- a darkspawn who can talk, feel, reason." Janeka sounded enchanted by this Corypheus.  
  
"Sounds like what Solona finally decided about the Architect. But, he wasn't _in our heads_ , driving us to kill our friends." Anders spoke quietly, just loud enough to be heard by the Hawkes around him. "But, who knows what centuries of imprisonment will drive anyone to. Either way, whatever he was, he's dangerous now. And if he was in my head, and she's been here longer..."  
  
Anton groaned, shaking his head. "Why do our family stories never involve embarrassing vacations in Antiva?" he asked. "It's always demons this, magic that."  
  
"To be fair, we've never been to Antiva," Artemis said. "I'm sure we would have found plenty of ways to embarrass ourselves there, if we had." Bethany and Carver gave him identical flat looks, and Artie cleared his throat. "All right. Cormac and I would have found plenty of ways to embarrass ourselves. And bring shame to the family."  
  
Larius came shuffling back around the corner, shouting at Janeka, "Corypheus cares nothing for Blights. He used you!"  
  
"But, I know how to harness Corypheus. To use his magic to end the Blights." Janeka went on. "Don't listen to this madman, he's half darkspawn himself."  
  
"There's no good to come of this," Anders warned. "The Architect is already working to end the Blights, and he hasn't spent centuries imprisoned and slowly going mad. Let me assure you that is the only thing that comes of being shut up with oneself for extended periods. At this point, even if I didn't fear for all of Thedas, killing him would probably be a mercy." Anders reflected that there was a  time that killing _him_ would have been a mercy, too.  
  
"Or maybe you're just enough to drive anyone mad, including yourself," Fenris grumbled. He knew the mage was right, but he wasn't going to let the invitation for that jab pass.  
  
"It might be worth the risk," Varric said with a shrug. "If he can stop the Blights, we win. If he fucks us, we kill him. We were going to do it anyway. On the other hand, if what Blondie says is true, there are two of these guys and one of them is less crazy than the other."  
  
"Well, we know what dad thought about all of this -- obviously enough, given what he did. And however much a cock I may think our father, right this very minute, I'm thinking he wasn't wrong about this." Cormac glanced among his siblings. "Also, I'm going to point at Anders again. We all saw that. If that's what it's doing still asleep and locked up, I don't really want to see what it can do if we let it out. That is not a cry for help. That -- I've only ever seen a demon do that." He eyed Fenris.  
  
Fenris pretended not to see that look.  
  
"Corypheus calls her, and she listens," Larius said, shaking his head. "She brought him the Carta, sent them for you."  
  
"So _she_ did that, huh?" Varric said, Bianca creaking as he tightened his grip on her. "Is this true? You poisoned the Carta and sent them off like pawns?" He tried not to think of Gerav, dead at his feet, that idiot.  
  
"The Wardens will do what they have to do to prevent a Blight," said Janeka, not denying this. "I took no joy in it. And now, you must help us." Her tone wasn't so much pleading as demanding.  
  
"How could you trust a deal with this darkspawn?" Fenris growled. "It is like selling your soul to a demon."  
  
"Do not think me foolish," Janeka scoffed. "I am making no deal. I have a spell which can control Corypheus, bind him to my will."  
  
Anders barked out a laugh. "Really? That's your plan? Try to control the ancient, powerful creature?"  
  
"I'm afraid I'm going to have to throw in with Loony Larius on this one," Cormac said, shrugging at Janeka. "I'm really not seeing the advantage, and from what my Warden tells me, Amaranthine already has one of these, but less angry and batshit. And I'm really not liking the Tevinter name. Magisters give me a rash."  
  
A tiny, choked sound of amusement could be heard from Fenris.  
  
"We'll find a way to do this with or without you, Hawke." Janeka addressed Cormac as she might have addressed his father, thirty-odd years earlier. "The prison will be broken. The Blights will end. Come!"  
  
Janeka laid down a wall of fire and retreated back into the tower with her clique. Behind Cormac, Anders blinked and twitched, eyes never leaving the flames.  
  
"With me! We will beat them to the seal," Larius called out, pointing to a different path. They followed him into the tower, up a different set of stairs -- and straight into a field of magic.  
  
"Well, shit," muttered Isabela, staring up at the field of energy blocking their way. "Gold and glowy this time."  
  
"Is this better or worse than red and glowy, do you think?" Anton asked.  
  
"Well, I like gold, so..." Izzy shrugged.  
  
"This... this was part of the prison's defences from centuries ago," Larius murmured, almost reverently. "Old wards... unstable, dangerous. The Wardens had them neutralised."  
  
"And, what, Janeka's lighting them back up again?" Anton sighed. "Oh joy. Gold and glowy is bad then."  
  
"At least it should slow her down," Anders said, shrugging. "Granted, it's slowing us down too, but."  
  
"What do we do with them? How do we turn them off or ... on... or... whatever gets us through and not her?" Cormac looked around the room, hoping for a switch.  
  
"The first one is simple," Larius said, reaching under one of the lighting sconces. The golden glow over the doorway faded, and they moved quickly to the next room.   
  
"Do not touch anything!" Larius cried out, as he recognised the room. "The old defences are active again. Very unpredictable, very dangerous."  
  
As Cormac and Anton examined the pillars -- set with way more sconces than were actually lit -- a group of dwarves rushed in from another entrance. "There! Those are the ones Janeka wants dead!"  
  
"Can I not go one day in the Marches without someone ordering my death?" Anton complained.  
  
"Why would a bunch of dwarves do Janeka's bidding?" Anders asked.  
  
"Janeka shared knowledge of Corypheus with the Carta. When she releases the Master, we will be rewarded," one of the dwarves explained.  
  
"Poor dears," Bethany cooed, fingers taking on a dangerous red glow. "Turn back and we will spare you."  
  
"There is no turning back. We may die here, but we will take you with us."  
  
The dwarves were, unsurprisingly, incorrect. They were coherent and self-controlled enough that Bethany hit them all on her first shot, and they fell to fighting each other, while she and her siblings continued to examine what appeared to be an enormous puzzle. And then one of the dwarves bumped into a sconce, and part of the attached pillar rotated.  
  
"No, don't!" Larius shouted, diving for the ground, as the pillar segment spun. He sighed as the grinding stopped and the pillar settled into a new position. "Trapped. Carta fools. Always where they don't belong. This shouldn't have happened."  
  
"'Shouldn't have happened'," Carver muttered. "I feel like that sums up most of my life at this point."  
  
"Like how you shouldn't have happened?" Anton said. "Bethany was the planned twin."  
  
Carver looked horribly offended but had no argument for that, not when he had three older brothers and only the one twin sister.  
  
"I'm sure there's a way out, Loony," Varric said, his smile more shaky than reassuring as he helped Larius to his feet. "Even with Junior, there's enough brains between the bunch of us to figure it out."  
  
Carver threw out his hands. "Hey!"  
  
"Don't take it personally, Carver," Artemis said, patting Carver's shoulder as he looked about them distractedly. "Teasing you is good for morale." Torches. Spinning torches at regular intervals. It put him in mind of Château Haine, of the room with the pressure plates in front of the vault. There was a pattern, here. There had to be a pattern.  
  
Artie walked over to the closest column, walked completely around it once, and then pushed the torches on their track clockwise. Metal squealed as it moved, but then one torch lit with an orange glow, connected to another pillar with a thin stream of magical fire.  
  
"Huh."  
  
"Well, that looks patently dangerous, exactly as promised. Streams of fire! Because, yes, my day needed more fire and burning." Anders shivered and sat down by one of the walls, checking to be sure his head was below the sconces. He just needed to keep breathing, and maybe he wouldn't set anything even less necessary aflame. On the other hand, the steady wall of panic seemed to be holding off Corypheus pretty well. He couldn't hear anything in his head past the rushing in his ears. Trapped underground, in an ancient tower, with an intelligent darkspawn that wanted to possess him. That was edging up into the realms of his worst nightmares, and he'd had some wicked nasty ones.  
  
"Hey, Artie? Be careful. I've lost enough beard today." Cormac stroked what was left of his beard and studied the engravings on the pillars.  
  
Anton steered Isabela over to where Anders sat. "Let's go sit with the healer, Izzy. Looks like he's got the right idea. Head down, and out of the way. Let the mages handle the freaky mage shit."  
  
Varric stood in the middle of all of it, looking around at the engravings high above him. That was the benefit to being a dwarf, he figured. Everything dangerous was over his head. Literally.  
  
"What's the worst that could happen," Artie asked as he poked at another pillar and another set of torches, "I lock us in here? Oh wait. Already happened." The fire stream shifted, one sconce going out while another one lit. "Hmm."  
  
"You could summon another demon," Fenris suggested, shifting to avoid the next stream of fire. It didn't _feel_ hot, so maybe it was just an illusion, but he wasn't about to test that.   
  
"Please," Artie huffed. "Anton summoned _two_ demons by peeing. I think I'm allowed to summon one accidentally while actually trying to help." Really, he'd rather not summon one at all, but there were certain themes to this expedition. "Fen, could you turn the sconces on that column? That one there? Just once."  
  
Fenris looked at him like he would rather not, but Artie smiled sweetly and he sighed. Fenris stayed tensed as he obeyed, ready to spring away in case any part of him caught fire. Surprisingly, nothing did.  
  
"Now, Varric. Turn that one next to you."  
  
Varric exchanged a look with Fenris, who shrugged, and stood on his tiptoes, trying to reach. He hopped once, twice, before he found a lower torch and pushed that one instead.  
  
"Sorry," Artemis laughed. "I just wanted to see you flail a bit."  
  
"Careful, Nervy. Bianca can still shoot you from here."  
  
On they went, Artemis running calculations in his head as he gave instructions, moving one line of torches, then another, until metal ground to a halt with a loud click. The stream of fire turned into a white stream of smoke, and when Artie looked over, the door was open.  
  
"And this is why, gorgeous as I am, you should have been the heir." Cormac slapped Artemis on the back. "My brother with the brains, over here."  
  
"The Hawke was fascinated by the construction. Always stopping to study the carvings. A learned man," Larius remarked, as they left the room.  
  
"Just like dad." Cormac ruffled Artie's hair, as they walked.  
  
"Dad wasn't fucking neurotic," Carver pointed out.  
  
"Yeah, but he also wasn't as good looking, either, may I remind you," Cormac shot back, turning around to point out his own face to Carver. "I got the looks, Artie got the brains. And the Force magic. I don't know what that left for the rest of you, other than the magic ass, and Carver? You didn't even get that. You're after mum's side."  
  
"At least I got the ass," Anton teased, elbowing Carver.


	80. Chapter 80

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A final decision about Corypheus. More bad news about Malcolm. Cormac makes an extremely bloody point.

"Such a fool," Larius muttered as they made their way across the tower. "She hears his voice and thinks it is her own."  
  
They found more dwarves in the halls, but few of them could stand up to the onslaught of the Hawkes for long, and Fenris took care of those. They made their way through the maze of corridors, disabling magic fields and activating others, until Varric opened a door to find Janeka leaning against the wall, waiting for them.  
  
"Did you really think those old wards would stop me?" she said haughtily as she straightened. "Look at you," she sneered at Larius, "barely able to string two thoughts together. You've only made it this far because of the Hawkes."  
  
Isabela exchanged a look with Varric and Fenris. "I like to think we helped a little," she said, shrugging.  
  
Larius looked at Janeka pityingly. "You can still turn away," he said. "Do not listen to his voice!"  
  
Magic crackled at Janeka's fingertips like blue lightning. "You're a fool, Larius," she said, "and you should have died here years ago."  
  
Demons. Again. Anton, for one, was so tired of demons. If he ever had to stab another demon, after they got out of this hole, it would be too soon. These things seemed to be just as big and nasty as the seal guardians, but there were actually five of them, instead of just mirror images -- five of them, and each looked a little different.  
  
"Fenris, Carver, get the one with the sword!" Cormac barked, before turning on one of the robed ones. Abominations? Ghouls? Did it matter? They weren't holding weapons, which strongly suggested they were spellcasters of some sort. Which strongly implied one of them was likely to be a healer. "Anders, with me. Bethy, help Artie with the one over there. The rest of you get in where you can." It was better not to direct the rogues, he'd found. They each had their own mad methods, and they'd figure out where they belonged soon enough.  
  
They were, by now, a well-oiled machine. A tired, cranky, demon-saturated machine, but one that still moved with frightening efficiency. Fenris and Carver made short work of the warrior, Carver distracting it with broad sweeps of his sword while Fenris darted around behind it, Fade glow piercing armour. The creature's shield stopped Carver's sword mid-swing, jarring impact numbing Carver's arms, but Fenris cut the creature down before it could finish lifting its sword.  
  
Bethany tutted at her magic, her favourite spells useless in the wake of demons -- or whatever that thing was in the robes -- so she focused her energies into blocking enemy magic, throwing shields over her brothers and their friends, and sucking what magic was left in the dusty bones on the floor to fuel them. Artemis, meanwhile, just pummelled the thing into the wall with his usual lack of finesse.  
  
Maker knew _what_ the rogues were doing, but it was effective. Another creature went down shrieking under their onslaught.  
  
Cormac and Anders squished another one into a cloth-wrapped brick, before turning their attention to the last robed monstrosity. "Incoming!" Cormac shouted across the room, laying on a bolt of cold followed shortly by Anders's bolt of lightning. Cormac's next spell froze it in place, starting that slow collapse, while Varric pummelled it with crossbow bolts. The problem was solved shortly.  
  
"I have got to stop with the demons! Is this a Kirkwall thing? Seriously, is it? I should just move back to Ferelden, where there's darkspawn and angry elves, but not so damned many demons!" Cormac complained, shaking out his hands and picking through Anders's bag for a lyrium potion. "Okay, so maybe some of those weren't demons, but principally, _how many demons are trapped in this tower_?"  
  
Anders laughed, nervously. "I saw a lot of demons, in Ferelden. Maybe you just didn't spend as much time in the demon-infested places. Still, I think Kirkwall's got even the Circle Tower beat, maybe even if you count the Harrowings." He paused. "Not that I was there for that."  
  
"So, ah, Warden Crazypants just set demons on us. I think this is the part where we kill her, yes?" Anton suggested, daggers still drawn as he stalked off in the direction Janeka had gone.  
  
"Maker, I hope so," Artemis muttered. "I don't even care how messy that death is, either."  
  
Up the staircase those... creatures... had been guarding, and fresh air and starlight met them. Varric stopped to let the wind buffet his face and let out an almost sinful groan. "This is probably the most undwarven thing I've ever said," he sighed, "but I missed having the sky overhead. Thank the Maker."  
  
"Varric," Fenris said, wind blowing white hair into his eyes, "the only thing dwarven about you is your height and your chest hair."  
  
Stone steps and ruins led them higher still, along the top of a cliff overlooking Vimmark Chasm. Torchlight and a full moon lit the night.  
  
"Oh, isn't this nice," Varric said dryly.  
  
"What's nice about it?" muttered Carver.  
  
"I was just wondering what someplace sinister and foreboding would look like." Varric gestured ahead of them at a stone structure at the edge of a cliff. "And here it is."  
  
"Oh, look, glowing and orange. Have we done glowing and orange, yet?" Anders practically giggled. He did not look well, ashen and sweaty, a somewhat hysterical grimace on his face. Panic. Panic kept the beast at bay. Panic also made him a great deal more likely to spontaneously set something on fire, but really, if he managed to turn this entire prison into an inferno, it could only be for the betterment of all Thedas.  
  
"We've done red and glowy, yellow and glowy, we've been doing a lot of blue and glowy, and why didn't you show me that trick, back in Denerim?" Isabela pinched Anders's ass and bumped him with her hip. "But, I don't think we've done orange. This is new!"  
  
Janeka and her men stepped out from the sides of the entrance into the orange-lit dome. "You're too late, Larius. Hand over the Hawkes -- at least one of the Hawkes -- and I'll give you a quick death."  
  
"The Hawkes have made their choice. The right one," Larius announced.  
  
"The right one or the only one?" Janeka asked, smirking. "Malcolm Hawke was not allowed to disagree."  
  
"It is the past," Larius snapped, darting a look at Cormac. "It doesn't matter!"  
  
"'Not allowed'?" Artemis asked, grip tightening on his staff. "What is that supposed to mean?" She was baiting them, he knew, but that question nagged at him nonetheless.  
  
"How does she know this?" Larius growled. He glared past Janeka at the older Warden by her shoulder. "Alec, did you tell her?"  
  
"Tell her what?" Bethany prodded.   
  
Larius looked at her, looked at each of the Hawkes in turn, stare lingering on Cormac, who looked the most like their father, before looking away. "Your father was reluctant," he explained. "He had to be... persuaded. I-I was Warden-Commander. It was my duty." The Hawkes watched him as he struggled for words. "I delivered an ultimatum -- help us, or you'll never see her again."  
  
Cormac lunged, barely feeling the hands that clutched at his shoulders. "You threatened my _mother_? You die. All of you nug-fucking lunatics die. There will not be enough pieces left to mail back to Weisshaupt. No one threatens my mother. Not you, not the darkspawn, not the Maker himself. I don't even care that you let her live. That's not relevant. My father would have killed you, if you hadn't, but he didn't, and now you are _mine_!"  
  
Anders smiled at Varric and cocked a thumb at Cormac. "I'm with him. It's a very convincing argument."  
  
"All right, Cormac," Artemis said, teeth grit with the strain of trying to hold his brother back. Luckily force mages were all but impossible to bowl over. "This? Not helping. I'll help you turn them all into goo later, but right now we have bigger problems."  
  
"You see, Hawke?" Janeka said, smirking at Cormac. "How can you trust anything Larius says?"  
  
Artemis would give her a rude gesture if he had a free hand. Anton did it for him.  
  
"Threatening our family?" he said. "Not the smartest move. In fact, it was really quite stupid. On a scale of stupid from dwarf-tossing Varric to Carver, that was fighting-a-dragon-in-your-underpants stupid. But that doesn't change the fact that Corypheus is bad news."  
  
"You can come willingly or not, Hawke," Janeka said. "I just need your blood."  
  
"Oh look," sighed Bethany as she reached for a spell. "Another ultimatum. You think the Wardens would have learned."  
  
"Those don't look like your underpants. Are we clear on how bad of an idea that makes this? Because I think I may have to demonstrate." Cormac raised more than just a shield around himself, this time, and he stopped, unmoveable, in front of Janeka. "Artie? Pull." Cormac's grin was unnaturally wide, as his fingertips lit up indigo. "What can I say, I'm feeling a little gory."  
  
Anders took advantage of the confusion to start sticking people to the ground -- except Janeka. Obviously, they needed to be able to move her, but what was Cormac doing? That didn't sound like a reasonable tactic, from where he was standing, but he hadn't been quite aware of the depths of Cormac's talents for the bizarre, until today.  
  
Artemis shook his head at his brother's back but moved into position directly behind him. They weren't kids any more, and this wasn't him rolling Cormac down a hill, but the principle was the same. Sort of. "Everyone, get back!" he shouted before pulling Janeka towards him with a wave of force.  
  
Janeka slammed into Cormac's barrier, like she'd hit a domed window. The pressure started to take its toll fairly quickly, but Cormac had other ideas.  
  
"Hey, Fenris, how's it done? Like this?" Cormac stretched out his hand, Fade-fingers pushing through the barrier and into the Warden's eye-sockets, without displacing the eyeballs. That was new and disgusting. He remembered Château Haine, and Fenris sticking his hands in wyvern shit -- suddenly he understood. "I don't suppose you ever thought yourself an optimist," he remarked, loosing a bolt of lightning inside her skull. "But, things are going very badly for you, right now."  
  
Blood, bone shards, and a spray of Grey Warden grey matter fanned out around the barrier bubble, painting the other Wardens a brilliant red. Some spatter reached as far as Larius, but Bethany had waved everyone else back, as soon as she realised what Cormac intended. Well, that was a lie, she hadn't counted on _that_ , but she'd absolutely expected the body to explode across the shield at some point.   
  
"What was that about force magic and shit?" Anton muttered, watching the line of spatter form, a few inches in front of him. "Didn't we decide that you weren't supposed to force magic the shit, Artie? 'Cause all I'm seeing here is armoured turds."  
  
Cormac laughed. "You should probably stop pulling, before that gets worse." He pulled his fingers out of the barrier, wiping the gunk off on the shield. "Maker, it is _good_ to be alive!" He grinned at the Warden stuck next to him.  
  
Artie let the spell drop... though 'drop' wasn't the right word. More like pried it out of his own hands. Behind Cormac, he had his shoulders pulled in, eyes screwed tight.  
  
"I swear to fuck, Cormac," he said in a strangled voice, "if you got brain matter in my hair, you're the next thing I'm force pushing. Off this cliff."  
  
"Relax, nervous wonder," Carver drawled. "Cormac's shield protected you, which is more than I can say for my boots. Ew." His left foot touched something that made a squishy sound as he moved it.  
  
Fenris finished off the last of the Wardens, and Larius looked on with both awe and horror in his eyes. He shook himself and gestured them forward earnestly.   
  
"He stirs," Larius said, pointing past the sea of gore to an orange glowing dais. "Slay him now, before he wakes. Before his strength comes. The key is not strong enough. Use your blood. Free him and slay him."  
  
"First off, you wobbly-bottomed little privy-pot, you are on my shit list. If you're still standing here, when I'm done turning this ... magical super-darkspawn into a fine red stew, you're next. If I ever hear of you in the Marches again? You're next. Just so we're clear on that." Cormac was still smiling. "Now, how, exactly, do you want us to ... use our blood to free him?"  
  
Larius pointed to the statues out on the balconies of the dome. "Tell them you've come for him."  
  
"That's great. There's five of us, four of them. Carver, stand here and be swordy, while we do this thing, yeah?" Cormac clapped Carver on the back. If one of them wasn't going to be a mage, as far as Cormac was concerned, it should be Anton. At least Anton had been paying attention for most of that.  
  
"Oh, look, they've got baubles on them. Bet that's where we're supposed to grab." Cormac groped the first statue, while his siblings made their way around the dome to the others.  
  
"Feels like the spell's getting weaker," Anders remarked.  
  
"I don't suppose he's going to stop coming after us, unless we do this," Carver sighed.  
  
"Probably not." Cormac rubbed his face and slipped a potion out of Anders's bag, for himself, as he waited for the other two to open. The beams blinked out, one by one, and the orange glow faded from the final seal. "I wonder if we get more demons? Andraste's mercy, but I hope not."  
  
"So fucking loud," Anders grumbled, rubbing his temples.  
  
Artemis approached the dais in the middle of the room, praying it was the last one as he twisted the key-staff-thing in his hands. "Right," he said. "So. Needs our blood to open, right? Then the key? Maybe? How does this thing work exactly?" He bent to pull out the utility knife he kept in his boot, but Carver took it from him.  
  
"I can do this part, mageflower," he said, voice long-suffering. "Wouldn't want you to stain your sleeves and have a fit."  
  
"That was almost sweet of you, Carver."  
  
Carver grunted something vague and drew the knife across his skin, flicking the blood off the blade in the direction of the dais.  
  
"Really, Carver?" Anton sighed. "The palm? You could cut yourself anywhere, you go for the palm? How do you plan to hold your sword after that?"  
  
"Oh, shut up. I didn't see you volunteering. And that's what Magey over here is for." Carver hooked a thumb in Anders's direction. No one commented on how distracted Anders looked, shaking his head and muttering to himself.   
  
"Let's just get this over with, shall we?" Artie muttered, shooing Carver back away from the platform.


	81. Chapter 81

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Death! Destruction! GIANT FIREBALLS! A demonstration of why mages are feared.

A pillar of light rose from the middle of the dais, and Artemis frowned at it a moment before sticking his staff inside and hoping for the best. The staff pulled out of his hand, floating there in the air in front of him, when an explosion sent Artie airborne.

"Shit!" Cormac's hand flashed as he wrapped a shield around Artie, before he could hit the ground. "Artie? You good? Sorry I wasn't faster, but I didn't really expect to see-- Oh, shit. What the fuck is that?"

The smile finally slid off Cormac's face, as some tall, slender ... creature rose out of the centre of the dais. He thought it might be another demon, but it didn't feel like a demon.

"That's about what I was expecting," Anders admitted quietly. "I've seen something like this before, and I hoped never to see one again, unless it was bearing good news, which this probably isn't." He finally noticed Carver bleeding on the floor, and flicked his fingers in that direction.

It looked up at the dome and spoke. "Be this some dream I wake from? Are these dwarven lands? Why seem their roads so empty?" After a moment, it spotted Anton, still wearing the crown. "You! Serve you at the temple of Dumat? Bring me thither! I must speak with the first acolyte."

"Dumat?" Anders's eyes shot to the crown, as he remembered the altar at the base of the tower. "There haven't been _temples_ to Dumat since ancient Tevinter."

"You look human. Are you not of the empire? Slaves, then, to the dwarves? Why come you to this place?" Corypheus looked confused by his surroundings. "Whoever you be, you owe fealty to any magister of Tevinter. On your knees! All of you!"

"Sorry, magisters give me a rash," Cormac muttered.

"You and your god are invited to suck my spicy Fereldan h--" Anders clapped a hand over Anton's mouth.

"Don't do it. There's a time and a place, and staring death in the face is not it." Anders shook his head.

"On our knees?" Artemis replied, head tilting. "You could at least buy me a drink first."

"I am disowning all of you," Carver groaned.

Corypheus squinted at each of them, like he was trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Artemis wondered if he'd heard any of what they'd just said.

"This is the Free Marches," said Bethany. "It hasn't been a part of the Imperium for six hundred years."

But Corypheus still didn't seem to be listening. "You are what held me," he said, stare wandering between the Hawkes. "I smell the blood in you."

Cormac shrugged and smiled easily. "And there are more of us of the blood than just the one who contained you. Should tell you a little something about us," he bluffed. Six hundred year old Tevinter magister? Yeah, this was whole new levels of stupid. Win, lose, or get banished to the deepest pits of the fade, this was going to be legendary. He was born to make legends.

Corypheus squinted at Cormac's face for a very long moment. "You are no elf," he mumbled, to himself, "and no elf I have ever seen has been so marked." He turned away from the Hawkes, looking out to the sky beyond the dome. "Dumat! Lord! What waking dream is this? This dwarf has no beard! This man has extremely inappropriate elven markings on his face!"

He paused and turned, still addressing his god. "We sought the light, the golden light. You offered... the powers of the gods themselves. But it was... black... corrupt... Darkness, ever since. How long?"

"The golden city. The first violation. The magisters who brought the blight. But... Dad said it was all bullshit." Cormac stared up at Corypheus, more than a little awed. His estimations shifted dramatically. This magister predated the First Blight. Predated the darkspawn. This wasn't just legendary, this was one of the most terrifyingly powerful blood mages ever to walk the face of Thedas, in any era -- a magister who partook in the slaughter of thousands and the use of more lyrium than had ever been in a single place at once, before or since. "Did he _know_? _Could_ he have known, if the dreamer still slept?"

"That's ridiculous! There were no magical bogeymen who ruined the Maker's city. It's a story. It's Chantry propaganda," Anders insisted, looking like he might throw up. He'd always been willing to believe, but with an ancient magical creature in front of him, calling to Dumat, claiming to have been one of the magisters who violated the Maker's golden city, at Dumat's instruction -- it had to be a lie, or he was going to die. Horribly. Very soon.

"What manner of speech is this?" Corypheus said, brow knit in confusion. "How long have I slumbered?"

"He tainted the world," Larius said, awed. "He speaks to all who carry the corruption. Darkspawn, Wardens." He turned to the closest Hawke. "He brought Janeka here. Brought you..."

"First he went after the Maker in His house, then me in mine," Artemis muttered. "I'm honoured." He doubted he could beat Corypheus half to death with a broomstick, however.

Corypheus's confusion turned to agitation. "The city!" he snarled. "It was supposed to be golden! It was supposed to be ours!" The air trembled with magic in a way that made Fenris's markings burn. Corypheus turned his attention back to the Hawkes, floating off the dais. "If I cannot leave with you, I will leave through you!"

Eyes wide, Larius turned and ran.

"I seek the light!" Corypheus declaimed.

"Chickenshit," Cormac muttered, glowing indigo for the third time that day. "Pointy things behind him. Artie, behind me. I got shields on all of you, for as long as I'm standing. I go down, you're on your own. Keep this asshole aimed at me. I can take it."

"Normally this would be the part where I'd either make asshole jokes or dog fart jokes, but I don't think there's time." Anton vanished around one side of the dais.

Carver stared up at the magister towering over them. "Why do I think his shields are better than yours?" he asked, before dashing off, the other way.

Cormac took the first shot, ice across the eyes. Not that it would do much damage, but it would keep the thing looking in the right place, as soon as it could see again. He couldn't quite see Corypheus as a person, for all that he claimed to have once been a magister. That wasn't human any more, no more than an abomination was.

Anders ducked behind Cormac, at least for the moment. He needed to get his head on. He needed to stop hearing it. Stop seeing it. Those weren't his memories, and he didn't want them. He was the easy one. He shouldn't have come. They needed a healer, but he'd already almost killed Cormac, and this thing wouldn't get out of his head -- if he couldn't shake it, he was going to do it again. That thing was exactly what it claimed to be. He could see it. He could see all of it. He'd never seen so much lyrium in his life, and the oceans of blood... The dwarves had been involved -- they had to have been, but there it was, dwarven merchants delivering crate after crate of raw lyrium. None of it was in the right order, and it all moved so fast. Years, decades of plotting, scrambled into minutes behind his eyes. That sleek-faced magister, in the background -- he thought he'd seen that face before, somewhere in his own memories, but... that made no sense. The man was dead a thousand years. Or he'd become _this_. He was lost in the swirl as the fight raged on around him.

Behind Corypheus, past the archways and balconies was a cliff and a long drop. With the right push, Artemis thought, the battle could be over in moments... assuming that levitating thing didn't translate into actual _flying_. Then they were still fucked. 

Keeping behind Cormac's shield, Artie peered around his brother and sent out a wave of force, praying his friends and siblings got out of the way in time if this went the way he wanted it to. It didn't. The magic slammed into Corypheus, and the magister stilled but wasn't launched back. Corypheus narrowed his eyes at the brothers, at these pests flinging spells at him.

"Oh fuck," Artemis said at his brother's ear. "That's not good."

Corypheus's spells hit Cormac's shield, hard enough that the floor shook with the impact. Bethany frantically added her shields to Cormac's against his onslaught.

With Corypheus's attention on the mages, warriors and rogues were able to launch their own attacks. It was almost too easy. Corypheus didn't see him, didn't even try to dodge or block as Carver raced towards him, sword swinging in a mighty arc --

Only to glance off the air in front of Corypheus without leaving a mark. "Shit," Carver breathed. 

Cormac was a little singed. Corypheus was a whole lot more to fend off than Anders had been, but he was also further away, and there was no reason Cormac would lower his shields, in this fight. "Stop looking at me, Bethy! Hex him, or we're never getting a shot in!"

There was little Cormac could actually do, scraping the bottom of the barrel, already, to keep shields on everyone and the focus on himself. Still, he lashed out with a stun, on the off chance it might buy them a little time. Corypheus wobbled, which was probably a good sign. 

"Anders, I need a potion." There was no response and Cormac couldn't spare the time to look back. "Anders, come on!"

There came a very distinctly Anders sound, from over his shoulder, and it was not a happy sound. It was an 'Anders is about to wake up not-screaming' sound. Cormac couldn't look back, and he let down one layer of shields long enough to lash out with another stun -- maybe if he could keep Corypheus off balance...

And then the screaming started. Cormac had heard Justice wind up, but he'd never actually heard Anders scream. The sound shot through him like icy needles.

"I have had enough of your shit! I have had enough of all of you! Get out of my head!" 

Cormac saw the shadows change, from behind him, felt the sudden rush of heat, and then Corypheus was engulfed in a pillar of flame. No, he was turning around. He could spare a second or two.

Anders was on fire. Or, more accurately, fire was on Anders. He didn't seem to be suffering any ill-effects -- no burns, no scorching, no blisters -- but that was very, very definitely actual fire, from the floor to the ceiling, a metre and a half wide. Anders opened his mouth again and just screamed in wordless rage, everything that had ever been wrong pouring out of him, and the colour of the flame around Corypheus started to shift. The longer the screaming went on, the bluer it burned.

And then the stun wore off.

Cormac threw a barrier around Anders, on top of the shield, as the magister suddenly shifted focus. Okay, Cormac could do this. All he had to do was keep Anders standing. Anders was the new target, instead of him, which was probably bad, but the healer should probably have been in the position of having the most shields right from the start. The screaming did not abate, and parts of the dais seemed to be softening in the ever-increasing heat.

Fenris and Carver exchanged looks with Anton and Isabela. The pillar of fire burned too hot to get within stabbing distance, so they bided their time, weapons ready. 

From within the blue fire, Corypheus outstretched his hands and called to the heavens, "I made your sacrifices, Lord. Strengthen me now!" He reached out towards one of the statues, and the stone griffon's eyes glowed blue in reply. "Dumat! Grant me your powers!"

All four statues glowed in response, and the fire surrounding Corypheus branched out towards the waiting fighters and rogues. They dived in different directions, the heat hitting them but the shields keeping the fires from burning them.

"Is he drawing power from the _statues_?" Artemis asked Cormac. 

Cormac grinned, grey-faced with holding all the shields. "One way to find out, right? Let me frost the railings for you, so they go over easier." He wasn't sure this was anything resembling a good idea, but they were running short of things to try, and he couldn't keep up that many shields forever. The indigo glow flickered out around him, and he took a deep breath, before freezing each balcony's stone railing.

"All yours, Your Shoveliness." Cormac leaned heavily on his staff. He really would be better off with a lyrium potion in him, but there was no way he was reaching for Anders, right now. He wasn't sure if he was more afraid of the fire or of Anders, himself. He started to wonder if Anders had taken a breath, yet, but he was pretty sure there had been no break in the sound, just a shift from angry howling to shrieking falcon noises and back.

Across the room, Bethany kept lobbing weirder and weirder hexes, in the hope that some of the damage would leak through Corypheus's shields. Confusion didn't work, but there were a hundred other tricks up her embroidered sleeves.

Artemis turned towards the statue closest to them and drew in a steadying breath, trying to block out the chaos. He gave one hard _shove_ and the statue cracked against the railing. Another, and it went tumbling over.

Corypheus let out a roar of rage, and a pair of shades shrieked into existence where the statue had stood moments before.

"We'll handle this!" Fenris called out, markings flashing blue as he charged one shade. "Keep going!"

Artemis nodded and turned to the next statue. One strong shove was enough to knock this one over, and when more shades appeared, it was Carver who charged them head-on.

The other two statues were farther away, and Artie had to duck out from behind Cormac and dodge Corypheus's jets of fire -- why so much fire? -- in order to get close enough to hit them. Well, close enough without accidentally taking out his siblings too, that is. The earth started to quake as he approached, and a spike of rock jutted up out of the ground, barely missing his feet. It jostled him enough that he missed the next statue on the first spell and clipped it on the second. His third attempt finally knocked the thing over.

Fenris cut down another shade, and looked up to see Artie scurrying towards the last statue. He held his breath as Artemis knocked that one over as well.

The first sign that something had changed was when Corypheus's robes actually _caught fire_. That was no longer just a pillar of blazing blue and white fire around him that had cracked the dome and turned the dais into lumpy, slow-moving slag, it was a pillar of fire with a burning magister in it.

"Blessed Andraste." It was all Cormac could do to stay standing, at that point, especially with the ground shaking as it was, but the barrier helped with that. This was actual damage. That was burning flesh. Anders had managed to set an ancient Tevinter magister aflame, and that magister didn't seem to be able to get the fire to go out.

"Dumat! Have you forsaken me? I am your faithful servant!" Corypheus cried out, to the whistling cracks in the dome.

Behind Cormac, the screaming finally stopped, and the next words didn't quite sound like Anders or Justice, but after that much screaming, he couldn't bring himself to be surprised. "Your god is dead. You are alone."

Still shouting entreaties to Dumat, Corypheus burned away, until finally, even the prayers ceased. Cormac turned just in time to catch Anders, as the fire flickered out and the healer dropped.

"I can't hear him. It's stopped." A beatific smile lit Anders's face, as he passed out cold.

"Shit. Because this is what I need, right now," Cormac grumbled, easing Anders to the ground and rifling his bag for potions. After two lyrium draughts, he stopped looking quite as grey. "Anton? Did anything survive that fire?" Cormac asked, wafting cool breezes in the direction of the slowly-solidifying dais, and the former magister upon it. "I really want to know if that was actually what it claimed to be."

Anton waited until the magister had mostly flickered out, pissing out the last few flickers of flame, before he started to poke at Corypheus's belongings. An amulet was half-melted into Corypheus's chest, the flesh more damaged than the runed metal, and Anton found himself weighing the pros and cons of trying to pry it free.

"That amulet..." Fenris crouched beside him, one clawed finger tracing the pendant and cutting it free from its fleshy moorings, "no one's used that pattern since before the First Blight. It was unique to a small sect in Tevinter who worshipped the god Dumat." A chill shivered down his spine as he thought of the altar below them, the one Anton had _also_ peed on.

"Shit," Anton breathed, picking up the still-warm amulet with the edge of his sleeve. "Are you saying Corypheus actually _was_ an ancient magister? An ancient magister that Anders just set on fire?"

Fenris didn't answer, mostly because he was afraid to. Just the thought was making his markings itch, even though the magic was gone from the air.

"I'm voting yes on the 'ancient magister' thing," Cormac panted, from across the room. The acoustics of the dome were great, even with it cracked. "Which is frankly terrifying, and it means there are six more of them. Threnodies was always the part I remembered."

He pulled Anders into his arms and tried to stand. And then he tried again. Cormac moved his feet a little further apart, and tried again. Somehow, he still wasn't vertical.

At some point, Bethany had crossed the room, and he first became aware of her when her voice spilled over his shoulder. "Has he been eating the sandwiches, then? Good. I was very worried about how thin your Warden's cheeks were looking."

"I'm just going to assume you're talking about his face, because I just don't have it in me to get as angry as I would need to be about that, otherwise." Cormac scanned the room. "Artie? You still standing?"

"I am," Artemis said, walking over to his brother. The bottom of his robe was a bit singed and he looked a bit wide-eyed, but otherwise he was fine. "Which is more than I can say for you two louts. Is he all right? Are _you_ all right? And before you ask, no, I'm not force pushing either of you anywhere."

"Louts!? No respect, I tell you. None. I see how you are." Cormac grinned up at his brother. "Listen, I made you a promise, and when we get back to town, I want to -- well, I want to sleep first, but I want to keep that promise. We just nearly died pretty horribly. If I'm not going to make a liar out of me, I should get to that before we do anything else... exciting. You still in?"

Artemis cleared his throat and took a second to process that before he stammered all over the place. Was Cormac talking about _that_? Now? "I -- yes. I'm still in. That would -- yes. Rest first, then -- yes." All right, so he stammered all over the place anyway. 

Bethany shot them both an odd look, but something in Artie's expression said she didn't want to know. "Rest does sound good," she said, "as does a bath. Let's get our dear Warden out of here, shall we?"

Artemis watched Cormac struggle to lift Anders and turned large eyes on Fenris. "This is quite pitiful, really," he said. "Do you think you could give my mageflower of a brother a hand, my darling, strapping elf?"

Fenris gave Artie a long-suffering look. "Rolling the abomination down the mountain would be faster," he drawled.

"Fuck this. Carver! If I put up a shield, can you do me a favour and just kick us out of here? I'll get him up the up stairs, if you get us the rest of the way through. I just can't quite pick him up, yet. Took a little more out of me than I probably should have been giving." Cormac dragged Anders into his lap and adjusted the shields like he used to do when he and Artemis would invent terrible, but fun, things to do with shields and force. "At least we're not on a river, this time. That was fun, though. The river. Not this. This was the opposite of fun. Would not repeat."

Varric crossed the floor first. "You want Junior to kick you and Blondie down the stairs? This is your plan?"

"This is a damn good plan. I'm sure he wants to kick me anyway." Cormac laughed, and for a moment he was afraid he might not be able to stop.

"I always want to kick you," Carver said, looking at Cormac as though he had grown an extra head, "but that just seems cruel to Magey in your lap, there."

Artie pinched the bridge of his nose. This wouldn't be the first time Cormac had thrown himself down a set of stairs surrounded by his magic bubble. There was even that one time he convinced Artie to try it, and Maker knew why he agreed to.

"Go ahead," Anton said, grinning. "Artie can always pull them back if they're about to fall off a cliff."

"Thanks, Anton," Artemis muttered.


	82. Chapter 82

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exeunt. On the road again.

Some great lot of kicking and force magic later, along with several drinking songs, a few dead darkspawn, and another meal of deepstalkers, they were back up in dwarven territory, and fresh air had never felt so good. Another half hour and a whole lot of Cormac whining about dragging Anders up _more stairs_ , Maker damn the man who put all these stairs here, and they were back out on the trade road that headed back down the mountain.

Cormac had sort of recovered. Ish. At least enough that he was actually carrying Anders on his back, with the assistance of some rope, even if he was still clinging to his staff with both hands to keep himself upright. "Artie? Am I hallucinating, or is that some kind of fruit tree? I'm starting to think those are pears. I'm starting to think we can do the thing with the tree, and eat pears all the way back to Kirkwall."

Artemis followed Cormac's line of sight and laughed. "If you're hallucinating, so am I," he said. "And what a thing to hallucinate, pears. Then again, things did go a bit pear-shaped in there, didn't they?"

Carver groaned loudly at the terrible pun. "We should have left you back at the prison."

Artemis nudged Carver with the butt of his new staff, making him stumble a bit. "See if you get any pears!" Artie huffed. To Cormac, he said, "You know what? I'm hungry, and I've had enough deep lizard to last me a lifetime. If you want to do the thing, I'm in."

Cormac dropped to one knee before trying to cast anything. No sense in falling down, at a time like this. He cast a barrier around the top of the pear tree, just like when they'd been harvesting fruit, those few years on the road. "I got it. Let's see what comes down."

Varric watched, confused. Shielding a tree? He elbowed Isabela's hip. "Is this the exhaustion kicking in? What are they doing?"

"I'm not sure, but if it wasn't going to work, I think one of them would have noticed. This sounds like something they've done before, even if I've never seen it... 'The thing with the tree?' Almost sounds kinky!" Isabela grinned at Varric. "You should make it sound kinky in your book."

"Remind me to tell you about my other thing with the tree, Izzy," Artemis said as he gathered more force magic under his fingers. "That one _is_ kinky."

"Now _I'd_ like to know the thing with the tree," Fenris said, eyebrow arching.

Artie aimed his spell at the tree with a practised motion, just enough to shake the tree without crushing anything or knocking it over. The pears came tumbling down, landing in Cormac's shield in steady plops.

"Oh, so that's the tree thing!" Varric said. 

"We don't have a bag, do we? This is going to be interesting..." Cormac untied Anders from his back, leaning the healer against another tree, a bit distant from the pear tree. He stripped off the first layer of his robes and tied a few knots in the cloth, before holding the makeshift sack under the barrier. Slowly he eased it open, catching fruit as he circled the tree. Even his robe wasn't quite enough for a tree that didn't see a regular harvest or frequent travellers, and he had to let some of the pears fall to the ground.

"I'm sorry," Cormac said, sitting down all at once, as he turned to face the group. "I think we're making camp, here. At least we have food!"

He still wasn't looking so good, but nobody had mentioned it to him. A decent amount of his beard was burnt off, and there were still faint traces in his skin, where the lightning had blasted through him. Not scars, just lighter lines that might fade in time. Add to that the amount of time he'd spent grey-faced and sweating, in that last fight, and he looked like he'd gotten ... well, into a fight with an ancient Tevinter magister, frankly.

While no one looked as worn out as Anders or Cormac, just about everyone was grateful for a rest. And for food. Carver was especially relieved at the prospect of pears after turning his nose up at cooked deepstalker.

Artie grabbed a few pears and plopped next to Cormac. He pressed his waterskin into his brother's hand and took a large bite of fruit. A tiny bit riper than he preferred, but still food and still good. "Your beard is bothering me," he teased, catching a bit of fruit juice that dribbled down his chin. "But maybe you could start a new trend in Orlais."

Cormac took a long drink of slightly stale water, before grabbing a pear. "How about I let you satisfy your deranged urges, hmm? As long as you'll let me keep Anders in the room, in case you ... in case of accidents, I'll let you shave it off me. I don't think there's any saving it, now. I'm just going to have to start over. Might as well let you enjoy the demolition of what's left of my beautiful beard."

"I always wondered what you looked like under that thing," Varric said. "Might be time to air out your face and take in the possibilities of glamorous beardlessness."

"Yes, well, unfortunately, it looks like this may be a time for taking in overall glamorous hairlessness. Bastard destroyed my chest hair, too. I can feel it," Cormac complained around a mouthful of pear.

"Ooh. Not the chest hair! Can't lose that!" Varric rubbed his own chest sympathetically.

"But it's the source of your power!" Anton said in mock horror. Artemis lobbed a pear at his head, which he caught, grinning.

"I don't think I'll be touching your beard," Artie said. "Not after what happened last time. We both have scars from that." He rubbed at his own scruff and shuddered. He took back his waterskin and took a long drink as well. There was hardly any water left by the time he'd finished. "Finish your pear," he told Cormac, "then get some rest. You look like shit warmed over. And I should know, since you set fire to some shit a few hours ago."

"The resemblance _is_ uncanny," Fenris agreed, smirking.

"Yeah, yeah, the next time you get nailed by a possessed Fade spirit and then shield nine people from an attack by the biggest badass ever to walk out of Tevinter, I'll remember to inform you that you look even worse than you feel, when it's over." Cormac shoved the last of the core into his mouth and winged the pear stem at Fenris.

"You know, I was really trying to forget that first part happened..." Carver grabbed another pear and looked thoroughly grossed out.

"I don't think I'll _ever_ forget that part happened!" Isabela purred, squeezing Carver's arm.

"Neither will I," Cormac muttered, in a decidedly neutral tone, as he stripped off another layer of robe and rolled it up for a pillow. He laid Anders down, first, and then stretched out alongside the healer, wrapping around him. The second-to-last layer of his robes bore soaked-through bloodstains, stiff yellowish patches, and scorch marks. He didn't notice. It was all healed by then, and he'd been walking around in the remnants half the day.

Artie looked at the passed-out mages and tried not to worry. They were safe. Ish. As safe as they ever got, really, in or around Kirkwall, safest surrounded by friends and family suffering from the same brand of insanity as they. Fenris sat down next to his mage, laying his sword out next to him in case it needed to be snatched up, and Artemis leaned into him, nuzzling under his chin and sighing happily at the tingle of lyrium against his skin. He wasn't as scraped bare as Cormac, but he was feeling a little hollowed out.

Varric chuckled at this display, cleaning blood spatters off of Bianca with a scrap of cloth. "Naptime for the mages," he said. "Except for Bethy. Bethy looks like she could take out another magister before lunch."

"Single-handedly," Bethany replied primly. "I just didn't want my brothers to feel left out."

  
Anders woke to the taste of dirt in his mouth. It wasn't the worst thing he'd woken up tasting -- in fact, it was a reminder that he was outside and outside meant _free_ \-- but that didn't make it pleasant. There was a warm weight against him in the shape of a familiar mage, and pale, early morning sunlight hit his cheek. Something nagged at him, a tug at the back of his mind telling him there was something he needed to remember, something urgently important. Something actually urgently important, as opposed to any reactions he might be having to the way Cormac's hands kneaded at him.

A moderately displeased sound from his own mouth woke Cormac, as Anders moved his hands to places they'd both be less horrified by anyone else noticing. Of course, after the day before -- the day before! Possession, magister, fire--! Cormac's eyes shot open, and a strangled sound of panic followed. No, that was really just Anders. They were outside. And something in the back of his mouth tasted like half-fermented pears.

"G'morning, gorgeous," Cormac muttered into Anders's shoulder, trying to drag his heart-rate back down. "Fucking hero, you know that? Hope you know that. 'S important." It was important. Way more important than any of the stupid, horrible shit that had happened on the way to or from that heroism, Cormac was sure, even if he was still missing part of his beard.

"Hero?" Anders echoed, voice still rough. There was that nagging feeling again. He looked down at Cormac as best he could from this awkward angle, and it was the sight of his singed beard and robes that made everything click into place. He sat bolt upright, and this time it was _his_ heart hammering in his chest. 

A voice in his head that wasn't Justice's. And... fire. There had been fire. "Sweet Maker, I melted a magister," Anders breathed.

Nearby, Fenris snorted. "Yes, it was the only acceptable use of magic I've seen from you," he said. Well, aside from the healing, but he wasn't about to admit that, not to the abomination.

"You did." Cormac grinned and wrapped his arms tighter around Anders. "It was amazing. I have no idea how you're not burnt, but you... You were yelling. I've never heard you raise your voice, but you just went off, and he burst into flames. You burst into flames, too, but that seemed less important, once I realised they weren't hurting you. I don't think I've ever seen an actual fire spell turn blue, either -- or white. That was some power you had going, and it was delightful to watch."

"Singed my skirt on the molten rock, but I think that was my fault," Bethany said, midway through another pear. "That was incredible, Anders. That was the kind of incredible you don't see outside of manifestations. If you ever figure out how you did that, teach me?"

"I didn't think you did fire. I've never seen you use it except to warm the bath." Cormac pressed a kiss to Anders's chest. "Hidden talent?"

Hidden. Not so much hidden as buried, suppressed. He remembered a barn, the stink of smoke and burning hay. "Not sure I'd call it a talent," he said, trying and failing to smile. "Do you remember what I told you about my magic's... manifestation?"

Artemis shifted, lifting his head from Fenris's spiky shoulder. There had been panic in Anders's voice when everything had combusted, a panic that had seemed familiar. "You can't control it, can you?" he asked.

"Oh, shit," Cormac muttered. He'd forgotten that, actually. "Well, lucky you, I'm mostly fireproof, too. Mostly. Usually. You light me up by accident, we'll be fine. Not that I think I'll ever piss you off enough for that. That seems to be a particular talent reserved for ancient assholes from Tevinter."

After the last day, Cormac thought maybe he should have been afraid of Anders, but he just couldn't muster it. It hadn't been _fire_ Anders had used on him, and that hadn't really been Anders, either. He decided a holy terror of ancient magisters would suffice on all counts. Ancient magisters trying to kill him with his -- his Warden. His Warden who was going to turn into a sexy darkspawn at some point in the distant future. He tried not to laugh at that image. He did. And then he failed miserably, burying his face against Anders's armpit as he cackled. 

"Sorry, I..." but the laughing didn't stop long enough for him to finish.

Anders stared down at his armpit and the cackling Hawke with his face buried in it and wondered which one of them had finally lost it.

"Did I miss the joke?" Anders asked with a nervous laugh of his own. He nudged Cormac with his shoulder, tried to get Cormac to look at him.

Artemis exchanged a glance with Anton, who shrugged in reply.

It took Cormac several more tries to manage words. Finally, he choked out, "Sexy darkspawn." The cackling continued, unabated. He was sure it wasn't actually that funny, except for the part where it absolutely was. He struggled to explain, but wound up settling for, "Can't... stop..."

Cormac didn't suppose this was quite what his father had in mind, with the instruction to keep smiling, even and especially in the worst of times, but here he was, completely unable to stop laughing, as he struggled to pull himself together and actually offer some comfort to the poor bastard he was leaning on.

"Cormac, breathe." Bethany looked at him like he'd completely lost his mind, which to be fair, was an increasingly likely conclusion. "If you don't start breathing, I'm going to knock you out. You're turning colours."

"You sound a little like Mintaka when you laugh like that," Anton said with a concerned smile.

Anders cupped the back of Cormac's head, fingers probing for injuries he might have missed. "Cormac, listen to your sister," he said. "Breathe." He took a few deep breaths himself to illustrate. "Now, when you say 'sexy darkspawn," he added after a beat, "I hope you're not referring to Corypheus."

"Huh," Varric muttered, "Cormac's the first Hawke to go nuts. All this time my money was on Nervy."

Artemis threw him a rude gesture.

Cormac panted, first, to shut himself up, and then slowly eased back down, with a few breaks for cackling, into something a little closer to breathing normally. Every few seconds, he'd choke on another laugh, but he managed to keep it down. "No, gorgeous, I meant you. That little reveal in the tunnels just stuck with me." Cormac wheezed around another laugh he couldn't stop. "In the last day, we slaughtered an offshoot of the Carta, narrowly avoided an ancient thaig-destroying demon, got trapped underground, discovered an ancient Warden fortress containing a secret prison for an ancient Tevinter magister-turned-darkspawn, you got possessed and I ..." He waved a hand dismissively and went on. "And then I punched my brother and exploded a woman's head, Anton pissed on and pissed off one of the Old Gods, and then you melted a magister. It's been a long day, and right now, all of it is funny, because we're not trapped in a musty hole in the ground, full of darkspawn."

"I dispute that I pissed on an Old God," Anton argued. "I pissed on an altar to an Old God, and one that's been dead for a thousand years. How was I supposed to know it had demons in it?"

"I don't know, maybe because everything else that was glowing in that shithole had demons in it? I'm just saying..." Cormac laughed again, with a little less force.

"It _has_ been a rather eventful Marketday," Anders agreed with a tired laugh of his own, "even by our standards." There was something absurd about it all, when put together like that, and he had to bite back a hysterical giggle too. No. He had to keep his head. Best not to set Cormac off again or they'd never stop.

"The mages are getting punchy," Varric said, sharing a commiserating look with Isabela.

" _Those_ mages are getting punchy," Bethany corrected him, "and this mage is quite eager to get back to Kirkwall."

"So is this mage," Artemis said from Fenris's shoulder.

"This mage," Cormac groaned, fumbling around behind Anders, until he found the next layer of his robes, "would very much like to get home and shave the scorched remnants of his beard." He leaned back and pulled on the robe, without standing up. "Am I still going to be good enough for you, when I'm all bald-faced, my sexy darkspawn? 'Cause if not, I will march right back into that tower and set that corpse on fire all over again."

"I'm going to look _twelve_. This is horrifying." Cormac hadn't been without a beard since he was seventeen, even if it had just been a silly little patch on his chin, then, like the one Artemis wore, now. "Do I shave my chest? Do you care if I'm asymmetrical?" He grabbed his staff and heaved himself to his feet, holding out a hand to Anders. "You're going to have to tell me how bad this is, you know. I don't think I'm going to be able to look."

"When is a bear not a bear?" Isabela whispered in Fenris's ear, as she leaned over to grab the sack of pears.

"You'd be like a hairless cat," Anton said. "Anders is a cat person." He stood as well, pausing to stretch his arms over his head and smothering a yawn. The others followed suit, standing and gathering their things.

"At least you didn't lose your eyebrows," Bethany said as she snatched another pear from Isabela. " _That_ would have been horrifying."


	83. Chapter 83

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, back in Kirkwall... Sebastian is a blithering idiot. Cullen is dreadfully confused.

Cullen was on his way out of a meeting with the Grand Cleric, halfway down the stairs from the Chantry, when a voice called out from behind him.

"Knight-Captain! I have heard you have been seen in the company of Bethany Hawke..."

"Well, ah, yes..." Cullen came to the bottom of the stairs and turned to find an irate Chantry brother behind him. "I rather enjoy her company. She's a very nice girl."

His head snapped to the side as the brother whipped off a gauntlet and cracked him across the cheek with it, pulling it back on, rather than tossing it to the ground. "And I would duel you for her honour."

"What?" Cullen sputtered. "But-- I don't... _what_?" Her _honour_? Bethany's honour? What did Bethany's honour have to do with him?

Sebastian drew the sword at his hip, a sword Cullen didn't recall Sebastian ever carrying before. He lifted his chin defiantly. "Draw your sword, Knight-Captain."

Cullen had so many questions. He reached for his sword reluctantly but didn't draw it, not yet. "Can we talk about this first?"

"Talk?" Sebastian roared. "I didn't take you for a coward, Knight-Captain!" 

He swung at Cullen, who easily sidestepped. Maker, the man's form was terrible. Did he even know how to use a sword? A few more swings, and it almost looked like they were dancing. Sebastian would strike, and Cullen wouldn't be there when the sword landed. With a sigh, Cullen wrapped his arm around Sebastian's, on the next strike, and straightened his elbow. The sword popped out of Sebastian's hand and Cullen caught it.

"You idiot," Cullen muttered, punching Sebastian in the nose with the hand holding the sword. "I'm dating her _brother_."

"You..." Sebastian looked confused, blotting half-heartedly at the blood running down his face. " _Which brother_?"

"The attractive one, obviously," Cullen replied, handing back the sword.

"I thought he was with that elf...?" Sebastian's voice suffered, somewhat, as he gripped his nose, in an effort to get it to stop bleeding.

"Elf? Wha--? Maker, no. Not _Artemis_! Anton!"

Sebastian blinked. "Oh," he said through bloodied fingers. Cullen folded his arms across his chest, and he was about to walk away when Sebastian asked, "So... you and Bethany."

"She was our chaperone for a few dates," Cullen explained. "And now she's a friend. Do you... do you wave a sword around at all her friends?"

"No, I..." Sebastian took his hand away from his nose only to put it back when he found the bleeding hadn't stopped. The red was stark against his white armour. "I do apologise, Knight-Captain. It seems I was misinformed."

That wasn't all Sebastian was, but Cullen bit his tongue. "All right, well. Word of advice. Next time you challenge someone to a duel, try something other than a sword. Or learn how to use one." Cullen paused to consider. "Maybe ask Carver for some pointers. I hear he's good at 'swording'."

* * *

Neither Bethany nor Carver were home, that day, as it turned out. Something about a family holiday in the mountains, but Sebastian returned, a few days later, just in time to catch the middle of some argument the Hawkes were having about their father.

"Is that what killed him? Did whatever he did in there catch up with h--" Cormac stopped as Bodhan entered the room.

"Sebastian for you, Bethany." Bodhan bowed. "Shall I put him in the west sitting room?"

"No, no, just bring him in. We'll take this up, later. Go find that book, Cormac. I want to know if you're right about _that_ , at least." Bethany straightened her skirts and straightened up from where she'd been leaning against a bookcase.

Sebastian's face was still a bit purple, a streak of bruise running across the swollen bridge of his nose. 

Bethany's eyebrows arced towards her hairline. "Sebastian!" she gasped. "What happened to your face?"

"Shame. That is what happened." His hand flit up to his nose. "And also a... misunderstanding with the Knight-Captain."

Bethany's eyebrows tried to defy gravity by arcing higher. " _Cullen_?" She exchanged a look with Cormac. "Honestly, we can't leave you boys alone for a few days. What was this 'misunderstanding' about?"

Sebastian wrung his hands, looking at everything around the room except Bethany. "Well... you, actually. Bethany."

Anton swung his feet off the couch and sat up. "Cullen punched you in the face over my _sister_? This I have to hear." His face waffled between confusion and amusement, as he somehow managed not to laugh. Yet.

"I'm ... I was going to get Anders, but I have to hear this, first." Cormac gestured at the chair he'd just abandoned. "Sit down before you manage to get assaulted by a bookend."

"I thought... There are stories about the Knight-Captain. That he was wooing some noblewoman. That he'd been seen spending time, here. And I-- well... When I heard you'd been having lunch with him..." Sebastian shrugged, helplessly, like he'd done the only sane thing left. "I challenged him to a duel. With a sword."

"I thought you were an archer." Bethany squinted at him. "An exceptional, championship archer."

"Well... yes, but you cannot duel someone with arrows."

"Sure you can!" said Anton. "You just have to shoot faster than the other person. Much quicker than a sword duel, I imagine, if less entertaining."

"Can Cullen shoot a bow and arrow?" Artemis asked from the corner where he was straightening books.

Anton shrugged. "No idea. But I tend to doubt they teach templars that sort of thing."

"Then maybe you shouldn't be giving Sebastian ideas."

"It's... not like I plan to make a habit of this," Sebastian said, turning so he could address all the Hawkes in the room.

"You're an amazing idiot," Cormac pointed out. "And you're lucky Cullen's polite, or you'd be dead."

"He's not actually a nobleman. It helps with that." Anton shook his head. "But, you really are lucky. You drew a sword on a templar, and all you've got to show is a bloody nose?"

"Don't forget the Grand Cleric's displeasure." Sebastian sighed. "Elthina was less than amused with my decision. Perhaps I should return to Starkhaven, but if I'm making mistakes like this..."

"Don't stab anything that doesn't show up at the door, making trouble, and you'll be fine," Cormac said, tossing a book to Bethany. "I'm going to go get Anders. Your face is bothering me. Your face is probably bothering you."


	84. PART XVIII: ARTEMIS GETS LUCKY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cormac made a promise to Artemis. And he never goes back on his promises.
> 
> (It's about eight thousand words of hot Hawke-on-Hawke action. You're welcome.)

Cormac still felt weird, without the fluff. Isabela had started calling him the 'hairless bear', the very next day, which he supposed was going to stick until he managed to grow his beard back out. It still wasn't coming in quite evenly, but every time he shaved, it looked like it was filling in a little more. A few weeks, and he'd be fine. His chest was down to a stripe down the middle, and he just hadn't bothered to shave his left leg, which still had current patterns in the hair. It was less obvious, there. He was considering getting another tattoo, while the shaving was already out of the way, but there were other things to see to, first. Namely, his brother, who was still looking at him with those big, round eyes, waiting for him to say something.

"The first thing you should know is that Anders was kind enough to give me a potion, for this afternoon's entertainments. Consider it a loan of a small amount of that Warden stamina." That was one of the other effects, but it wasn't the one Cormac actually needed. That one, he wouldn't mention. "So, because I know what you like," he said, purring Artemis's own line back at him, "we'll do this my way, first. And that will give you time to think of what you want to do with the rest of the three or four directly consecutive rounds I should be able to wring out of this. Are you interested in that plan?"

Three or four. Consecutive. Artemis swallowed and nodded. "That... that sounds like a great plan," he said. "One of your better plans, actually. Which isn't saying much considering your usual kinds of plans, but..." Artie coughed into his fist. Rambling. Right. "So," he purred back, tugging teasingly at Cormac's beardless chin, "how would you like to do this 'your way' then?"

"Well, I was thinking, since I just shaved..." Cormac looked out the window, instead of at his brother, for a moment. "What if we play a game? You said you've been thinking about this for years, since the summer we moved to Lothering, if my sense of time is right... Since you caught me out in the barn. Did you spend a little alone time, with yourself after that? Take your earthquakes out to the woods?" Cormac took a deep breath and looked back. "What if we go out into your beautifully arranged yard and pretend...? Pretend I caught _you_ , after you caught me? And no, to be honest, I probably wouldn't have been into it then, but I'm into it now, and that's what counts."

Anders watched, from the other side of the room, far enough off not to influence the conversation, but close enough to listen. This was going to be a good show. Maybe Fenris would loosen up a little, too.

Artie felt his cheeks burn up to the tips of his ears. His brother knew him too well, really. That was exactly what he'd done. Not right away, not even that day, but the image of Cormac, the sound of his screams, had lingered in his mind. They had grown more distracting the more he tried to ignore them. 

"Definitely one of your better plans," Artie admitted with a coy smile. 

Nearby, Fenris was practising his reading. He'd been staring at the same page for the past few minutes as he listened to this conversation, left ear twitching. There was no way he was going to concentrate after that.

"Then I'm going to go out to the garden and put a couple more plaits in my hair, while you get comfortable. Whistle for me, when you want me to come looking for you." Cormac cupped his brother's cheek for a moment, and then meandered out of the room, trying to convince himself he could still feel the ground under his feet. This was completely insane, and it was a good thing he had a potion. There was no way he was going to be able to do this, without it. He knew he'd calm down, eventually, but this was still... He'd once punched someone in the teeth, in the middle of a crowded market, for having even suggested it. And here he was, about to do this. About to do his brother. 

His fingers worked at his hair, with a mind of their own, remembering how he used to wear it, when he was younger. The reflexes never really went away, he reflected, licking his fingertips between plaits, as he found a corner to sit in, until he heard the whistle.

"So, ah, where do you want us, Artie?" Anders asked, pointing at himself and Fenris.

Artemis noticed Fenris eyeing him over the binding of a children's book. Artie cleared his throat and twisted his fingers into his hair, thumb of his free hand pointing over his shoulder. "There's a hot spring out back if you want to -- yes. The pond. Magic." He glanced out the window where he could see Cormac braiding his hair. "I'm just going to... yard. Yes. Lovely day."

Artie all but darted out of the house, palms sweaty and heart pounding in his ears. They were doing this. Actually doing this. Stone cold sober, even, and wasn't that new? Artemis cast about his garden, wandering around until he found the spot he was looking for, in the shade of an oak tree, half hidden by some conveniently placed flower bushes. Yes. Just secluded enough to add to the effect.

Artemis settled on the ground with his back to the tree, taking a moment to collect himself, to reassure himself that this _was_ happening before fumbling with the laces to his trousers. He thought of Cormac, of what they were about to do, of how wrong it was and how badly he wanted it, and he was flushed and panting in a matter of moments. 

Another moment to collect himself, and he pursed his lips in a whistle.

Cormac took his time, responding, finishing the plait he was halfway through and pulling off his robes over his head, before he straightened the feathered and flowered plaits. This would be the real surprise. He'd found almost what he used to wear, when they still worked in the orchards -- the loosely-laced shirt and the too-tight tan leather trousers. Checking himself one last time, he set off in the direction of the whistle. The shirt would show the bites Anders had left where his neck met his shoulder, just darker than his skin. He'd gotten Anders to rub him off in the trousers, that morning, because he had a pretty good memory of how often he'd walked around in that shape, at that age. Anders had been all too pleased to help bolster the illusion.

Catching sight of Artemis, Cormac paused, just watching for a moment, as he drank the potion and tucked the bottle behind some flowers. He could get it later. He crept up quietly, watching the shadows and his brother's breathing, until he was nearly standing on Artemis. "Hey, shakes and quakes. Thinking about your elven lover?" he teased.

Even though he was expecting it, Artie still jumped at his brother's voice. He looked over to find himself face to crotch with some tight leather pants that looked ridiculously familiar. He looked up the line of Cormac's body, and, Maker, the illusion was almost perfect. Cormac was squarer in the shoulders now, cheekbones and jaw more refined, but for a moment, it was like he was a jittery teenager again. 

Not that he still wasn't acting like a jittery teenager. A jittery adult. That's what he was. "Cormac!" he said, feigning surprise, eyes wide. "What are you doing here?" At least his acting was better than his singing. Or his cooking.

"Maybe I'm here to do the same thing you're here to do." Cormac smirked down at his brother. "Just didn't think I'd find you out here." He cupped a hand around the back of Artemis's head, thumb rubbing behind his ear. "Or maybe I should have expected it. I thought I saw something, the other day... Thought it was a spooked deer, but maybe it was you, hmm? You got it for the neighbour boy, too?"

Anders had followed Fenris out to the spring -- pretty nice, actually, especially considering it was probably artificial. Good dwarven-made feature, at a glance. He turned his back on the elf and stripped down to his tunic, before sliding into the water, which was just deliciously warm against his everything. Purring contentedly, he stretched, before finally opening his eyes and realising why Artie had pointed them toward this spot in particular. That was a perfect view of the two of them. Nothing in the way, and just enough branches and leaves to render him and Fenris ... somewhat less obvious. Oh, this had been good planning on everyone's part.

"What?" Fenris grunted, noticing Anders staring and smirking. He followed the mage's line of sight and sucked in a breath. So _that's_ why Artemis had... suggested the pond. Fenris was often underestimating his mage's deviousness. "Oh."

"Oh," Anders agreed, grinning.

Artemis leaned into Cormac's hand, turning to press his cheek to Cormac's palm. His fingers continued to trace his more than interested knob. "Not the neighbour boy," he said, voice breathy. Honestly, Artie couldn't even remember what he'd looked like. He looked up at Cormac through his lashes. 

"Not the neighbour boy, hmm?" Cormac smiled wickedly down. He couldn't even remember the neighbour boy's name, after all these years. Wasn't certain he knew it at the time, now that he thought about it. "Watching me, then? Going to make the earth shake to the thought of pounding it into your big brother?"

He knew better, but he was going to make Artie say it. There was something satisfying in watching Artemis confess his desires -- the way he flushed and bit his lips. He supposed that was how it had always been, really. But, before the last utterly fucked up year, that had mostly been him just giving his little brother shit. Now, things were a little different. Different desires, different motivations.

Cormac picked at the laces of his trousers, with his free hand, not opening them, but loosening them -- letting the warm air out, as his knob finally began to take interest in the proceedings. The potion was working, then, and that was one less thing to worry about.

Artemis licked his lips. "I... preferred the idea of you doing the pounding," he confessed to Cormac's crotch, "while I did the shaking." And Cormac knew that. Artemis knew that Cormac knew that, but he'd never admitted as much sober. _Maker_. He couldn't quite meet his brother's eyes after saying as much.

Fenris strained to hear what they were saying. Artie sat as though he were fighting not to squirm, and Fenris surmised that he must be enjoying the conversation. Then he remembered that the abomination was there too and tried to act like he wasn't staring.

"You don't have to pretend," Anders said, kneading his own balls as he watched the brothers. He could still see Fenris not quite next to him. "We're here to watch them. They're putting on a show for us. I'm pretty sure Artemis means for you to enjoy it." It hadn't yet occurred to him that he was wearing white, and the wet tunic clung to the scars beneath it.

"You want me inside you?" Cormac struggled to sound surprised. It was a lot less difficult than he thought it might be. "You want your big brother's big, thick knob all to yourself?" He was starting to feel a little lightheaded, but somehow convinced his fingers to finish unlacing his pants. "I'll tell you what. If you suck me until I'm hard enough to get it into you, I'll pound you until they can feel it in Rivain."

Artemis shuddered and bit back a groan at those words. "Is that a promise?" he asked with a teasing smile, meeting Cormac's stare with a heated look of his own.

He twisted onto his knees for better leverage and found himself face to face with his brother's knob, a knob which he coaxed out of those tight pants. His own trousers hung low on his hips as he knelt. "Tell me what you like, Cormac," Artemis purred. "You want my mouth on you?" He bent to mouth at Cormac's tip, tongue flicking out teasingly.

Cormac leaned forward, putting one hand on the tree and smoothing Artemis's hair back with the other. "There will be tidal waves in Llomeryn," he breathed. Actually, he really hoped Artie didn't destroy anything out here. The garden looked expensive and well cared for.

"What do I like? You watched me. I think you know what I like. I like it hard. I like it rough. I like sucking and biting." He ran a finger along his own length, tapping a few spots. "Here, and here, and here. I love teeth. Don't be afraid to bruise me. I want that ache. I want to watch my gorgeous little brother wrap his lips around my knob." Sweat ran down Cormac's side, and he hoped he smelled more like spunk and leather than panic. Yet another reason he'd gotten Anders to give him a hand.

"Here?" Artemis said, grinning against the first spot Cormac had pointed to. He nipped at the skin there, more a teasing press of teeth than a bite. "Here?" He nipped a little harder at the second spot, only to tease with a graze of teeth at the third.

Artemis knew his brother liked pain, but that was something he had to work himself up to. And he would, if asked, if needed, because here was Cormac going to all these lengths for _him_. The wardrobe said he'd planned this, which meant he'd been thinking about this, and... and Artie was thinking far too much for someone with a knob in his mouth.

Fenris swore under his breath, eyes glued to the sight.

Anders pinched himself and called up a quick sliver of a spell to make sure he wasn't in the Fade. No, this was really happening, and he was really watching it, almost naked, with the broody death elf for company. It was weird enough he wasn't sure a demon could even have come up with it.

"Yes, fuck, _Artemis_!" Cormac's legs trembled, and a thousand completely irrelevant things ran through his head. He wasn't drunk enough for this. Artie wasn't drunk enough for this. And it was his own drunken fault neither of them were drunk for this. All the same, his knob had no complaints about the attention. Every nibble, every flicker of tongue made his spine crackle with some combination of pleasure and horror. This was his _brother_ \-- his brother who'd drunkenly made him promise to do this, so it wasn't really wrong. Artemis wanted it, he reminded himself, looking down at his brother's very pretty lips wrapped around his knob.

Cormac stroked his brother's hair with a shaking hand, rubbing behind his ear, again. "Is it good?" he asked.

Artemis grinned up at his brother around his knob, a pleased hum in the back of his throat giving Cormac his answer. He pulled back anyway to nip at his tip and purr, "More than good." Because that was the only descriptor his brain could conjure up. He was still thinking too much but not about the right things, apparently, that he couldn't find an adequate adjective. Still. Any positive reinforcement had to count for something, right?

Artemis took Cormac back into his mouth with renewed fervour, adding another scrape of teeth. His hands clutched Cormac's hips, thumbnails digging in to the exposed skin above his waistband.

"You're so beautiful, Artie. Everything about you --" A flick of tongue ended that entire line of thought, and Cormac's hips jerked forward, suddenly. "I'm sorry. Shit. You all right?" He caressed Artemis's cheek, considering the situation. "Maybe I should put that somewhere else, before I choke you with it, by accident."

Not that there was really that much of him -- not compared to _Anders_ , anyway -- but it generally wasn't polite to accidentally shove one's knob into someone's throat. He'd gotten spoilt, over the last few years, so used to Anders holding his hips so tight he couldn't. He supposed that probably added to the illusion, but there was such a thing as too much accuracy, and that was probably one of those things.

This time, Artemis made sure to bite him before pulling back. "Who says I'd mind if you did?" he asked with a challenging smirk. His hand trailed over Cormac's knob as he spoke. "I'm all in favour of you putting this somewhere else, but I'm not exactly fragile. If I'm not force pushing you into a tree, you're fine. You don't have to be so... sweet about it."

Not that he didn't like 'sweet'. He enjoyed it as much as the next person, especially with Fenris, but sometimes... well. 'Sweet' hadn't been a part of his fantasies with Cormac.

"Of course I'm sweet about it. You're my brother," Cormac grumbled, tugging Artemis's hair. "But, if you want me to stop treating you like you're the most delicate and precious gift I've ever been given, I can do that." At least he hoped he could. "You want me to yank your hair and fuck your face? Hmm? Or were you just looking for something a little more than me trying desperately not to fall on you, while you make my eyes roll back in my head?"

A fine shiver ran through Artemis at those words, words that his knob seemed to find _very_ pleasing. He tilted his head to better feel the tug on his hair. "I would like that," he said, voice rough, hips squirming. "Exactly that."

Cormac sucked in a sharp breath, getting a better grip on Artemis's hair. Uncertainty lingered around his eyes, even as he forced a wicked smile onto his face. He jerked Artemis's hair, shoving his knob into the space left by a gasp. "Like this?" Pushing in, slowly, he watched Artemis's eyes, waiting for some sign he should stop. That was his brother's throat reflexively clenching around his knob, and he panicked, for a moment, but forced it down. He pulled out more quickly, afraid of choking or vomiting or potentially worse things he hadn't yet thought of. "You want me to give it to you like that?"

"Yes," Artemis breathed, trying to pull Cormac closer. "Like that." He looked up at his brother's face, saw the barest hint of uncertainty there. "Not kidding about the force pushing, you know. You don't have to worry about hurting me."

Under his breath, Fenris muttered a few colourful curses. He wasn't sure he wanted to watch this, his mage being used this way, but... that was definitely a smile on Artemis's lips. He could hear Isabela's voice ( _'Have you two danced the irrumambo yet?' 'You're still saying it wrong._ ') and knew that she would laugh and tell him that his ears were vibrating. He swore again and clutched his ears to stop then, glaring in Anders's direction, whether the abomination had noticed or not.

"If your mage hurts my mage," he growled, still holding his ears, "I will not be held responsible for my actions."

"If my mage hurts your mage, it would take the power of the Maker himself to keep my mage from doing much worse to himself than you ever could." Anders knew that look on Cormac's face, if only because he'd worn the same look so many times, when he first started enjoying Cormac's multiplicity of astonishing talents. And now, that same look on Cormac? Anders really wondered exactly what Artemis had suggested to get that response, because that was _gold_.

Cormac's hand clenched in Artemis's hair again, and his hips shoved stutteringly forward, until Artemis's nose pressed against his belly. He wanted to close his eyes, but he knew he couldn't. For all that Artie could take care of himself, it was on Cormac to make sure it didn't come to that. So, he watched himself do this. Watched his knob slide in and out between his brother's lips, as he felt the clenching and the rush of breath across his skin. He tried so hard not to think, just to give in and rut, slow and deep.

Artemis focused on breathing through his nose as best he could, harsh gusts of air against Cormac's stomach. Relaxing his throat and jaw, he let Cormac use him however he wanted. The feeling of being overwhelmed, used, consumed, silenced that constant chatter in the back of his mind, silenced it in a way that usually only drink did. Which was funny, because usually Artie had to be drunk in order to do this sort of thing in the first place.

Cormac's knob muffled the desperate sounds that wanted to spill out of Artemis's throat, and Artie reached down to squeeze his own neglected knob.

Fenris gave up on keeping his ears still, and his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides in the water. He still couldn't decide if he was enjoying this or not, but his treacherous knob seemed to assume that he was.

Anders shook his head, still not looking directly at Fenris, because that was one of those things one just didn't do at times like this. "You know Artie's enjoying it, right? You know if he wasn't enjoying it, Cormac would be bleeding in unpleasant ways, right? Your mage can take care of himself. And he's been kind enough to invite us to watch him. Don't worry so much. You've got a ripple going, and I can feel it all the way over here. Relax. Enjoy. Get the other ripple going."

Cormac's nails dug in to the bark of the tree, as he tried to do too many things at once -- stand up, thrust, breathe, stop panicking, keep his eyes open. He saw the movement in Artemis's shoulder, but didn't have enough hands to make a point of it. Still ... "Artie...? Did I say you could do that? Don't you dare stroke yourself off. I want you aching for me. I want you desperate and pleading, when I push into you." Mostly because he needed Artemis in a condition where Artie would actually make demands.

Artemis whimpered around Cormac and forced his hand to uncurl around himself. He reached for Cormac instead, hands skating along his thighs and reaching around to grab the globes of his brother's leather-clad ass. Artie was starting to get lightheaded from lack of air, but he didn't mind, trying to take Cormac as deep as he could go.

"I know," Fenris rumbled, barely blinking and feeling a bit lightheaded himself. "It's not the first time Artemis has shown such... interests." And maybe that wasn't something he wanted to tell the abomination, but he wasn't exactly thinking with the right head at the moment. He watched Artemis's hips squirm, desperate for friction. "Venhedis," Fenris swore, digging fingernails into his thigh to keep himself grounded.

Anders just smirked, both hands occupied in his lap.

Cormac's legs suddenly flexed, and he yanked Artemis back, by the hair, hand darting back to clutch at himself as he panted. "Enough." More than enough, really. Cormac took a few deep breaths, trying to bring himself back down, fingers digging in behind his balls. "You're not going to finish me off that quick, Artie."

He pushed himself back off the tree, after a few moments, just standing and looking down at his brother's swollen-lipped, spit-speckled face. "I want you on your back for me. Just shove your pants down a little and pick up your knees. No need to get your boots off or anything. I mean, we are a little close to town, aren't we? Anyone could just walk by. Don't want you losing your clothes, if we have to cut and run." Mischief gleamed in his eyes.

Artemis gulped in lungfuls of air. It was terrible how thrilling that thought was, being caught in the act, doing unspeakable things with his own brother, even if this was all just part of the game. They already had an audience, after all, and Artemis could feel their stares. 

"Always thinking ahead, aren't you, Cormac?" Artie teased. He pushed down the waistband of his trousers as instructed, hands trembling in anticipation, and settled down onto his back, shifting in the dirt and grass until he was comfortable. A tree root dug into his shoulder, and he scooted a little to the side. Trees. Why was it always trees?

"Like this?" Artie asked, clasping his hands behind his head, aiming for a cheeky smile. His heartbeat thudded in his ears.

"Just like that." Cormac knelt between Artemis's ankles, running a finger down his brother's knob. "So hard already, and just from the taste of me? I'm flattered." His eyes were thin bands of blue around the gaping black of his abject panic. Fortunately, lust was a very similar look, so he lowered his eyelids a little and smiled like he meant it. Grease first. Right. The magic warmed his palm, and he stroked the slick onto himself, wiping the rest off on Artemis's knob, which was a terrible idea, considering how he meant to do this, really.

"Do you want me Artie? Do you want your big brother to fold you in half and fuck you in the ass?" Cormac sounded a little more breathy than he'd meant to, but he was struggling not to hyperventilate.

"Maker, yes," Artemis groaned. He grabbed Cormac by the shirt and pulled him down into a kiss, the desperate, breathless kind. This was actually happening. Cormac was going to... _Maker_. "Take me. Ruin me. I need you."

Fenris almost forgot how to breathe.

Cormac _did_ forget how to breathe, for several seconds, at least, and then the words rushed out, all at once. "Oh, fuck, Artemis. I love you so fucking much." So much that he'd do this, because Artie asked him to. Not that he was disinterested, but he'd never have thought it, if Artie hadn't said it -- if Artie hadn't _kept_ saying it. This wasn't something he could just blow off as a drunken fantasy any more.

He kissed his brother again, slowly, thoroughly, worshipfully, as he lined himself up, and then pulled back to watch Artemis's face, as he pushed in.

"Oh, fuck, _Cormac_ ," Artemis breathed, knees pressing into Cormac's flanks, pulling him in as close, as deep as possible. His head pressed back into the grass, eyelids fluttering shut as he offered Cormac his throat. He kept uttering pleas to Cormac and to the Maker. They'd barely started, and he was already overwhelmed.

"Yours," Cormac breathed, biting at Artemis's neck, quick nips and nibbles along the throat, and deep, bruising bites where neck gave way to shoulder. "All of me. Always." He'd said it before, hundreds of times a year, since they were young. But, he'd never quite thought Artemis had taken that seriously -- certainly not as seriously as he'd meant it.

His hips rolled, and he ground in deep, just feeling the way Artemis held him. A faint smile flicked across his face and he grabbed Artie's wrists, both in one hand, and tugged them up over his head, pinning them loosely against the ground. "How about that, hmm? How about I hold you down and have my way with you, and when I'm done, I'll lick you until you spurt all over my face?" It was, he reflected, a good thing he'd shaved.

Just that thought, those words, had Artie shuddering. His brother knew him too well. Or just well enough, he supposed. "Fuck yes," he groaned, flexing his wrists under Cormac's grip but making no effort to pull them free. His eyes were nearly black with want when he opened them. "I want to feel you, to ache for days."

Artemis's hips arched up into Cormac's, trying to match his rhythm, to hit that angle that made him see stars.

"Be careful what you ask me for, little brother," Cormac purred, adjusting his knees until he was sure he wasn't going to slip on the grass and make an idiot of himself -- more of an idiot than usual, anyway. And then he pulled almost all the way out, just watching Artemis squirm under him. He dipped back in, a few times, just an inch or two, and waited until the sounds of frustration started. When he slammed all the way in, he wasn't sure he'd be able to keep that savage pace, having knocked the breath out of himself with the sensation, but he tried. Thrust after thrust, rough and fast, hard and deep, he pounded into Artemis. This wouldn't last, but he'd hold back as long as he could.

Artemis just held on for dear life, fingernails digging bruises into his palms. Each thrust sent sparks up his spine, shivery moans rising from deep in his chest. This was good. More than good. _Painfully_ good. He had no breath in his lungs to plead, to say his brother's name, but Cormac filled his senses, his head. He wasn't going to last long either at this rate, his knob bruisingly hard. 

"Scream for me, Artie. Plead with me. Beg me for what you want," Cormac panted against his brother's neck. "I want to wake up in the middle of the night, months from now, aching hard, with your voice ringing in my ears. I want you with me forever. Destroy me, Artie. Break me."

His breath caught and his hips shivered, but he just kept going. Soon, so soon, but not now. Not yet. He wanted so much for this to last as long as it could, as long as he could keep pushing himself.

The ripples around Anders were a good deal closer together, by now, as he watched, wide-eyed. He'd seen Cormac with other people, but never like this. Cormac got like this with him, sometimes, but he'd never really gotten to see how that looked, other than the way Cormac's eyes sparkled and the sweat beading along the lines of tattoos on his cheeks. But, this... He shot a quick glance in Fenris's direction, before his eyes leapt back to the substantially more interesting goings on, under that tree.

Fenris chanced a furtive glance in Anders's direction, noting the ripples and realising he knew what was causing them. It sent his ears vibrating again. He couldn't hear everything the brothers were saying to each other, but he could see Artie's face, could hear the slap of skin on skin and the shaky, desperate sounds his mage was making.

Chancing another glance in the abomination's direction, making sure the mage wasn't watching, Fenris reached down hesitantly, tentatively, to touch his knob. He needed to relieve the pressure, and he'd seen Artemis do this enough times. He sucked in a breath at the contact and turned back to the glorious sight in front of him.

For his part, Artemis thought it a bit unfair of Cormac to ask him to beg when each thrust scrambled his brain and knocked the breath right out of him. "Cormac," he panted, because that was simple enough to start. A name. A name he knew as well as his own. "I want... I need..." Subject, verb. Single syllables. "I want you. All of you. I want you to come while you're buried deep inside me. I want... _fuck_. Use me. Please. I..."

Cormac's next shove wrung a shout from his lips, his toes curling inside his boots. "Maker! Cormac, I'm... I..." Artemis trembled, and then the ground was shaking too, leaves rustling above their heads.

That was it. The sound of his brother shouting his name, the sound of that desperation in his voice. Cormac felt the ground start to shake, and then he lost track of everything, flashes of light and snippets of sound darting across his senses. He might have howled his brother's name. He'd never be able to swear to it. And then the little things started to filter back in. The feel of grass against his fingers, the smell of leather and sweat, Artemis's breath against his cheek. He groaned, slow and low, against Artemis's ear. "You amaze me." His fingers unclenched from Artie's wrists, still pressed against the trembling ground. "Didn't I promise you a blowjob?"

The earth continued to shake for a moment as Artie hovered on the edge. He groaned in frustration, head falling back again, and the trembling subsided. "You did," he said, breathless, turning his head to nip at Cormac's earlobe. He tugged at one of Cormac's plaits teasingly as he said, "And one should always keep their promises."

"Don't I always?" Cormac asked, slowly sliding himself out. The potion Anders had given him was working surprisingly well -- not that he should have doubted it, but... For a moment, he just looked down. This was his brother, under him, flushed and panting, knob so hard it was turning purple. And completely sober. Every time the thought crossed his mind, it got a little bit less disturbing. Every time Artie wanted, it got a little easier to give.

He squirmed down between Artemis's legs, ducking under the pants still stretched between them, and ran his tongue along the length of Artemis's knob. Grease, he remembered, after a second. And that _had_ been a terrible idea. Cursing his reflexes, Cormac kept licking, quick little darts of his tongue along the shaft. His fingers rubbed over Artemis's hole, teasingly.

The water still rippled in the after-effects of that earthquake, almost enough to hide the movement of Fenris's hand underwater. He struggled to hide the way his own breathing was picking up, gritting his teeth to keep from making a sound. His mage was beautiful, the way he squirmed under Cormac's touch, lips parting in a gasp at the first touch of tongue to heated skin. Fenris would never tire of seeing that look on Artemis's face.

As much as he enjoyed the sight of his two favourite Hawkes driving each other mad, Anders's eyes slipped closed for a moment, and a soft sigh escaped him. A few deep breaths, and he was back to watching and wishing he was closer, or maybe at a different angle. Not that Artemis wasn't an amazing sight, but there wasn't much of Cormac to appreciate from here -- he was still dressed, and Artemis's thigh was blocking his face. Still, he reasoned, that wasn't actually a complaint. He couldn't find a complaint to have about this -- the fact that it was happening, the fact that he'd been invited to watch it happen, the fact that the broody death elf next to him wasn't tearing his heart out. 

"Maker," Artemis panted, one hand reaching down to snare in Cormac's hair, the other grasping a fistful of grass. He struggled to keep his hips still, to keep from arching up towards Cormac's lips or into his fingers. "Stop teasing me, Cormac." He hated that he sounded more pleading than demanding, but he doubted his brother would mind.

Cormac lifted his head and smirked. "In all the years you've known me, when have I ever done anything without teasing you?" Still, he pushed his fingers in and crooked them just so, dragging his tongue slowly across the very purpled tip of Artemis's knob. Even now, even like this, this was, after all, still his little brother.

Artie's breath hitched at the press of those fingers, back arching. Cormac's tongue was just enough to be maddening and to make him swear under his breath. "I swear to the Maker, Cormac," he growled. Artemis gave his brother's hair a tug, reaching down to grasp a braid in each hand and pull him close suggestively. "I like the braids," he said, fighting back a giggle. "They're like a set of reins."

"Yes, but horses don't suck your dick." Cormac blinked, ears flattening against his head. "Or, at least I really hope they don't. If they do, don't tell me." He shuddered, more disturbed by that than any of this. After a moment of clearing that thought entirely out of his head, he gave in to the pulling -- and the pulling was very encouraging -- and licked just the head into his mouth, sucking hard and laving the tip with his tongue. His fingers stroked Artemis's insides, rubbing and pressing, and he hoped this would at least rank as memorable -- of course, he was going to be compared to the Tevinter elf, who probably had years of instruction in the most devastating techniques, but he could at least try for something a little more exciting than... No, in the end, his brother was probably having much more exciting sex than he was, and this was not nearly going to be the thrill Artie had been hoping for.

But the noises Artemis made said otherwise. His knuckles were white as he gripped Cormac's hair, struggling not to pull any harder. He chuckled breathlessly. "Horses?" he said. "No, but then I wasn't the one so, uh... close to that farmer boy." His next chuckle ended in a groan when Cormac's fingers hit just right inside him. He was still slick with his brother's spend, and the thought made him flush harder. "There's also a 'hung like a horse' joke in there," he rambled, panting. "And we both know Anders -- well."

Artemis really hoped Fenris couldn't hear that comment. Since there were no sounds of murder from the pond, Artie suspected he hadn't.

"Maker," Artemis panted again. " _Maker_. More."

Cormac leaned in closer, sliding his lips down Artemis's length, as the tension on his hair tightened. He tried not to think about how much of his hair was going to stay in the brush, the next time he brushed it. But, that was the price, he supposed. You want to get yanked around by the hair, you lose some hair. He swallowed around the head and purred, circling his fingers against that spot that had made Artemis groan. The purring gave way to heated moans, loud and needy, as he pressed his tongue against his brother's length, to make sure the vibrations would transfer. The harder he sucked, the better that worked, so he swallowed again.

" _Fuck_. Cormac! That feels... you..." How had he been able to form full sentences a minute before? Artemis pressed his hips down into the grass to keep from thrusting up into that incredible mouth and accidentally choking his brother. It was the sort of thing _he_ wouldn't have minded, but there was a certain etiquette here.

Artemis's choked-off groans filled the garden. He knew he didn't need to warn Cormac when he was close, not when the earthquake under them said as much for him. "Maker, I love you," he groaned. "You are amazing."

Cormac swallowed and just kept swallowing, long after Artemis had finished, working the last drips out with his tongue. Finally, he eased his fingers out and slid his lips off his brother's knob. "I think that's the first time I've ever sucked a confession of love out of someone," he muttered against Artemis's belly, leaving a kiss, before he ducked back under the pants and rolled over to sprawl next to Artemis, in the grass. "That what you wanted? If not, I think I'm still good for a while. You can thank Anders, later."

Artemis let his legs flop bonelessly to the ground, staring dazedly up at slices of sky through sunlit leaves. He waited for his breathing to even out before he answered, scooting closer to his brother and curling against his side. Maker. Had they really just done that? Artie couldn't even blame alcohol for that, not really. He couldn't even blame his teenage hormones any more. But regret was something he refused to feel. 

"If I say 'no'," Artemis said with a cheeky smile, "does that mean we'll go again?"

Cormac laughed, wrapping an arm under Artemis. "You don't have to break my heart to get me to keep going. Just tell me what you want, and I'm yours. You know that. Haven't I always said that?"

"Look at them," Anders sighed. "If I didn't know there were years between them, I'd think they were born in each others' arms. That's... that's something else. Never thought I'd see a mage..." But, they were lifelong apostates, he reminded himself -- they hadn't been trained by the Circle. They were almost free men. Almost real people. More than anything, he hoped they'd stay that way.

Fenris leaned back against the edge of the pond, catching his breath as he watched the tangle of mage limbs under the tree. He wondered if he should be worried, seeing how content Artemis looked wrapped around Cormac, and wondered how he could possibly compare. It was still odd to Fenris -- more than odd -- but they'd known each other their entire lives. Well, Artemis's life. 

As much as Fenris would prefer to ignore Anders, he wondered what the rest of that sentence was supposed to be. "Never thought you'd see a mage, what?" he asked, knowing he'd probably regret asking. He finally glanced over at the abomination, seeing his flushed cheeks and... A quick glance turned into a stare as Fenris noted the way Anders's thin, wet shirt clung to his chest, transparent enough to display Anders's scars in all their detail. 

"Love." Anders said it like it was obvious -- like it was something everyone, anyone, would know. "We're not allowed. It's selfish to bring someone close enough they can be used against you. It's also a bad idea. When it's just you on the line, there's nothing they can do to you that matters. You fall in love, and people end up getting tortured to death." He didn't sound like he was exaggerating or joking, voice strangely flat, his eyes on the Hawkes and his hands still in his lap, working a little harder to make up for the subject change. "But, they love each other. I don't even think they're afraid."

Fenris should have known this would turn into something about mages' rights, but he didn't have it in him to be indignant. Maybe it was the afterglow, or the look of contentment on his mage's face, or the ugly scars on Anders's chest that spoke of years of abuse, but he held back the scoff in the back of his throat.

For him, Danarius had considered love or even desire a distraction, and it was something Fenris never thought he'd know. It had taken a mage to give him back what another mage had taken away. He had never considered that loving someone had meant having something to lose, and Artemis... Fenris had almost lost him often enough, thanks to his own stupidity.

"Of course they're not afraid," he rumbled. "They don't understand what it means to..." Best not to finish that line of thought. It would sound dangerously like he was admitting to common ground between the abomination and himself.

"I think they do." Anders paused -- another sigh, a few more deep breaths, and then his hands rose out of the water to push his hair back from his face. "I think they know exactly what it's like to lose almost everything -- everything but each other. And I'm really not sure they'll lose each other, because I think they'll die together. You've seen how Cormac gets about the family." A sad smile settled onto one side of his face. "I don't think I'll ever be that brave. I'll stand by them. I'll fight to the death next to any of the Hawkes. But, I just can't do _that_ again. The blood never really goes away."

Fenris looked at the brothers, his mage chuffing a laugh at something Cormac said, and knew he'd die for them too. He'd die for Artemis. And that was a sort of irony, wasn't it? All that time, running and fighting for his freedom, and here he was, beholden to another mage of his own free will and wanting nothing less.

"What do you mean 'again'?" he asked, despite his better judgement.

"You... I didn't know you, then, did I?" Anders shook his head. This really wasn't a conversation he wanted to have. It wasn't a conversation he'd wanted to have _with Cormac_ , when it happened, and it wasn't a conversation he wanted to have with Fenris, now. "You've heard me say I had a friend who was made Tranquil? The notes from the templars say it was his politics, and it was. They were after me. Almost got me, too. ... That's not the point. I touched him and he... he came back to me. Begged me to kill him. My best friend, Fenris. I can't do that again. I can't put Cormac in a position where that's going to happen."

It wasn't even half the story, really. Hit the high points, left out all the detail. There had been a time he was sure he'd been in love, and that everything that had gone wrong was a result of that. It wasn't so much that the belief had been shaken as that he'd just put it away, where he didn't have to look at it, any more. "Sometimes, I wonder what it's like to be free. I'd ask you, but you don't know either. I'd ask them, but they wouldn't understand the question."

"I know _something_ ," Fenris said, a bit tetchily. And that wasn't a lie, not entirely, anyway. What little he knew of freedom he'd learned from Artemis, and he had to wonder how free that truly made him, sometimes. "Danarius may still be hunting me, but I am... freer than I have ever been. And I'm not -- I'm... still learning what that means, yes, but the one thing I've learned is that freedom, real freedom, means having something to lose." His hands splashed in the water for a moment as he gestured before forcing himself to still. "And you are... afraid of losing him. Cormac. I'd say that fear is as close to being free as you might get."

He wasn't sure if he was making sense, to himself or to the abomination, but... Maybe Anders was right. What did he know?

A short, sharp laugh leapt from Anders's lips. "If you're right, that's not exactly reassuring. I lost my family, when they took me away. I spent fifteen years reminded every day that I'm a curse upon Thedas, with no hope of redemption. When I finally made it out, they took the only thing that still mattered from me. And now that I have ... now that I have a family again, even if it's not really mine, I live knowing they'll take that, too, one day." He ducked under the water for a moment, pushing his hair back, again, as he came up. "Just so you know? It's not just them I'd fight for. You're like the asshole little brother I never had, because I only had an asshole older brother. So, you know, don't die, asshole."

At those words, Fenris recoiled as though struck, staring at Anders. That was, surprisingly, one of the nicest ways anyone had ever called him an asshole -- twice -- and from _Anders_? He could feel his ears twitching again, and curse Isabela for pointing out that they did that. "You -- I'd always assumed..." Fenris cleared his throat. "Contrary to what you might think, I wouldn't exactly... dance on your corpse either. Though if you get _yourself_ killed, I might let Anton pee on it." 

Which was, Fenris realised to his own horror, as close as he was going to come to saying 'don't die, either, asshole'. He coughed awkwardly and looked around him for an exit strategy.

Anders squinted through the splayed leaves in front of them. "Are they... they're doing it again, aren't they? Points to me. That potion is doing its job." He leaned back against the edge of the pond, watching, head tilted to one side. "Is that... wow. Is Artie always that kinky? Because I know they're both into some things, but that..." Letting out a low whistle, he rubbed at the scruff along his jaw.

Fenris turned back to look at the brothers, grateful for a change in subject. "Kinky?" Fenris echoed, still gathering his wits. "Er, well. Not _always_ , but..." And there was a relief, really. Anders was surely far more experienced in these... things... than Fenris was, and even he was surprised. "He has... ideas, sometimes." 

He looked everywhere but at Anders at that, ears twitching. The noises his mage was making were a welcome distraction. "So... what exactly was in that potion?"


	85. Chapter 85

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WHOSE GOAT IS THIS? WHY IS THERE A GOAT?

No one actually kept goats, in the city of Kirkwall. Still, you could buy goats, sometimes, by the docks, or in the market outside the city that served the surrounding farms. Most of the goats sold were to people who meant to turn them into food, but Fenris had other intentions. He glanced around, confusedly, at the goat pens, before a tall man with a huge hat approached.  
  
"What kind of goat you looking for, elf?" The man turned his head and spit into the dirt, nearby, still chewing something fairly foul-smelling. "And who you buying for? Don't think I've seen you around, before."  
  
"I... er..." To say Fenris was out of his element would be an understatement. Maybe he should have brought Aveline along for this. She seemed much more goat-savvy than he was. Which was not at all. "I am in need of a goat. For a dowry. A dowry goat." He nodded and straightened his shoulders, determined to at least look like he knew what he was talking about. "For one of the Messeres Hawke."  
  
"Oh, the Fereldan nobles! Yeah, I heard of them! Somebody finally getting married. That'll be some party. You sure the family's got all their meat needs lined up? Could point out I do more than just goats, out here." The merchant gestured toward a particular goat, solid white, and slightly fluffy. "I'm suggesting Tildy, over here. All-white, female, no offspring. Perfect dowry gift. If you want the whole dowry package, I can throw in the three sheaves of wheat, and have it done up and delivered any day after tomorrow. It's good to see folks hanging on to the old traditions, in a new place!"  
  
"Dowry... package," Fenris said, not quite able to hide his wide-eyed panic. "Yes. Of course." Aveline had mentioned that, hadn't she? What would have happened if he'd shown up with a goat and no wheat? Would that have been an insult? _Was_ three the proper number or was Artie worth four? Fasta vass! Best to trust the good goat-salesman, he supposed. "Could you have that sent to the Hawke Estate? To Leandra Hawke?"  
  
The goat -- Tildy -- brayed in a way that didn't sound welcoming, and Fenris narrowed his eyes at her in warning.  
  
"Oh! Is it the Hawke girl getting married? I thought you were sending it for one of the boys. That's just sweet. Youngest first." The merchant smiled indulgently. "I'll set everything up. It's been a while since someone's been both traditional and well-off enough to buy a goat for that, but it's not my first dowry. Now, there's just the matter of coin..." The merchant quoted a price that would have been utterly outrageous to any of the refugees still living in Lowtown, or worse, Darktown.  
  
Fenris swore under his breath as he fished out his coinpurse, gauntlets clinking against gold as he counted. Venhedis. This goat had better fart rainbows at that price. The merchant took his money with a gracious smile, undeterred by the sour look on Fenris's face. He didn't hear Fenris mutter that the goat wasn't for Bethany.

* * *

Bethany stepped out of the kitchen to see Bodhan leading a goat down the hall. "That's a goat," she remarked, mouth full of cheese. "Why is there a goat, dressed in lace and ribbons, shedding grain all over the hall? Is this Cormac's fault?" She didn't wait for an answer. "Cormac? Why is there a goat?"  
  
After a few moments, Cormac appeared on the balcony, in a dressing gown, a bottle of wine still in one hand. "Goat? I don't know anything about a goat..."  
  
"It was delivered for your mother," Bodhan clarified. "I was going to put it in the garden, until she tells me what to do with it."  
  
"That's a goat." Anton had wandered out of his room, to see what the noise was about. "There's a goat in the hall. Nope, I'm going back to bed."  
  
"If you put it in the garden," Cormac pointed out, "I bet it'll eat the topiary."  
  
"Well, then be sure to point it in the direction of that fuckawful tree," said Anton. "Bodhan, do we know who sent the goat?"  
  
"Not a clue, Messere."  
  
"Great."  
  
Mintaka wandered out of Anton's room, nose twitching. He snuffled at the goat's rump, earning him a hoof in the face and a scandalised bray in reply. Mintaka whined and looked at Anton, who shrugged.  
  
Bethany shook her head and finished her last bite of cheese. "I'll go get mum," she said, padding towards Leandra's room. "Mum! There's a goat here for you!"  
  
Leandra bustled into the room, half dressed for her lunch with the Seneschal's wife. "What? A goat? Why is there a goat?"  
  
The goat made goat noises and stomped its feet against the tile, before crapping on the floor. It turned its head and nibbled on the wheat draped over its back.  
  
"I'm so glad Artemis left home," Cormac muttered, rubbing his face and trying very hard not to laugh.  
  
"Goats... wheat... This sounds familiar. We lived in enough farming villages." Leandra blinked at Bethany. "Is this Sebastian proposing to you? No, he's not Fereldan. Do they do the goat thing here? It wasn't even that popular, back home... It wouldn't be Ser Cullen, would it?"  
  
Anton barked a laugh at that image. "Cullen wouldn't get me a goat!" he said, but his grin faded as he thought about it. Cullen was many things, and two of those things happened to be 'traditional' and 'awkward'. "Oh Maker. Cullen _would_ get me a goat." His face turned pale as he stared at the hoofed, crapping creature in the middle of the hall. "If Cullen is proposing to me via goat, I will rid him of his testicles and flee to Antiva."  
  
Bethany had a hand over her mouth, muffling her giggles. "Best start packing your bags, brother-dear," she said. "Or shopping for a dress!"  
  
Anton swore and stormed out, the door swinging behind him. 

* * *

The walk to the Gallows was not a short one, even by way of back-alleys and shortcuts, but Anton arrived at Cullen's office, still fuming, having slogged through a bit of sewer, to be sure he wouldn't be stopped at the gate. He threw open the door and elbowed his way through the crowd of recruits around the desk, slamming his hands down hard enough to make the stacks of paper jump.  
  
"Did you just send my mother a goat? Did you just try to propose to me with a goat?" Anton growled, trying very hard not to shout in front of all these people.  
  
Cullen blinked at Anton, stylus still held aloft from where he'd been gesturing with it. "I... no?" he said. "Should I have? Do you _want_ a goat?"  
  
"No, I do not want a goat!" Anton hissed. So Cullen wasn't proposing to him. That was a relief. Yes. Of course it was.   
  
"...very well. Then I shall not get you a goat." Cullen looked no less terrified or confused.  
  
"Thank you." Anton straightened, hand smoothing his hair. He offered an awkward smile to the recruits gathered around and to -- oh, Maker -- the Knight-Commander.  
  
"I am so glad you interrupted our meeting to establish this, Messere Hawke," Meredith with a tight smile.  
  
"Forgive me, Knight-Commander," Anton smoothed his smile. "It was a family emergency. Surely you understand. I'll just..." He cocked his thumb at the door, backing toward it. "Lunch, tomorrow, Cullen?"  
  
"Er, lunch. Yes. Lunch. You should wait downstairs, maybe?" Cullen suggested. His eyes darted between the Knight-Commander and Anton, and then he took a deep breath. "Should I have proposed to you without a goat?" The words all ran together, and Anton was already halfway out the door.  
  
Anton stumbled, but winked. "Not in front of your boss!" It wasn't really an answer. But, that sounded like Cullen proposing, or proposing to propose. Which... that was ridiculous. Wasn't it?

* * *

"Bethany?"  
  
"Hello, Sebastian. I'm not interrupting, am I?" Bethany indicated the candlelit statue of Andraste Sebastian knelt in front of.  
  
The goat incident had been terribly funny until Anton had returned and primly told her the goat hadn't been from Cullen. Everyone had looked at her next, Mum's eyes hopeful, and Bethany's laughter had died out.  
  
"Never." Sebastian rose to his feet, his smile adoring.  
  
Oh dear. He _had_ sent that goat, hadn't he?  
  
"We had an unlabelled dowry goat arrive at the door, today. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you? Does Starkhaven even have a dowry goat tradition?" Bethany smiled like she did when she meant to kill someone, tipping one hip forward as she studied the tapestry hung above the candles to one side.  
  
"A dowry... what?" Sebastian blinked, utterly confused. "I can't possibly have heard you correctly. Did you say 'goat'? I assure you Starkhaven's dowry traditions, insofar as they exist, generally consist of dishware, jewellery, and gold." He paused and eyed Bethany. "I also take exception to the idea that I would have sent such a thing unlabelled and unannounced. I assure you, my dear, if I propose, you will be the first to know."  
  
Sebastian took Bethany's hands, and the adoring smile returned to his face.  
  
"Well, there's still a goat shitting on the floor, all done up in lace, with wheat tied to it. And we still have no idea who sent it." Bethany paused and ran her thumbs over Sebastian's knuckles. "And, yes, we've already thought of Ser Cullen. It seemed like a terribly Cullen thing to do."  
  
Sebastian chuckled. "It does, at that," he said. "But your next thought was that it was from me? What about your other brothers?"  
  
Bethany had the sudden thought of Merrill getting Carver a dowry goat, and she had to bite her lip against a snicker. _That_ would be worth the goat's weight in gold.  
  
"What about Cormac?" Sebastian suggested. "He and Anders seem to be --"  
  
Bethany did laugh at that, covering her mouth with her hand when the sound echoed through the Chantry. "Maker's breath," she said. "The sky would fall, first. Unless Anders sent the goat as a joke, which is always a possibility." A strong possibility, now that she thought about it.

* * *

"I don't know what you're drinking, but I want some," Cormac said to his sister. Anders? Sending him a goat? No. That-- wait. The chestnut blossoms. "Hold that thought," he muttered, heading for the cellar door.  
  
He only made it about halfway down the stairs, before the shouting started. "Anders! Anders, did you send my mother a fuckdamned dowry goat? Is this you getting back at me for the flowers?"  
  
After a few minutes, Anders appeared at the other end of the wine cellar. "A what? What are you shouting about?"  
  
"Come upstairs and tell me if this is your fault," Cormac demanded, pointing to the door.  
  
Anders muttered something about the fact he was wearing a nightgown, but headed up, all the same. He just couldn't seem to sleep decent hours, with the clinic as busy as it had gotten. "There's goat shit on the floor. Why is there goat shit on the floor? It's a good thing Artie moved out."  
  
"See, this is what I am asking _you_. Is it your fault there's a shitting goat in my house?" Cormac asked.  
  
Anders looked at Cormac as though he'd grown a second head. "Oh yes," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Justice and I thought that there was no better way to promote 'mage rights' than with a shitting goat in lace."  
  
The goat brayed in reply, twisting to chew at the lace around its neck.  
  
"On second thought," Anders said, "maybe I should send one to Meredith."  
  
"You know Cullen would end up cleaning that up," Anton pointed out. "So, please don't."  
  
"Okay, I know this is probably not going to help, but Artie's really good at puzzles. We have a goat with no origin. Maybe I should get Artie over here to examine the goat?" Cormac shrugged. "I mean, after somebody other than me gets the goat shit off the floor. I'm the heir. I'm not cleaning goat shit."  
  
"You don't even want to be the heir!" Bethany reminded him.  
  
"Don't we have servants?" Anton asked. "I'm pretty sure we have servants."  
  
"Bodhan, I need two things. A messenger and someone to clean up the goat shit. Can you make that happen?" Cormac asked.  
  
"Yes, messere." The dwarf bowed and left, thrilled to finally be out of the company of the goat.

* * *

Artemis squinted down at the slip of paper in his hand, then at the messenger, then back at the paper. A message from Cormac in the traditional, flower-free way? Had to be serious.  
  
 _"We have a goat,"_ the note read. _"We don't know why we have a goat. HELP!?"_  
  
Then again, maybe not. Artie opened and closed his mouth a few times while the messenger watched him expectantly. "This is all my brother sent?" he asked.  
  
The messenger nodded. "Does messere want to send a reply?" she asked.   
  
"I think this is something 'messere' needs to see in person." He turned and called for Fenris.

* * *

Artemis neglected to explain the reason, but they were headed to his mother's house. Fenris wondered if that meant the goat had arrived. Yes, this would be a joyous occasion, and one he would use to declare his intentions. His already fairly obvious intentions, but that wasn't the point. The point was that he had to prove he meant it.  
  
Bodhan answered the door and led them into the front hall, where the family stood around a lace-draped goat, still bearing wheat.  
  
"What the fuck is this?" Cormac asked his brother, gesturing at the goat with both hands. "I mean, it's obviously a dowry goat, but it's not Cullen or Sebastian, and we have no idea. No offence to the elves, but they're elves, and this is kind of... not an elfy thing to do. Creepy rural Fereldan traditions don't usually go with northerners or the Dalish."  
  
Artemis blinked down at the goat and the wheat it was shedding onto the floor. "That is... definitely a goat," he said, nonplussed. "And you thought I would have the answer to this, why? Because of all my goat-related expertise?"  
  
Anton snorted, and Artemis looked at him.  
  
"Maybe Cullen --?"  
  
"No, not Cullen," Anton sighed. "Though I wonder what it says that that's everyone's first thought."  
  
At Artie's shoulder, Fenris fought to keep his ears from twitching. "Not an elfy thing to do?" he asked Cormac, glaring in the direction of the distinctly de-fluffed brother.  
  
"Am I wrong? Is this the kind of thing you would do?" Cormac shrugged. "I don't know anything about Tevinter dowry traditions. Did we get that from you guys?"  
  
"I went to Aveline, who was both Fereldan and once married, for advice. She informed me this was the correct offering to make, if I intended to ... declare my intentions toward Artemis." Fenris's ears were definitely twitching, now. He could feel them. He bowed to Leandra. "Lady Amell, I wish to court your son, with the intent that he should be mine for as long as it suits him to be." Any other declaration, he'd decided, sounded a little too much like proposing slavery, which was most assuredly not his intent. "I realise we are already living in the same house, but I... thought ... an official, traditional declaration, in the Fereldan manner might be in order."  
  
The twitching would not stop, and Fenris was relatively certain the tips of his ears had turned colour. He was surprised the tips of his ears hadn't spontaneously combusted, yet. How had he thought this was a good idea?  
  
"Fen," Artemis breathed, unsure how he was even able to say that when his jaw wanted to drop to the floor. He'd always thought the goat dowry an odd tradition, but this was quite possibly one of the most awkwardly sweet things anyone had ever done for him.  
  
Fenris couldn't quite look at Artemis, not yet, his eyes still glued to Leandra. He was giving her the full force of his puppy eyes, though he didn't realise it.  
  
Leandra's hands fidgeted with her only partially coiffed hair as she struggled with a response. The goat nipped at her sleeve, and she took a step to the side. "That is... very noble of you, Fenris," she said.  
  
"You sent a goat, so you could propose to my brother?" Cormac stared for a long minute, before stepping in and throwing his arms around Fenris. "You fucking idiot. That's the cutest thing I've ever seen, in my entire life, but also the most ridiculous." He laughed and ruffled Fenris's hair before stepping back, amid a flurry of shoving and slapping from the elf. "I'm glad for you. I'm glad for him. But, you remember what I told you, after the last time I took you to see Feynriel." He wouldn't repeat that in front of his mother, but he knew Fenris remembered what he was talking about.  
  
"Should I buy you a nice dress?" Bethany asked Artemis. "I'm sure you'll make a lovely bride."  
  
"Make sure you get him one of those white lace veils, so I haven't got to look at his stupid sulk-face every time someone points out he's married an elf," Anton added.  
  
"The only 'sulk-face' I make," Artemis huffed, "is when I have to look at yours. And no, _I am not wearing a dress_. Maker!" He almost said something about the maid's outfit, only to remember that his mother was in the room. There were some things a woman didn't need to know about her children.  
  
Fenris finally chanced a look at Artemis, all but holding his breath. "Is... wearing a dress your only objection?" he asked.  
  
Artie's expression softened. He tweaked one twitching elf ear and pressed a chaste kiss to Fenris's lips. He always thought he'd be the one to propose, truly, but then his methods would have been goatless and much less interesting. "One of two objections," he said. "The other is that the goat is shitting on the floor as we speak. _Maker_."


	86. Chapter 86

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Artemis has a brand new toy or, well, a slightly used one. Fenris is willing to try again, in light of their engagement.

It was late. Not late for Fenris, really, but late for anyone who slept normal human hours. Which, clearly the Hawkes didn't, given how long that supper had gone on. Finally, he'd been able to take Artemis home, amid a whirlwind of off-colour comments from a multitude of siblings and that asshole, Anders. They'd held hands across Hightown, and Fenris finally started to believe there might be something to this freedom thing. He had control of property, kept servants, and now he was going to marry the man he loved. None of these were things he could have dreamt, even a year ago.  
  
With a ghost of a smile, he closed the door behind them, and swept Artemis off his feet, to carry him up the stairs.  
  
Artemis squeaked at the change in elevation, wrapping his arms around Fenris's neck with a laugh. "My knight in tight leather armour," he teased. He ran his tongue up the shell of Fenris's ear and nibbled at the tip, wondering if he could get it twitching again as they entered the bedroom. "So, how would you like to celebrate?" he purred against that ear.  
  
"I thought, perhaps, my bride to be might like to teach me some more of his wonderful and terrifying bedroom skills." Fenris laid Artemis gently on the bed and settled, kneeling, over his hips. "Those were some very interesting things I watched you get up to with Cormac. Even Anders was surprised." He licked and nibbled at the side of Artemis's neck. "Or maybe you've found some new toys to torment me with? Did you ever find something that wasn't extra large?"  
  
Artemis supposed it was a moot point to argue over being called Fenris's 'bride'. He arched his neck into Fenris's lips and all but purred at the attention. "Ah! That's right!" Artemis grinned, nudging Fenris back so he could sit upright. He'd been worried Fenris wouldn't want to try again after that last disaster, and he hadn't forced the issue.  
  
Stretching so he wouldn't have to displace Fenris, Artemis reached about in the end table drawer for the package Cormac had sent him. It was still unopened. Orana had been in the room when he'd stashed it, he thought it best not to traumatise the poor girl further.  
  
"Let's see what we have..." Artie opened the package and peered inside. He saw familiar black and white marble and felt his cheeks heat. "Oh. Uh."  
  
"Did you get the wrong one?" Fenris asked. "Is it too big, still? If it's too big, you could just... use..." He paused, awkwardly. "I wouldn't mind if you put yourself inside me, instead."  
  
Actually, that might not have been the entire truth, but it was close enough, he figured. He had no idea if he'd mind it, but it had to be less terrible than the extra large green dildo of ass-destruction. "Your fingers were the first thing I've had inside me like that, and if they felt good..."  
  
And that was another tempting thought, really, and not one Artemis had thought Fenris would have. "The, uh, size is fine, I believe," he said, drawing out the dildo and holding it up for Fenris to see. "I'm assuming. More... proportional." And it was, really. Maybe this was something else he'd just have to not tell Fenris. Couldn't be worse than the jade one, anyway.  
  
Artie set aside the package. "What do you think?"  
  
Fenris thought it looked huge. Smaller than the last one, certainly, but in terms of things that might be inserted into very small openings in his anatomy, still terrifyingly large. He supposed he'd have the same thought about Artemis's knob, if it came to that. He swallowed and blinked, ears twitching. "I think... I trust you. You know far better than I. I've never... Until I met you..." Fenris tugged at the tip of one ear, trying to get it to stop twitching.  
  
Something about Fenris's phrasing nagged at Artemis. He already knew that Fenris had never been on the, uh, 'receiving end' of this sort of thing, but the 'until I met you' implied something else. Oh Maker.  
  
Artie set aside the toy for the moment and reached up to pull Fenris's hand away from his ear. "You never what?" he asked, twining their fingers together, "Never met someone as devilishly handsome as me?"  
  
Fenris smiled, warmly. "Certainly never that. I don't know that I had even thought of anyone as handsome or beautiful -- as anything other than useful, useless, or dangerous -- until you. You changed everything I thought I knew about the world. And you did it by grabbing my ass." He poked Artemis in the nose, with his other hand. "There was no one before you. And even if there's someone after -- during -- you, I want you with me, always. I'm repeating myself, aren't I. I already said that with a goat, this afternoon."  
  
That startled a cringing laugh out of Artemis. "I shall strive to use my ass-grabbing powers wisely, then, if they're going to have that kind of effect." He ran his thumb over the back of Fenris's hand, then brought their tangled hands up to kiss Fenris's knuckles. "Maker," he breathed, "are you saying that that time in the Deep Roads was your first?" Drunken sex on hard stone, darkspawn within shouting distance, and surrounded by Cormac's screams of pleasure. Not the way anyone's first time should go. "And the second was in the wine cellar?"  
  
Artemis ran his free hand over his face and groaned. "Oh, Fen. I had no idea. You deserved better than that." And somehow the foolish elf was still with him. Probably because he had little to compare all this to and didn't know better.  
  
"I have no regrets. Don't look so ..." Fenris realised he had no idea what the word was that went there. Sad? Upset? It wasn't quite either. "Don't regret it for me. Every time I touch you is better than the time before it. And every time, I think I've finally found the best -- well, except with... extra large -- but, it just keeps getting better. It's probably best we started drunk and reckless. I'd never have believed it was real, otherwise. Would have found a way to blame it on blood magic." Shifting, Fenris stretched himself out along Artemis's body, propping himself up with an elbow on the bed, hand resting on Artemis's shoulder. "I'm free. Mostly free. At least until Danarius makes a more effective attempt. If this had gone any faster, I don't think I would have known that. I would have mistaken this for a different kind of slavery -- you saw me make that mistake, anyway. But, you taught me how to enjoy something other than killing, drinking, and sleeping an entire night. Please don't regret that, Artemis."  
  
Artemis didn't point out that the dildo was now trapped in a fold of blanket between the two of them. "What did I do to deserve you, hmm?" he asked, cupping Fenris's cheek, thumb smoothing over a fine cheekbone. "And I suppose I can't regret anything that led us here. Not even that accursed maid's outfit, though don't expect to hear that twice." He shimmied closer and pressed a kiss to Fenris's lips. "I love you, you know. You and your whole goat-bearing self."  
  
Artie wondered what his mother had decided to do with the goat and fought not to laugh.  
  
Fenris smiled against Artemis's lips, mid-kiss. "That maid's outfit wasn't such a terrible idea," he argued. "Not when it ended in you making such lovely noises for me. One of these days, you'll have to show me how to get you to make those sounds when you're not in a scratchy dress." More kissing followed. Thorough, lengthy, completist kissing, touching tongues to everywhere tongues should go in a kiss. "Do you know how afraid I was that I would break you? How afraid I was that I would become a monster? But, you didn't break. And I-- I don't know what I am, but you seem to like it."  
  
"Not so fragile as that, Fen," Artemis gently admonished. "If you ever did -- or do -- anything that makes me uncomfortable, I would let you know. Trust me on that. Barring that, I would just force push you into the wall." He frowned, pulling back just enough to look Fenris in the eyes. This close, he could see every variation of green in them. "That goes both ways, you know. If I do anything or want anything that makes you uncomfortable you... you _would_ let me know, wouldn't you?"  
  
"I have exceptional skill telling mages 'no'." Fenris grinned, and then stopped quickly. He still didn't quite feel right showing teeth in a non-threatening manner. "And because I am telling my mage 'yes', where did you lose that thing you mean to put inside me?" He leaned down and kissed Artemis one more time. "You should find it, before I lose my nerve."  
  
"I think I might be lying on it, actually." The stone dug into Artemis's ribs, and he squirmed and shifted until he could get it out from under him. "Tada!" He brandished it in the air in victory, then booped Fenris on the nose with it just to see what kind of face he'd make.  
  
Fenris blinked, looking a bit like he might faint, and then let out a quiet chuckle, before rolling over, next to Artemis. "No, you may not put it in my nose. See? I can tell you no." He pulled up one of his legs and unwrapped his foot. "But, let's go back to the part where I was telling you yes."  
  
Artemis's shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. Now _there_ was a mental image he wasn't going to be rid of. "I rather prefer when you're telling me yes," Artie agreed, "and when nothing phallic is near anyone's nostrils." He pressed another kiss to Fenris's lips, then rolled up and onto his knees, shuffling along the bed until he was kneeling between Fenris's thighs. He offered Fenris a wicked grin, sliding his hands along his elf's leather-clad thigh, his touch light at first, before squeezing at the taut muscle underneath. "Still a bit too clothed for this, I think," he said.  
  
"You may be correct," Fenris admitted, untying the complicated knots on his trousers with an ease Artemis had yet to match. Rolling up onto his shoulders, he lowered himself out of the tight leather, with just a little shimmying. His legs landed, once again, to either side of Artemis, and he sat up to steal another kiss as he tossed the trousers off the bed, peeling off his shirt before he lay back down.  
  
"Better?" Fenris asked, rubbing his heel along Artemis's back.  
  
"Much," Artemis purred, hands returning to Fenris's thighs, focusing now on the tingle of lyrium under his palms. "In fact, I find most things are improved by you being naked." He took a moment to just appreciate the sight. No matter how many times he saw it, Fenris's body was a glorious thing.  
  
Artie bent to kiss that taut stomach, to trace the sharp point of one hip with his tongue, while his hands moved to the inside of Fenris's thighs.  
  
Fenris writhed under that touch, fearless and shameless. This was his to enjoy. This was his mage, tasting him, touching him, and there was no one to tell him he couldn't have it. "Strangely," he panted, "that is one thing upon which you and Danarius agree. I frequently improved situations by being naked, or nearly so. Nothing more terrifying than a fearless, naked bodyguard, I suppose."  
  
Brushing that thought aside, he kneaded Artemis's back with his toes, clutching in what he hoped was an encouraging manner. He'd never been appreciated like this. Or maybe he had. The black spots in his memory never did fill back in... Either way, he didn't remember anything of the sort, so he chose to believe Artemis was the first. Certainly the first that he would remember. The first that would never be taken from him.  
  
Artemis stilled for a moment, before picking up his ministrations with renewed enthusiasm, hoping Fenris wouldn't notice. Being compared to Danarius in any capacity made his stomach roil. "'Terrifying' isn't the word I would use," Artemis murmured against lyrium-lined skin. "Which isn't to imply that you can't be. Terrifying, that is. But... do you have any idea how gorgeous you are, Fen?"  
  
Especially like this, writhing and wanting. Artie hooked his hands under Fenris's knees and hiked his legs up further, bending to kiss and nip at the inside of one thigh, then the other, then licking a broad stripe up the crease of his elf's ass.  
  
Fenris choked on his tongue. That? He could suddenly understand why Artemis wanted it. Could even understand why Cormac had needed to do the asking, but that was much easier to comprehend, considering the number of things he, himself, couldn't seem to ask for. Still, the brothers managed to communicate with each other, given what he'd seen...   
  
There had been a question. He was sure there had been a question, but then there was licking of parts he'd never thought he'd want licked, and he was much, much too involved in the feeling of tongue. What had he been asked? ... Oh. "Am I? Perhaps, but not like you."  
  
Artemis grinned against heated skin. He pressed his tongue into Fenris as deep as it would go just to hear him make that choked sound again. He pulled back, licking his lips, to say, "You think so? Let's put you in a corset next time so we can compare."  
  
Artie bent to give Fenris's ass one last teasing lick before getting up to fetch the oil, rummaging again through the nightstand.  
  
"I don't know that corsetry would do me any mercies," Fenris panted, still reeling from the presence and sudden absence of tongue. "I am already decorated. It would need to be cut not to clash. Otherwise, I would simply look the fool. And that mint would not work on me nearly the way it does on you." His knob twitched in agreement as he remembered watching Artemis in that corset. And that brought back the image of Cormac. He still couldn't figure out how his beautiful mage had such a thick and unappealing brother. Well, unappealing to him, anyway. Maybe that was another mage thing. Still didn't account for Isabela, but there was no accounting for Isabela.  
  
"I think you left it behind your jade monstrosity, after the last time," he said, after a moment listening to the clattering in the drawer.  
  
"'The jade monstrosity'," Artemis said, smirking, as he found the oil right where Fenris had instructed. "Is that what we're calling it now?" Maker, Anders would have a field day.  
  
Armed with oil, Artemis returned to the bed, kneeling again between Fenris's thighs, right where the sheets were still dented in the shape of his knees. He poured the oil into his hand, gathering it in his fingers. "I was calling it the 'magic staff', myself," he said, grinning at Fenris as he circled Fenris's hole with one slick fingertip.  
  
" _Mages_ ," Fenris huffed, canting his hips up in invitation. He could play at hopeless offence, even as he invited his mage to enjoy him. That was how this was done, wasn't it? He remembered how much Artemis liked being spoken to, and he wondered if that carried to when he was the one doing the touching and taking. But, thinking of that time with Cormac on the table, it probably did. Pity he, himself, was terrible at it.  
  
"Your fingers," he choked out. "Put your fingers inside me. I-- I like it. I like it when you touch me there. Like that." He sounded ridiculous. This was a horrible idea.  
  
"Good," Artemis purred. "Because I like the sounds you make when I do it." He corked the bottle as best he could with one hand and set it aside, the slick fingers of his other hand still teasing Fenris. He pressed in, one finger at a time, moving slowly and watching Fenris's face for any signs he wasn't enjoying this. Artie's experience doing this for someone else was limited, but he knew what movements _he_ enjoyed and tried to replicate that as best he could.   
  
Fenris groaned, head tipping back, as Artemis stroked his insides. This was something he'd never imagined, not for himself, until Artemis had tried to teach him about the jade monstrosity. He hadn't liked that, but this... This was amazing. "Please," he begged. "There..." He wished there was a way he could be inside Artemis at the same time, but he wasn't sure either of them were quite flexible enough for that. Reaching wasn't the problem, but the angle probably would be. But, what a dream... those long fingers rubbing at that delicious spot inside him as he pounded into this beautiful mage. He clenched around the fingers and writhed.  
  
And that, Artemis decided, was extremely encouraging. Much better than the sour faces Fenris had been making the last time Artie had tried using a toy on him. He only hoped Fenris would keep making those noises and those faces once this... other toy was brought into the mix.   
  
"Here?" Artie murmured, stroking his fingertips over that spot inside Fenris that had him squirming. He kissed Fenris's hip and asked, "Ready for more?"  
  
"I want to be inside you," Fenris begged. "I want to be inside you with your fingers in me. I want you on me and in me at the same time. I want--" He bucked, thighs tensing, at the thought. "Yes. This first. Put--" He stopped and licked his lips, eyes closing. "Put it in me."  
  
Artemis bit back a groan at those images. "Maker, you kill me," he said affectionately. He smoothed his free hand over Fenris's stomach as he pulled his fingers free, carefully. "Definitely gorgeous, by the way," he went on as he slicked up the toy. "If you could see yourself right now, you'd agree."  
  
And to think that this man, this elf, was his and _wanted_ to be his for the rest of their lives. Artie still hadn't wrapped his head around it. He pressed the tip of the dildo against Fenris's entrance, smiling at him encouragingly and still watching for his reactions.  
  
"I would likely not. Consider it a second reason we have no mirror in this room." Fenris had spent enough time naked, sweating, and pleading in his life, and while this was definitely the good kind, he could do without being reminded. "Put it-- just-- slow? Slowly. I _want_ to enjoy this. You like it so much..."  
  
He pushed his hips back, pressing against the black dildo, which was so much smaller than the green one. Perhaps this one would be better. Perhaps this one would feel as good as Artemis's fingers, which would be incredible, because he wasn't sure anything could feel that good inside him. His hands clutched at the sheets.  
  
"Anything you want, Fen," Artemis murmured, his free hand tracing lyrium lines along one thigh. "If you need to stop, just tell me." He wanted Fenris to enjoy this too but not to feel like he _had_ to enjoy this. Artie slid the toy in agonisingly slowly, carefully. Even after all that attention, his elf was still on the tight side. No wonder the 'jade monstrosity' hadn't been comfortable.  
  
Fenris saw stars. Not in a bad way, but not in a particularly good way, either. If nothing else, the sensation was intense. He'd give it a minute or two. Maybe he just had to relax into it, like the first time Artemis had put a finger into him. It definitely wasn't too big, this time. He was reasonably sure of that. It was just slightly cold and very, very hard. He clenched and relaxed around it a couple of times, trying to get a feel for the thing, as it slid in. At the very least, it wasn't _objectionable_.  
  
"It's not bad. I think I like your fingers more," he decided.  
  
Artemis chuckled softly. "Give yourself a minute to adjust," he said. "But we can always go back to that after, if you like." Anything to make Fenris squirm like that again. Artemis waited for Fenris to relax, licking a strip up his knob to distract him.  
  
Once Fenris was ready, Artemis started to move the toy, just grinding it inside of him for a little while before trying out a few shallow thrusts. "All right?" he asked.  
  
"Yes, but not thrilling." Fenris shrugged, the sheets bunching around his shoulders. "I have no doubt you could... I would... But, it wouldn't be very good." He could definitely feel where it was supposed to be good, this time, especially since he had Artemis's fingers to compare to. He could tell why it would work. But, there were other things he liked much more. "I would do it for you, but I would not do it for myself. I have no objection to it, but I don't find myself drawn to it. Not like your hands. So precise, so delicate..."  
  
Artemis hummed, considering that as he continued to move the toy, angling for that spot Fenris had liked, just to see if that would affect his opinion. "Fair enough," he said. "We'll save the toys for me, shall we?" He waggled his eyebrows at Fenris. "Would you like to go back to my fingers? You certainly seemed to enjoy that." And Artie decided that was rather flattering. His fingers over... his brother's knob. Right. Maybe this was a good thing after all. "Just please don't describe them as 'delicate'. My sister teases me as it is."  
  
"Mmm, I meant the way you touch me with them." Fenris parted his legs a little further. "I -- yes. I would like very much to go back to your fingers. But... Is there, do you think, a way for me to be inside you, while you do that? Terribly greedy of me to even ask, but I am a free man, and I think asking is one of the benefits of that, is it not?" Fenris's ears twitched, and one of his fingers scratched at the sheet. "I'm not sure how to make it work, or if it would be good for you, but I'm willing to try strange things, until we either both enjoy it or fail hilariously and fall out of bed."  
  
Chuckling, Artemis pulled the toy back out, still moving much more carefully than he would be with himself. "We won't be able to blame the silk sheets for it this time," he said. He _had_ entertained the thought of sex on those sheets when he'd put them on, only to decide that was how limbs ended up broken. "And if you're being terribly greedy, well. You'll just have to make it up to me later, won't you?" Artemis winked, grinning in a way that said he didn't mind this idea in the least.  
  
As for how to make it happen... Artemis tilted his head and considered. "I might know a way," he said. "Wouldn't hurt to try, at least." Well. He hoped there would be no hurting involved. He'd had enough sex injuries to last him through the year, thank you.  
  
Artemis got up from the bed long enough to disrobe, kicking his trousers to the far corner of the room.   
  
"Oh, I'll make it up to you. I'll make it up to you, even if this is amazing." Fenris laughed and moved up on the bed, getting his head onto a pillow. "What weird and magical things are you thinking, mage? Am I going to need to stand on one foot and stretch the other up the bedpost?" He actually could do that. It had been a while, but he was relatively certain he could still get his legs stretched straight out and put his ass below the level of his ankles, without dislocating anything. Part of his training. He was something of an elven pretzel, which might come in handy for fun things, now, instead of just deadly things.  
  
"Something, I hope, that won't result in any vigorous encounters with abrasive surfaces?" He thought about that, for a moment. "Or dangerously mage-waxed floors..."  
  
"Let us not talk about abrasive surfaces," Artemis groaned, cringing. "My knob still hasn't recovered. As for stretching up the bedpost, that... would not help, no, but now I would really like to see that." Fenris couldn't actually be that flexible... could he? Maker. They'd have to test that later.  
  
"Just lie back," Artemis said, picking up the bottle of oil again. "Maybe bend your knees a little. Now I do the rest." He slicked up Fenris's still-interested knob and straddled his hips. Backwards. Less of a view for _him_ , but it should get the job done.  
  
"Not much of a view for you, is it? But, you like this angle. Or something like this angle. And I suppose you've never complained about the view, before, even when it's been just the sheets." Fenris took a moment to study the idea, to turn it over in his head. "Wait. I think I can make this better. Not the view, but the angle. The force, anyway."  
  
He twisted, folding his legs up under himself, until his ass was propped on his heels. "Leverage. Can't leave you doing all the work. What kind of man would I be?" he joked.  
  
"Elves," Artemis huffed in a parody of Fenris's 'mages'. He tossed Fenris a grin over his shoulder as he lined up Fenris's knob with his ass. He sank down onto his elf with practised ease, head falling back and a sigh leaving his lips. "Now let's see if this works..." He reached between Fenris's legs, below where they were joined and pressed his fingers into Fenris's still slick entrance.  
  
The noises Fenris made were incoherent sounds of pleasure, choked and garbled as he tried to remember what words were, never mind how to say them. He wondered if he and Artemis would ever be able to top this one. This, he thought, might actually be the pinnacle of sexual excellence. That night in the Deep Roads, he wouldn't have been able to handle this at all  -- still too tense, not over the idea of being with a mage -- but, now? This was the best thing they'd managed, yet. He grabbed Artemis's hips and pulled down, grinding up into him, clenching around the fingers inside him.  
  
" _Yes_ ," he finally managed.  
  
Artie gasped, pressing back down against Fenris. "I think we have a winner," he said breathlessly, steadying himself with his free hand on Fenris's thigh. After some trial and error, he found a rhythm in counterpoint to Fenris, hips grinding down as his fingers pressed in. Artemis curled his fingers, trying to find that spot, that angle that Fenris had liked.  
  
After a few tries, Fenris bucked and arched. "Please! That... there... yes!"  
  
He writhed, desperately, between his mage's fingers and ass, trying to determine how to get more of everything at once. Finally, he tilted his heels out to give his hips room to move without bruising his ass, and rolled his hips a few times to judge the angle, before he thrust up into Artemis, setting a jarring rhythm, with a bit of a twist at the end.  
  
Artemis's grip tightened on Fenris's thigh. "Ah! Fen!" His fingers stilled a moment as he adjusted to this pace, and then he was pressing in again, determined to wring more of those desperate sounds from his elf. "Maker," he swore. "Is this what you wanted, hmm?" He wished he could see the look on Fenris's face.  
  
"Yes," Fenris groaned, knowing his toes would curl if he wasn't resting his weight on them. "Yes, yes, _more_!"  
  
Pounding up into Artemis, he found himself adjusting, subtly, for shifts in the bed, shifts in where his mage landed against his hips, tiny little changes that would no doubt make this less pleasant, if he weren't correcting for them. It amused him to realise his combat reflexes were good for other things, but that thought disintegrated almost as quickly as it had appeared, chased out to make room for more incoherent sounds of desire. This was what he wanted. This was what he had always wanted and never known. If he died tomorrow -- if he died right in that moment -- he could die happy, knowing he had acheived the profoundest pleasure the world had to offer. And more than that, he had taken it with a mage, with his mage -- his mage to whom he had just proposed, and with whom he would get to spend the rest of his life, however short that might be, taking and making pleasures like this.  
  
Magic destroyed everything. He was ruined. And really, he couldn't find it in himself to be sorry about that at all.  
  
Artemis had never heard Fenris make sounds like this before, and he figured he had to be doing something right. Considering their absurd beginnings -- that time in the Deep Roads was Fenris's first time, _Maker_ \-- Fenris deserved 'something right'. Preferably a few somethings, but Artie could only keep his wits together for so long when Fenris was thrusting up into him like that.   
  
Then Fenris shifted a little, and he hit that spot that made Artemis's toes curl. "Fenris," he choked out, half a plea, half a curse, as his hips squirmed in Fenris's grip. He picked up the pace of his fingers in vengeance.  
  
Fenris forgot everything but how to thrust. Nothing mattered but that. Nothing but the feel of pushing up into his mage, and slamming back down onto those long, slick fingers inside him. Nothing in his life had ever felt this good -- not that he had much to compare to, but if there were better things than this, he hoped they'd wait a while, because he wasn't sure he could handle better than this. A raw sound leapt out of him, as his thighs began to tremble, still maintaining something close to the rhythm he'd been keeping, even as his body began to throw off any illusions of minding anything he was telling it to do. His hands tightened on Artemis's hips, and a flicker of concern passed through his mind -- bruises -- but the next crashing wave of pleasure washed it away. He'd remember, later. Later it would matter.  
  
Artie could tell Fenris was close, could feel the thigh under his hand shaking. As for himself, Artemis thought he could come just from the sounds Fenris was making. "Come on, Fen," he panted, clenching his inner muscles around Fenris. "Come for me. I want you to." He ached to touch his own knob, but his hands were otherwise occupied.  
  
"Earthquake?" Fenris choked out. He was so very close, but the walls weren't shaking. Artemis wasn't making those noises he loved to hear. He wasn't doing enough for his mage, but there was just enough difference between the two of them that he couldn't quite get a hand around Artemis's hips, into his lap. Not without sitting up, which wasn't going to work.  
  
Wracked with pleasure, seeing sparks between his eyes and everything else, Fenris tried to compensate. One hand slid forward from Artie's hip, fingers just barely brushing against his knob. Almost... Fenris howled, desperately, sounds he'd never imagined making, but he refused to give in, if he couldn't take his mage over with him. He stretched, reached, twisted, hips still rocking and thrusting, as he leaned to the side, eventually getting into a position to wrap his fingers around the top of Artemis's knob, barely more than the head, but more than he'd been able to reach before.  
  
Fenris's touch startled a shivery gasp out of Artie. Artemis had no idea how he was able to reach that, but he wasn't going to complain, not when he was so close. "Fen... I..." His fingers lost their rhythm inside of his elf. "Fuck, that's --" Another choked sound, and he shuddered. "Earthquake," he gasped, nodding. No sooner had Artemis spoken than the room started to rattle.  
  
Fenris let himself stop thinking, again. This was how it was supposed to work. The position was a bit more awkward, but that was less of a problem than it might have been for anyone else. He was, after all, very flexible. His hips slammed up, again and again, Artemis's name and a variety of choked-off encouragements spilling from his mouth. His hands tightened, wringing Artemis's flesh. This. There had never been anything better than this, and his knob throbbed in agreement, as he emptied himself into his mage.  
  
Artemis followed him over with a choked groan, back arching as he spilled over Fenris's hand. He sat there for a moment, catching his breath and waiting for the room to stop shaking. He drew out his fingers and twisted to grin at Fenris over his shoulder. "Well, that was fun," he said.  
  
"Nngh," Fenris agreed, prying his fingers open and smoothing his hands over the sides of Artemis's thighs. "Mmm?" he inquired, sliding his hands up and tugging gently at Artemis's sides. _His_ mage. He wanted to hold his mage. In fact, maybe he wouldn't get out of bed at all, tomorrow. Just spend the day wrapped around his mage, in this warm, sweaty tangle of sheets. His mage might object to the mess, after a few rounds, he supposed.  
  
Artie slid off of Fenris and stretched out next to him, leaning in for another kiss, the slow, lazy, contented kind. And to think that this elf -- his elf -- had proposed to him. With a goat, sure, but still. And there was a thought. That was the first time a goat had led to celebratory sex, with him anyway, and thank the Maker for that.  
  
Artemis thought of poor Bodhan and that lace-strewn goat and found himself pulling away from the kiss to smother a laugh against Fenris's chest.  
  
Fenris made a small disconsolate noise. "What -- what are you--?" He sighed, wrapping his arms around Artemis. "Fool mage. ... Stay with me."


	87. PART XIX: WHITE LILIES

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> White lilies at the door.

"Enchantment?" Sandal asked, looking up at the greying human asking stupid questions.

"No, not enchantment! Leandra! Le-an-dra." Gamlen looked like he was going to strangle someone. Probably Sandal.

"You know, shouting at him isn't going to make him know more than one word," Cormac said, wandering down the stairs, shoeless, staff in his hand. He'd heard the shouting and assumed something was actually wrong.

"Where's your mother. Is she feeling all right?" Gamlen sounded like he was actually concerned, which was something new.

"I'm tempted to say she isn't, just to see your face," Cormac joked.

"Your mother didn't show up for lunch. Is she ill? She is here, isn't she?"

"You owe somebody money? Is that it?" Cormac scoffed, squinting at his uncle. "I'm fairly sure no one would be stupid enough to kidnap Lady Amell over one of your debts. You have a daughter. There's the obvious choice."

"Is a man not allowed to be concerned about his own sister?" Gamlen roared.

Cormac opened his mouth, but Bodhan cut him off. "We haven't seen her all day, Gamlen."

"Where could she be?" Gamlen asked, still looking more nervous than not.

"Out with Dulci de Launcet, most like. She probably just forgot it was Makersday." Cormac didn't seem concerned at all. His mother was in the habit of gallivanting about town with nobles from all over the Marches and Orlais.

"With her suitor, perhaps?" Bodhan suggested.

"Suitor? Don't be ridiculous. If mum was dating, we'd all know about it. She'd be frolicking through the house adding flowers to everything." Cormac laughed, imagining his mother working herself into a state over some grand Orlesian so-and-so.

"Well, those lilies arrived for her this morning." Bodhan pointed.

Cormac turned grey, eyes widening as he spotted the flowers. "Lilies... White lilies..." His heart stopped for a second. "Anton! Bethany!" He kept shouting as he ran up the stairs for his boots. "Move! We have a problem!"

"What? Shouting? Why is there shouting?" Bethany asked, appearing in the doorway with staff in hand. She all but barrelled into Anton, who appeared as if from nowhere, fully dressed, and with a knife tucked into his palm. 

"No idea," Anton answered, steadying her. "My first thought was 'not another goat', but Cormac wouldn't be shrieking like that over some farmland animal. I hope." His second thought was 'templars', but he knew he didn't need to say it. But he'd just come back from lunch with his own templar. Cullen would have warned him, wouldn't he? No, best not to think about that. "Get dressed. Quickly. I'll see what's the matter."

Bethany nodded and flew back into her room. After years on the run, she knew how to get ready in a hurry. She still had a knapsack full of essentials, ready to be snatched up at a moment's notice. 

Anton followed Cormac into his room. "What's happened?" he asked. 

Carver appeared at the bottom of the stairs. "Why does no one ever shout for me?"

"Because I only have to shout for one of you, and both of you show up!" Cormac called out, before answering Anton, still at the top of his lungs, so everyone could hear him, while he got his boots on. "Mum's missing. Someone sent white lilies. Anton, go with Gamlen -- take Carver with you. She was supposed to go see him for lunch, so there's a good chance she got grabbed between here and there. Bethy, get Artie and meet me downstairs. In Darktown. I'm going to go get Anders, if we're not still there, I'll leave a note. I'd tell you where we're going, but he knows that and I don't. Bodhan, send two messengers to explain the situation, one to Aveline, one to Cullen. If we don't come back, someone needs to know where we went. Again, note in the clinic. Don't take it with you, Bethy."

Swapping his staff for his glaive, Cormac stepped out of the room, patted himself down, and ran for the stairs to the cellar. "Questions? Hurry the fuck up."

* * *

Artemis was too occupied with Fenris to hear the knock on the front door, even if it was less of a knock and more of a slam.

"Messere Hawke!" Orana called up stairs. "Your sister is here to --"

"Artie!" came Bethany's voice, making Artemis swear and jump. "Get your staff and your big boy pants! We have an emergency!"

"I hate when emergencies involve pants," Artemis muttered to Fenris before pulling away and scrambling about for his clothes. "What's going on?" he shouted through the open door.

There was a pause, and then, "Artie, it's mum. She's missing. Anton said to tell you 'white lilies' and that you'd know what that means."

Artemis's face drained of colour, and Fenris sat up, looking concerned.

"Artemis...?"

"I have to go," Artie said, throwing on his tunic and boots in record time before snatching up his staff from where he'd left it by the bed. He was out the door before Fenris could ask what was going on.

* * *

Anders was midway through healing a young woman's broken finger, when Cormac rushed in, grey-faced and wide eyed. "Where's my--" he started, but Cormac cut him off.

"Gascard Du Puis. My mother. White lilies. Where is Gascard Du Puis?" Cormac's hands clenched and unclenched over and over, but he managed not to grab Anders's shoulders.

Anders finished the healing and muttered something sympathetic to the woman, before waving her toward the front of the clinic. "Is anyone dying?" he called out. "Because if you're not dying, you should come back tomorrow, because I have to go make sure someone doesn't die."

He squeezed Cormac's arm and ran to get his staff. "I know where he is. I knew we'd need to know, eventually."

"Leave a note for Bethy. She'll be following us." Cormac moved between the patients at the front of the clinic, healing a few cuts and scrapes, while Anders wrote. Something to do with all the nervous energy, other than just sit and twitch.

"Cormac." Anders took his hand. "We'll get her back."

They set off into the tunnels at a swift clip, Anders leading the way. He wasn't going to let this happen.

* * *

Anton, Carver, and Gamlen searched the road Leandra usually took from the estate to her brother's, with the dog. Within five minutes, Gamlen looked ready to strangle an urchin.

"Yeah, I saw her," said the boy, and Anton excused himself from the lady shopkeeper he'd been questioning to head over. "Don't see too many women dressed like that around here."

"Did you see where she went?" Gamlen asked.

The boy offered him a sly smile, squinting at Gamlen through a bruised eye. "What do I get for telling you?"

"You get me not bruising your other eye, that's what," Carver growled. Anton rolled his eyes and nudged Carver back behind him.

"Here's a few silver," Anton said, offering the boy a handful of coin. "Buy yourself some food. And new shoes. And go see the healer, tomorrow -- I can promise you he's not there, today."

"It's just a black eye," the boy muttered, examining the coins. After a moment, he gasped. "That's real silver, it is! I'm your man, through and through! Tell you everything I know." He stuck the coins into his pocket. "That lady was here. She looked like she was going to take the bridge to Hightown. But then a man came up to her. Stumbled and fell over right at her feet, like he was dead. He had blood on his hands, like he'd been in a fight. The lady shook him and I think he said, 'Help.' She got him to his feet and he was wobbly -- it was funny. Anyway, they left and... that's all I saw."

"If he's hurt her," Carver said, fists tight at his side, "I will kill him."

"There might be a line," Anton replied. To the boy, he said, "Did you see where they went?"

"The man left some blood... where he fell over," said the boy, pointing deeper into Lowtown, towards what looked like a dark stain of.. something, that the dog appeared to have already found. "You could follow it."

"Always blood, isn't it?" Anton sighed, exchanging a look with Carver. "Every time."

Gamlen was starting to look ill. "Why don't you do what the boy says?" he suggested. "I'll just... go home in case Leandra shows up." 

Mintaka barked from next to the blood stain, thumping his tail on the ground.

* * *

As they approached the far end of some abandoned mining tunnel, Anders pointed, and Cormac followed. "Gascard!" Anders called out.

"Anders? What's the trouble? Is it a plague?" Gascard looked up, confused, from the herbs he was cutting.

"No, you -- you remember my friend Anton? This is his brother. The killer you're looking for, we think he took their mother." Anders put his arm around Cormac's waist, to steady him.

"That's... not good. I didn't expect him to strike again, so soon. Alessa, the woman Anton took from me, the killer took her, not long after she fled. Just as I predicted. I have enough of her blood left for one ritual. I can use it to track them." Gascard tucked his knife back into his belt.

"Wait, you could have tracked the killer this whole time? Why haven't you done it?" Cormac looked like he might strangle the guy, and Anders held onto him a little tighter.

"I lost the power to confront him, when your brother destroyed my shades," Gascard drawled, laying the blame quite firmly at Anton's feet. "But, if you come with me, we could confront him now. He'll be no match for three of us."

"There's going to be more than three of us," Cormac assured him. "At least five, probably six, maybe eight or nine, if the rest of us catch up. He's not getting through all of us. Do it. Use the blood. I have to find my mother."

Gascard led the way to the alcove where he'd been living, a sheet hung behind some mine carts blocking the entrance. "Wait here, a moment. My new home is not large enough for company."

A moment later, he stepped out with a vial of something dark -- presumably Alessa's blood -- and his staff. "Stand back. Blood magic is... sometimes unpredictable. But, if there is anything left of Alessa in this world, this ritual will find it."

Crushing the vial in his hand, Gascard drove the shards of glass into his palm, and began to cast, a red glow radiating from him, as the spell took hold.

"Idiot," Anders muttered. "Why is it always the palm?"

Two figures appeared out of the tunnel behind them. "Why, fancy meeting you here," Bethany greeted them. Her charming smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "By the way, Anders, your handwriting is atrocious."

Artemis frowned at the glowing mage in front of them. "Blood magic. Right." It was probably for the best that he hadn't waited for Fenris. Staff tapping nervously against the ground, Artie looked about them. "Five of us here, all mages. And he's using blood magic. Meredith would have kittens."

Meredith would have them _killed_ , but best not to think about that. And he wasn't about to stop Gascard, not if this was going to help them find their mother.

"Incidentally," he said to Anders, "when this is over and Mum is safe, I will be cleaning your clinic."

Before Anders could respond, the glowing stopped, and Gascard staggered to his knees. 

Cormac helped Gascard to his feet. "Can you find her?"

Gascard nodded and set off, wordlessly, leaving them to follow him. It was a relatively short walk, leading to the Foundry District of Lowtown, and then into one of the foundries.

"This looks familiar," Anders muttered. "All those years ago, isn't this where we found the remains? The first victims?"

"He's been in the same place this whole time? How did we not find him, the first time?" Cormac looked sick, in that way he did when he knew something was his fault. "Mum's here, somewhere. Find her."

"Blood on the floor," Anders pointed out, before the door behind them cracked against the wall.

"We were following the blood," Anton said, blinking, surprisedly into the dim room. "How did you--?"

"We were following the other blood. You remember Messere du Puis?" Cormac gestured at the blood mage. "And there's still blood. If you were following it, that's probably the best choice."

Carver was on it, before Cormac finished talking, racing up the stairs on the far side of the room. "Up here! It leads up here!"

"Mintaka," Anton addressed the dog and pointed to the door. "Go wait for backup. Either the guards or the templars are probably coming. Show them where we are."

The dog barked and squeezed back out the door, to wait.

They followed Carver and the blood trail up and around the foundry, to a trap door leading back down into the space between this building and the next. A hidden room, of sorts. More stairs down, and they were definitely below the level of the ground. Here the blood trail finally ended, after a few trace spatters.

Gascard pushed past Carver and kept walking. "We're close," he said, eyes wide and unfocused as if he were seeing something they weren't. "This way."

Artie picked at the staff in his hands, his father's old staff. He looked back at the last of the blood trail and fought down the irrational urge to clean it. If he cleaned it up, all of it, maybe their mother would be all right at the end of this. 

Bethany slid her arm through his and kept him facing forward. "She's fine," she told him with a confidence Artemis wished he had. "She's put up with us for how many years? She can handle herself."

The air filled with the stink of sulphur, and Anders's skin crackled blue as he grabbed Gascard and pulled him back. "Demons," he said. A rage demon and a herd of shades sprang out of the ground. 

"Of course there are demons," Anton muttered. "There are _always_ demons in Kirkwall." He slid into the shadows, daggers in hand, while the mages let loose the first wave.

They were good at demons, by now, largely because, as Anton pointed out, every time someone stubbed their toe, in Kirkwall, there were demons. A few shades and a rage demon weren't much contest, and they hammered through the lot of them, swiftly. Well, Artie hammered through them. Cormac and Anders just held them down, while Bethany made them easier to hit. It was over in a matter of moments, and Carver barely got but a few swings in.

Anders grabbed Cormac's shoulder and pointed to where a woman lay on her side, on a bench. The right hair, a similar build... Cormac ran across the room to roll the woman onto her back. "It's not her," he breathed. The woman was already dead, and the body cold. 

"That's Alessa," Gascard pointed out, stepping up next to Cormac.

Gascard had said she'd been taken months ago. If she was just dead, now...

Anton and Carver were already tearing the room apart for bodies, living or dead, but there was only the one. They moved on, Cormac's face still grey and stricken. There was still time. Months. She'd just vanished in the morning. There would still be time.

Gascard's trail had ended with Alessa, but their mother had to be around here somewhere. Anton was torn between hoping they found her and hoping they didn't. A glint of metal on the ground caught his eye, and he bent to pick it up, holding it to the light.

"Mum's locket," Anton breathed, recognising the shape. He dusted it off and showed it to his siblings before slipping it into his pocket. "She's definitely here." He looked as ashen faced as his brothers. 

Bethany looked the calmest of all of them, but she had her hand in Artie's now and was all but squeezing the life out of it. "Then we're in the right place," she said, nodding at Anton to continue on.

Down another set of stairs, and they found themselves in a wide open chamber, dusty furniture set up in imitation of a living room. "Does he... _live_ here?" Carver asked, lip curling.

"Well, he's certainly not living upstairs, or he'd have been caught by now," Anders pointed out, picking up a letter from a nearby table. "Looks like he's been trading secrets with someone inside the Circle. Books? Hm. I think I'll hold on to this."

More shades appeared, as he tucked it into his coat.

"Kirkwall. Demons." Cormac lashed out with a wall of ice. "Can we move somewhere less... I don't know... demony? How about back to Ferelden? I hear Gwaren's lovely."

"Amaranthine wasn't terrible. Not too many demons. Had a bad darkspawn infestation, the last time I was through, though," Anders joked, paralysing anything he could reach.

"Shit! Fuck! _Anders_!" Anton complained from somewhere amid the shades.

"Sorry!" Anders eased up a bit, and Anton darted back, before the ground glowed green again.

Artemis swore, pulling back on his spell at the last second. He'd been aiming at that glow of green. "Maker dammit, Anton! Do you _want_ me to slam your face into the ground again?" He recast, the spell thankfully catching nothing but shades on the way down, slamming their -- well, the closest things they had to faces, really -- into the ground instead.

"What am I supposed to do?" Anton called back. "Stand here and look pretty while you mages do all the work?" Lightning arced past him from fuck knows where. He swore. "Fine! I'll just stand here!"

"Don't sulk, Anton," Bethany said, she and Carver wiping out the last shades. "You're very good at standing and looking pretty!"

"As opposed to Artie, who's very good at bending over and looking pretty," Cormac teased, shields still up.

Anton made a face, but Artemis turned bright red. He checked to make sure his brother's shields were still up before force pushing him into the wall.

"Why do you know that?" Carver demanded. "That's disgusting!"

"How do you not know that?" Cormac laughed, staggering as he dropped to his feet again. "You're part of this family! You punch me every time he does that!"

"Boys, boys..." Bethany stepped forward. "Our mother can probably hear you."

Cormac turned a colour, which looked much better than the grey he'd been sporting since they'd been told. "Yeah, let's go get her out of here."

"What's this?" Anton murmured, spotting a painting, on the way out of the room. "Looks like mum."

"Some kind of shrine?" Anders postulated. "Dedicated to his wife? His sister? Maybe his mother?"

"Okay, that's creepy," Cormac said. "Finding her. Now."

In the next room, a man stood over a woman seated in a chair. He looked up as they entered. "I was wondering when you'd show up. Leandra was so sure you'd come for her."

"Mother always knew us best," Anton cracked, grinning unpleasantly.

"Yes, and she spoke so fondly of you. What a lovely, gentle woman," the man went on. He smiled fondly down at the seated woman. Leather creaked as Carver clenched his sword hilt tighter.

"Quentin!" Gascard growled.

The man -- Quentin? -- looked up at him, eyebrows lifting in the barest surprise. "Gascard? So you've reached me after all these years. I figured you gave up."

"Why? Are you afraid? Were you hoping Gascard would've forgotten what you did?" Bethany smiled pleasantly.

"Afraid? Of Gascard?" Quentin laughed. "No, Gascard respects me too much to kill me."

"Oh, yes, because you always respect the man who killed your sister. Are you having us on?" Cormac drawled. "I think he's having us on."

"That or a certain special someone hasn't been telling us the truth!" Bethany chirped from behind Gascard.

"Didn't he tell you? Oh, I don't suppose he did." Quentin smiled, eyes sharp.

"Shut up, old man! I'm going to learn your secrets. Everything you kept from me." Gascard stepped forward, trying to elbow Artemis aside, and taking an elbow in the gut for his troubles. The force mage did not mean to be moved. Gascard shoved Cormac to the side, instead, and despite being much thicker, Cormac actually moved.

"Sorry to interrupt this lovely student-teacher reunion," Anton cut in, "but where is my mother?"

"Listen to me," Gascard urged. "We can take him. Once he's dead, you'll have your mother back, and I'll have all his notes."

"I'm sorry, Gascard. When my wife died, I lost all hope. I wasn't able to be the mentor you deserved." Quentin turned away, moving back toward the woman in the chair, who still sat strangely silent, turned away from them. "But, now, my work is finished, and I can teach you as I always meant to. Come back to me, Gascard."

"You'll let me be part of this? You'll teach me the secrets of necromancy?" Gascard looked tempted, but like he hardly dared believe.

"Tch. Necromancy. Is that all? I could have taught you necromancy," Bethany sighed. "There's no need to run around killing people, when you can just steal corpses, instead."

"Or get people to kill each other," Cormac reminded Bethany.

"Details!" Bethany flicked her hand, dismissively.

Gascard shot them both a disbelieving look. Quentin beckoned to him, one hand outstretched. "I will keep nothing from you," Quentin said. "You know my powers. They cannot offer you what I can."

Gascard was walking towards him before he finished talking.

"Seriously?" Artemis shouted. "This man is clearly a nutcase!" 

"A powerful nutcase," Gascard agreed. He turned back to Quentin, then stopped, back going rigid and a choked sound of pain catching in his throat. He slumped to the ground, a knife protruding from his ribs. 

Everyone looked at Anton, who shrugged, a cold smile on his lips and another knife already in his hand.

Quentin sighed as though greatly put upon. "Pity, that," he said. With a twist of his fingers, he raised Gascard's new corpse, limbs hanging like a marionette on strings. "But he can still be useful."

Bethany cursed, under her breath. She hadn't been quite quick enough -- but, she wasn't used to being in a room with another necromancer! It wasn't like they were common in most places!

"And now, you will witness my greatest achievement," Quentin went on, resting a hand on the back of the chair. "Do you know what the most powerful force in the universe is?" He paused, but not long enough for anyone to answer. "Love." Stroking the woman's hair, he turned back toward the others, toward where Gascard stood lifeless, between them. "I pieced her together from memory. I found her eyes, her skin, her delicate fingers... And at last, her face. Oh, this beautiful face."

The woman stood at Quentin's fingers on her cheek, and he continued to speak, now to her. "I've searched far and wide to find you, beloved, and no force on this earth will part us."

"Everything I've ever said about love?" Anders pointed toward the necromancer and his zombie bride. "Exhibit number two."

Cormac swallowed the rush of nausea. "Artie, if I ever raise you from the dead, I promise to use your corpse for it. Guaran-fucking-teed."

"What about _me_?" Anton complained.

"What _about_ you?" Cormac laughed.

Then the zombie bride turned around, and the laughing stopped. "Mum?" Carver said weakly, disbelieving. He stared at her face and dead eyes, at the suture marks around her neck. "No. _No_."

The floor trembled under his feet. He turned to see Artie with his eyes wide, shaking so hard his teeth chattered. Next to him, Cormac was screaming, and between the two of them, Carver found it best to back away.

Quentin looked down at the ground and hurried to cast, but Cormac's Crushing Prison reached him first. Quentin's eyes bugged out, shoulders hunching and bones creaking, sounds of pain hissing through grit teeth. And then force knocked him back into the wall, again and again.

Cormac's fist clenched tighter, the scream giving way to a hysterical giggle as Quentin's eyes worked themselves out of his face. None of them had ever seen quite that look on Cormac, the grin so wide it looked like the top of his head might shear off, eyes glittering with equal amounts of wrath and glee. "Hit him again Artie! If you can break him down small enough, I bet I can squeeze all the water out. We'll have a necromantic bouillon cube! Just in case you ever need corpse soup or something." He cackled for a moment. "Bethy? Are there any Nevarran uses for dehydrated cubes of blood mage? Blood mage sans blood?"

Bethany had stepped back, fan opened across her face. Her eyes sparkled, context-free, above it. "I don't know." Her voice seemed distant. "I can always check. I can always find a use... I'm very good with corpses."

Anton hung back, afraid to get between the mages and their target. He'd already made that mistake once, today. He shot a look at Anders, who was already wrapped around Cormac's back, chin resting on his head. Anton figured if it worked for Justice, maybe it would work on Cormac, too... But, at the same time, he wasn't sure he wanted Cormac to calm down. He couldn't feel his fingers any more, and he glanced down as his other dagger clattered against the ground. Artemis seemed to be taking it better than Cormac, or that was what he thought, until he realised that wasn't just him vibrating from the stress, it was the entire room shaking. That was fine, too. Everything was fine, just like it always was. It was just Kirkwall. Demons, demons, and everything's fine.

Artemis counted the number of times he slammed Quentin into the wall in intervals of three. One, two, three. One, two, three. Like a waltz. He didn't feel the ground shaking or his eyes burning. He just focused on turning this monster into paste but barely noticed when he and Cormac did. He only stopped when his mana ran out, and Quentin was a bloody smear on the wall, or a... whatever shape Cormac had crushed him into. Artemis slumped to his knees, his insides feeling raw and wrung out and vision grey at the edges.

Leandra -- or the creature with Leandra's face -- tottered towards her children for a few steps, only to falter, collapsing like a puppet with her strings cut. Anders was the only one fast enough to catch her, hooking his hands under her armpits and laying her out on the ground. He kicked away Gascard's corpse, which had fallen over, motionless, too.

Cormac let Anders handle the zombie. However many people it had been, it was none of them, now. He turned to Artemis, taking his brother's beautiful face in his hands and tilting it up. Still hysterical, he wondered if his own tear-streaked face looked as good, and doubted it. His beard hadn't even finished growing back, yet. Crouching, he pressed his lips to Artemis's, kissing him fiercely, but surprisingly chastely. He brushed the hair back from Artemis's face. "We'll be all right. I promise you." His voice shook like he shouldn't have been promising anything. "Let's just get her out of here."

Artie's head was full of white noise, but he nodded as though he were listening. He clutched at Cormac's arms tight enough to bruise.

"Anders?" Cormac asked, raising his voice a little, but not turning away from his brother, whose grip seemed like it might become permanent.

"There's nothing to be done. The magic that was keeping her alive--"

Leandra's voice cut Anders off. "Cormac? I knew you would come."

"Mum! Do something, Anders! Fix it! Make her better!" Cormac staggered to his feet, grabbing Artemis's arms and pulling him along. "We're all here, mum. We all came for you, and we're getting you out of here."

The siblings crowded around, at the sound of their mother's voice, and Anders actually started trying. Unfortunately, there wasn't much he could do with dead flesh, no matter how much spirit it had. And with that came another disturbing realisation.

"No, no." Leandra hushed him. "Don't fret, darling. That man would have kept me trapped in here, but thanks to you, I'm free." She smiled, which looked a little out of place on her bloodless face. "I get to see your father again. But, you... Take care of them, Cormac."

"I always do," Cormac said, with a sad smile.

"And don't drive your brother mad," Leandra said a little more loudly.

"Too late for that," Anton joked, weakly, unsure where he'd even come up with the strength to speak.

"My children have become so strong." Leandra smiled again. "I love you. You've all made me so proud. Even you, Carver. Marry your elf, and be proud. Both of you, I suppose. The same to you, Artemis. This world is not the one I was young in. You take care of my son, apostate."

"Yes, my lady." Anders was surprised she'd addressed him at all.

"Mum, don't go..." Cormac started to shake, grip tightening on Artemis's arms.

Leandra just smiled one more time, slumped against Anders, and she was gone. The siblings and Anders stood and knelt in silence for a heavy moment. Bethany was the first to move, wiping at her cheeks with the heel of one hand.

"We should get her out of here," she said, her voice surprising her with its steadiness. She had to keep it together right now. Her brothers were all kinds of a mess right now. "Anders, do you mind carrying her?" She didn't wait for his answer, already knowing what it would be, and walked over to what was left of Quentin, which was smaller than her palm. She picked it up and slipped it into a pouch by her hip. Her brothers knew better than to ask. 

When Bethany turned back around, Anders was standing with Leandra in his arms, her head cradled on his shoulder as though she were sleeping. At least they'd found her, in the end.


	88. Chapter 88

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The procession. A return to the estate. Sleep.

They were approaching the bridge into Hightown when an armoured troupe caught up to them. City guards, Carver could tell by the uniform, and he uncurled his hand from around his sword hilt.

"Messeres Hawke?" a guard with a scarred face addressed them. "We have been sent to --"

"Well, you're too bloody late," Carver snapped, cutting her off. "What took you so long?"

"We came as quickly as we could," the guard protested. "The captain obviously didn't have as much information as you did."

Anders pushed to the front, still holding Leandra's body. "We were all too late. If you want to try to identify the bodies, some of them -- parts of some of them are probably still in the foundry. The only part of the blood mage responsible for this you'll find is where we let all the blood and magic out of him."

Cormac finally looked up from where he was still intertwined with Artemis, the two of them holding each other up. "Tell Aveline I said thank you. And thank you for trying." He was much quieter than usual, voice much more tired. "But, we need to go. Please, tell me if you find the rest of our mother. This is..." He choked. "This is just her head."

A murmur ran through the group of guards, and the one who had been speaking spoke again. "I'll come by in the morning. Myself. Good day, messeres." They stepped aside, just as a Templar patrol arrived from another direction.

"Are you--?" The templar at the fore took in the guards, the corpse, and the band of distinctly non-merry individuals. "The Hawkes, I presume. Is one of you Anton?"

"Anton's--" Bethany turned to point at her brother, but didn't find him. "Anton's fine. He was here just a moment ago. I'd send you back to the Gallows to tell the Knight-Captain he's on his way, but I doubt you'll make better time than he will."

"Anton's fine. Just as fine as I am," Cormac grumbled. "Now get out of my way. The nice guardswoman over there can explain. I'm not doing it again."

"He'd be sorry," Anders offered, "but I'm carrying his mother's head, attached to the bodies of several other women. So, he's really not sorry at all. _Do_ move."

The templar eyed the guardswoman, who nodded, and then waved his men back. "I'm very sorry about your mother, messeres."

"Oh, sod off," Carver muttered, only to be shushed by Bethany. Artemis went wherever Cormac led him.

* * *

  
After Anton's message, Cullen hadn't been able to focus all day. He was worried for Anton's mother, yes, but also for Anton. He thought of Emeric and that poor man's grizzly death and --

And when Anton strode in through his doors, Cullen knew something was wrong but couldn't help sagging in relief. "Came in through the doors," he said with a weak smile. "Must be bad news." He set his ledger and stylus down on his desk, frowning at the bloodless look of Anton's face and the distant look in his eyes. "Anton?"

"It's mum," Anton finally said. "We found her. Or part of her." That wasn't quite how he'd wanted to say that, and he winced.

"Maker's breath," Cullen swore under his breath. He reached for Anton, wanting to enfold him in his arms but unsure if he should. After a few false starts, he went with his instinct and wrapped his arms around Anton.

"He's dead, Cullen. We got him." Anton relaxed against Cullen, until Cullen's arms were the only thing holding him up. "I said we'd get him. I just... my mum. She-- he turned her into-- I know why there were only pieces left."

Anton struggled to focus, but couldn't hold on to anything long enough. Bits and pieces of everything that went through his head came out of his mouth, as Cullen eased them both to the floor, pulling Anton onto his lap as he leaned back against the desk. It wasn't comfortable, but Cullen wasn't sure anything would be, right now. He just stroked Anton's hair and listened.

"He took her head. But, she talked to us, anyway. She loved us. She was proud of us. And then -- then she left us. She was there, and then she left us." And that was the worst of it, Anton thought. She'd still been there, to some degree, but even Anders couldn't fix her. He'd tried. Anton had watched that glow, hoping something would change, but... 

"Her... head?" Cullen hadn't meant to ask, but that had been just odd enough.

"He sewed the parts together. He took the pieces and sewed them together to be his wife. He took my mother's head and put it on his wife. It wasn't even his wife. None of it was his wife." Anton choked up in horror -- he thought he should be used to this sort of thing, with all the years he spent with his sister, but Bethy hadn't tried to raise dad from the dead. "There's no pieces of him left. Nothing anyone can use. Just a bloody smear half an inch deep. More of a pool than a smear, I guess. My brothers killed him -- destroyed him. There's nothing left."

A smear. Cullen suspected that's what _his_ mother's killer would look like, if, Maker forbid, she had one. "Blood mage," he murmured, shaking his head. This was the sort of thing the Order was supposed to prevent. Cullen was surprised Anton could even look at him right now, after the templars had failed him so completely, after _Cullen_ had failed him. "Anton, I'm so sorry. We should have been there. _I_ should have been there." But that was selfish, wasn't it? Thinking of his own regrets? "But I'm glad the bastard's dead at least," he added, pressing a kiss to the top of Anton's head. 

"So am I," Anton grit out, his grip on Cullen tightening. "White lilies. If it weren't for your friend Emeric, we wouldn't have found her. We wouldn't have known." And that, he supposed, was a worse thought. Their mother still down there. That man still alive. Too bad it didn't make what _had_ happened any more bearable.

"It would have pleased him to hear that, I think," Cullen sighed, wiping away Anton's tears with the pad of his thumb as they fell. "Would you like to stay here, for the night? I won't tell Meredith if you won't." 

Anton thought of the estate and tried to picture it with her gone. The thought just left him cold. "I think I would, yes," he said with a weak smile. He could face the house and its new reality tomorrow.

* * *

  
Fenris had been sitting in the library for hours, trying very hard not to snap at Bodhan, when he heard the knock at the door. He listened, wondering if this was news or just a delivery. Artemis would have just let himself in, he knew. But, he was so distracted by his own thoughts he missed everything until Bodhan appeared in the doorway, leading Aveline and Sebastian.

"Fenris," Aveline said, looking confused. "I thought you'd be with them..." She took a seat on one of the chairs by the fire, opposite to the one Fenris sat in.

"He was out the door before I could even get my trousers. White lilies, he said." Fenris shook his head. "I still don't know. Bodhan's not sure."

"I know," Aveline said. "There's a killer, and they think he has Leandra. He sends his victims white lilies."

Fenris sat all the way up, sucking in a sharp breath, eyes widening. "A killer? He's gone after a killer, and you and I are both here?"

"I sent guardsmen after them. There's only one killer. There are five Hawkes, and I sent six guardsmen. No one's alone," Aveline reassured him.

"I am still concerned," Fenris said, but he looked a little less tense.

Sebastian took the chair by the desk, the movement causing Fenris to finally notice him.

"Bethany came to the house, to get Artemis. I understand she's..." your girlfriend? special? important to you? Fenris wasn't sure what went there, when speaking of that relationship.

"A mage?" Sebastian snapped. "Yes. She is. I know what you think of mages, and now is hardly the time."

"And I know what you think of mages, as well, and here we are, each dating one." Fenris smiled blandly. "And that is what I meant to say. I know she is ... important to you. You must be just as concerned as I am."

"Maybe less concerned," Sebastian admitted. "She's really quite terrifying. I'm sure everything will be fine."

Then they heard the front door open and Bodhan's voice. Aveline told them needlessly to be quiet as she listened, popping back into the doorway to peer down the hall. "It's them," she said. "And... it looks like Anders is carrying a body."

Fenris and Sebastian were pushing past her and out the door before she finished speaking. Fenris let out a breath he didn't know he was holding when he saw the body in Anders's arms was female, only to suck in another breath when he was close enough to see her face. "Venhedis," he breathed.

Bodhan looked close to tears as he held the door open. Anders offered them all a tired smile as he walked past, and the Hawkes spilled in after him, complete with a droopy-eared Mintaka. Bethany's face smoothed over when she caught sight of Sebastian, and she went straight to him, letting him fold her in his arms. Carver followed after, looking dead-eyed and tired, followed by Cormac and Artemis.

"Get Merrill," Fenris said to Aveline, quietly. "Carver shouldn't be alone." He stepped into the hall to relieve Cormac of Artemis, only to find the brothers wouldn't let each other go.

Anders turned in the front hall, looking for anywhere to put down the body. He spotted Fenris, tugging at Artemis, and called him away. "Fenris? Help me find a table to lay her on. She needs to be warded until the funeral."

Fenris glared, but caught the tiny head-shake Anders gave him. There was something he was missing here. Something Anders could see. That seemed to happen an awful lot, he noticed, when it came to Artemis, and he suspected he should be profoundly jealous of what they had, for however short a time they'd had it, except that Anders seemed intent on passing those skills and knowledge along. He pressed a kiss to Artemis's cheek, but it went unremarked, and then he went to help Anders.

"What is this?" Fenris whispered. "What's going on? Aside from the obvious -- are those _stitches_?" His eyes lit on Leandra's neck and widened in horror. 

"I promise I will tell you everything, later. Right now, help Bodhan find a table. He's not taking this well, and I don't think he's going to come up with anything. I think the table in the west drawing room is the right size." Anders lived in the cellar, but he spent enough time in the house to know at least a few rooms worth of furniture.

Fenris looked confused, but went to suggest the table to Bodhan. The last time he'd seen that table had been... not something he would speak of in front of probably even Anders, actually, for as much as Anders had to know, by now. He and Bodhan carried it back out to the front hall, and he waited, scratching at his arms, as Anders laid the body on it, and cast a few spells.

Anders finished and turned to Fenris. "He needs you, but he needs Cormac more, right now. They're brothers. They grew up together. And they just lost the only parent they had left. So, let's find them, and just _be_ with them. No questions, now. I don't think he can answer you, but Cormac probably still can, and that's not a pleasant proposition. Once they're asleep, I'll tell you everything. I just don't want them to be alone or to have to hear it all again." Anders headed for the stairs. "And Fenris? I know you love him, but save that for the morning. He really doesn't need to hear that after what we just saw."

Fenris burned to ask so many things, but he knew how to take orders, even from a mage. Especially from a mage. 

"Just tell me one thing," Fenris said, and Anders turned to look at him, expression carefully neutral. "Whoever did this... is he dead?"

Anders answered with a grim smile. "There isn't enough left of him to fill a ring box."

Fenris nodded and followed Anders up the stairs, unbuckling the gauntlets he'd been worried he'd need. So he wouldn't need to kill someone on his mage's behalf. That, however, would have been simple enough for him. But this? He didn't know how to handle this.

They found the brothers in Cormac's room, on the bed. Cormac was curled around his brother, and Artie's knuckles were white where he clutched his brother's robes. Fenris sent his gauntlets on the bureau and wondered what he was supposed to do. Cormac, at least, seemed to know that they were in the room, but his mage was distressingly still, eyes vacant and breathing shallow. He stood by the bed for a moment, just looking at them and feeling helpless.

"Artemis," Fenris murmured, finally sinking to sit at the edge of the bed. He brushed Artemis's hair away from his face, and Artemis blinked, breath hitching. More of a reaction than he'd gotten downstairs. "I'm here." He bit his tongue against the 'I love you' that wanted to spill out, almost on reflex. Why would those words hurt him?

"We're all right," Cormac promised, looking up at Fenris. "We're as all right as anyone's going to be."

"Okay, that second one I believe," Anders said, sitting down on the other side of the bed, behind Cormac. It was kind of surprising either of them were even here. He wasn't sure he'd be able to get them out of that room, for the first couple of minutes, but Cormac was determinedly stubborn.

"My sister," Cormac murmured, after a moment. "She's still...?"

"She's with Sebastian," Fenris said, hands still gently patting and stroking Artemis.

"I'm going to owe her so much, after this." Half an awkward laugh leapt from Cormac's lips, and he looked pointedly at Artemis and back up at Fenris.

"I have--" Anders started, but Cormac cut him off.

"You really think that's going to work, right now?" A sleeping potion would require that Artie be able to drink it, which Cormac wasn't sure of. Bethany, on the other hand, could pass on a dreamless sleep from the doorway. "Give it to her. She'll need it. Won't work on herself."

Fenris missed most of the conversation. "Mages," he huffed, almost fondly.

"Lie down with us," Cormac suggested. "Hold him. He's going to cut off circulation in my arm if he keeps this up. I can't feel my fingers, but I'm not sure that's him. Actually, I can't feel my anything, now that I think about it. Nothing but his hands, and I'm pretty sure that's not right. Anders?"

"If you're still like that in a couple of days, I'll worry." Anders moved first, nodding to Fenris as he stretched out behind Cormac, wrapping close around him. "Feel that?"

"Kind of. Bed moved. You're warm. But, I try to think about it, focus on it, and there's nothing there." Cormac pressed his lips to his brother's forehead.

"Yeah, it's not serious," Anders assured him, watching Fenris slowly, haltingly wrap himself around Artemis.

Fenris slid in behind his mage, slipping an arm under him and enfolding him in his arms. "I'm here, Amatus," he said again, this time at Artemis's ear. He didn't know how much his mage could hear, but Artemis let Fenris pry his hands off of Cormac. Fenris curled those hands in his, thumb smoothing over the knuckles.

Fenris peeked at Cormac over Artemis. "I suppose it's a good thing you have this ridiculously sized bed," he said with the faintest smile. Not that his was any smaller, really, but he almost felt like he needed to fill Artemis's silence. "And no Orlesian silk sheets." He sighed when that didn't provoke a reaction from his mage either, ears drooping. Fenris kissed Artie's hair and held him close, glancing at Anders to make sure he wasn't doing anything wrong. 

Anders laid there for a while, holding Cormac, his hand rubbing Cormac's arm. "Do you want me to get Bethany?" he asked after a while. Sleep would do them both good, he suspected.

"Trade her a potion. And bring one for me, too. Less she has to cast, the better." Cormac hadn't let go of Artemis, but his grip was less bruising than his brother's. His family, now. Always his family, but not like this. Dad had always said the day would come, but this... this wasn't how he imagined that would go. "I'm so sorry," he said, to no one in particular. "Tomorrow. It'll be better tomorrow."

Anders kissed the back of Cormac's head and got back up. "I'll be right back. If she's already asleep, I'll bring two potions."

"Did you ward the -- you know. Did you put up the wards? Don't need demons, if I can't get out of bed," Cormac muttered.

"I may look the fool, but you know me better than that." Anders winked and ducked out of the room. "Of course I did."

Cormac stroked a hand over Artemis's cheek, sighing softly in place of whatever words he'd thought he might say. Then he pressed a finger down just before Artie's ear, gently stopping sound from entering it, and looked up at Fenris, with an unexpected clarity in his eyes. "He tried to raise his wife from the dead, do you understand me? You are about to marry my brother." That was the most important thing, he thought. It was the thing that had been hovering in the back of his head, trying to assemble itself, since he laid eyes on Fenris. "And for all that you don't have family, that was our mother. I know patience isn't usually your strongest point, but..."

Fenris didn't understand, not really. What did a murderer's wife have to do with Leandra? And then he thought of the state of her, the stitches on her neck. On someone else's neck. The man had been trying to make a facsimile of his wife from other women's parts. Fenris had seem some terrifying and revolting things in Tevinter, but few of them made his stomach roil quite like that realisation. 

"Venhedis," he breathed, grip tightening on Artemis. "And... you're afraid of what, exactly? That if something happens to Artemis, I will try to raise him from the dead?" And there was a thought he hadn't considered or at least hadn't wanted to consider. He'd always assumed that Artemis would outlive him, mainly because anything that would try to harm his mage would have to go through him. Except that wasn't how death always worked, was it? He couldn't always be there, and some things couldn't be fought with a sword. "I assure you that if I outlive Artemis, it won't be for long. Certainly not long enough for... that."

It would perhaps sound melodramatic to Cormac, but Fenris was simply being honest. He knew himself and knew what stupidity he was likely to fall into. 

"If I was worried about that, I'd be looking at my sister, not you. But, my brother's a lot like me, in some ways. Very much a one-night stand kind of guy. I don't need to know it, because I fucking know better. And you're not in love with me -- at least I hope you're not. If you are, you've sure got a weird way of showing it." A smile tugged at the corner of Cormac's mouth, and he choked back the hysterical giggle that threatened to start. Good. Laughing. As long as he could still laugh, everything would be fine. Don't let the bastards get you down, and he guessed his mother was really the case in point, there, with her sleeping potions and her late-night crying jags. If you slow down, they'll get you. And they certainly got her. He hadn't been enough to stop it, any more.

"Everything he said came back to love. He loved his wife, love was the most powerful force, our mother loved us... It turned him. Or he turned it. Just... remind my brother you don't mean it like that. You care, and not in some sick, obsessive way that's going to involve demons and dead bodies." Cormac shrugged one shoulder. "I don't know what else to do."

Fenris nodded, forehead smoothing over. "I think demons are the last things either of us wants to associate with, after everything," he rumbled. He tried not to think about the devastated look Artemis had given him in the Fade. "I'll tell him," he said, "when he's -- when I know he can hear me." He went back to smoothing back Artemis's hair. "I'll tell him our love isn't about demons or dead bodies. Goats. It's about waxed floors and goats." He smiled against his mage's hair.

The giggle Cormac had been fighting became irresistible, and within seconds, it progressed from a hint of sound, slipping out between his teeth to full on cackling. He turned his face down, against the top of Artemis's head, trying to muffle the laughter, but he couldn't make it stop. "Waxed... floors?" he wheezed, and then nothing more, but another wave of hysteria. His hand moved from the side of Artemis's face, unable to keep blocking that ear, as he shook.

Fenris's smile turned nervous as Cormac kept laughing past the point any sane person would have. Did he break the mage? "Yes, waxed floors," he said, trying to distract him. "Did Artemis not tell you? Or Anders, for that matter?" He glanced down at his mage then looked back at Cormac, making sure the mage was focused on him. "Your brother is something of an imp, as I'm sure you know. One morning, he decided it would be funny to replace our bedsheets with that ridiculously slippery Orlesian silk and waxed the floors into non-existence. I ended up sliding on my belly like an eel until he threw me my pants."

Cormac did not stop laughing. The laughter did not even pretend it might abate, and Cormac's face turned unusual shades that indicated he might not be breathing as well as he should be. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

Fenris chuckled against the back of Artemis's head. Those were happier memories, of the sort that the Hawkes needed to remember.

"You kept making faces like a wet cat." 

Fenris's laughter cut short at the sound of his mage's voice. Slurred and confused sounding, but definitely his mage. "Artemis?" He pushed himself up one elbow and tried to look at Artie's face. 

"Mm." Artemis blinked at the two of them. "Cormac, you sound like a dying goose." He looked around him like he wasn't sure where he was or how he'd gotten there.

Cormac managed to wind himself back down to hysterical giggles, at the sound of his brother's voice. "Oh, good. I was afraid you weren't making it to this party," he laughed, untangling himself from Artemis and sliding down the bed to come face to face with his brother. "Are you sure it's a goose and not a jackass? Anders always tells me I sound like a jackass."

"It's because you do sound like a jackass," Anders said, from the doorway, two potions in his hands. "Bethy was all out, but I've got sleep, if you want it. Once you're done having your sleep-over giggle fit, like the big, hairy, teenage girl you are."

"You take that back!" Cormac insisted, his grin still a little deranged. "I am not a dwarf!"

"Well, you are hairier than Varric," Artemis reminded him. He pushed himself up on one elbow too, finally seeing enough of the room to recognise it as Cormac's. "What... happened?" Bits and pieces of the last few hours filtered back to him in a jumbled mess, and trying to focus on them just made his head ache.

"Worry about that in the morning," Fenris said, rubbing a hand along Artemis's back. "You've... all had a long day."

"He's not wrong," Anders said, pressing a potion into Artemis's hand and curling his fingers around it. "I think we could all use some beauty sleep."

"If you get any more gorgeous, my head's going to explode," Cormac complained, stretching his fingers toward Anders, until Anders put the other potion in his hand. "Me, on the other hand... It's going to take more than sleep to make me beautiful."

"I don't know if even transformation magic would help," Anders joked, putting out most of the lamps, before he stretched out behind Cormac, again.

"You don't know," Fenris teased, "he might be a very pretty bereskarn. To other bereskarn. It might be worth the study, for a pair of hairy savages, like the two of you."

"I'm not that hairy!" Anders protested, knowing that was mostly because of the scars.

"And I'm not a savage! He's the savage!" Cormac spit the cork across the room and knocked back the potion, before handing the bottle back to Anders. "Drink up and come to bed, Artie."

Fenris gave them a wry look. "I'm an elf. You're both hairy savages. I might as well be consorting with magical bears in the wood. Magical bears might be an improvement. What do you think, Artemis? Would magical bears be an improvement?"

"Since that would lead to all sorts of uncomfortable questions regarding bestiality, I'm going to have to say no," Artemis said. At least Fenris wasn't including him in the 'magical bear' category. 

Artemis looked at the potion in his hand, then at the three men in bed with him. He supposed there were worse things than sleeping amid all that handsomeness, assuming glowy and glowier could keep from killing each other. He uncorked the potion and knocked it back, handing the empty vial to Anders as well before lying back down. Artie tucked his head under Cormac's chin as Fenris wrapped himself around his mage's back again. 

"You are a hairy savage, though," Artemis said against the hollow of Cormac's throat. "Even if most of the hair hasn't grown back yet." His words started to slur again, limbs feeling heavy.

Cormac couldn't find enough words to answer that. Something about itching. Something about how he couldn't feel his anything. Something about being Artie's hairy savage until the end of time. But, he kept misplacing the words, between finding one and looking for the next, and he drifted off, arms wrapped around his brother, a warm purr in his throat.

Anders propped himself on one elbow, reaching across the brothers between them to take Fenris's hand. "Hey, asshole, we're pretty lucky, aren't we?"

Fenris looked like he might take offence, until he remembered the last time Anders had called him 'asshole' -- 'asshole little brother'. "Yes. We are. But, if you continue to call me asshole, you may run out of luck, very shortly." He strongly considered taking his hand back. The lyrium burned in Anders's grip. But, he thought of the Hawkes, and decided that was what brothers were for -- to poke where it hurt and call you an asshole, but never to leave you bleeding on the ground.

Anders smirked wryly, and after a few minutes, after the third time he turned Cormac's head to make him stop snoring, he started to explain to Fenris what had happened.


	89. Chapter 89

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anton tries to remember how to exist. A funeral on the beach. Carver jumps to some terrible, but not inaccurate, conclusions.

Cullen woke to a crick in his neck and his door slamming open.  
  
"Excuse me, Captain, but the Knight-Commander would like to know if -- oh. Er."  
  
Anton made a sleepy noise of protest against Cullen's shoulder, and Cullen shot a glare at the recruit in his doorway over Anton's head. He squirmed under Anton, rotating his shoulders as best he could without disturbing him just to get some of the stiffness out. Sleeping with his back to the desk wasn't the most comfortable thing he'd done, but he didn't have it in him to complain, not with Anton still in his arms.   
  
"It can wait, Keran," Cullen told the fidgeting recruit.  
  
"But, Captain --"  
  
"It can _wait_ ," Cullen insisted. "Please lock the door on your way out."  
  
Keran looked like he might say something else, but he grabbed the door handle and backed out. "Yes, Captain."  
  
Meredith was probably going to fire him. Maybe kill him, too, the way she'd been getting, lately. But, Cullen couldn't seem to concern himself with more than the issues very literally in his lap. The lily killer had been real, and was now dead. Anton had fallen asleep before the report came in, but the papers still sat beside them, on the floor. How had this gone on in Kirkwall? How had this continued to go on in Kirkwall, after they'd lost both a mage and a templar? Something was very wrong, here, and this was the crowning gem on this vast trove of failure.   
  
He picked up the report, to read it again. Char-marks of the type most often associated with demons being beaten back through the veil, women's bodies in various states of disassembly, armed and armoured skeletons, a man identified as Gascard du Puis according to the contents of the corpse, and a volume of blood that suggested at least one more person had died there. Anton had found his mother in this place. Or part of his mother, anyway. He wondered about his own mother, for a moment -- debated sending her a letter -- but he realised he didn't know where to send it, any more.  
  
Anton squirmed in his arms, making frustrated sounds, before suddenly sitting up, panting, one hand scrabbling at Cullen's chest.  
  
Cullen gently took him by the shoulders. "Anton," he coaxed. "Anton. It's all right. Look at me. You're safe." It broke his heart to see that look of panic in Anton's eyes, a look he'd worn often enough himself.  
  
Anton let out a deep, shuddery breath, wiping a hand over his face. "It wasn't a dream, was it?" he asked. "I was rather hoping it was." He offered Cullen a wan smile that Cullen tried and failed to return.   
  
"I'm sorry," Cullen said, and those two words sounded just as useless as they had last night.  
  
"Me too," Anton murmured.  
  
Cullen had no idea what to do. He couldn't even promise that Anton would be safe with him -- not after that. He wished his sister was here -- she was always good at these things, what to do when someone died, what to do when the world refused to behave like you wanted it to. But, her answers usually involved tea and food. He could probably do that.  
  
"Do you want to get breakfast? Maybe just pick something up in the market, and we'll find somewhere quiet to eat. Quieter than my office, anyway, which I should probably get out of, before the Commander comes in demanding to know what I think I'm doing. I know what I'm doing. I'm taking today off." Cullen paused, looking awkwardly at Anton. "If you want me anywhere near you after..."  
  
"After what? After I came in here and dragged you away from your work and made you sleep on the floor?" Anton scoffed, rubbing his face. "No, I'm sorry. Breakfast sounds great." That might have been an exaggeration. Nothing sounded great, but food at least sounded like a good idea. "Pastry?" he suggested after a moment. "Nothing with meat."  
  


* * *

  
Food and sunlight. Those were two things Cullen decided Anton needed. A bench in the Viscount's gardens fulfilled the 'sunlight' requirement, after Cullen had glared imperiously enough at the guards to get in, and an assortment of tarts and duchess cakes fulfilled the 'food' requirement.  
  
Cullen offered Anton a duchess cake, and Anton smiled fondly, if faintly. Cullen would buy a hundred duchess cakes if it made Anton smile again after what he went through.  
  
"Feeling sentimental?" Anton quipped, taking a bite of the pastry and scooping out the cream with his tongue.  
  
"If I were feeling sentimental, I'd have gotten you flavoured syrups and spilled wine on myself."  
  
Anton smiled and ducked his head, trying not to laugh with his mouth full. "Can we do that later? You did take the whole day off."  
  
"Only if that ends with a long bath. Do you know how long it took me to wash off all the sticky spots?" Cullen chuckled and helped himself to a tart. "Of course you do. I seem to recall you being just as sticky."  
  
"More sticky," Anton pointed out. "You got sloppy with the syrup."  
  
"I was distracted." Cullen sat up, primly, looking out into the garden, with half a smile on his face. "You're very distracting when you do... things like you were doing."  
  
"I'm sure I can be more distracting than that," Anton pointed out. After a moment, his face fell, and he just sat and chewed for a bit. "Can you be distracting, for me? Don't let me get lost in this..."  
  
"Anything," Cullen promised, and he meant it, even if he wasn't sure how he was going to deliver on that. "Though if I'm too 'distracting', we might scar the Viscount and his guards. Don't want us to knock over anything else, like the last time in the garden." Cullen offered Anton a shy smile around a bite of tart. He didn't remember much of that night, but he remembered it feeling like the earth was moving.  
  
A nervous laugh stuttered out of Anton, his eyes a shade too wide. "No, we... wouldn't want a repeat of that," he said. "Definitely not." Maker. If Cullen ever found out... Well. He wouldn't.  
  
Anton turned so that he was leaning back against Cullen, the sun on his face. If he didn't think, if he didn't remember, this would almost be pleasant.  
  
"What's your family like?" Anton asked, realising he didn't know. "Are your parents still...?" He knew he didn't need to finish that question.  
  
"I don't know. I know they were alive before the Blight, but I haven't been home -- I haven't heard anything since. But, they don't know where I am, either. I should probably send a letter. Especially after that mix up -- they told your cousin I was dead, when she asked! The templars, I mean. I hope no one told my mother that. I should really write. I hope she's still there, or I don't even know where to start looking..." Cullen looked a bit dazed. He hadn't thought much about his family, since the blight. It had all been work and then work and Anton. Sure, he'd mentioned them, talked about them, but never realised he'd been out of touch so long.  
  
"My mum's a strong woman -- raising four smart-mouthed thankless gits like us in a tiny village like Honnleath, it took a lot of power, and she wielded it well. We were farm folk, you know? Up before dawn with the chickens, milk the cow before the sun goes down, the whole thing. Mum worked the fields with us, while dad stayed home and cooked and traded with the neighbours. He'd been a warrior, once, until the pirates got him. Or at least that's the story he told, and mum never let us question it too much. He still worked hard for all of us. My sisters were an unending challenge. They stuck together. It was the worst. I can't count the number of times I wound up in pig shit because of one or both of them. Got to being a templar, and all the stupid things that went on in the barracks were a relief compared to my sisters." Cullen laughed.  
  
Anton chuckled softly. "As a middle child of four loudmouth siblings, I feel your pain," he said. Still, he couldn't imagine going that long without talking to his family, his brothers and sister, his...  
  
Anton's throat closed up. Cullen seemed to sense the shift in mood and wrapped an arm around him, pulling him close.  
  
"Always thought she'd go peacefully," Anton said. "Or at least that was what I'd hoped. Old age, surrounded by grandkids." He fiddled with the half-eaten duchess cake in his hand. "Not like that. Maker, not like that."  
  
Cullen squeezed tighter, feeling terribly useless.  
  
"It's not like when dad died," Anton continued, resting his head on Cullen's shoulder. "He just didn't wake up, one day. Young, too... I mean, not that young, obviously, the man had five kids, and there's nine years between Cormac and Carver. Nine? Ten? Nine, I think. But, it wasn't like he was an old man, not really. Didn't look it, either. Looked like Cormac, but with a few more creases in his face. Just as much of a pain in the ass, too." Anton rubbed his face and laughed, quietly. "Never just pointed something out, if he could make a production of it, instead. Practically musical theatre, every time something happened. And for a year after he died, I kept asking myself how I could still look at Cormac, 'cause he did look just like dad, by then -- but now, I think it made it easier. There's nobody who looks like mum. I don't get to ease into her being gone... Like someone just turned off the light, but less turning it off and more dousing it in blood."  
  
"Your father looked like Cormac?" Cullen asked, which was not what he ought to be focusing on out of all that, but it nagged at something in the back of his mind. A terrified father standing in a doorway, all dark skin and broad shoulders, and an equally terrified child. It was the first time Cullen had ever seen magic, and that child had destroyed the room he was standing in.  
  
That child, now that Cullen thought about it, would have been the same age as one of Anton's brothers. Cullen felt dizzy.  
  
"Honnleath," he murmured. "Were... were you ever in Honnleath? You and your family?"  
  
Anton sat up to look at Cullen, expression guarded. "I don't know," he said. "We moved around a lot, when I was young. There were a few years, in there, where I'm not sure we really stopped moving for more than a couple months at a time -- dad was a mercenary, you know? We went where we had to."  
  
"Your dad was a mercenary, and he died in his _sleep_?" Cullen looked surprised.  
  
"Well, he was retired, by then. Gave it up, when we got to Lothering. Decided it was time for us to live like real people -- which Cormac promptly interpreted as banging everything that moved. Everyone knew. Nobody talked about it. You know, you've heard him. Please take a moment to imagine how many years I've been living with that. At least he had the courtesy to keep it out of the house, usually. But, you'd be walking past a field and suddenly, you'd know exactly what was going on in that field, because you'd be hearing _all of it_. I'll give dad that. At least he and mum were _quiet_."  
  
"Thank the Maker for small blessings." Cullen looked a little faint, considering the idea of having lived with Cormac for that many years. How did Anton still have a brother, exactly? Even his sisters weren't quite that ... ew. No. "I feel like I should know your father's name. I know I looked up your family, before we met -- it's how we ended up in a coat closet. Wasn't he originally from the Kirkwall Circle?"  
  
"Malcolm," Anton answered. "Malcolm Hawke. He never said where he was _originally_ from, but he ended up in Kirkwall Circle, yes. We suspect Rivain, though he never said as much. Izzy rather likes the idea."   
  
"How did a mercenary mage end up with a noblewoman?" Cullen asked.  
  
Anton smirked. "He charmed the pants off of her, that's how," he said. Then he paused, grimacing. "I meant that metaphorically, but it might have been literal. Best not to think of that. But yes. Dad was a pain in the ass, but he was a charming pain in the ass."  
  
"So that's where you get it from," Cullen teased, earning him a playful nudge in the ribs.  
  
"Well, I did charm the pants off of you, didn't I?" Anton replied. "And in record time too, Captain."  
  
"I can tell you I've never had my pants charmed off that quickly, before or since." Cullen grinned. "In fact, that might have been the first time anyone managed to charm my pants off, but your cousin wasn't trying very hard."  
  
"Is that a fact? How do your pants usually end up on the floor, then? Pretty girls just ripping them off you? I imagine you must have quite a collection of spare trousers, if that's the case." Anton finished the cake he was still holding, stuffing it into his mouth, before he rested his head on Cullen's shoulder again.  
  
"I-- er-- that is to say..." Cullen sputtered. "Hazing," he finally managed. "I don't think I'd had my pants removed for anything quite so enjoyable, before your charms. A lot of running around a bonfire and getting swatted with wooden paddles, though."  
  
Anton chuffed. "I'd pay to see that," he said, even as his stomach twisted. "But really? Anders told me Kinloch Hold was a 'friendly' place. No other mages tried to get into your pants? Or under your templar skirts, I suppose?"  
  
Cullen's cheeks turned a mottled red at the question. Questions. "That's -- um. That wouldn't really have been appropriate," he said. All this time, and this man still made him blush.  
  
"Neither is sneaking into the Viscount's gardens. Or having mindblowing sex in a coat closet."  
  
"Mindblowing, huh?" Cullen asked, grinning. "And, er, well. I guess you just bring out that side of me."  
  
"The inappropriately mindblowing side? Hmm... I'll have to do more of that. I can't wait to see what you'll surprise me with." Anton nipped at the side of Cullen's neck, before stuffing food in his mouth, again. Food was definitely helping. Everything was easier when his stomach wasn't complaining on top of everything else. "This is pretty nice, though. Not as nice as it could be, but pretty nice."  
  
"Not as nice as it could be?" Cullen looked moderately offended, before he remembered Anton's mother had just died. His face underwent a few contortions involving terror, horror, embarrassment, and guilt.  
  
Anton didn't seem to notice, eyes still on the half tart in his hand, as he talked with his mouth full. "I have a very nice garden, at home, and one we could do some even more inappropriately mindblowing things in, without the Viscount's guards watching us. Unless you're into that kind of thing, and then we could do inappropriately mindblowing things right here, but I doubt we'd be invited back for tea, if we did."  
  
A nervous laugh tore out of Cullen. "I doubt I'd still have a job, if we did," he said. He kissed the top of Anton's head and asked, "Are you saying you're ready to go back to the estate?" He tried to imagine it was his home, his mother. He didn't think he'd set foot in that building again if it were him.  
  
"Ready might be an exaggeration," Anton replied. "But I'm as close to ready as I'm ever likely to be. Plus my family -- the rest of my family -- needs me. Someone needs to keep Carver from punching Cormac. That's how my darling little brother ends up with broken knuckles."  
  
Joke. Joke like nothing is wrong, like everything is as it should be.   
  
"All right," Cullen said, packing up the rest of their pastries, "but I'm not sharing the duchess cakes."  
  


* * *

* * *

  
Bonfires dotted the shore, that evening, and twisting spires of woven reeds and flowers rose up along the water's edge, to mark the tide and keep anyone from drunkenly stumbling into the sea, without anyone else noticing. Kegs of beer and wine rested on blocks, and Bodhan watched over them to ensure no one knocked them over or poured too much into the sand. Orana held hands with a young human woman -- Kirkwall's florist, actually -- and the two of them directed the last few workmen in assembling what would be the pyre. Guests, she knew, would arrive first, followed by the family. Everything had been planned down to the last torch. She waved to the musicians, directing them to the low stage that had been assembled on a twist of sand and stone that rose up from the beach.  
  
The caterers arrived shortly before the guests, and tables full of cakes and fruit and finger-food sprung up along the far side of the fires, between raised torches. As the last of the food was set, the first families began to arrive, nobles of Kirkwall and Orlais, all dressed in monochrome. White masks, veils, and hats stood out against the encroaching dark, and whispers barely rose above the sound of the sea, as low music in a minor key drifted down.  
  
A wave of chatter announced the arrival of the family and their companions, the body borne before them, on a stretcher that would unroll to top the pyre with an accelerant-soaked cloth illustrated with the achievements of Lady Amell. Anders and Cullen held the fore poles, and Isabela and Serendipity, the rear. Behind them, came the siblings, an assortment of friends and more than supporting them, in some cases a little more literally than others.  
  
Words were offered in Leandra's honour by those who had the will to speak. Anecdotes shared by friends, even a surprisingly heartfelt one from a choked-up Gamlen. But Varric offered the most eloquent words, on behalf of his grieving friends. Anton even considered letting him win at Wicked Grace next time.   
  
Then Sebastian led them in a prayer, and a torch was touched to Leandra's pyre. As flames engulfed her shrouded figure, Artemis tried not to think about how much of that was her under the cloth, tried not to think about whether the guardsmen had recovered the rest of her. He sucked in a breath and clutched Cormac's hand in his, Fenris a comforting presence to his other side.  
  
Cormac tilted his head back against Anders, hoping not to catch his hair in the Warden armour. "Get me a drink, would you? And one for Artie. I'm not drunk enough for this, and if I don't start getting drunk, I'm going to start telling people exactly where they can stick their sympathies. Pretty sure mum would possess something, just to kick my ass, if I did that. On the other hand, we might be able to stop inviting the de Launcets to everything. ... No, no. Drinks. We need drinks."  
  
Anders stole a kiss, first. "Share that with your brother. I'll be right back." With a quick squeeze of Cormac's shapely bottom, Anders ducked back into the crowd and made his way to the wine.  
  
Share--? There were far too many people here, but Cormac pressed a kiss to Artemis's cheek, all the same. No one could fault them that. Not at a time like this. "We'll get through this, Artie. We always do." He drew a cloth pouch out of his sleeve -- elven incense for the dead -- and tossed it onto the pyre. His mother had been Andrastian, but at a time like this, it seemed best to cover all the bases. The incense girl, Lani, had been so kind, when she heard why he needed it, this time.  
  
On the other side of the pyre, Carver looked up just in time to see it happen, before the smoke thickened. The third time. This would not do. Those were his brothers. What the fuck was Cormac thinking? And at their mother's _funeral_? He must have said something, made some sound, because Bethany grabbed his hand and patted it, reassuringly.  
  
Artie squeezed Cormac's hand in reply. "I know," he said, and he almost sounded like he believed it. "And tonight, I plan to get through it with alcohol."  
  
Fenris sighed but didn't argue or even imply Artie shouldn't. Not tonight. Tonight, his mage could drink himself into oblivion. Which meant that Fenris probably shouldn't, just to keep him out of trouble. "Plan to scandalise the Orlesians?" he asked, wrapping an arm around Artemis's waist.  
  
"Mum would expect no less," Artemis said with a pained smile.   
  
"Ooh, if we're scandalising Orlesians, can I play too? Maybe we'll get rid of those two ridiculous little creampuffs for good. Can't possibly be good for the family name to be associated with the likes of us." Cormac grinned, eyes gleaming. "I wonder if I can get Varric to sit on my lap."  
  
Anders returned just in time for that. "And to think," he said, "you're not even drinking yet, never mind drunk." He passed the darker of two glass mugs to Artemis -- wine -- and the lighter, a beer, to Cormac. And that left Cormac's hands full, but Anders had enough empty hands for both of them, and he patted the asses of both brothers, before settling both hands on Cormac. Really, he just wanted to make sure Artie stayed engaged, and annoying him seemed like the best option, there.  
  
"What? No!" Cormac rinsed his mouth out with the beer and pulled closer to his brother. "We're trying to scandalise the Orlesians. I figured faking a thing with Varric would be a hit!"  
  
"Only faking?" Anders asked. "Shame. And here I thought I'd be invited in on the fun this time." He shot a wink at Fenris, and the elf's ears flattened against his head.   
  
Artemis took an impolitely long drink of wine before replying to any of this. "Bet you I can get Varric to sit in _my_ lap," he said. "Ten silver to whomever does it first."  
  
"Try to remember this is a funeral," Fenris sighed, shaking his head.   
  
"Oh, I remember," Artie replied with a tight smile. "That's why I'm drinking. And placing bets on dwarf-fondling."  
  
"It's likely to get less bloody than dwarf-tossing," Cormac pointed out, squinting through the crowd and the flames.  
  
The first warning any of them had was Anders suddenly squawking, "Don't--" just before Carver dragged Cormac around to face him and slammed a fist directly into his... shields. Cormac blinked, eyeing the enormous amount of beer he'd just sloshed all over his arm and hand.  
  
"What the fuck, Carver? It's a fucking funeral." The annoyance was thick, but Cormac's voice was still oddly flat.  
  
"Maybe you should leave the fucking out of it," Carver snapped, rubbing his knuckles.  
  
Cormac sighed. "Anders? Is he drunk? How drunk is he?"  
  
Anders squinted at Carver. "Not drunk," he said. "Just Carver."  
  
"Carver," Artemis said, hand disentangling with Cormac's to gesture, palm out, "you're welcome to punch Cormac later for whatever the fuck it is he did this time. But right now? Get a drink, make sulky faces at Merrill, and shut up."  
  
"'Whatever the fuck he's done'?" Carver repeated, apoplectic. The veins in his neck strained. " _Whatever the fuck_? It's _you_ he's done, isn't it?"  
  
Artemis made a strangled sound in the back of his throat.  
  
Cormac spit beer, choking and wheezing, in the aftermath. "Are you sure he's not drunk?" he demanded of Anders. "What the fuck have you been drinking, Carver? Where are you even getting this?" He didn't deny it, but he did a damn fine impression of outrage. "You come over here and accuse me of fucking our brother in the middle of mum's funeral? Have you lost your mind?"  
  
"He kissed you!" Carver accused. "With tongue!"  
  
"When-- Oh, _that_ party. Excuse us all, but did you see what else he did at that party? We were all extremely drunk. Better me than someone who might take it seriously! You _know_ how that works!" Cormac tried to keep his voice down, without giving up any of the impact.  
  
"I've watched you kiss him twice in as many days!" Carver insisted.  
  
"So what? Bethany used to kiss your cheek all the time! She still does it, when you're not listening to her!" Cormac stared at Carver like he'd lost his mind. "Yes, okay? I kissed one of my brothers. The one immediately next to me in age. The one I've been looking after since we were _kids_. The one I've been getting into trouble with since we were like _ten_! -- Well, I think I was ten. He might have been eight or nine. The real trouble, anyway. -- The one who is not handling this nearly as well as you or I, and I'm starting to think you're not taking it so well, either. I comfort Artie, and you come over here and insist we must be _fucking_? Now who's scandalising Orlesians?"  
  
Artemis winced at that description of him. He knew Cormac was right, knew he wasn't handling things well, but he didn't like being reminded. While Carver was still sputtering with rage, Artemis sucked in a breath, grabbed Carver by the hair, and pulled him into a kiss.  
  
"There!" he hissed, pulling away. "Now I've kissed you too. Does that mean we're fucking? _Shit_ no! Now get over yourself." He grimaced, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand while Carver stared at him in bug-eyed horror.  
  
Fenris cleared his throat. "The Orlesians..." he reminded Artemis.  
  
"Oh, fuck the Orlesians," Artemis muttered. "Fuck Orlais. And fuck this wine. Anders, please tell me we have something heavier. Never mind. I'll find it." Artie pushed past them in search of alcohol, still drinking what he had in his hand.  
  
"Personally, I'd rather not fuck any Orlesians. Here's hoping we've scared off the de Launcet girls, though. If that didn't do it, I don't know what will." Cormac clapped a hand on Carver's shoulder. "Thanks for that, I suppose." He paused and glanced around, but the crowd had already closed around Artemis. Andraste's ass, why the fuck did their mother know so many people? "Fenris, don't let him do anything stupid. Stupider."  
  
A sound like a tea-kettle or a dolphin squeaked out from behind the hand Anders had clutched over his mouth, preceding the laughter that folded him in half. He sank to a crouch in the sand, between Cormac and the sea, cackling into his hands. "That was amazing," he choked out. "I couldn't have done it better, myself. All those years, and I have never seen the like!"  
  
Carver glared and kicked Anders over, before he stormed off, looking for his sister. He was sure something was going on there. The look on Artemis's face, when he first said it...  
  
Anders wheezed a bit and stared up at Cormac. "I have sand in my hair."  
  
"And you're not even drinking."  
  
Fenris shook his head at them both and went out in search of his disaster of a mage. "Try not to let each other do anything stupid, either," he called back before he disappeared.  
  
Across the way, Cullen stared. "Did your brothers just--?"  
  
"Nope," said Anton, sipping at his own wine.  
  
"But I could have sworn I just saw--"  
  
"You didn't. Your eyes are lying."  
  
Cullen narrowed his eyes at Anton, who was steadfastly not looking in his brothers' direction. "Then how do you know what I was going to say?"  
  
"Your face is an open book, Ser Cullen," Anton blithely answered. "I can always tell what you're thinking."  
  
"You could tell from my face that I was going to ask if your brothers just--"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Please stop that."


	90. PART XX: CONFUSING TIMES

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A delightful afternoon in the garden with Anton and Cullen.

"Oh, shit, Anton, please! Yes!" Cullen panted, clutching Anton's hair, as that teasing tongue darted across his ginger-flavoured skin.  
  
They'd gone to the garden, just as Anton had offered, and Cullen found himself naked on the grass, drizzled in the syrup he'd brought. Half the bottle of wine was already gone. This time, there was a terrace of flowers and a hedge wall between them and the house, and this was, Cullen thought, a distinct improvement. Every time he'd seen the empty pedestal from the statue, since, all he could think was that it was a clear shot to so many windows. But, not this time. This time they'd picked a spot before they started drinking.  
  
Anton's fingers stroked and kneaded his thighs, holding him down, as he writhed under the onslaught of alternate tickling and pleasure. Every time Cullen thought it might be too much, Anton switched again, darting his tongue against another spot. Cullen thrashed as Anton licked into his navel, mercilessly wringing giggles out of him, until he hiccuped.  
  
Anton chuckled against Cullen's skin at the sound, and Cullen's skin mottled in embarrassment even as he laughed too. "You are always a tease," he said, still squirming under those fingers.  
  
"You almost sound like you're complaining, Captain," Anton purred. He blew against the spot he'd just licked and grinned when Cullen's muscles jumped in reply.  
  
"Complain? Never!" The last syllable ended in a squeak as Anton bent to lick something that wasn't his navel.  
  
Anton's tongue traced the lines of Cullen's knob, flicking along the veins, darting against a couple of spots he knew drove Cullen wild. His hands slid up, kneading the tops of Cullen's thighs, thumbs digging in just right.  
  
Cullen's head fell back, and he found himself looking at the roots of a hedge. Roots which reminded him of that other time. Which reminded him of other things he might have done. Had that been as good as he'd thought? Was he just stupidly drunk and turned on by everything? That was a thought. That was a very dangerous thought, and maybe he'd been right. Maybe he shouldn't have been drinking, or at least not that much.  
  
"You all right?" Anton asked, as Cullen got strangely quiet.  
  
"Just remembering something." Cullen kept staring at the roots. "Did you-- did you tell me I said 'manhood'? Did that actually happen?"  
  
Anton laughed. "That very definitely happened. And you begged to have it put in you. Terribly unlike you, but who's to argue with begging?"  
  
"Maker," Cullen groaned, "maybe I am reading too many of those Orlesian novels."  
  
"I thought they were your friend's?" Anton teased.  
  
"Well yes. _She_ needs to stop reading them. Yes."  
  
Anton chuckled and nuzzled Cullen's 'manhood'. "But I rather like the naughty things they teach you," he purred.   
  
Cullen shivered, reaching up to take hold of the hedge's roots. That too brought a flicker of memory. He licked his lips and sucked in a breath. "And what if I..." he said, fumbling for a moment. "A-and what if I begged for it this time?" He stared up at the hedge instead of at Anton. "Not... your manhood -- well, yes, your manhood -- but a different... word?"  
  
"What if you begged for my knob? Oooh, hmm..." Anton licked his way up Cullen's body, nipping at his collar bone, biting at his neck. "Well, I guess I'd just have to give it to you," he purred against Cullen's ear. "But, I might have to hear you beg, first, if you really want it."  
  
"Please!" The word was out before Cullen could even think of it. "Knob. Your knob, yes. I want--" He swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing.  
  
"You want?" Anton asked, dragging his fingers over Cullen's chest, pinching one nipple and then the other. "I can tell you want. But, what do you want?"  
  
"Your knob. I want your knob!" Cullen gasped.  
  
"Is that so?" Anton asked, grinding his knob against Cullen's belly, and trying so very hard not to laugh. "Well, it's all yours. I'll rub it all over you, if you want."  
  
"Tease," Cullen growled, still not sounding like he was complaining. "I want your knob. Please. I want your knob inside of me." And, Maker, those were words he never thought he'd say, let alone sober. Yet considering the embarrassing words he'd already said drunk, he supposed it hardly mattered.  
  
"Oh, is that all?" Anton said, grinning. "Why didn't you just say so?"  
  
Cullen wrapped a hand around the back of Anton's head and pulled that smart mouth crashing down into his. Anton laughed against his lips even as he kissed back, hands smoothing down Cullen's arms, his sides. One hand darted out to retrieve the bottle of oil from among the other bottles beside them, and Anton put his talented fingers to good use, opening the bottle and greasing his hand, without spilling anything. And then he put his fingers to even better use, reaching down between them, to stroke the edges of Cullen's hole.  
  
"You want me in you?" he breathed around the lip clenched between his teeth. "Here?"  
  
" _Yes_!" Cullen wondered how many more times Anton was going to make him say it, but this was Anton, and Anton was such a tease. All further thoughts flickered out as Anton's finger pressed into him, slow and gentle. He clenched around it, feeling the second knuckle bob in and out as Anton toyed with him. "Somehow, I remembered you being bigger than this," he said, eyes gleaming with amusement. Anton wasn't the only one who could tease.  
  
Anton grinned back and tried not think about how it hadn't been _him_ inside Cullen last time. It would be this time, and Cullen would remember every minute of it. All without destroying the garden. "I am bigger, yes," Anton said, still toying with the one finger and acting like he didn't know what Cullen was implying. "Much bigger. Too big, perhaps? You're right. I should take my time."  
  
"Anton," Cullen groaned, as much out of frustration as out of pleasure, letting his head fall back. Anton laughed and pressed in another finger, taking his time curling his fingers, stretching them, getting to know every contour of Cullen's insides. "Anton," Cullen said again, more breathlessly this time.   
  
"Yes, Knight-Captain?" Anton purred.  
  
"You are _such a tease_." Cullen's eyes were wild as they returned to Anton's face, frustrated and wanting.  
  
"Oh, well, maybe if you remind me what it is you want -- keep reminding me -- maybe use some of those naughty Orlesian phrases..." Anton drummed his fingers against one spot that made Cullen squirm.  
  
Cullen's hips rolled, against his better judgement. That was good. That was so good, but... "No."  
  
"What?" Anton stopped moving.  
  
"I am not ... No. No naughty Orlesian phrases." Head tipping back again, Cullen stared into the roots of the hedge, rather than look at Anton, who was now making puppy eyes at him. "I haven't had even half a bottle of wine. I'll choke on my own tongue."  
  
"Well, will you say naughty things to me in Common, then? Filthy words with Alamarri roots?" Anton's fingers started moving again, now that he was sure that wasn't the problem.  
  
Cullen looked like he might catch fire, for a moment, frozen, wild-eyed, holding his breath behind clenched teeth. And then the words spilled out of him, as a red flush spread out from his cheeks to his hairline and the middle of his chest. "The only root I care about right now is yours, Anton, and I want it in me."  
  
"Ah, more interested in Fereldan roots then." Anton marveled at how easy it was to make his templar blush, even now. "I remember you being a fan of Fereldan cuisine."   
  
Cullen was about to explode from all the teasing, and Anton finally showed mercy on the poor man. He withdrew his fingers, savouring the hitch of breath that drew from Cullen, and smoothed more oil over his knob. Maybe if he worked Cullen into a state of incoherence, the templar would start with the naughty Orlesian phrases after all.  
  
Cullen would have the hedge's root system memorised, the way he was staring at it, but a gentle hand on his thigh drew his gaze back to Anton. "Are you going to plant that Fereldan root or what?" Cullen asked through grit teeth.  
  
"I'm just taking the time to appreciate the equally Fereldan hole I'm about to plant it in. You're a very handsome man, Ser Templar, from the top of your head to the tips of your toes, and every little bit in between -- which isn't to say your bits are little." Anton smiled slyly and pulled Cullen's hips into his lap, stroking those bits again, before he lined himself up and leaned forward.  
  
Cullen's ankles crossed, behind Anton's hips, catching him as his ass dropped between Anton's thighs, and then the angle had changed entirely, and his legs held him up, flexing against Anton's sides, as Anton began to push into him. What had he been thinking? This was absurd. That was much too big to fit. The first sound out of Cullen was slightly panicked, as the head of Anton's knob breached him.  
  
"Cullen? Do you want me to stop?" Anton smoothed Cullen's hair back with the hand that wasn't greasy.  
  
Flickers of memory danced through Cullen's mind, and he shook his head, emphatically. No, he did not want this to stop. He'd enjoyed this, once, he was sure of that much. But, maybe he had to be drunk to like it. Or maybe he had to--  
  
"Relax." Anton's voice was soft, as he moved his hand down between them to rub gentle circles between Cullen's hips, Cullen's still extremely interested knob resting against the back of his hand.  
  
Cullen forced himself to suck in a breath. Relax. Right. Easier said than done. Maker, that knob felt bigger than it looked. But then, it _had_ fit before, hadn't it? And he didn't remember needing a potion after. Granted he didn't remember much of anything from that night, but... Overthinking. He did that, didn't he?  
  
"Right." Another breath, and Cullen forced his muscles to unclench.   
  
Anton watched his face all the while, never moving except for the hand rubbing circles in Cullen's skin. He smiled. "There we go," he said. "All right?"  
  
Cullen nodded, determined. He was. All right, that was, even if the pulse in his throat said otherwise. He trusted Anton. "Yes, now get on with it."  
  
Anton rocked his hips, sliding in and out, every thrust just a little deeper than the last. He watched Cullen's face, waiting for -- ah, there it was. Cullen's eyes rolled back, hands scrabbling at Anton's back. There were those sounds he'd heard, that night in the garden. Anton rolled his hips, grinding in, right there, only about halfway in, but just enjoying the way Cullen writhed for him, pulled at him.  
  
"You like that?" A sly smile lit Anton's face.  
  
Cullen's reply was completely incoherent, but signs pointed to yes. Particularly the part where he ground his hips against Anton, flexing his legs to pull them closer together. Anton's hand turned, no longer stroking Cullen's belly, and curled around Cullen's knob, stroking that instead.  
  
"O-oh! Maker! Anton!" Cullen gasped, squirming under Anton's touch, like he wasn't sure which part of Anton he wanted more of. Anton gave him more of everything.  
  
"Still no Orlesian?" he purred. "Are you not enjoying my 'manhood'?"  
  
Cullen didn't have the wits for a reply, but he had enough for a half-assed glare. Anton laughed and bent to kiss him, hips still rocking, and Cullen kissed him back breathlessly before letting his head fall back to the ground. He panted, eyelids fluttering, and through the pleasure it took him a moment to realise he was no longer staring at the hedge's root but at a pair of cloven hooves.  
  
"Merciful Andraste..." Cullen blinked and squinted upward, just in time to take a falling leaf to the eye.  
  
A goat peered through the hole in the hedge, still chewing. "Maeh!" it declared, dropping more half-chewed hedge on Cullen's face.  
  
Anton jumped, clutching Cullen to him, before realising he'd been using that arm to hold himself up. They toppled to the ground, beneath the goat-hedge, pinning Anton's arm uncomfortably, and his other hand even more uncomfortably, stuck, as it was, between them. "That's a goat," he muttered against Cullen's neck. "Why is there a goat? ... Oh, shit, that's my brother's dowry goat. Mum's going to--" He choked on the rest of that sentence. " _Cormac_ 's going to shit a brick when he sees the bill for the topiary."  
  
"It's staring at us," Cullen whispered, blinking up at the goat's chin, its beard swaying with every chew.  
  
"And... we're whispering because we're afraid the goat will hear us talking about it?" Anton whispered back.   
  
Cullen made a few goat-like noises himself. "I have your... y-your _manhood_ buried in my ass. I wasn't exactly mentally prepared to deal with this situation."  
  
"Maeh!" The goat nosed at Cullen's curls, then at Anton's face.   
  
" _Andraste's cootch_!" Anton swore, flapping his hand at the goat. "My hair is not food!"  
  
"We should get up," Cullen suggested. "We should get up very quickly, because my family used to have goats, and if that thing gets any closer, we're not going to have clothes left to put on." He paused. "I did mention I had a brother, didn't I? I know exactly what goats are capable of in situations like these."  
  
"You're joking." Anton looked spooked, paler than usual, eyes wide. He glanced around -- at least the nearest article of clothing was still a few feet from the goat-hedge.  
  
"Very much not joking. Also, you're squeezing my knob. Very hard." Cullen winced, apologetically. Anton had been unaware there was such a thing as an apologetic wince, but every day with Cullen was a learning experience.  
  
"Sorry," Anton muttered, swatting the goat away from his hair, again, as he let go of Cullen's much-abused knob. "Sorry, sorry, sorry. Doubly sorry for this--" He pulled out much too quickly and grabbed the nearest article of clothing, tossing it to Cullen. "Let's see what you learned in the barracks! How fast can you put it on?"  
  
"Faster when it's not yours," Cullen assured him, yanking the trousers on, anyway.  
  
"Always love when you try to get into my trousers," Anton said, shimmying into Cullen's. He certainly... filled them out differently than Cullen did.  
  
They rescued what articles of clothing they could, but they were too late for Anton's left sock. Cullen grabbed Anton's hand and pulled him towards the house.  
  
"Those were Orlesian!" Anton complained. The goat turned to look at him, stocking hanging out of the corner of its mouth. "Well, fine! I hope they're delicious!" Cullen tugged Anton onward. The goat bleated and trotted after them as they made their retreat.  
  
Cullen leaned heavily against the door as it closed behind them, rumpled clothing still clutched to his chest. There was the clink of a teacup in a saucer, and he and Anton looked up to see Bethany watching them with tea in her hands and a smile on her face.  
  
"Out in the garden planting horseradish, dear brother?" Bethany asked, only the slightest shift in her smile, as she eyed Anton.  
  
Anton choked back a laugh, colour rising in his cheeks.  
  
Bethany turned her eyes to Cullen. "I've heard you're terribly fond of horseradish, Knight-Captain."  
  
"I don't know that I'd say _terribly_ fond, but I do like it, yes. It's not a bad taste, at all." Cullen looked terribly _confused_ , and a boot slid out of his grip, bouncing off the arch of his foot, as Anton continued to suffer under the clutches of not laughing.  
  
"Oh, Maker. Stop talking, Cullen," Anton choked out.  
  
"I _am_ a fan of horseradish sauce -- what? Is this some sort of family joke?" Cullen asked, looking between the two of them.  
  
"Oh, I bet you could make him stop talking with your spicy Fereldan horseradish, Anton. He _does_ like the taste. Even the sauce!" Bethany went on, still smiling, apparently unmoved.  
  
If Anton bit his lips any harder, he'd draw blood. Cullen looked back and forth between the siblings. "This _is_ a family joke, isn't it? You have in-jokes about root vegetables?" He suddenly thought about what he and Anton had been saying earlier, regarding 'planting' and 'roots'. "Oh." His face coloured as well, turning a deep shade of red that spilled down to his chest. Which Bethany could see.  
  
"Don't worry, Captain," Bethany said, still so devastatingly pleasant. "I'm sure Anton likes the taste of _your_ spicy Fereldan horseradish too."  
  
Anton groaned and passed a hand over his face as Bethany slunk back into the kitchen.  
  
"There's a story behind that, isn't there?" Cullen asked. "Do I want to know the story?"  
  
"No. No, I don't think you do."  
  
The goat bleated at them through the door, chewing Anton's other sock.


	91. Chapter 91

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carver learns his brother's strangest secret. Anders teaches Fenris a new trick.

The alienage was a slum, by anyone's standards, but while Merrill had eyes only for the eluvian and Carver, Carver kept his eye on the rest of her hovel. He was almost willing to call it a house, now. The roof no longer leaked, the wind didn't blow through the windows and the cracks in the walls. Really, the same could be said for a few other houses, nearby, and the neighbours knew his name, just as they knew Cormac's, but for very different reasons. Cormac, he gathered, still hadn't given up his lifelong obsession with elven mythology -- the elves in the alienage said he'd brought stories from the south that they'd never heard. Carver stuck to being Merrill's pet shem -- the nice young man with the money and the tools. And the sword. When the guard patrols weren't enough, Carver was there to pick up the slack. It was still horrifically overpopulated, but the alienage was looking almost liveable, these days. Not much worse than any other part of refugee-packed Lowtown.

He scraped the rest of the putty off the edge of the neighbour's new window and turned around to find Merrill standing behind him, with a book in one hand and a glass of juice in the other.

"You should have something to drink," she said, offering the glass. "It's very hot out here, and everyone's watching. You don't want to fall down, with an audience."

"I don't want to fall down at all!" Carver laughed and took the glass. "Well, unless you're knocking me down, so you can play with my sword. And that, I definitely don't want an audience for."

Merrill waited until he finished drinking, before she opened the book. "I've been meaning to ask, but I wanted to make sure, first. The elven language isn't written much, any more, outside of very specific ritual contexts, but I was to be the Keeper of my tribe. I can read many words that aren't written any more." She paused and shifted uncomfortably, uncertain if this was an offensive thing to ask. "Your brother... his face... Why does he have 'attractive buttocks' tattooed on his cheeks?"

Carver almost regretted that he'd finished his drink. Right now, taking a sip and spitting it out would have better conveyed his surprise than the slack-jawed look he gave Merrill. "He has... _what_?" He shifted to get a look at whatever she was reading. Elvish. He couldn't read Elvish. "Cormac?" He felt he needed to clarify, though he only had the one brother with tattoos across both cheeks.

"Yes. Cormac." Merrill blinked up at him, eyes wide and concerned. "Did you not know? Was I not supposed to tell you?"

A snicker started in the back of Carver's throat. "Are you being serious, right now?" he asked. "Or are you having me on?"

"Why wouldn't I be serious?" Merrill asked. Her mouth popped open in an 'o'. "Wait, does _he_ not know? I assumed it was on purpose."

"I don't know if he knows! I just know I didn't know. He's had those since he was a teenager!" Carver stared in dawning horror, cackling a bit between words. "Our dad was so mad. I don't even remember where we were living -- we moved a lot, for a while -- but he came home with those swirls on his face and said something about elves and magic. I was so young, I don't even remember, really. I just remember dad being furious, because there was no way to hide a face like that."

He shook his head. "I guess that does sound like a Cormac thing to do, though. Get praise for his ass tattooed on his face. I don't know why he'd do it like that, though, if nobody could read it..."

"I wonder who he went to! Someone who could read and write the language so well, and was willing to do... _that_!" Merrill looked more surprised by that, than anything else. No wonder he had the reputation he did, here. He'd known a real scholar, maybe even a keeper. But, was she really surprised? That was how she'd first met him, after all, though Mahariel had to remind her. He'd come to trade stories and magic.

"Now I have two reasons to punch him in the face," Carver said. "One for each cheek." His nose scrunched as a thought occurred to him. "The cheeks on his face. Eugh." He guessed that was why Cormac had the tattoos put where they were. 

"I'll have to ask him about it," Merrill said, thumbing through her book. "For an elf to tattoo a human is... very unusual. At least that sort of tattoo."

Carver tried to remember what it was like getting _his_ tattoo. He'd been drunk, and that part of the night was a blur of 'ow'. Still better than what Artemis had ended up doing. "Oh, I'd like to be there for that," he said. "Or at least I think I would. I generally end up regretting listening to any of Cormac's stories."

"I'm just impressed the lines are so clean. There's nothing to stop the pain, if he had that done the traditional way." Merrill smiled. "It's worth it, of course, but we're raised to expect it. Your brother is very brave. Or very stupid. But, he is your brother, so I think he's brave."

"I think he's stupid," Carver said, shaking his head. Cormac was into pain, as best he could tell, but straight lines? He couldn't have been moving _at all_. That was actually a little bit frightening. "Dumber than a flaming sack of nug-shit." Still, it was Cormac.

* * *

* * *

It was a thankfully slow day in the clinic. Nothing more serious than a dog bite, all morning, and Anders had actually had the time to enjoy lunch, for a change, when Cormac brought it. That was the thing, he'd noticed, after this many years, there was less trouble. Less people getting stabbed, less people getting sick, less people wandering in and picking fights -- in fact, that never happened any more. He liked to think it was a sign that he'd actually made a difference.

Cormac had stayed, after lunch, rolling bandages and singing terrible songs of the sort that had punchlines. The echoes were less ragged than they had once been, since ... someone, although Anders assumed Varric had been involved, had actually finished the room into something almost as cavernous as the Chantry hall and just as finished. It had always been large, but it had just been the unfinished end of a tunnel. Now, it was a proper room -- doors and all, not that he much closed the doors. Shelves were fixed properly to the walls, cabinets bolted to the floor, where they had been free-standing, a place for everything, and most things in their places, most of the time. He'd still gotten inky fingerprints on most of it. Still, he could take a certain pride in the idea that there was some order in his environs, after so long without, and that it was nobody's business but his own what that order was. He lived and worked as he meant to, and on the whole, even the templars had stayed away since Alrik's... unfortunate accident with the presumed smugglers. That brought a smile to his face, as he filled and corked another bottle and set it on a shelf.

"Artie's been on a binge, this week," Cormac said, tossing another roll into the basket. "He's been driving Orana crazy, so Fenris sent him home, and now he's driving Bodhan up the wall. I've mostly stayed out of the way. He's just got to get it out of his system. Locked my door, though. There's a limit, you know?"

"He labelled and colour-coded my potions and reagents," Anders said, shaking his head. "I'm hardly complaining." Anders put a few leaves of elfroot and embrium into the mortar and pestle and started on another potion. "Though it took me a while to find where my clothes had ended up."

"Your clothes ended up exactly where they should have," said a voice from the doorway. "Instead of on the floor. You're welcome."

Anders turned to see Messeres Fartemis, the mage half of the pair looking even twitchier than usual even as he smiled jauntily. Fenris stood at his shoulder, unenthused.

"Did you get ink on everything?" Artemis asked, walking over to straighten one cot until it was parallel with the wall. "Already? Maker." 

"Not on everything! Just most of the flat surfaces. I was working on something, and then there was a bleeder. I didn't really have time to wipe my hands off before I started casting." Anders shrugged and looked at his hands. "I'm mostly less inky now!"

"If there's no ink on his hands, check my robes," Cormac joked. "There's a reason I wear black."

There came a squeaking sound from one of Fenris's shoulders, and a small ginger and white kitten appeared, clutching at his shoulder seam. "I am not a mountain, kitten. I am not even a hill." The yowl from the straps on his shin-guard disagreed. "I... I am not a playground, either." Fenris looked like he'd been having this conversation through most of the cellar.

"That's not what my brother says." Cormac laughed and tossed another roll of bandages into the basket.

Artemis smacked Cormac's arm on his way by, frowning over the inkprints on the shelves. He poked at them with a finger to see if they were dry, and then he had a scrap of cloth on hand and scrubbed away at them.

Anders shook his head at him over his mortar and pestle. "Do you keep scraps of cloth in your pocket? Purely for cleaning purposes?"

"Don't judge me, sparklefingers." Artie didn't pause in his scrubbing.

Fenris tried to pry the lump of fur off his shoulder. Said lump had claws curled around the seams of his armour, claws that had to be prised free one at a time. No sooner had he freed one paw than the other grabbed hold. Fenris sighed.

Cormac waved to Fenris. "Come here and sit. I'll get them off you. Just be glad Assbiter hasn't. Purrcy's not that bad. Kind of clingy and cuddly, but a lot less bitey."

"Hasn't.. what, exactly?" Fenris crossed the room and sat on a cot near Cormac.

"Bit your ass." Cormac got up and lent a hand in the claw-dislodging. "They're not allowed in the room when daddy and daddy are having naked time, any more."

"Did you just describe yourself as the father of a cat?" Fenris looked up, disgusted, as Cormac handed Purrcy to him.

"Metaphorically. Don't think too hard about it. You might sprain something, and whatever it is, I'm sure my brother's not done with it." Cormac knelt and wiggled his fingers at Lord Assbiter, who let go of Fenris's leg to latch onto his wrist, instead. "Aww, who's my little deathtrap of razor-sharp ends? Yes, you are!"

Artemis was straightening the potion vials so that they were evenly spaced. Anders paused in his work to shake his head. "Artie. Sit down. Pet a kitten. You're making me nervous just looking at you."

"Just... let me finish this row." Artemis finished spacing out the lyrium potions and stepped back, only to frown at the cluster of healing potions on the row beneath them.

"I'm just going to mess it up again in a few minutes, Artie," Anders said. "Kittens."

"Right. Kittens." Artemis pulled himself away from the shelf, scratching at his arm, and joined Fenris. 

Fenris continued to look vaguely annoyed with the kitten that was now curled up on his arm, licking his fingers. Its tongue scratched at the lyrium in the most irritating way. Lyrium. Hm. Maybe he shouldn't let the cat get too attached. He suspected it would have to actually bite him to poison itself, though.

"Take this," he grumbled, offering the kitten to Artemis. "I think perhaps your ... 'nephew' should not be trying to lick the lyrium out of my hands."

"I didn't mean it literally!" Cormac insisted, winging the next roll of bandages at Fenris's head, while Lord Assbiter rolled around in what could have been a roll, but was now a cat toy.

Anders snorted, still bottling potions, on the far side of the room. "Who's mangling your metaphors, this time, Cormac?"

"He's mangling them all by himself," Fenris said.

"He's good at that," Artemis said, in between coos at Purrcy. His fidgeting seemed to relax a little as he scratched under Purrcy's white chin. "The babies are getting big! Aren't you, Purrcy?"

"'Babies'?" Fenris shot Artemis a pained look that said 'not you too'.

"Fuzzy babies," Artie insisted. "Though they're quite accomplished for their age. Both knighted." Purrcy clambered up onto Artemis's shoulder, claws digging into skin. " _Ow_ , Purrcy!" The kitten purred and headbutted him in apology.

Artemis sighed and pet the cat on his shoulder, trying not to notice the mess around him. Sure, the place was neat by Anders's standards... by anyone's standards, really. But Artie found himself frowning at smudges of dirt on the walls, at the scuffed floors. No. Best to ignore it. 

Artemis didn't realise his leg was bouncing until there was a hand on his knee holding it still. He offered Fenris a sheepish smile but still found himself distracted. He could clean one more thing, couldn't he? It would only take him a few seconds, and surely Anders wouldn't mind... Artie muttered a spell under his breath, directing his magic at the floor.

Anders put a cork in the last potion and set it on the shelf, before turning around to go see his cats. The floor gleamed in a way it hadn't, previously, but the meaning didn't register until too late. "Shit! What!" He slid out, all attempts to regain his balance, just resulting in a spin that wouldn't let up. Finally, he thought he'd caught himself, the slide evening out, just in time for him to hit the basket of bandages and topple to the floor at Fenris's feet.

"Tell me you have the cats," he muttered, from the most uncomfortable position he'd found himself in in years, chin on the floor, neck bent against one of Fenris's feet. His legs were twisted, one jutting under the cot and the other curled under him in a way he more fondly remembered from one of those times he got completely shitfaced with Nate Howe. He seemed to be kneeling on the inside of one of his elbows, and he wasn't quite sure where to even begin getting up.

"Cats are fine," Cormac reassured him, quickly. "That's... I'm sure I shouldn't be laughing, but if something was significantly wrong, you'd be healing yourself." The laugh followed almost immediately.

"Ho shit!" Artemis squeaked, scrambling to get the cat off his shoulder and onto the floor. "I'm sorry! Are you all right, Anders? I was just... shit!"

" _Mage-floors_ ," Fenris hissed, recognising that gleam. That hadn't been there a moment before. Mage-floors, and a mage-face pressed dangerously close to his feet. Fenris curled his toes and slid his feet out from under Anders and up onto the cot.

Artie tried to help Anders up, but Anders's knees just kept slipping on the floor.

Purrcy clambered over Anders, climbing up to perch on top of his head, with a concerned sounding mew. Anders tried to make a suggestion, but the minute he opened his mouth there was a cat paw on his tongue. "Gmaaah! Frghn cmmmt!"

Purrcy looked spooked and slid down Anders's face, scrabbling for a grip, but finally no longer kneading Anders's tongue. 

"Ew." Anders tried to spit the cat fluff off his tongue, and in the process, managed to lick the floor, which was, at least, gleamingly clean. "Is that... lemon?"

Cormac choked his laughter down enough to move the basket, finally, and reach down to flip Anders onto his back. "Better?"

"That would have been much better before I got the sneak-attack hairball." Anders clawed at his tongue.

"I love what you've done with the place," Fenris said to Artemis, setting his feet on Anders's chest. "Mage-waxed floors, and ... is that a genuine mage-bone footstool? You bring such class everywhere you go."

"I thought it might match the décor," Artemis replied before Cormac could make a joke about 'mage bones'. "Apostate chic." He knelt next to Anders, looking sheepish but less horrified, seeing that Anders wasn't hurt. Well, aside from the cat scratches that would be easy to heal. He scooped up Purrcy again before the fluffy terror could slip on the floors too.

Anders spit out another piece of cat hair. He wondered if he should point out that the broody death elf was touching him and not hissing or glowing. "Do I want to know how you learned a spell for spontaneously waxing floors?" Anders asked, content to let Fenris use him as furniture.

"Necessity?" Artemis said with a helpless shrug.

"Because lemony-fresh floors are always a necessity. Tell me whatever you used was non-toxic..." Anders sighed and picked up one of the feet on his chest, not particularly thinking about whose foot or why it was on him. Years in the tower left him with some expectations, in that regard. He was the healer. If someone's feet were on him... He pressed his thumbs in and stroked healing magic down the long bones, with his fingers.

A warm sound spilled out of Fenris and his face twisted in abject panic and confusion. It felt good, and he'd expected it to -- he'd once paid a very talented young woman in a brothel to do very much the same thing for him, but with less magic -- but this was not some talented courtesan, this was the abomination. Their healer, yes, but... He hadn't asked, he'd been making a joke and-- Oh. Right. He'd been making a joke. This must be the next part of it, to wring some unspeakable sound out of him as payback for using the healer for a footrest.

He knew some of the ways his feet could be used against him -- he'd actually worn boots, for a while, for just that reason -- but Anders didn't seem to be going for any of those spots, just the ones that relaxed his legs and the muscles in the back of his hips. That -- maybe he wouldn't complain, just yet.

"Be careful," Cormac said, smile as clear in his voice as it was on his face, as he kept rolling bandages, between pokes at one of the cats. "He'll turn you into a warm jelly, if you let him keep that up."

Warm jelly was not something Fenris wanted to be, and he had a protest ready, just there on the edge of his tongue. He even planned on saying it. At some point. Soon.

Artemis watched perhaps a little too raptly, absently petting Purrcy all the while. He never thought he could wring such sounds from Fenris by touching his _feet_ , and that was clearly his loss. "Cormac's not wrong," Artie said, remembering Anders's massages. "I'm a bit envious."

Fenris's ears twitched at that, and Artemis wondered if that was something Fenris ought to be reminded of.

Anders started paying attention, again, no longer distracted by other times, in other places. His eyes rolled up. Cormac was behind him. Artemis was next to him. He focused on the foot in his hand. And that was Fenris's foot. On the bright side, he hadn't been murdered, yet. "Artie, you're making eyes at me. Do you want me to teach you how to do this? Because I will totally trade this for what you just did to my floor. I think I have a use for that, and it doesn't involve floors at all. Or wax, actually. Probably. Might involve lemon oil, though."

"I... do I want to know what you'd be using it for?" Artemis asked. He'd never used that particular spell for anything other than cleaning, but Anders could certainly be... creative. "But yes. Sure. I like making my glowy elf purr." He looked at Fenris and grinned.

"My hands. So I stop leaving inky fingerprints on everything because I don't have time to clean them between writing and healing. Lemon oil would probably be perfect for that, and it kind of tastes like that's what you used on the floor. But, that's ... what, some kind of summon?" Anders looked oddly fascinated at the mechanics of it -- of all the ancient Tevinter magics he'd studied, _cleaning_ hadn't really been on the top of his list.

"So, take his other foot, and watch my hands..." Anders demonstrated a few basic motions, a few points to hit, a few points not to hit.

"Don't mind me," Cormac muttered, picking up a strip of bandage that contained a kitten, well tangled in the fabric. "I'm just going to sit here and ... uh ... Assbiter, what are you doing?"

Fenris thought he could get used to this. Two mages at his feet, long fingers caressing his skin in ways that made his toes point. He still wasn't thrilled that the abomination was a part of this tableau, but the sounds coming out of his mouth weren't sounds of complaint.

Artemis followed Anders's instructions, his touch tentative at first, then firming at his elf's reactions. "Oh, this is a fun trick," he said to Anders. Hands still kneading Fenris's skin, Artie added, "I'm not sure how that spell will translate, though. It's kind of... well, I learned to use it on large spaces. Then again, most of my spells involve large spaces."

Anders hummed, adjusting Artie's grip before replying. "Artie, know that I say this with the greatest affection, but that's because your aim is terrible. Mine is not."

"I'd probably be insulted by that if it weren't true."

"You remind me I'm so glad I elected to swallow, that last time..." Cormac found himself tangled in bandages, and no closer to untangling the cat. "Sonofabitchin' furball," he grumbled, earning himself a sharp bite on the forearm.

Fenris leaned back, propping himself with his hands wrapped around the pole on the opposite side of the cot. It wasn't the ideal position, but he wasn't sure there was an ideal position he could get into that involved this rickety piece of furniture. He smiled to himself, though, just letting that warm, wonderful sensation run through his legs. The abomination was, as Isabela claimed, 'glitter-handed mage-trash' and at least three people claimed he was great in bed, too. So, perhaps it was in his interest to encourage the mage he liked least -- mage, not magister -- to pass on those skills to the mage he liked most. This could be fantastically advantageous, even if he did have to occasionally permit the abomination's hands on him. The abomination's apparently extremely talented hands.

Artemis smirked up at Fenris, pleased by the way his elf all but purred under his hands. Anders's hands, too, and wasn't _that_ interesting.

Which led Artie to realising he'd slept with everyone in this room. Sober, too. His hands paused, and he felt his ears heat. 

Purrcy crawled into Fenris's lap, purring so hard he chirped every now and then. Tiny paws kneaded at Fenris's thigh. "Getting a massage on two fronts," Anders huffed, reaching up to scratch behind Purrcy's ears. That brought his hand a little too close to Fenris's crotch, and the elf tensed. Anders's hand stilled as he looked up at Fenris, the elf's eyes narrow slits. He waited for his organs to be rearranged, but miraculously, they stayed in place.

Fenris continued to glare, some combination of confused and distrustful -- mostly confused. Also, slightly pained. He twitched and hissed as one of Purrcy's claws made it through the leather, catching on the inside of his thigh, and his eyes darted from Anders to the cat. "Your cat is extremely sharp," he remarked, with a thought for his own gauntlets. He considered removing the kitten, himself, but both hands were supporting him, and his feet were off the ground. "Please remove it from my lap."

"Please don't rip my hand off," Anders said, catching Fenris's eye again, before he unhooked that one little claw and scooped up the kitten, depositing it on Cormac.

Fenris made a relieved sound once the cat and Anders both stopped touching his thigh. "Thank you."

Cormac muttered something about 'playground for the kitten elite', as Purrcy climbed up the bandages he was still trying to untangle Assbiter from.

"You know," Anders said, raising his eyebrows at Fenris. "If you want to trade places with your mage, here, I can teach you how to turn Artemis into a puddle of warm goo. You might need to carry him home in a bucket, though."

Fenris's ear twitched. "I have my own ways of turning him into goo," he said, even as his gaze slid sideways to Artemis to gauge his reaction. His mage looked far too eager, only to school his expression when he saw that Fenris was looking. 

"He glows," Artemis informed Anders, nodding. "Well. You glow too, but not inside me. Er. That is..." Artemis coughed, reminded of a time when Anders glowed inside his _brother_. Ah, the Deep Roads...

"I glow, too!" Cormac chimed in, still tangled in bandages and cats. "But, I don't glow inside anyone. In fact, I try not to glow, too much. The last time I glowed, I ended up with Justice inside me..." He coughed, awkwardly. "You should take him up on the goo-massage thing, Fenris. It's magical, without involving any magic at all. I'd say you should let him try it on you, first, but I think you'd end up removing his organs."

"That is always a possibility," Fenris said, earning an eye roll from Anders.

"I'd forgotten that you glow now," Artemis said, looking at his brother, the kitten playground. "I'm the only one in the room who can't glow." He pouted up at Fenris. "You should console me. Perhaps with a goo-massage."

"Come on, Fenris, it'll be fun!" Anders grinned. "You'll never have to give me dirty looks again. I'll pass on my secrets. You can spend half the time glaring at me, and twice the time glaring at Cormac, who probably actually has it coming." He paused. "Has one of us coming, most of the time, for sure."

Fenris's face twisted in disgust. Cormac. All the things he'd watched Cormac do to _his mage_. On the other hand, all the things he _hadn't_ watched Anders do to his mage... "Your clothing will stay on."

"Mine, yes. A lot of his is going to come off, though, because you need to be able to reach his back and see what I'm getting at."

" _Reaching_ is not going to be a problem, for me," Fenris pointed out.

"Nope. No glow hands. Not until you get the hang of it." Anders shook his head. "I know you probably have a very good map of where to stick your fingers to cause a lot of pain, and I'm going to give you the map of where to stick your fingers to cause a lot of pleasure. But, some of those are really close together, and some of them are the same spot from a different angle. No glow hands, yet."

Artemis was almost disappointed by the lack of glow hands, but he supposed Anders was right. Better to learn the lay of the land first. And really, how disappointed could he be, if Anders was going to be teaching his elf _that_?

"That's one way to get me to stop cleaning your everything," Artie joked. The smudges of dirt on the wall still nagged at him, but not as much. He tugged at his tunic, pulling it up over his head and tossing it at his brother and his fuzzy entourage. Artie rubbed his arms. As much as Fenris seemed to appreciate the sight, Artemis doubted his elf would be thrilled if he shucked off his pants in front of Anders as well. At least in this context. 

Anders gestured for Artemis to lie down, which he did, picking the cot next to Fenris and lowering himself onto his belly, wriggling until he was comfortable. He rested his chin on his arms and looked up at Fenris and Anders expectantly.

A little bit of prodding and a few dirty looks, later, Fenris knelt over Artemis's thighs, with Anders behind him. "I know you're not a big fan of the idea of me touching you, but I'm going to need to hold your hands. I'll do what I do, but I'll do it with your hands. And I'm going to try my damnedest not to lean on you too much."

 _No, Justice. Stop. We are not licking the elf. Yes, that's lyrium. It's not our lyrium, and the elf does not want to be licked. Knock it off! What if I get Cormac to glow for you, later? That's better than lyrium, right?_ Anders was less than entirely thrilled with Justice's reaction to being this close to Fenris. All these years and he really hadn't been quite this close, had he? Never more than a hand, usually at arm's length. He remembered the ring he'd buried with Kristoff and cursed himself soundly, not for the first time.

"Your magic is somewhat painful," Fenris admitted, quietly. "Please don't touch more than you absolutely must."

"I can't turn it off. Maybe a different type of magic? I know I can't change the base of it, but if I cast something small and hold it, it should feel different." Anders shrugged and took Fenris's hands. "I really don't want to hurt you."

"I am accustomed to it. Just get on with the demonstration and refrain from groping me." Fenris did wonder if there were spells that would feel if not good, at least less bad. Maybe he and Artemis could experiment with it. His fingers learned the motions of Anders's hands fairly quickly, as he'd expected. The physical repetition of the motions made them easier to remember, and he'd always been a fast learner.

"And now, I'm going to teach you to cheat." Anders laughed, lifting himself up a little higher. "Artie, I need about three more inches of your back. He needs to be able to get to your hips."

"Mm?" Artemis was doing his best impersonation of jelly at that moment, sagging into the cot, eyes shut as he drifted on the edge of wakefulness. The lyrium lines on Fenris's hands, tracing the inside of his fingers, tingled against Artemis's skin. "Oh. All right." Artie threw them both a lazy smirk over his shoulder and reached down to unlace his trousers, loosening them just enough to get them past his hips. He'd shimmy out of them altogether at this point -- if Fenris hadn't strangled Anders yet, he likely wasn't going to -- but that would involve getting up.

Fenris narrowed his eyes at the abomination. "Cheat?" he asked. "How? With magic?" No, that made no sense. But he didn't trust that smirk on the abomination's face.

"Nope, just with your thumbs." Anders dragged Fenris's thumbs down either side of Artemis's spine. "You feel those dips, here and here? Push in and tilt your hands like this..."

A groan caught in Artemis's throat. Oh yes. This had been a great idea.

Fenris's eyebrows arced up. "Cheating with thumbs? This seems very effective." He pressed a little harder, rubbed little circles against those little thumb-sized dents in Artemis's back.

Anders got up, carefully. "You really want to cheat, move your knee." He pointed as he explained. "Put your weight on that leg and move this one so you're resting your knee on his tailbone. Resting. Tiny bit of pressure. Don't kneel on him, he'll kill you." Anders could recall having been knelt on, once. It was one of the more surprisingly painful moments of his teenage years -- emphasis on the surprising. He hadn't been expecting to have his junk suddenly crushed against a stone floor.

"Little help?" Cormac asked, still draped in bandages, now with one kitten on his head and the other one hanging from his shoulder, biting at his ear.

Fenris moved his fingers and his knee as instructed while Anders got up to de-kitten Cormac. Anders was careful of the floor this time, slip-sliding his way over to Cormac. "Honestly," he laughed, taking Purrcy off of Cormac's head and feeling the little fluffball wriggle in his arms. "I can't take you three anywhere."

Heedless of his brother's plight, Artemis squirmed a bit under Fenris, making more of those breathy, pleased sounds Fenris so enjoyed. "That _is_ cheating," Artemis sighed against his forearm. He really hoped no patients walked into the clinic right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning, all! Penbrydd here! My inbox has a sincerely enormous number of comments in it, and I've been keeping an eye on that number. Whichever one of you lucky gits gives me comment #666 is getting a Rhapsody drabble. You get to pick the one incident in any character's past (except Artie's), that caught your eye and I'll throw down a couple hundred words on it. I'll reply to your comment and let you know if you're the one.


	92. Chapter 92

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family is always so very complicated.

Bethany had an assortment of gems and statues arranged on tables and stools, around the library. She kept looking down into the book in her hand and pointing, occasionally adjusting the placement of an artefact. As she picked up her quill, to make a note about the path of reflected light, Bodhan appeared in the doorway, leading Fenris.

"Messere Fenris to see you," Bodhan said, bowing out. Bethany's work made him just as nervous as it made everyone else. Even a dwarf wasn't immune to the creepiness of some of those statues.

"Oh! Fenris!" Bethany glanced around the room. "Let's not have this conversation here. Come upstairs. I haven't got anything arranged on the upper level." She waved him around the outer edge of the elliptical ring of objects. "Just working out some issues of colour and reflection in the original design of this tomb. I'm sure the last scholar to excavate, there, was looking at it all wrong." Shaking her head, she led Fenris up the stairs, noticing how fidgety and quiet he was. "But, you've come to see _me_... That's unusual. What can I do for you?"

Fenris toyed with the straps of his gauntlets as he spoke. "I... could use your expertise," he said.

"Oh?" Bethany's eyebrows arched. "My expertise as what? A scholar? A mage? A woman with exquisite taste in fashion?"

"A sister."

Bethany paused in the hallway, turning to look at him. He seemed to have a hard time standing still, and she wondered if he'd picked up that habit from Artemis. "Well, you've piqued my interest," she said with a polite smile. "Shall I send for some tea?"

"No. Thank you." Fenris shifted from foot to foot, finally turning to clutch at the railing, looking down into the necromantic decor, below. Perhaps that hadn't been the best idea. "I am told I have a sister. I know not what to believe."

"I think Anton mentioned that. A magister told you this, in exchange for her life?" Bethany knew it had surprised Anton, at the time. Less the idea that Fenris had family, but that he didn't know it.

"In exchange for my word that I would not harm her." Fenris smiled slyly over his shoulder. "I didn't. Artemis did." He turned back around, leaning on the rail. "But, the problem remains. I don't know. I feel like I should write to her, but I don't know if she knows me, either. But, if ... I watch your family, and I think of what it might have been like to have one of my own."

"You want to know if you should write to her?" Bethany asked.

"I... yes." The Hawke siblings bemused and fascinated Fenris. The stories they told of growing up together, the way they sniped and bickered but always looked out for each other at the end of the day. He left Artemis and Cormac's complicated relationship out of these musings. "And, if so, I... was rather hoping you could help me compose a letter. Artemis is teaching me, but my skills are not... That is, I would need help." The tips of his gauntlets clacked against the rail, and Bethany knew he'd picked up that nervous tapping from her brother.

"I would certainly help you, of course," Bethany said. She reached over to take his tapping, clawed hand in hers, the way she would for Artie. "But I can't make that decision for you."

Fenris held his hand stiffly in hers but didn't pull away. "But if it were you?" he asked. "What would you do?"

Bethany shrugged. "I'd be itching with curiosity," she said. 

"What do I say? How do I know she's even real? What if this is just another magister's trick?" Fenris looked very quietly panicked, round eyes settling on Bethany's face.

"Let's take that last question, first. What if she is a trick? You fought a magister older than the Blights. Why would another one be a problem? We're not going to let anything happen to you, Fenris. And you're not going to let anything happen to Artemis. So, I don't really think it matters if she isn't real. The worst you'll be is disappointed, in the long run." Bethany smiled at him. "But, I know you're not afraid of that. What are you worried about? That she won't like you? What's not to like? You're a nobleman, now. You're well-spoken and polite. You're generous and kind. I haven't even heard you threaten Anders in _weeks_!"

"I ran away and left her. But, I didn't know she was there! I didn't even know she existed!" There was that panicked look again. "But, you... you'd never leave one of your brothers. They'd never leave you. I left her behind."

"If she blames you for that, she's wrong," Bethany insisted. "She can blame that magister, what's his name? It's his fault you don't remember, isn't it?"

"Danarius," Fenris said, his voice a growl, the name a weight on his tongue. "And, yes, I... suppose that is true. But what if she doesn't remember _me_?" He knew nothing about her, not even her age. What if she'd been so young that she didn't even remember him either?

"Then you'll be on even ground, won't you?" Bethany said with a patient smile. It did nothing to erase the wide-eyed panic on Fenris's face. "But, Fenris? Even if she doesn't remember you, even if she's not real or doesn't respond... you already have a family. You know that, don't you?"

Fenris's eyes were wide then in something other than panic, and Bethany chuckled.

"You're marrying into the Hawkes," she said. "We're rather a lot more family than most can handle."

And Fenris had to smile at that. A family. The Hawkes. Even Anders calling him an 'asshole little brother'.

"Do you want to do this?" Bethany asked, and Fenris nodded.

"I do. You'll... help me not sound a fool?" He still looked nervous.

"You're not going to sound like a fool, anyway, but yes. I'll help you sound like a proud Kirkwall noble, just like you've become." Bethany smiled and darted downstairs. "I just have to get some ink and paper. We'll do this up there, where it's less... Nevarran. I'm sure you don't want ancestor-worship statues staring at you while we do this!"

Fenris finally laughed. "As long as they're not my ancestors, I don't think I have anything to worry about!" 

* * *

* * *

As Cullen walked through the gardens, he kept an eye out for any goat-related surprises. The furry terror had chewed holes in the topiary, and in some places Cullen could see through them clear to the other side. Then the goat had made up for what plants it had eaten by... fertilising the rest.

Bodhan had assured Cullen that Anton would be with him shortly, the dwarf's cheerfulness dampened by the grim look on the templar's face. And Cullen wondered if it was bad idea to come here straight from the Gallows, still in full plate, considering what he'd come to talk about. It was not a conversation he was looking forward to, armour or no armour.

"Maeh?" the goat greeted him, and Cullen welcomed the distraction.

"We meet again," he said. The goat bleated again, a bit of hay hanging out of its mouth. A pile of the stuff had been thrown there for the goat, and Cullen wondered if Bodhan or the Hawkes had the slightest how to care for the poor animal. At least the goat seemed more interested in the hay than in his clothes, this time. Templar skirts were a disaster to fix.

"Well, hello, Captain!" The door into the garden closed behind Anton, who was all smiles and charm. "I wasn't expecting you, today. Fancy another picnic?"

For a moment, Cullen almost said yes. Almost pushed his concerns aside and gave in -- it was Anton. He loved Anton. "I'm afraid I'm not here for the horseradish," he managed, almost smiling. "I'm... I didn't mean to be wearing this, either. I'm sorry. I didn't think of how that would look."

"Looks great on you, like it always does." Anton looked completely confused, as he slid his arms around Cullen and kissed him. "Slow down. What's wrong?"

"I know your brother is a mage," Cullen sighed.

"You know no such thing." Anton smiled slyly. "If you had suspicions, you'd have named a brother. Try again."

"I know it's not you or Carver. I was there, Anton. I saw your father clean up after it. One of your brothers is a mage, and I think it's Cormac." That made the most sense to Cullen -- the father was an apostate, the son who looked most like his father was likely to be the other mage in the family. "That was the first time I ever saw magic. I don't think I was five, yet. But, I never forgot that man's face, when his son destroyed that room. You said your father looked just like Cormac, and that's the face I remember. One of your brothers is a mage."

The bemused smile never left Anton's face, and Anton's face never betrayed his reaction. It was one thing when Cullen had knocked on their door looking for Bethany. All he'd had were rumours, speculations from some third party. But this? Anton knew the exact moment Cullen was talking about. He'd been in the house, one room over when the walls had shaken with the force of... _something_ hitting them. He remembered the shatter of glass and the crack of wood, his brother's screams. Anton had been a child too, but that sort of thing wasn't easy to forget.

Except that Cullen had been off on one detail: that had been Artemis, not Cormac.

"Really?" Anton said, arcing one eyebrow. "Twenty years ago you saw a child manifest magic, whose dad _might_ have looked like mine, and you just assume that was my family?" Anton cupped Cullen's cheek. "Cullen, darling, you're not making sense. Have you been pushing yourself too hard again?"

"A family with a father who looked like your brother. I found the letters. I know where the Order lost your father. Your father the apostate. Five children, and no mages? I doubt that. I'd doubt it anyway, but with no proof, I just kept looking away. I know your father was in the Circle, here. I know he came in on the recommendation of the First Enchanter from Perendale. I also know, after he fled, that the recommendation was checked, and no such letter was ever written. I know there was a templar who helped him escape." Here, Cullen nearly smiled again. "And I know your youngest brother was probably named after him. I know we tracked your family to Highever, when ... when Solona's parents sent your mother a letter. Magic in your mother's blood, too, it seems. And I know the man we sent was never found. We lost your father, after that. No more letters. He disappeared, and we didn't have a phylactery for him, because he'd never actually been a circle mage. Snuck in and right back out."

Cullen put his arms around Anton, resting his steel braces on Anton's hips. "I sent a letter to Highever. We found that missing templar. I know your father was a force mage, and from the description, that looks like force. But, I look at you, and I don't know if I can blame him. He ran, never caused any trouble we heard about again, and raised a son like you. I love you, Anton. And I know what I'm supposed to do. What I don't know is what I'm going to do. You know I'm right. You didn't laugh, when I said it. You didn't deny it. I don't know what I'm going to do."

Damn it. Why did the fool templar have to be smart as well as pretty. Anton knew denying wouldn't help him at this stage, not anymore. The best he could do was mitigate the situation. "How about you... don't do anything?" He held up a hand to stop Cullen when he opened his mouth to speak. "At least not right now, please. He hasn't harmed anyone. He's contributed to the city." Anton sucked in a breath. "I've just lost my mum. Please don't take away my brother too." And, all right, perhaps that was cheating, playing the guilt card, pairing it with a set of sad eyes. 

At least Cullen didn't suspect that there was more than one mage in his family. At least not yet, and that was a sobering thought. How long had Anton expected to keep that secret with a templar around all the time? The Knight-Captain no less?

The goat interrupted with a bleat, headbutting Cullen's leg.

"I'm so sorry." Cullen pulled Anton closer. "Of course. I couldn't -- not now. I don't know what to do, but I'm not going to do it now." He kissed Anton, gently, and then let go, backing away a few steps. "This just... It's a huge thing to have kept from me, and I know why. I do. I just... what are we doing, Anton? Where is this going? I love you so very much, and I don't know what I'm going to do, at all, about any of this."

"I'm sorry," he said, still backing up. "I have to go. I promise not to make any decisions without telling you. I promise I'll tell you first."

Anton watched Cullen all but flee from him. He hoped Cullen would keep that promise but knew better than to trust it, even if he trusted Cullen.

"I have no idea what I'm going to do either," Anton murmured, long after Cullen was gone. 

* * *

Cormac stood on the far side of the bed, book in one hand, muttering to himself, an indigo halo surrounding his translucent body. "No, that's not quite..." He caught the motion of the door in the mirror and turned. "Anton? No knocking?"

"Well, I didn't hear any screaming, so I figured it wasn't going to be anything too scarring." Anton leaned his hip against the dresser. "I just had an extremely unpleasant conversation with Cullen. Apparently he's decided you're a mage. I can't fault most of his logic -- he did his research. I can fault the conclusion, though, because he picked the wrong mage."

"Didn't he originally come for Bethany?" Cormac asked, looking back toward the mirror and making a few subtle gestures. He faded in and back out.

"Yes, but he saw Artie. That time in Honnleath? Where Cullen's from? Yeah. I mentioned you looked just like dad, and he... I don't know, he remembered. Still assumed it was you." Anton rubbed his face, frustratedly.

"How long do I have until the nice gentlemen in platemail show up at the door?" Cormac asked, figuring he'd cut through the cellar, grab Anders, and make for Tantervale.

"I'm not sure they will," Anton told Cormac's reflection. "Cullen said he hadn't decided on what to do yet, but that he would tell me first when he did. He also said that it wouldn't be 'right away', after mum and all." Anton sighed, ran a hand through his hair. "And I think he means it. I don't think he's even capable of lying, to be honest."

"He may not think he's lying. I'm sure he's quite serious." Cormac finally did... something, and the entire room seemed to ripple, for a moment. He smiled to himself and nodded. "Far be it from me to interfere in your relationship, but woo that man, Anton. Keep him close. I know you don't do serious, and I'm not asking you to, but ... I'll pay for you to take him to lunch _and_ dinner, as many times as it needs to happen." Cormac sighed. "I shouldn't put this on you. It's me he's after. Might be time for me to take a holiday or something."

"There's already been plenty of 'wooing'," Anton said, "and plenty of 'seducing' and plenty of other verbs that could be applied to this situation." Cormac was right. Anton didn't do serious, but... "I already have him wrapped around my finger, you know. It's probably why he hasn't turned you in, in the first place." It was also technically why Cullen hadn't turned in Bethany at that first party. "Do what you think you have to do, but... I think I can talk him around."

"Understand why I'm not telling you where I'm going. Shit, don't even tell Artie I'm gone. I won't be gone long enough for it to matter, I hope. I'm going to try to get Anders to come with me. Send a letter, by way of Varric, if I'm not back before you know what's going on. I should only be gone a week." Cormac smiled just as brightly as always. "You'll get us out of this. You always do. And if you don't, you little shit, the house is yours. It's yours, anyway. You're the party magnet. I'm just taking a little holiday with my favourite Warden, and I'll be right back. Trust me. Tell Varric everything. We'll get through this."


	93. Chapter 93

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pleasure cruise. A not so pleasurable spot of delivering flowers.

"I used to live by a river, you know." It was the first thing Anders had said in hours. He and Cormac had left Kirkwall aboard a merchant ship, in the dead of night, and changed for a pleasure barge, at the mouth of the tributary that emptied into the bay, a little to the west of the city.

"Did you?" Cormac asked, reaching out to pour Anders another glass of the sweet, flowery drink they'd acquired a carafe of. "Tell me about it? We lived on a river, sometimes, too. Never long, though."

"All I remember is that the river was never enough," Anders said, swallowing some more of the drink, as the glass slowly cooled in his hand. "We were in the wettest place for days in any direction, but it was barely enough to keep the barley growing. It ran slow and thick, most of the year, until the floods came, and then the people who'd built too close would get swept away -- their houses, their chickens, it would all go down the river. Every year, people would come out from the city, to try their hand at rural life. And you could never tell them anything, either. Don't build there, you'll get killed. They'd call us stupid for not taking advantage of the land closer to the water. And we'd just wait. And the river would always take them."

Cormac squinted at him. "On the floodplain. People were trying to live on the floodplain of a river that came up every year? Who...? Why would you...?"

"And people say _Fereldans_ are stupid," Anders laughed, leaning back on the lounge, as he watched the sky above them. "I think it's some combination of faith, pride, and desperation. No one was right, everyone was poor, and if you didn't die of the weather or starvation, you'd die of the law." He looked wistful. "I still wanted to go home. It was better than the tower. I know I'm lying to myself, when I say that. It was a different kind of bad. It was more honest. It was the kind you could pack up and leave, like my brother did. He was older than me, like you're older than Carver. Just cut and ran, finally. He was headed for Ansburg. I don't know where he ended up. I was gone before any letters came. Two sons in one year -- I hope my mother's all right."

"You want to go see? We can get off before the boat turns around and catch something heading the rest of the way up to the Minanter. Take that as far as Nevarra, pick up the Imperial Highway..." Cormac squeezed a lime into his drink.

"No. I'm not done, yet. I can't go home, until I have something to show for it. I can't be just older, angrier, tireder." Anders looked tired, then -- more tired than he'd looked in a while, like the work had finally caught up with him, once he stopped. "When we know if we can go back to Kirkwall, I'll make a choice."

"Don't wait too long."

Anders reached across the table between them and took Cormac's hand, without a word. 'Too long'. Cormac's parents were both dead, Anders remembered.

They sat like that, for a few minutes, watching the trees along the edge of the river, looking up at the sky.

"You want to go back down and traumatise the rest of the passengers a bit?" Cormac asked, squeezing Anders's hand.

"Let's not. We're supposed to be forgettable, remember?" Anders poured himself another glass.

"I... yeah, of course. You're right." Cormac looked away, down the line of chairs and tables and lounges bolted to the deck, light cloth rippling overhead to keep the worst of the sun off.

Anders bit off a sharp laugh. "Cormac. Look at me."

"What?" Cormac swigged his drink and tried not to look quite as lost as he felt. He needed to be home. He needed to be taking care of the family -- but Anton was doing that, for now. The time had finally come, and Anton had to look out for him. And more than anything, Cormac just wanted to be able to stop thinking about that.

"I just meant let's not traumatise the entire boat. Not let's not go to bed. Because _yes_ , let's go to bed." Anders rubbed his thumb across Cormac's knuckles.

They took the drinks with them, as they descended to the tiny cabin, below, with the table that was notched for the glasses. The bed was too small, really, and Anders had slept the night before -- what little of it had been left, by that point -- wrapped around Cormac, with his legs stuck off the corner of the bed. Nothing was ever made for people his height.

As Anders picked at the sash of the Tevinter robes he wore -- there was finally an occasion to wear them, now that he was once again on the run and pretending to be someone else -- Cormac swatted his hands away and backed him into the door, nipping at his neck, kissing under his chin.

"Let me," Cormac breathed, against Anders's neck. "If you're not going to make me scream, let me take you apart. Let me make your knees weak. Let me worship you with my hands and my mouth until we're gods in each other's arms, praying each to the other. Let me please you until you forget everything but my name."

Anders looked down, eyes wild with surprise and desire and fought to find words for a few moments, before his head fell back against the door with a hollow thunk, a breathy laugh slipping out between his lips. "Yes."

Cormac's hands were quick, and the layers fell away, easily. "I want you," he breathed, hands wandering across Anders's freshly bared skin. "I've wanted you so much, for so long, that I've forgotten what it's like not to ache for you, every second of the day."

Anders swallowed hard and hauled Cormac against him, looking into those bright blue eyes, like there was something more to find, like the answer to everything in life might be there. And then he bumped the bridge of his nose against Cormac's forehead, with a shaky laugh. "What are you practising for Artie? Do I need to get a bucket for all this sap? Can I use it to sweeten my drink?"

"Don't do this to me, Anders. Not now. I just walked away from my entire family, and I took you with me. I just left everything in my little brother's hands, because he's boning the templar who made me." Cormac tipped his head down and buried his face against the scars on Anders's chest. "Just let me run my mouth, so I don't have to think about it."

Anders was strangely still for a long moment, breathing slow and shallow, heart rate falling. Finally, he pinched Cormac's ass, sharply. "Well, peon, go on. Worship me like the god of sex I am."

There was a long, hollow pause, and then Cormac laughed so hard he sat down, sliding down Anders's body as he cackled. "You-- I can't-- Come down here. The bed's too damn small, anyway."

* * *

* * *

Aveline signaled at Corff. No sooner had she put down her empty tankard than Edwina had appeared at her elbow, sliding another full one in its place. It was one of the benefits to being a regular, she found. That she was drinking with a Hawke who tipped obscenely well when he was drunk didn't hurt. 

"I told you a goat was the way to go," Aveline said, nodding sagely at the couple across from her. Her words were starting to get that lazy, slurred quality that said she was reaching past 'buzzed' into 'drunk'. "I don't think I got the chance to congratulate you, by the way. Congratulations!"

Artemis thought it best not to tell her that the goat had eaten half the garden. Fenris raised his tankard in a salute.

"To your future happiness," Aveline said, raising her tankard in turn.

"To goats," Artemis added, raising his. 

A few more minutes and half a drink, and Aveline finally got to the point. Or at least as close to the point as she was going to get without a lot of back-patting and swearing to secrecy. "I know I've helped you both, and it's wonderful that you're so happy together. But, there's something ... I need a favour I can really only trust to you. I know, you think I should ask Anton, but Anton would make a joke of it. It should be a small matter... but, I worry..."

"You're having trouble?" Fenris asked. "Not slavers on the coast, this time, I take it?"

"No, I... Artemis, I need you to give something to guardsman Donnic, in the barracks. He's not to know it's from me." Aveline wrung her hands and stared into her beer.

Artemis squinted at her over his drink. "Well, that's awfully secretive," he said. "Is there something going on I should know about? _Are_ you in some sort of trouble?"

"No! No, it's nothing like that." Aveline's chair creaked as she shifted. "Will you please just do this for me?"

Artemis exchanged a look with Fenris, his finger tapping the side of his tankard. It wasn't like Aveline to be so furtive. "Very well," he said warily. "What exactly am I bringing him?"

"I, er... I already regret doing this. I don't want to make it worse by exposing any unnecessary facts." Aveline looked away, finishing her drink.

Fenris found himself sympathizing. He'd looked like that -- wait. "I don't think you'd be able to hide it, if it's a goat," he said, the corner of his mouth tipping up.

"Goat? No. No goats. Not-- no." Aveline shook her head. "I, er... It's a -- Well, it's flowers. But, in copper. So they'll last. It's a copper relief of marigolds."

"Marigolds? I haven't seen those in our house." Fenris looked a little surprised. He'd expected something a little more obvious when she'd said flowers. Maybe actual flowers, even.

"That's because Cormac wouldn't send me those," Artemis said, his face twisting. Marigolds? Why marigolds?

"Your brother sends you flowers?" Aveline asked.

"It's... yes, but as a joke." Aveline's blank look said she didn't get the joke. "Never mind. Anyway, why marigolds? Do you hate the man?" 

Aveline sputtered. "What? No! I... always thought they were pretty. Is that a bad idea? Should I go with the goat instead?"

"Aveline, are you already in a relationship with the man? And if so, why would you not want him to know this gift was from you? Really, more to the point, even if you're not, why would not telling him it's you help?" Fenris found himself completely confused by human traditions, once again. Not that he really had a grasp of elven tradition, either, but he was in a city full of humans, and every one of them was weird, including the one he meant to marry. But, that was an endearing kind of weird, really.

"What? No! I'm just ... trying to see if he's interested. At all. In anyone." Aveline smiled a little too brightly. "It's an excellent plan, really! If he's got someone else, he'll assume the gift was from them. If he doesn't, he'll start asking around. Either way, I'll know!"

"You could try asking..." Fenris pointed out, weakly. Weird. All of them.

"What? No!" This was becoming a theme. "If I ask, I completely undermine myself -- as a suitor and as his captain! Discovery before action! You're my spies, but with less spying and more delivering. I must know the lay of the land before I go charging in!"

Artemis wiped a hand over his face. Maker. And to think he'd once to gone to _her_ for relationship advice. Then again, her advice so far had ended in a corset and a goat, so he wasn't sure what he expected. "Anton would be better at this," he said, "but I can see why you didn't ask him. He'd never let you hear the end of it." Artie paused to take a long drink. "How about just regular flowers? And... not marigolds?"

Aveline's shoulders sagged. "What's wrong with marigolds?" she asked. 

"Nobleman," he reminded her, pointing at himself. "I know the language of flowers. Marigolds are, uh... Well, generally they mean something bad."

"Oh." Wesley had known they were her favourite flowers and used to get them for her on their anniversary. Aveline wondered what that meant. "Then... what flowers would you recommend?"

Artemis chewed his lip as he considered. "Celandine, perhaps. Or maybe crocus. Oh! With jonquil." He grinned and added, "And if you're feeling frisky, you could throw in a lime blossom."

"I don't know what any of those flowers look like," Aveline sighed.

"That's why Kirkwall has a florist," Fenris pointed out. "It doesn't matter if you know, as long as you can spell the names. And pay for them, I suppose." He'd learnt the names of a few flowers, and he was saving that for some special occasion. Artemis's face when he realised he'd gotten flowers from someone other than his brother would be priceless.

"But, will they be pretty? I don't want to send him ugly flowers, just because they mean something nice!" Aveline picked up a drink, with no mind to whose it was, and drank quite a bit of it.

"Lime blossom is very pretty," Fenris said, before wondering if that was something that said much more than he meant to. "Lovely little yellow flowers in clusters. But, er, as Artemis says ... 'frisky'."

Artie smirked into his drink. It had been a while since he'd sent his brother flowers, now that he thought about it... "Perhaps we should save the lime blossoms for later," he said. "Certainly before any goats come into the equation, but not just yet. And of course they're pretty. All flowers are pretty. Crocuses are especially lovely, in my opinion." He shrugged. "The florist is used to odd requests from me. I'm sure I could get a bouquet for your Donnic."

Aveline nodded, taking a deep breath. "Flowers. Very well. That's simple enough. And you'll deliver them so you can tell me his reaction?"

"Why not?"

Fenris looked a little less than entirely pleased with the idea, but he so rarely did. Besides which, he was convinced this was all some unusual human bonding ritual, and Aveline was fucking it up, _anyway_. Which made him wonder how the goat had worked so well for him. Perhaps she was only incompetent in her own relationships. He'd heard of people like that. He'd seen an apprentice make that sort of mistake -- didn't live much longer, but Fenris assumed Kirkwall was a bit more forgiving. It would have to be, with the amount of fools and drunkards.

* * *

  
Donnic was folding his laundry when one of the Hawkes walked in. He recognised the man from that hideous ambush the brothers had rescued him from. "Serah Hawke! It's been some time. You're here in Hightown, now, right? The captain mentioned a change in your fortunes. I see your uncle now and then on my patrols, but we don't talk."

"I wouldn't talk to him either," Artemis said with a nervous smile. He hid the flowers from Aveline behind his back for the moment. "No ill effects from that ambush, I hope?"

Donnic shrugged, folding a set of trousers over his arm. "They got me pretty good, I'll admit, but they fared worse, so I can't complain."

"Oh, I'm sure you can complain a little," Artie teased. Donnic's polite smile turned to one of confusion as he finally noticed the awkward way Artemis was holding himself. "Anyway, I was told to give you something. I suspect you'll enjoy it." He hoped. Honestly, he had no idea.

Artemis brought the bouquet out from behind his back and presented it to Donnic with a beaming smile.

Donnic stared. After a bit, he blinked, and then kept staring, lips pursed and eyes wide with confusion. 'Told to give you something', at least that meant this wasn't a direct flirtation, not that Serah Hawke wasn't a handsome man, but men weren't really his thing. "Told... to give this to me? Flowers? Is there some meaning to this that I should know? Other than the obvious -- that someone thought I was worth the cost of a bouquet. Is this thanks for something?"

He took the flowers and studied them, looking for a card or some sort of indication of who had sent them. "How did you end up delivering flowers? Seems a bit of a low calling for a hero like yourself."

"Hero, am I?" Artemis said, even as he floundered for an answer. "I like the sound of that. In any case, I was sworn to secrecy I'm afraid. I was rather hoping _you'd_ know what to do with them."

"Ah. I see." Donnic turned the flowers over in his hand, and the silence that followed was awkward. "Right. Thank you, Serah Hawke. I think. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to..." He gestured at his laundry.

"Of course. Right. Enjoy the flowers." 

Well. That had been pointless. But, Aveline's office was only a few doors down the hall.

She was elbows-deep in paperwork, cursing a variety of people and their gods, as she scrawled notes and crammed reports into drawers. Captain of the guard had sounded great on paper, but that had been before she met the paper involved. A shadow fell across her desk and she looked up. "Artie! Did you--" Her voice dropped to nearly a whisper. "What did he say? How did he react?"

"With great confusion, that's how he reacted," Artemis sighed, fingers twisting in his hair. Aveline's face fell. "Well, on the bright side, at least we know he wasn't expecting flowers from anyone. There is no flower-giving person in his life, which means there's a vacancy you could fill."

"I should have gone with the copper," Aveline sighed. "Maybe the marigolds would have been appropriate after all."

"You could always try some sexy underwear."

Aveline's eyes nearly crossed. "Get out of my office." She pointed to the door. "And Artemis? Thank you."


	94. Chapter 94

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More goat. Anton's got a bad plan. Aveline's got a terrible plan. Maker forgive us all...

Anton wasn't sure at what point carrying the goat had started to sound like a good idea, but there he was, wearing black, with a white goat on his shoulders. This wasn't going to be his finest moment, if he had to stop and pick all the goat fur off his shirt, but at least he wasn't stuck dragging the goat through three neighbourhoods, while people stared. He wasn't very good at goats, he decided. But, he'd found the lace the goat had been dressed in, and he ... well, he knew there should have been three sheaves of wheat, but wheat seemed stupid, and Cullen liked oranges, so he'd tied laden boughs of orange to the goat, instead, and now he was carrying a lacy orange-laden goat through a sewer. In his party clothes.

He let himself in to the drainage room, in the cellar, and paused to rinse his boots in the least disgusting stream of water from the upper floors. By the time he reached Cullen's office door -- right across the hall from Meredith's, thankfully, he was sweating and completely uncertain of his own sanity. What was he doing? This was insane. It was stupid. It was the sort of thing you'd find in a trashy Orlesian novel, and that made it the right thing to do.

He tested the door, and then threw it open. "Knight-Captain, I love you!" he announced. "And I have come to bring a goat to your mother!"

Cullen's instructions trailed off mid-sentence, punctuated by nonsense stuttering. The recruit -- Keran, was it? -- who'd been standing at attention turned to stare at their goat-laden guest. "I... you... Anton?" More stuttering. Cullen blinked at the Hawke in his doorway, blinked at the lacy goat on his shoulders, and then Anton's words caught up with him. "Did you just say you loved me? With a goat?" 

Anton hoped the awe in Cullen's voice was the good kind. He kept his chin up and the smile on his face, shifting his grip when the goat started to squirm on his shoulders. A hoof kicked at his cheek. "How else would I say it?" he said. "You, Knight-Captain Cullen, are the only the one worthy of my spicy Fereldan horseradish."

Keran looked back and forth between them. Anton and the goat blocked his escape route. "Um. Should I go...?"

"You should go get the Knight-Commander," Anton said, firmly, stepping the rest of the way into the room. "I don't know where his mother is, and neither does he, so she'll have to do."

Keran inched out around Anton and fled across the hall.

Cullen tried to stand up, but forgot to push his chair back, cracked his thighs on the edge of his desk, and sat right back down. "You brought a goat." He remembered to push back the chair and managed to successfully get to his feet, on the second attempt. "Anton, are you serious? This isn't just because...?"

"Cullen," Anton started, and then had to stop to put down the goat. The goat was very tired of being held up. He picked goat fluff off his jacket. "It's just about you and me. No one in the world looks at me like you do -- all that delight and exasperation at once, and somehow, you're still with me. Three years you've put up with my jokes and the way I just let myself in to your office. It's not serious, because I don't do serious, and nobody does serious when they're holding a goat, but I do mean it."

The goat brayed in agreement. Cullen stared at Anton, mouth agape, and almost didn't notice the goat trying to eat his reports until it was too late. "And this is after you told me not to get _you_ a goat," Cullen said with a dazed laugh. He moved around his desk, gently nudging the goat aside so that he could stand in front of Anton. Cullen took Anton's hand in his. "Anton. I--"

"What is the meaning of this?" Cullen managed not to jump at the sound of Meredith's voice, but only just. The Knight-Commander stood in the hall, staring first at Cullen, then at Anton... then past them both at the goat chewing on the curtains. "That's a goat."

Keran stood next to her, looking even more uncomfortable.

"Knight-Commander, it's a proposal." Anton turned to face her, trying to ignore the stream of sweat running down his spine. "Your captain has misplaced his mother, and I wish to ask for his hand. It is Fereldan tradition to offer a goat to the mother of the person you're proposing to, and I have a goat, but he has no mother -- or at least no mother that we know where to find. So, I have come to ask you, instead. Take this goat and these oranges, and all the prosperity they are meant to bring." He was talking out of his ass, at this point, but that was something he'd had years of practise doing. It was some minor rural tradition, and he had no idea what the symbolism was, but he could fake it. Meredith was a native Marcher. She wouldn't know. Anton dropped to one knee, still holding Cullen's hand. "But, please, tell me you'll allow me to wed your Captain. He's an amazing man."

Cullen wasn't sure he was capable of turning more red than he was, at that moment. It might have approached purple. He suspected his cheeks might have lingering bruises. He smiled awkwardly at the Commander.

Meredith looked at Anton like he'd lost his mind. For a moment, Anton wondered if she would say no just out of spite. Maybe even accuse him of blood magic.

"I am not his mother," Meredith said, sounding offended. "And I have no use for a goat." Cullen's awkward smile turned pleading, and Meredith pursed her lips. "If the Knight-Captain wishes to marry you, that's his decision. If so, you're welcome to him. Just please get this animal out of here."

Cullen looked back at the goat to see it squatting next to his desk. "Oh, Maker," he groaned as the room filled with the smell of goat shit.

Anton looked horrified, glancing over his shoulder. "Goat, no!" He rose swiftly to his feet, bowing deeply to the Knight-Commander. "I thank you. We will... remove the goat, shortly." 

Grabbing at both of Cullen's hands, he tried to block out the stench of goat shit. "I wanted this to be something out of one of those books you keep reading, but reality seems intent upon intruding upon the moment. All the same, will you marry me, Ser Cullen?"

Cullen hesitated. Why did this have to be so complicated? Anton's family, a goat shitting on the floor, the Knight-Commander staring at him, Anton giving him that darling, rakish smile he so adored... "Probably," he said, with a nod. "It is extremely likely that I will marry you, Anton." Was there supposed to be a kiss here? Meredith was still staring at them. He could feel it. But, he hadn't quite said yes, so the least he could do was -- He kissed Anton -- warm, sweet, slightly goat-scented Anton -- just to stop the chattering in his head. There were so many things that were wrong with this, but he wanted it so very much, wanted to believe this could be real.

"If it is extremely likely, then I am extremely happy," Anton said, jaunty smile softening around the edges. "Not to mention extremely lucky."

Meredith's long-suffering sigh broke the moment. "I suppose a congratulations are in order," she said. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have witnessed enough of this Fereldan insanity. Ser Cullen, you may take the afternoon off, provided you use it to clean up this mess." She turned on her heel and headed back towards her office.

"Congratulations, Captain," Keran spoke up. "And to you too, Messere Hawke." Then he scampered after Meredith.

* * *

* * *

  
The Hanged Man again. Aveline wasn't sure why she kept ending up in the slummiest pub Kirkwall had to offer, with relationship problems -- hers or anyone else's -- but there it was. Here she was. Again. Fenris and Artemis were with her, just as drunk as she was and easily twice as bemused. "It's not like I can just order him into my office and ... proclaim my intentions! How would that look? I'm his captain!"

Varric passed the table on the way to his rooms. "Ah, hey, Artie? Do you know why Anton's ... turned into a one-man musical theatre production? I went by the house to see him, but Bodhan said he's been like that all afternoon, just running around the house, singing. Suggested I might want to try again, tomorrow. I've seen him drunk, and drunk doesn't even begin to cover that..."

Artemis grinned into his rum, clapping Varric on the back a bit too hard. "You wanna know why?" he asked. "He's a one-man musical theatre because he's turned into a one-man man. Finally. Idiot s'been in as much denial as Cormac." 

Really. How many years of 'it's not serious' did either of them have to go through before they realised it was?

Varric looked suddenly interested. "Him and Cullen?" Aveline asked. 

"Yep," said Artie, popping the 'p' at the end. "Goat and everything."

"Goat. What is it with you kids and your goats?" Varric shook his head. "I'm starting to think Ferelden really is populated by nothing but barbarian tribes. I keep reading things that tell me you guys actually developed civilisation, at some point, but _goats_? I'm starting to doubt it."

Fenris looked relieved at that assessment, raising an eyebrow and subtly nodding to Varric. That would explain it. They were all barbarians, posing as civilised people. Of course, that didn't quite explain the native Kirkwallers, but Kirkwall was its own excuse, he was sure. The sheer number of demons, alone, and no magisters here to blame. Except that one, he supposed, and they'd killed him.

"The goat dowry is a long and proud tradition, Varric! It's a sign the family can support another person!" Aveline scolded.

"So, it's basically 'marry me, I'm rich'." Varric rubbed his chin and nodded. "There are ways to get that point across that don't chew the furniture, you know."

"Ways that involve biting a pillow instead, I'm sure," Artie said. His chortle ended in a hiccup, and he covered his mouth with his hand. "I said that aloud again, didn't I? I sound like Cormac." 

"If you did, I'd need earplugs," Fenris muttered into his drink.

"Hey, where is Cormac, anyway?" Artemis asked, poking at Varric's arm. "He usually comes to these. He usually _drags me_ to these. I sent him flowers this morning, and he never responded." 

Varric gave Artie an odd look. "Didn't he tell you? Must've forgot to mention it. He's on holiday. Didn't tell me where, just said he was taking Blondie out of town for a bit. Of course with the way your family and holidays get on, maybe I _should_ be concerned."

"I'm sure they're fine. As long as they're not exploring the Deep Roads, I can't imagine they'll get into too much trouble," Fenris said, though he thought that depended entirely on one's definition of 'too much' and 'trouble'. He expected they'd live, at least.

"You don't think Cormac's finally got his head out of his ass?" Aveline asked. "Two brothers in one week? It'd have to be divine intervention."

"Or demons. It is Kirkwall," Fenris pointed out.

"Knock it off, Broody, it's not demons. I'm sure he's going to be gone just long enough for the neighbours to stop wearing earplugs." Varric shook his head. "Might be he's not telling anyone, because it's something to do with Anton's wedding. The timing is a little ... coincidental. Maybe he's gone out to find an Orlesian acrobatics troupe, or specialists in Rivaini cuisine, or whatever the fuck you Fereldan barbarians do for posh weddings."

"Dogs," Artemis told Varric, straight-faced. "We Fereldans use dogs. The grooms arrive on sleds pulled by mabari."

Fenris smiled awkwardly, in that way that said he wasn't sure if Artie was joking but really hoped he was. "Mabari are preferable to goats," he said, shrugging. "Less likely to poop on the floors."

"But more likely to fart in your face, so it's all a matter of perspective," Artie replied. He paused to consider. "You know, knowing Anton, I'm sure the dog will be involved in the wedding, somehow. Hopefully without the farts, but if there _is_ Rivaini cuisine, involved, I wouldn't hold my breath. Or I would, actually. Those farts are toxic."

"As delightful as this education in the wedding customs of barbarian peoples has been," Varric said, cocking a thumb at the stairs, "I've got a business to run. Try not to do anything too barbaric with your goats and dogs..." With that, he left them, shaking his head, all the way up the stairs. That was going in a book. Had to. And no one would ever believe it. Maybe he'd throw in a little something about Cormac setting out to seek a bride for the dog, so it could be married with its master. It's not like he had to worry about his Fereldan readership -- the Fereldans all died in the blight, right?

"So, I shouldn't get him a goat? It's too soon, do you think?" Aveline looked just as distressed as she had, before Varric's interruption. "If I can't get him a goat, and I can't just... call him into my office and tell him -- which I can't, that would ... that would look terrible. That would not be the way to get an honest response. What do I do?"

"Then don't call him into the office," Artemis said, nodding as though he were imparting some great wisdom. "Call him into a closet. Worked for Anton. And here he is, three years later, giving his man a goat. If that's not romance, I don't know what is."

Aveline's face looked pinched. "Not helping," she groaned, slumping over the table.

"He's not... entirely off," Fenris said. He waved his hand at Aveline's incredulous look. "He is about the closet, but not about the... inviting Donnic elsewhere. Like here. Buy him a drink. Talk to him."

"Oh yes," Artemis said, nodding more emphatically. "Alcohol is very helpful when you're nervous about that sort of thing. S'how Fen and I got together." He draped an arm over his elf's shoulder.

Fenris coughed into his fist. "I'm not sure that's the example Aveline ought to be following," he said, even as he wrapped an arm around Artemis's waist. 

"Okay, so, I should ... get drunk with him, here? Why does everything with your family involve someone getting drunk?" Aveline shook her head.

"I ask myself that frequently," Fenris added. Not that he could complain about where drunken Hawkes had gotten him.

"Very well. Invite Donnic here. Not-- not today, not now. Tomorrow? Satinday. I don't know if I should be drinking like this two days in a row." Aveline bit her nail and squinted across the tavern.

"Satinday we're playing cards, with Varric," Fenris pointed out. "So, if anything goes wrong, we'll all be here for you. Upstairs."

"I'm not sure that eases my mind at all," Aveline confessed. "But, invite him for Satinday. Don't -- don't say anything about me, just make something up. I don't want him to think he's meeting the captain."

"He... is meeting the captain, Aveline." Fenris wondered if they shouldn't have cut her off a couple pints ago.

"No! No, not like that. That's the whole point! It can't be my office, because I don't want to be the captain. It's just me." She looked distressed -- perhaps even more distressed than usual. "Artie, you know what I mean, don't you?"

"I do," Artie said honestly. As a native speaker, he was, after all, fluent in 'nervous babble'. "Being outside the office will help, but you know he's still going to view you as 'the Captain' at first, right? S'going to happen. Just... be your self, your drunken self, and let him get to know you as 'Aveline', instead."

"That's probably the smartest thing he's said while this drunk," Fenris said. "I'd listen to him."

Artemis put more of his weight on Fenris's shoulders. "That's because I usually have someone's tongue down my throat by the time I'm this drunk," he said in Fenris's ear, whispering but still plenty loud enough for Aveline to hear. 

"Yes," Fenris said, clearing his throat. "Someone's 'tongue'."

"You two are the best!" Aveline clapped Artemis on the shoulder and staggered out of her chair. "Make it happen. I'm... I'm going to go, before any more of anyone's tongue gets involved. Or anyone's... ' _tongue_ '. Drink up! It's on my tab."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're creeping toward 100 chapters, and we'll be there by the end of the week! So, in honour of this, we're throwing a party for most of Friday! (Which should be Chapter 99.) We'll be doing some live Q&A and if it's not a spoiler, we'll probably tell you. Hell, if you get us drunk enough, we might tell you anyway!
> 
> More details and a link to the party, later!


	95. Chapter 95

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wicked Grace, now with the Knight-Captain, who has so very little to lose, but loses it so very well.

Cullen hadn't been inside the Hanged Man in a very long time. He thought he might once have stopped in, at the advice of one of the recruits, but decided the place wasn't really his... anything. But, Anton had insisted. His friends apparently played cards there, and he wanted to announce their engagement. Cullen had, of course, eventually said yes. Eventually. After a very long conversation involving the fact that he still had to live in the barracks, and he still didn't know what he was going to do about Cormac. Anton had just shrugged and pointed out that neither of those things were actually changes.

The bar was just as dimly-lit and loud as he remembered, and the low lighting barely hid the years of blood, spilled drinks, and worse things. Cullen stayed close to Anton, as they crossed the room and climbed the stairs. Anton waved to the bartender in a way that implied he spent a lot of time here, and Cullen supposed if it was good enough for Anton, he'd give the place another try.

Varric looked up from his conversation with Isabela, as they entered the room. "Curly! So, is this it? It's official now? You're bringing him to card games, Stabby?"

"It's nothing serious," Anton said, with a smile, leaning over to steal a piece of cheese from Isabela's plate. "We're just getting married."

"And many a woman's heart was broken," Isabela said, putting a hand on her chest as though wounded. She smirked up at Cullen, who looked every bit as awkward as he felt. "From one Captain to another, well done. Not everyone can bag a Hawke."

"Erm. Thank you?" The last time he saw Isabela, Cullen had been drunk. Very drunk. Drunk enough that he'd assumed he'd been seeing double when he saw those breasts. But no. Cullen was very much sober, and those breasts were just as large as he remembered. And just as inappropriate to stare at. "Yes. Yes, I'm very lucky." He spoke to her face this time. _Maker_.

Isabela winked across the table at Fenris, who snorted into his drink.

"Where's Artie and Aveline?" Anton asked, sitting next to Isabela and pulling out a chair for Cullen.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Fenris laughed, picking at the plate of fruit between them.

"Oh, no, see, now you have to tell me." Anton stared, wide-eyed and grinning, leaning forward over his tankard. Beside him, Cullen took a seat, still glancing awkwardly around the room.

"Aveline seems to have developed feelings, of some sort, for one of her guardsmen. I know the man, actually. He loses well." Fenris smiled to himself. "She's decided to ask your brother for relationship advice. For help getting them together."

Anton managed to gulp down the beer in his mouth before he could spit it out in laughter. "Relationship advice? From Artie? My brother has many talents, but he wrote the book on social awkwardness."

"He has to be doing something right," Isabela said, nudging Anton with her elbow, "to end up with such a luscious example of elfdom." She eyed Fenris up and down to illustrate. "So what advice did Artie offer her?"

"And let me guess," Anton said. "It involves alcohol."

Fenris truly wished he could deny that. "They will be downstairs, shortly. Take him out for a drink was where they ended up. I do hope not even Aveline can bollocks that up."

"Aveline's very competent!" Merrill said, as she walked in. "I'm sure whatever it is she's doing will be successful!" She left a chair between herself and Fenris, when she sat down.

"She's a very competent _guard captain_ ," Fenris clarified. "After listening to her plans to further her, er, 'relationship' with Guardsman Donnic, however, I begin to wonder how it is that she provided Artemis and myself with such excellent advice. I suspect it was because we were drunk for both the delivery and the execution."

"Is that how we ended up with a goat?" Anton asked, picking up the cards, to deal. "That's how we ended up with a goat, isn't it?"

"You proposed to me with your brother's goat, didn't you?" Cullen suddenly realised, shoving Anton's shoulder. "You cheap bastard!" He tried to look offended, but it was difficult to do while laughing.

"Are we recycling goats now?" Varric asked, picking up his cards. "Is that a Fereldan thing too?"

"That goat was an expression of love," Fenris muttered, picking up his. "An _expensive_ expression of love. I don't know how I feel about you passing it off to a templar."

"It was for a good cause!" Anton insisted. "Besides, Meredith didn't want to keep the goat, so what's the difference?"

Carver paused in the doorway on his way into the room, a pitcher in each hand. He looked longingly behind him and wondered if he should just leave before this conversation got any weirder.

Varric looked on the verge of choking, his face turning purple. " _Meredith_?" he sputtered. "You gave the goat to _Meredith_?"

"Well, Captain Clueless over here doesn't know where his mother is, so I couldn't give it to _her_!" Anton shrugged defensively. "I picked the next most obvious authority figure, and the one most likely to object! And she did object... to the goat, anyway. I think she objects to me, too, but she's smart enough to realise that's none of her business."

Carver edged into the room and took the seat next to Merrill, setting the pitchers on the table. "This is... why are we giving goats to the Knight-Commander? Is this some new tax on the city?" That or his brother had just proposed to the Knight-Captain, in the stupidest possible way, and he really didn't want to think about that. "Tell me it's just a tithe..."

"Of course it's not a tithe!" Isabela laughed and leaned down the table to grab a pitcher and refill her drink. "Your brother's in love!"

"I'm leaving home. That's it. I'm really just... enough with the goats and the screaming and all the craziness in that house." Carver pressed his hands to his face. "Why did I have to be born a Hawke? Weren't there other families in the world that actually wanted another son? Maker's breath, why me? Why this family?" He paused. "No offence, Cullen. Honestly. I like you just fine, and I'm so very sorry about my brother."

"Not as sorry as I am about mine," Anton said, kicking Carver's shin under the table. Carver jumped and glared at Anton. "Really? No 'congratulations, Anton'? Just straight to the 'woe is me' part of your whining?"

Merrill laid a hand on Carver's arm before he could say anything -- and it looked like he wanted to. "He's happy for you, of course," she told Anton. "We both are."

"Yes, yes," Carver sneered. "Congrats on the goat." He lifted his tankard sarcastically. 

Anton smiled tightly and made a note to ask Artemis to force push Carver down the stairs. Any stairs. Preferably stone ones. 

* * *

Down the current set of stairs, Donnic arrived. No other guardsmen seemed to have gotten there, just yet, but there was Artemis -- he'd finally taken the time to ask which Hawke that was -- holding down a table. That was odd, really. He'd heard this place was the preferred watering hole for most of the guard.

"Am I early?" he asked, sliding into the seat across from Artemis. "There seem to be surprisingly few guardsmen here, tonight."

"Oh, I'm sure your friends will be along shortly," Artemis said, plastering on his widest, friendliest smile. At least he hoped one person would be. Artie looked past Donnic's shoulder, trying to spot Aveline.

"Ah. Yes. Of course." Donnic smiled back, and Artemis saw his own discomfort reflected back to him in that smile.

Artie filled the awkward silence with a few gulps of rum.

"So, ah... How did you and the captain meet?" Donnic asked, fidgeting with the edge of the table.

Edwina took mercy on their awkwardness and came over to take Donnic's order. "It's weird," she said, picking up Artie's empty glass, "tonight's so quiet!"

"I'm sure everyone will be along in a bit. Supposed to be some kind of party or something." Donnic continued to fidget, looking after Edwina, as she went back to the bar. "But, really, she's never mentioned it, other than that you all came to Kirkwall together."

Artemis's thumbnail picked at the table, at an imperfection in the wood. "Ah. Well. Met during the Blight. There were darkspawn chasing us -- my family and me -- and everything was on fire." Donnic nodded, brows tilted in sympathy. Artemis paused. Should he mention Wesley? Should he bring up that she had a husband? Or that she ended up needing to stab him in the chest? That probably wasn't first date material. Then again, Artemis had never really had a 'first date' with anyone. Generally, they went straight to the groping. "Uh... anyway, we ran into Aveline on the road and watched her chop off a darkspawn's head. We thought it best to travel in numbers and so we did. She's a lovely woman, really. The captain. Aveline."

Donnic nodded, but Artie went back over that in his mind. He wanted to talk up Aveline, but too much and it would sound like _he_ was the one interested in her. "Very lovely. If you're, uh..." Artie coughed into his hand. "If you're into women, that is. Which I'm not." There. Now Donnic wouldn't make that mistake.

Donnic nodded again, this time looking towards the exit. Edwina arrived with another tankard for Artie, and he thanked her profusely. 

Fenris appeared on the stairs, having decided to see what was keeping Artemis so long. Surely Aveline would have arrived, by now, and taken his place at the table. But, no. There was no sign of Aveline anywhere.

He approached the table with a sigh. "Donnic! This is unexpected! Have you come to lose more coin to me?" He rested his hands on the back of Artemis's chair. "We have a game going, upstairs. It's a good one. You might even manage to win a hand, with this lot."

"No, no, I'm... enjoying the company of the charming Serah Hawke, while we wait for the rest of the company. I rather expected they'd be here, by now." Donnic looked extraordinarily distressed by the lack of other guardsmen.

"Enjoying the company--? Are you flirting with my fiancé?" Fenris teased, smile a little toothier than strictly necessary. "How much have you had to drink, m--" He coughed. "--my dear?"

Artemis waved the question aside, the sloppiness in the gesture answering Fenris better than his mage could. "You know I don't count when I drink," Artie said. And yes, that was his drunk voice. Fenris couldn't take him anywhere.

Donnic managed to look even more uncomfortable than before. "Oh. He's... your fiancé?" He glanced at the claws at the end of Fenris's gauntlets. "I... should go."

Artemis spotted Aveline peeking at them from around the corner. 

"See you at Reston's on Makersday!" Fenris offered, cheerily, as Donnic attempted to extract himself from this spectacularly awkward situation. "Why do I feel like we've been set up?" he growled against Artemis's ear. He had no idea what they'd been set up for, though. There was no obvious benefit to making them look like fools.

Donnic muttered something unintelligible, but agreeable, and hastened toward the door. Once he was out, Aveline slipped out of the corner and joined them. "I couldn't do it. What did he say?"

"Artemis is drunk," Fenris pointed out. "And I suspect your man was left with entirely the wrong impression."

"Impression? What impression?" Artemis slurred. "I was.... I was just being friendly. Waiting for you to show up." He pointed accusingly at Aveline.

Aveline shook her head at Artemis's state. "I'm an idiot," she sighed, looking helplessly at Fenris.

"Admitting it is the first step," Fenris said archly, carefully sliding the drink away from Artemis. Artemis who looked up at him with those large eyes. Fenris ignored him. "So what now?"

"Now I go hide in a hole and pretend none of this ever happened," Aveline sighed. "A deep hole. Maybe I should move back to Ferelden. I always liked spring in Ferelden."

"Hiding? You?" Fenris's shock was pure melodrama, complete with chest clutching and staggering back. "I thought you were the brave one of us, Madame Guardswoman!"

"I know, but the only place I'm not a mess is on patrol, and killing bandits doesn't really leave much time for banter." Gesturing frustratedly, Aveline sighed again.

"I beg to differ. Some of my best conversations on the nature of magic have been while relieving bandits of their tedious and treacherous lives. Once you get into the rhythm of it, there's nothing like a sword for punctuation." Fenris wrapped his arm around Artemis.

Artemis leaned back into Fenris, smiling lazily. "And your sword is very good at punctuating," he said. Aveline cleared her throat, and Artemis turned his attention back to her. "Oh! I have an idea. You and Donnic go on a patrol together. We'll clear the way for you, and you'll get a chance to talk to Donnic."

"Putting you in danger just makes it worse," Aveline said, shaking her head at her drunk friend.

"That's what he's here for." Artemis patted the arm wrapped around him.

Fenris looked like he might object, for a moment, but shrugged and nodded. "Years of experience guarding mages from treachery." He clicked his tongue, and his ears still jutted in that particularly annoyed fashion. "But, yes, presumptions aside, we would do this for you."

"You clear the way up the Wounded coast and I'll... live to regret this, I'm sure." Aveline shook her head.

"Come play cards with us. You haven't taken the night off in weeks," Fenris suggested. "And I'm down a seat, because he's not allowed to play, in this condition. -- Don't make those eyes at me. You remember what happened the last time you got drunk and lost. You're lucky Isabela didn't win."

"I-- yes, of course. That would be good. Cards. I can think about something else, for a while." Aveline nodded.

Artemis wobbled to his feet, slipping an arm around Fenris's waist and resting his chin on Fenris's shoulder. "I suppose I can find other ways to entertain myself while you play," he said, grinning against Fenris's ear.

Fenris exchanged a look with Aveline. "I'm already living to regret this," he said, his ear twitching as Artie tried to bite it. He led them both back upstairs.

"Where's Anders?" Merrill asked, drawing another card. "Did he get stuck at the clinic again?"

"Nah, Cormac dragged him off on some crazy foreign holiday or something. That or it's a quest for the perfect wedding gift for the man who steals everything." Varric picked up his tankard and held it out in Anton's direction, waiting for the clank, as he kept talking to Merrill. "Including the Knight-Captain's heart, apparently. How many years did it take you to get your dirty fingers on that prize, Stabby?"

"Not as long as you'd think," Cullen admitted, debating whether to add his other sock to the pot or just fold.

"Longer than it's going to take me to bet you naked," Anton teased. "But, it's always easy to get you naked."

"Only for you. Cheater." Cullen glared at his cards, as Fenris returned with Artemis and Aveline. "Your brother's on holiday?" Cullen wondered if that had anything to do with him.

"Yeah, wouldn't tell me where he was going. Didn't want to be disturbed on his romantic getaway, or some crap. Maybe he finally got a clue. You know they've been together almost six years, now?" Anton shook his head.

"Yes, but it's very, very non-exclusive," Isabela purred, and Fenris busied his hands with Artemis, not to clutch at his twitching ears. Non-exclusive indeed.

"Still, it's good that Anders has Cormac looking after him. He always works so hard. I worry." Merrill smiled and rearranged her hand. "Do you think he'll come back with a tan? He's so pale from all that time in Darktown."

"Maybe he won't come back at all," Fenris said, picking up his cards and using them to swat at Artie's hand when his mage reached for his drink.

"You don't mean that," Artemis said, leaning against Fenris's side and looking at his elf's cards. "Not when Anders cures your hangovers." 

"I'm not the one drinking," Fenris said as Artemis reached over and moved one of Fenris's cards. "What are you doing?"

"The order you have them in makes no sense. See? Now they make a pattern..."

"Is there a spell for hangovers?" Cullen asked. He looked around the table in surprise.

Varric snorted. "Asked the templar, who's surrounded by mages all day..."

"Well, the goal is usually to avoid being the object of spells. And I don't drink enough for it to have come up." He'd ask some of the other templars, but he doubted they'd give a straight answer to their captain.

"He says," Isabela said, dropping the Angel on the table and ending the round, "it's almost the same as the one for curing poisons. But, he's got a real talent with it, and I'd know. I was going to steal him away and take him out to sea with me, but he disappeared, and now I don't have a ship any more. Can you imagine? I'd have been unstoppable! I was still nearly unstoppable. Just a little accident with some bad weather. Oops!"

"No, you had a little accident with being _crazy_ ," Varric pointed out.

"Now, Varric, not in front of the guard captain!" Isabela chided him. "Stop cheating, Anton. You get to fondle your templar's clothes all the time. Save some for the rest of us!"

Cullen blushed. He really should have worn plate, tonight, but then he'd have had to explain how he managed to lose his platemail. Days after there had been a goat in his office. Maybe it was better he hadn't worn the plate. Still, he was only going to make it another three rounds, like this.

"Don't worry, Ser Templar, I'll win it back for you," Anton said, with a wink.

"I'm not sure if that makes me feel better," Cullen said, unhooking his belt and tossing it into the pot.

"Better naked than in an Orlesian maid's outfit," Artemis said, earning him an odd look from Cullen.

"As I recall, that ended rather well for you," Fenris replied, smirking. He showed his hand to Artemis, who grinned, approving of the pattern.

"You're marrying into this family," Carver told Cullen. "Willingly."

"He's willingly marrying into my family, and he hasn't even met them," Cullen pointed out. "That's faith. I really should find them, though. At least find out what happened... I mean, they were in the south..." He needed to send a letter. A few letters. There had to be other people he could ask. Maybe Solona had heard something -- she'd been at Ostagar, maybe she'd passed through on her way north. "I can't get married and not invite them, if they're still alive. I wouldn't still be alive if I did that. My sisters would murder me."

"It's always the sisters, isn't it?" Carver grumbled into his beer.

"I'm sure you'll find them," Aveline said. "No matter what happened. There's all kinds of outreach through the Chantry to get the blight survivors back to their families."

Anton sucked in a breath and held it for a moment, waiting for the inevitable comment from the brother who wasn't at the table. Obviously it didn't come. "As Cormac keeps pointing out, the south got hit hard, Aveline, and you know it. You were with us. I know there were people who ran before we did, but I've never heard from any of them again. There are no old faces in Kirkwall."

"You're also not really looking for them," Aveline pointed out. "Kirkwall's not the only place to go. There's the rest of the Marches, there's Orlais, there's Antiva, Nevarra -- Maker help me, I don't know why anyone would want to go to Nevarra..."

And, really, that was part of why Cullen hadn't tried looking for his family. If they hadn't made it, he'd rather not know. At least like this he could pretend, could dream that they were safe and happy. "Mia always did want to go to Antiva," he said. "Somewhere warmer, near the ocean. And she always was a fan of Antivan leather." And that was a nice thought, his sisters by the beach, safe and happy.

"I should like to meet her," Anton said. For Cullen's sake, he hoped his family was still alive. That and maybe they would balance out the chaos that was _his_ family at the wedding. 

Wedding. He was getting married. He'd proposed, but he still hadn't wrapped his head around it.

"I suspect she and Bethany would get along," Cullen said. He sighed at his cards. "Which is a scary thought, actually."

"It is," Carver agreed. "You should be very afraid. I should be very afraid. Two of my sister? One is enough."

"I'm all in favour of two of your sister!" Isabela winked at Carver and dealt the next hand.

"Izzy, that's _gross_!" Carver complained.

"Your sister's very nice, Carver. I don't know why you always say such things about her," Merrill protested, shoving a few copper across the table. "She's been trying to help me with my ... work."

"She's researching a really fascinating bit of elven history," Varric told Cullen. "And Sunshine's got the scholarly wit, in the family. Not much about elves, but you should see her work in Nevarran history. It's dense. I wouldn't want to drop it on my foot, if you get what I'm saying."

"Oh, Merrill, have you asked Cormac? I know he's much less... bookish, but elven legends are kind of his thing," Anton pointed out, rearranging his hand.

"Yes, I know. That's how I met him. Do you mean he did that to other tribes, as well? Maybe I _will_ ask him." Merrill laughed and drew a card. "I never even imagined he might -- not being an elf, you know?"

Artemis finally managed to steal another sip from Fenris's tankard. His elf sighed in defeat. "Yes, he did that to other tribes," Artie said. "Dragged me along a few times."

Merrill giggled into her hand. "Oh, I remember," she said. "Mahariel was rather taken with you."

Artemis groaned, and Fenris took his drink back to take a long swig himself. "Can we not talk about that? I'd rather not talk about that. But yes, ask Cormac. Maybe there's some useful information in that mad head of his."

Carver made a face like he'd eaten something sour. He drew the Angel this time.

The cards hit the table and points were tallied. Fenris smiled and claimed his winnings, after a few minutes of argument and checking Anton's sleeves.

"It doesn't matter if he cheated," Fenris pointed out, "I still have a better hand. And Ser Cullen's belt. I might let you buy that back from me, Anton."

Anton laughed. "Not going to bet it, so I can win it back from you?"

"If I bet it, that doesn't change the fact that you're going to lose. And it's still going to be mine." Fenris smirked across the table and scraped up the cards to deal another hand.

"It's kind of fun being a spectator," Artemis said, his cheek on Fenris's shoulder. "I'm not losing or shaming my ancestors, and I get to watch you kick their asses." He watched Fenris shuffle the cards and whispered the rest in his ear, "Plus I love watching your hands move and thinking about what you'll be using them for later."

Artie's hand disappeared beneath the table, and Fenris swore quietly, dropping the cards. " _Mage_." 

Isabela whooped as he picked them up and started over. Cullen cleared his throat awkwardly and looked down at his person. He was down a pair of shoes, socks, and a belt. The betting went around the table, and when it got to Cullen, Anton grinned. The templar looked around him, threw up his hands, and pulled his tunic over his head. This time Isabela _cheered_.

"This... this may be my last hand," Cullen laughed, looking down at himself again. "I'm, er, running out of things to bet. Can't walk back to the Gallows naked."

Anton grinned wider. "So, don't walk back to the Gallows. Come home with me, tonight. And the second point, I think I can get you something to walk home in -- as long as you don't bet that, too." He leaned in closer, but Isabela could still hear him. "Besides, I like the idea of walking you through half of town in just one layer, knowing I get to pull it off you as soon as we get in the door."

"You have a sister!" The words leapt out of Cullen's mouth and Carver glared across the table at Anton.

"Not you, too," he grumbled. "Is anyone in this family, other than me, not doing someone else in this family?"

"What?!" Cullen jumped up, smacking his knees on the underside of the table and sitting right back down, which served no purpose, in the end, than flashing his abs across the table.

Isabela's eyebrows shot up. "That's not what he said, but am I missing something? I'm going to ask your sister, if you don't tell me."

"Carver! Don't say things like that about your brothers. At least not where Varric can hear you!" Merrill rubbed Carver's arm.

"That's... what... ignore him," Artemis said, sputtering unconvincingly. This time when Artie reached for Fenris's drink, Fenris let him. "Carver, we went over this already. Or do I need to repeat my argument?"

Carver made a face, positioning his cards between him and Artemis. "Maker, no. Don't ever do that again." His brother was, he suspected, just drunk enough to make good on that threat too.

"Now I know I'm missing something good," Isabela purred, leaning over the table to look at them both. "What about you, Varric? You taking notes?"

"Always, Izzy."

Cullen was at least grateful everyone had stopped staring at his chest for the moment.

"I do wish Cormac was here," Isabela sighed, drawing a card. "He'd tell me what was going on. All of it. At length, and in detail, with lots of cursing and screeching in between. I'm sure I could get it out of you, Anton, but I'd almost feel funny rolling your dice under the table, now that you're practically a married man."

"You-- you and--?" Cullen's eyes darted to Isabela and he looked a little dizzy as he drew the Angel. "Crap," he sighed, laying his cards on the table.

"For a while. On and off." Anton grinned and laid out his cards. "It was funny running into her here in Kirkwall. Where was the last place we met, Izzy? ... First place, too, I guess."

"Oh, that _is_ a question, isn't it?" Tapping her teeth, Isabela arranged her cards, smugly. "That's where I almost stole you away, wasn't it? Couldn't do it, you know. Stealing people from other people is great fun. Winning people from themselves, in card games... I'm sure I could have found a use for you, but I don't think I'd have taken you with me. Not really."

"Well, you lost, anyway." Anton laughed.

Isabela dragged the shirt and coins toward her. "Are you sure?"

"Well, we were the ones stuck with him, so I'd say yes," said Artie. He raised his glass to Cullen. "And here's to the templar who's going to be stuck with him from now on!"

Cullen raised his glass in answer. "I don't mind being stuck with him. Not too much, anyway."

Anton quirked an eyebrow at him. "'Not too much'?"

"Well, you did propose with a goat."

Varric picked up a card. "You know," he said, "we all keep joking about that, but so far the goat proposal has gotten two yeses and no rejections. The Fereldan barbarians may have something here."

"It's a sign that I bought the right goat," Fenris said, picking up his cards as Cullen dealt. "And that you, serah, are a goat-thieving cheat. I bought that goat for your mother."

"Mum died. It's Cormac's goat, now, and he doesn't want the sodding thing. As you said, you bought the right goat! Why wouldn't I use the very best?" Anton very nearly sparkled with audacious pride. He glanced at Cullen. "Getting down to the interesting bets, now, Ser Templar?"

"I really shouldn't," Cullen protested.

"We promise not to send you home naked. Nobody should have to walk through Lowtown with nothing on," Varric reassured him. "However much you bet yourself out of, you'll still leave here in something that covers the important bits."

"Pants on the table," Isabela demanded, "if you think you're playing this hand."

"Best chance you have of winning back the rest of your clothes," Anton said, serenely organising his cards. "You're not getting them back, otherwise. The tunic is the most clothing Isabela's had in years, and Artie seems... greatly amused by your belt. Artie, how drunk are you?"

Artemis looked up from where he was tying the belt around Fenris's head. "Hm?"

"Right. So I second Izzy. Pants on the table." 

Isabela pounded her fists against the table and started a 'pants on the table chant'. Cullen looked at them, expression somewhere between amused and pained, and stood to unlace his trousers. Everyone cheered except for Carver.

"Are all templars such pushovers?" Carver asked. "Maybe that's what's wrong with this town."

"Or maybe it's just that you're a dick," Aveline suggested. They'd been right about the getting drunk part, at least. She felt much better about everything. Maybe she should've gotten drunk _before_ Donnic had showed up. Tossing a few more coins onto the pile, she drew and rearranged her hand.

"This is why I'm not in the guard, isn't it? It's because you think I'm a dick," Carver complained.

"No, it's because you _are_ a dick. You're a dick and you have a problem with authority, just like the rest of your family."

"I'll have you know I have no problems with authority whatsoever. I can get around anyone," Anton announced, rearranging his hand.

"You don't dispute being a dick, I notice," Varric pointed out, placing his bet.

"Why would I deny the truth? That's like saying fish don't exist or elves aren't people." Anton shook his head. "I'm a dick. Tell me something I don't know."

"Wait, hold on," Artemis slurred, peering around Fenris's belted head to squint at Aveline. "Am I included in this category of... of dickishness? The one who you asked to deliver the 'copper marigolds'? The one who... who sat downstairs, nervous-drinking, with your man? Or... your not-man. The man you want to be your man. That one."

Aveline shifted in her seat and looked like she was gearing up to say something, her freckled face mottled, when Fenris interrupted them both. "I would not say that you are a dick, Amatus, but that you have dickish tendencies." He met Artemis's offended stare with a flat look of his own. "Wax floors."

Artie opened and closed his mouth a few times. "...fair enough. But I'm not as big a dick as Carver."

Carver threw him a rude gesture.

"No," rumbled Fenris. "But I think the biggest dick isn't at this table."

"Are we talking about Cormac or Anders?" Isabela asked, grinning. "Because if we're talking about the biggest dick..."

Fenris had a distinctly uncomfortable thought and eyed Artemis, contemplatively.

"Is or _has_?" Anton shot a sidelong look at Isabela. "On second thought, don't answer that. I don't want to know any more of your opinions on my brother's junk. Did he pull that waxed floor thing on you, too, Fenris? Hah! I must have been... what, thirteen? Fourteen? We were staying a night at a tavern in ... I don't know. Some little town in the Bannorn, I think. And he was up all night, fidgeting and rearranging things. I don't know, I gave up and went to bed. I guess Cormac sat up with him, but I got out of bed in the morning, and just ended up hugging the floor for a while." He laughed. "And after we moved to Lothering, I swear this blighter started doing it on purpose. Shoving me around on the freshly waxed floor... You're such a dick, Artie. You really are."

Merrill drew the Angel, this time. "Oh, no! I almost had a good hand, too!"

Cullen laid down his hand, holding his breath, but Fenris's grin was full of teeth as he laid down his. "Oh damn," Cullen groaned. "Well, there go my pants. First time I've lost them to anyone but Anton in... years, I suppose."

Fenris darted glances at Artie and Anton, who both looked away. "I will take these," he said, sliding the winnings over, pants and all. "Here, Amatus. Something else to play with." He draped the pants over Artie's head. 

Isabela leaned forward over the table, her chin in her hands as she smiled ever so sweetly at Cullen. Cullen's answering smile was more scared than sweet, the blush on his cheeks taking on a uniform red that spilled down his chest. "No," he told pre-emptively. "I'm out. I have nothing else to -- no."

"You could still win something," Isabela smiled wider. "I'm not completely merciless. Well, unless I'm playing Fenris. I'm always merciless with him."

"I would expect no less of you. I'd hate to see you throw a game out of concern for my opinions." Fenris twitched and shot a faintly disapproving look at Artemis, but said nothing. "Still, the man is down to his very last article. It would be terribly rude if we made him shame both himself and Anton's... tastes." A hint of a smile played at the corner of his mouth, as his eyes met Isabela's across the table. He didn't care, either way, but this really did have the potential to make the next round even easier to win.

"You can't be serious," Carver complained. "You think he's going to bet his _smalls_?"

"Your last chance to walk out of here with more of your own clothes," Varric pointed out. "Assuming you win, of course."

Merrill hesitated, not dealing the hand until she knew who was playing. "I'm not sure what you're concerned about," she said. "I'm sure you're just as handsome without them as you are with them."

"She's not wrong," Anton said, grinning at his fiancé. 

Cullen squirmed, folding his arms in front of his chest. "It's not a matter of how 'handsome'," he muttered. "It's a matter of propriety." Yes. Scruples. He still had those.

"I know what you mean," Artemis said, nodding solemnly, an effect ruined when Cullen realised he was wearing the pants as a scarf. "You know what I say in that situation? 'Fuck propriety; have a drink!'" He slid his -- Fenris's -- half-empty tankard in front of Cullen.

"That explains so much," Aveline muttered to herself.

Anton nodded. "A few drinks will make almost anything sound like a much better idea. Besides, just think, I get to take you home with me, and they just get to stare. It's a tribute to your amazing body and my excellent taste."

Cullen's blush reached a point where it actually looked painful. 'Excellent taste' just brought all the wrong memories to the fore. He picked up the tankard and finished the drink without thinking, and Isabela reached over to pour him another one.

"Don't worry. I'm not going to let you get molested by pirates," Anton reassured him, and Isabela whined.

"Aww! You're no fun!"

"Unless you want to be molested by pirates, in which case all I want is a bottle of wine and a good view." Anton grinned. "And really, if you're going to go that way, I've known a lot of pirates, and Izzy's the one to go with."

"No! No pirates!" Cullen kept drinking. "Deal me in. I'm not taking them off unless I lose them." There. That seemed sensible. He just had to win this hand. He'd won a couple of hands! Just... not the last few. The last extremely several. Just not tonight. He'd won against other templars! He looked at Anton and said, "Next time, we're playing strip chess." He was much better at chess. Then again, Anton was much better at stripping.

Merrill dealt the cards, and Cullen sucked in a long breath as he picked up his. All right. Not a terrible hand, to start. Not great, either, but the kind he could work with. Everyone played their bets, sliding coin across the table until they got to Cullen, who merely gestured at his smalls. Anton grinned and patted his thigh.

"If I win, you can keep them," Carver muttered. "I've seen quite enough templar tonight."

"Oh, but have you really seen a templar," Isabela purred, "if you haven't seen his sword?"

More beer went into Cullen, as he tried to shape up his hand. Maker. Anton made it look so easy... Of course, rumour had it Anton was also _cheating_ , so that might have been some part of it.

"I've seen all the sword I need to see," Carver insisted. "I was thinking of joining the order, but if I'm watching the Knight-Captain strip over a game of cards, maybe it's not any better than staying at home."

"You're not related to any templars," Merrill reminded him. "That's what you said to me. 'I don't care if they dance the naked tango and howl at the moon, because at least they're not my brothers.' I don't see where a look at the Knight-Captain's sword is going to change the fact that he's not your brother."

"Soon to be brother-in-law," Anton reminded her. "And come on, Carver. Cullen is a... master swordsman, too. I'm sure he could give you a few pointers."

Carver turned red enough to let off steam. 

Cullen shook his head, eyes glazing over. "Please be talking about actual swords," he muttered. "There's too much drink in me and not enough clothes on me for sword puns."

"Joke's on you," Aveline said, drawing a card. "I'm a better swordsman than either of you."

Varric nearly choked on his beer. "Please tell me we're talking about actual swords _now_."

"Sure," Aveline said with a sweet smile. She turned over the card in her hand: the Angel of Death.

It wasn't the best hand he'd ever had, but it wasn't bad. He'd won games with hands like this, before. Cullen laid his cards on the table, chin tipped up with a confidence he didn't feel at all. In fact, the only thing he could feel was a bit of a draught.

"Oh, this one might be mine," Anton said, spreading out his own cards.

"Not quite." Fenris's hand was just a little better.

"Oh! Fenris, I beat you!" Merrill slapped her cards onto the table with a cheery smile. 

"I said you'd do it, eventually." Fenris twitched again, muttering things that might have been Tevene obscenities, as he eyed Artemis pleadingly.

"Children, children..." Isabela laid her cards out one by one. "Let the captain show you how it's done." Her smile verged on wolfish as she turned it on Cullen.

Cullen stared down at her cards, checked and rechecked them to be sure, and then let out a tiny 'eep'. Next to him, Anton was biting his knuckle to keep from laughing, but Cullen could see his shoulders shaking. 

Isabela sat back in her chair, arms behind her head. "Pay up, Ser Cullen," she said. "But no need to rush. Take your time. Make it worth my while."

Cullen looked about him for help but found none. Expectant eyes watched him around the table, and he muttered a curse, scooting his chair as close to the table as he could and trying to shimmy out of his smalls without standing up. He jarred his knee against the leg a couple times but was ultimately successful. He flung the smalls at Isabela, who caught them gleefully, and cupped both hands over his groin, knees pressed together.

"Oh ho, aren't these cute," Isabela said, holding them up for everyone to see. "A bit skimpy for a Knight-Captain, if a boring colour. Now, Cullen, I know this lovely shop..."

At the other end of the table, Aveline snickered into her beer. "Mint," she said.

Fenris's ears twitched.

"They're perfectly sensible!" Cullen protested, debating whether pulling Anton into his lap would make the situation better or worse.

Isabela leaned back and looked down the table. "I still think they're a little scant for those ... magnae nates."

"Your accent is still horrible," Fenris groaned, regretting everything that had happened that entire week, at least until he finally made it home.

"Magnae what-es?" Artemis slurred. He peered at Fenris, then at Isabela. "Was that Tevene? How do you know Tevene?"

"She just knows a few words," Fenris muttered. "In theory, anyway. With her pronunciation, she might as well know none."

Artemis sat back to look at him, blinking a few times to get him to focus. "Your ears are fluttering," he said. He reached out and tried to pinch one but missed. "Why are your ears fluttering?"

Cullen looked across the table. This was getting some kind of serious, and he had no pants. He reached over and manhandled Anton into his lap. "It's not like I have anything left to get into another hand with!" he hissed at Varric's amused and bemused look. "I don't need to see the table!"

"Ooooh!" Isabela leaned over the table. The Hawke-hefting beside her was interesting, but not as interesting as the fact that Fenris still hadn't taught his Hawke any dirty words. "Still not dancing the irrumambo? Still not using your best weapon to its greatest potential?"

"I was very drunk at the time," Fenris muttered to Artemis. "It was... that book. You remember that accursed book. You helped her stab it. I was translating. I was very drunk. Now you know what _I_ do when I'm very drunk." That wasn't quite true, but he'd had to be very drunk to discuss any of those words.

"Clearly I have not gotten you drunk enough," Artemis said. He almost looked hurt. "Those were naughty Tevene words, as I remember. You never say naughty Tevene words to me. Well, not unless you're cursing at me and calling me a mattress fucker--"

"Fututor matris. Motherfucker."

"Ohh, see, that makes much more sense." Fenris squirmed a bit, and Artemis tugged on the tail of the belt still on his head. "So what's a magnae nates?" he asked, voice pitched low. He cast about for Fenris's drink -- if his elf needed to be drunk for this, he was going to be drunk for this -- but remembered he had given it to Cullen. Damn it. 

"Great buttocks," Fenris muttered, grabbing the nearest tankard and refilling it. "And I'll teach you to say it right, when we get home. Now is not the time or the place."

"Please don't teach--" Carver paused. "No, please do teach him dirty words in other languages. Maybe it'll stop anyone from understanding him, when he's ... drunk enough to use them."

"I'm not learning to write in Tevene," Varric grumbled. "I will make up dialogue in Common, and it will not be flattering."

"You-- you're writing a book?" Cullen leaned out from behind Anton. "Oh, please don't put this in the book. My entire _career_ will go down in flames."

"You say things like that, and I definitely want to put it in the book. Nothing personal." Varric laughed and poured himself another drink. "But, it won't have your name on it. How's that?"

Cullen groaned, resting his forehead against Anton's nape. "Or my rank," he insisted. "Or... Maker's breath. Everyone will know who it is if you include the goat. It's become something of a legend in the Gallows already."

"Oh, I'm definitely including the goat," Varric said, grinning. "But don't worry. This isn't half as embarrassing as most of the scenes with Artie."

"And suddenly I'm not drunk enough for this," Artemis groaned. And this was considering that Varric didn't know about the worst of it. Or at least Artie hoped. Maker. 

"You are always plenty drunk enough, all the time," Carver replied. "Which is why I will look like the sane sibling in this book."

"Sane might be stretching it." Varric gestured uncertainly.

"Cullen, tell me the order's accepting recruits," Carver said, not looking anywhere near the naked Knight-Captain. 

"You're a little old, but you've got some basic background in combat already. Anton tells me you were a soldier?" Cullen peered around the side of Anton's shoulder.

"I was. Served at Ostagar, same as Aveline." Carver shot a dirty look down the table, and Aveline shrugged.

"Not my fault you're a dick."

"I'll warn you our recruits aren't much saner than your family. And occasionally a lot less clothed... Good people, though." Cullen stared until he caught Carver's eye. "If you do this, you make sure you do this for the right reason. I can't afford any more men who can't protect their charges. I can't afford another Alrik."

Artemis's eye caught Anton's. He looked about instinctively to catch Cormac's reaction only to remember that he wasn't there. Suddenly Artie was aware that he was the oldest sibling at the table and for the first time considered that he was _too_ drunk for this conversation. His baby brother, a templar? That was one way to sober up fast.

"That's... it sounds like you've been considering this a while," he said in as neutral tone he could manage. He toyed with Cullen's pants, which he still had wrapped around his neck. There was a loose thread there, close to the hem. "And, Cullen, my youngest brother may be a dick, but he's no Alrik."

Cullen blinked against the back of Anton's neck. "You knew Alrik?" he asked.

"We met. Briefly. Long enough to know he was in a different category of dickishness."

"Anders knew him better than we did," Anton said, "but, yeah, that's not my brother. He's an obnoxious little fuck with all the sense the Maker granted a wet parsnip, but he's not... like that. Tell him what you think of mages, Carver."

"I think the next time I get force pushed down a flight of stairs, someone's going to have a fucking broken nose, that's what," Carver snapped. "My dad was a mage. There's only so much shit anybody gets to talk about my dad."

Cullen noticed he didn't mention his brother. Anton must not have told him, and that was very interesting. "With the rate we've been losing men, the last few years, I'm sure we'll be happy to have the extra hands. Just be careful how you talk about your father, and let me know if anyone starts with you about him."

Carver straightened a bit in his seat. "I will," he said. "Of course." 

Next to him, Merrill smiled. But it was the smile of the resigned, of someone who knew this was coming, in some form or other. Artemis looked at her but not at Carver. He kept what he wanted to say behind his teeth. Even drunk him had enough to sense to do that, with a templar present.

"So," sighed Fenris, squeezing Artemis's hand under the table, "it appears the game is at an end. I think, perhaps, I should bring my fiancé home before he finds more creative uses for those pants." He adjusted the belt on his head.

"Come on, Curly, let's get you something to wear. I'd spot you a pair of pants, but I don't think I'm your size." Varric laughed and stood up, heading for the slightly more private part of his suite.

"Do you know what I'm going to do with these?" Isabela asked, holding up the smalls. "I think I'm going to have them mounted, so I can hang them on the wall."

Aveline scoffed. "You wouldn't. Not even you would hang underwear on the wall."

"You'd be very surprised what hangs on my wall." Isabela winked. "Anton, once your templar is fit to be seen in the hall, how about I show you two the very spot I mean to hang them? It's a real place of pride. I've been waiting a long while for something worth putting _there_."

Varric returned with a bedsheet. "Best I could do on short notice."

Cullen looked at the bedsheet and sighed. "Better than hiding in the bushes, I suppose. Thank you." The sheet replaced Anton as his lap-covering of choice. At least while they were in public. 

Fenris escorted Artemis to the door, an arm around his drunk mage's waist. As they passed Carver and Merrill, Artie stopped to pat Carver's arm. "You _are_ a dick, you know," he reminded his brother cheerfully, earning him a scowl from the dick in question. "No, but shh, it's okay. Because I like dicks."

Carver and Fenris groaned in unison, for different if related reasons. "Yes. I know," Carver reassured him. "We all know. All of Kirkwall knows. Please don't kiss me again."

"I'll just..." Fenris sighed. "Yes." He tugged Artemis towards the door again.

By the time they'd left, Cullen had wrapped the sheet around himself and with an ease that indicated he might have done this before. He faced Isabela with a resigned look.

"Is that a hidden mastery of bedsheet fashion?" Isabela asked. "Maybe another one of those templar skills, or just one of those teenage window-jumping skills?"

"Sorry to disappoint, but I joined the order at thirteen. No window-jumping in my past. I--" Cullen cleared his throat. "I suppose that makes it a templar skill."

"A skill he had before he started wearing my bedsheets, that's for sure." Anton ran a hand down Cullen's back, blocking the view with his body, and gave Cullen's bottom a quick squeeze. "If you end up hanging his smalls off something's antlers, Izzy, you're not invited to the wedding."

"No antlers in my room! I hunt a different kind of game!" Isabela laughed and led them out, as Aveline and Carver helped Varric clean up.

"Does that worry you?" Cullen asked Anton. "Because it worries me."

Anton's answering smile did not reassure him. Nor did the encouraging bum pat nudging him forward. Isabela ushered them into her room, holding the door open and flourishing her free hand. A map spanned the length of one wall, while on another...

"Oh my." Cullen's eyebrows shot up. His blush returned in full force. "Is that...? A _horse_? Really?"

Anton blinked at Cullen. That response was _quick_.

Isabela smiled brightly. "That, right there, is the one thing Cormac would never let me put into him, and I've put an awful lot of wonderful things in Cormac. Ooh, and he just never stops begging for it!" She shivered with delight. "But, I was thinking I'd put your smalls right on the other side of the mirror. I've been waiting for the perfect thing to offset the stallion."

"Okay, let's stop talking about things you've done to my brother and... I'd ask why ... _that_ , but I'm afraid you'd tell me." Anton looked nothing but horrified. It wasn't that he hadn't seen it before, it was just that he'd always interpreted it as a weird design for a coathook or something. But, now that Cullen had said it... He'd been around enough horses... "How the fuck do you even--?"

"I grew up on a farm. Didn't you?" Cullen looked a little confused by the question. "Same town, same time?"

"And yet I somehow managed to miss the 'horse penis' part of the farm tour," Anton said, eyes still a little bugged. He turned away, rubbed his eyes, and blinked them open again. "Nope. Can't unsee it."

Isabela grinned like a madwoman, holding the smalls up to the wall on the opposite side of the mirror. "What do you think, Ser Cullen? Does it look even to you?"

"I'm... really not sure how to read that juxtaposition," Cullen said. "My smalls. Horse penis."

Anton was still rubbing his eyes. "I elect to read it as Cormac doesn't want to fuck you. I like that as an interpretation. I'm extremely comfortable with that idea."

"Or I could take it as... a compliment? I suppose..." Cullen blinked and tipped his head.

"I like to read it as two impossible things. I enjoy collecting impossible things almost as much as I enjoy doing impossible things." Isabela smiled wickedly at Cullen. "How do you think he'd handle two captains at once, Captain?"

Standing in front of the mirror, between two impossible things and two more impossible people, Cullen could see himself turn a shade redder. "I... er..."

"Oh, I could handle it," Anton said, recovering enough to turn back around. He tried and failed not to stare at the horse penis. Shaking it from his mind, Anton wound his arms around Cullen, resting his chin on Cullen's shoulder. He smiled at his blushing templar in the mirror. "I'm not sure _this_ captain could, however."

Cullen cleared his throat. "He's right, I'm afraid," he said. He was once again reminded of how little clothing he was wearing.

"Pity. Well, if you boys change your mind, you know where to find me." Isabela winked and waved them toward the door. "I'm keeping your smalls, though. It's going to take a lot to part me from those. What a win!"


	96. Chapter 96

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conclusion. A solution. A return.

Cullen showed up at the door with orchids, like he hadn't done in years. It seemed like the only reasonable way to approach the problem. Well, the solution. He supposed he was the problem. Anton's brother still hadn't returned from wherever he'd gone, and the family was understandably tense, moreso now that another brother had signed on with the order. He couldn't bring himself to destroy a family like that, especially not Anton's family.  
  
Bodhan looked entirely unsurprised to see him, and they talked a bit about Sandal and the goat, as they walked through the house. "Ser Cullen to see you, messere," Bodhan said, before ducking out.  
  
Anton put down the lock he'd been futzing with, and looked up. Orchids? Now? Had he forgotten something important? "In the middle of the day, even? Goodness, how do you get any work done?" he purred, standing up and wrapping his arms around Cullen.  
  
"What can I say?" Cullen said, squeezing Anton to him with his free arm. "You are a distraction even when you're not in the room." Which was true, Maker help him. Even after years of this. "But I came to talk, actually. Or to apologise rather."  
  
Anton pulled back to look at his templar. "Whatever for?" he asked. "You didn't play strip Wicked Grace without me, did you?"  
  
Cullen chuffed. "No, that was... no. I'd rather not lose my entire wardrobe." He pulled away from Anton long enough to set down the orchids on an end table. "It's about your brother, actually. Cormac."  
  
"You've decided, then?" Anton made an effort to look unaffected, but he still paled. The orchids, an apology... He'd have to tell Varric. And then Cormac would never come home.  
  
"I'm sorry I thought about taking away your brother. I-- it's my job. But, I can't do that. Not when I can't promise him safety, in the Gallows. You brought me the evidence. I don't know if the problem is solved, and I can't do that to your family. I can't do that to you. Maybe one day, but not now. Not soon." Cullen left out the part where Cormac would probably be sent away, anyway, to keep him away from his family, to make it harder to run. He'd never much liked that idea -- it seemed like letting mages see their families would make them run _less_. "Not until I see changes. It's not somewhere I'd trust my family, and your family is my family, now. Or, well, it will be. If I wouldn't put my sister there, I shouldn't put your brother there."  
  
Anton was practically dizzy with relief. "Thank the Maker," he breathed. "And thank _you_." It almost gave him hope for the order, that they had a man like Cullen as captain. The man deserved that goat.  
  
Cullen smiled and kissed Anton's cheek, pleased to see the tension finally leave his fiancé's shoulders. "I'm sorry I put you and your family through that," he said. He'd already said as much, but one apology didn't feel like enough. He wondered what that said about him as a templar, as a captain, and wondered if he was being a hypocrite, that he'd spare a mage he knew but not one he didn't. But surely Cullen could keep as much an eye on Cormac here as he could in the Gallows?  
  


* * *

  
Cormac threw open the door, Anders slung over one of his shoulders and a porter from the docks following with a cart full of bags. Far more bags than they'd left with. "Rum and wenches, serah!" he shouted boisterously, as Bodhan came around the corner, into the hall. "Actually, sandwiches. Cheese plate. Something that isn't hardtack and dried fruit. And a couch that isn't rolling. Let us not get on another boat, in weather like that, hey, Anders?"  
  
"You can put me down any time. I'm pretty sure I can stand up, now. I'm pretty sure I could stand up, then, too," Anders muttered, before he bit Cormac square on the ass.  
  
Cormac shrieked and almost dropped him. "Maker-damned mountain savage!" he swore, turning to the porter, as he fished out a few coins. "That's fine. Thanks for the help."  
  
Anton walked down the stairs, hands in his pockets, and Mintaka scampered off ahead of him, little nub of a tail wriggling. The dog snuffled at Cormac's feet and pawed at his leg, whining for pets.  
  
"Really, Mintaka," Anton huffed, reaching down to scratch behind the dog's ears. "One would think you were starved for attention." He straightened, grinning at his brother. "Welcome back, Cormac. Anders's ass." He nodded to each in turn.  
  
"My ass thanks you," Anders replied, waving at Anton as best he could from the awkward angle.  
  
"Your amazing network of people who don't know enough to be dangerous worked exactly as intended. We got the news, and here we are!" Cormac grinned and finally set Anders down. "And now I think maybe I'll lie on the floor a bit. Which is rolling like a wave, by virtue of being the first non-rolling thing I've been on in a day and a half. Keep talking! I'm just going to hold on to the floor for a bit."  
  
"You weren't like this when we went up the river for that, er, hunting party," Anton pointed out.   
  
"That was a river. This was not." Cormac lowered himself to the floor and sprawled, face down, holding on to the tile. "Merciful Andraste. It's a floor. It doesn't smell like salt and fish."  
  
"You should join us in the sitting room," Anders decided, handing a bag to Anton. "We brought back strange and exotic things from the north. Not that we were anywhere near the north, because I'm not suicidal, but other ports are fun!"  
  
"I'm not getting off the floor. It's a floor. It's magically unmagical and not moving." Cormac suddenly got even more still and tilted his head to look up at Anton. "Artie's not here, is he? I'm not feeling the urge to be used as a mop."  
  
"No, Artie's not here," Anton answered, grinning. "There's a chance the floor wouldn't be 'unmoving' if he were."  
  
Anders cringed and laughed. "There's a point," he said. "Though I can't say his earthquakes have ever made me seasick."  
  
"Not something I need to think about, Anders," Anton said. It was, he supposed, his fault for bringing it up. "And no, I'm afraid the welcoming party is limited to Mintaka, Bethany, and myself. Well, Bethany when she's done with... whatever it is she's doing, exactly. I saw a row of skulls and wasn't about to ask."  
  
Anders bent down and rolled Cormac over -- a move met with a dreadful groan -- before sweeping him off the floor and heading toward the drawing room.  
  
"Holy shit, Anders, put me down! I weigh like two of you! You're going to drop me! The floor is further away than I like it!" Cormac wrapped both arms around Anders's neck and held on, wide-eyed and a little green around the edges. "Please don't drop me. I'll be so sad. And I'll probably barf. And Artie will kill us both."  
  
Anton followed behind them, laughing. "Did you always suck at getting picked up? I think you did. I was pretty small, but I don't ever remember dad picking you up."  
  
"Not by the time you were old enough to be paying attention," Cormac said, as Anders deposited him on a couch. He groaned and clutched at the cushions. "A saint. You are a saint. The holy apostate has brought me to the cushions, and now I can hold on to the squishy thing that is not a boat. Of course, if we're on squishy things that aren't boats..."  
  
"Isabela's not here, either," Anders said, picking up Cormac's legs long enough to sit down and drop them in his lap.  
  
"What did we miss? Anything exciting, other than your not-a-boyfriend's change of heart?" Cormac asked, as Bodhan came in with a tray of cheeses and meats.  
  
'Not-a-boyfriend'. Ha. Cormac had missed more than Anton had realised. "Oh, nothing exciting," Anton said, pausing to nibble on a slice of cheese. "Bethany had some breakthrough or other in her research, Mintaka got dog fur on your bed, Artie spent most of the time drunk, Carver joined the templars, and I asked Cullen to marry me."  
  
"What!?" Cormac sat up so fast he nearly headbutted Anders's shoulder. "This is 'it's fine, come home'!? Our little brother is a _templar_?" Cormac breathed a few more times, before any more words came out of him.  
  
"Congratulations," Anders said, "assuming you're doing this because you want to, and not as part of some extended bribe."  
  
"No bribing," Anton answered, "though I suspect it helped. I brought him a goat and everything. Well. Fenris's goat, the one he gave Mum. And technically I gave it to Meredith, though she wanted nothing to do with it."  
  
"Meredith?" Anders squeaked. He bit his lip to keep from bursting into laughter. "You brought Meredith a goat."  
  
"Well, I didn't know where Cullen's mother was, so I figured she was the next best thing!"  
  
"You gave a goat to Meredith. You gave a goat, our mother's goat, technically -- my goat, if you want to get really specific -- to the Knight-Commander?" Cormac _did_ laugh. "Did Artie and Fenris find out? Does this have anything to do with why Carver is now a templar? Is he-- oh, Maker -- is he trying to _protect_ us?" Cormac stopped laughing. "I should probably let him punch me in the face, shouldn't I?"  
  
"Just don't let him punch you in anything I'm still using!" Anders teased.  
  
"You're a healer. What do you care?" Cormac pinched Anders on the shoulder.  
  
"Protecting the family?" Anton said. "Maybe. There's also the chance that he is fed up with us and just wants out." He shrugged. "Then again, maybe it's a bit of both. Bethany seemed less surprised by it than I'd expect, but Artie seemed hurt. Then again, Artie was using Cullen's pants as a scarf at the time, so..."  
  
"Oh dear." Anders raised his eyebrows. "We didn't have a repeat of that infamous party, did we?"  
  
"Ha. No. Artie managed to keep his clothes on, for once."  
  
"Do I want to know what your pet templar was doing, in a room with our brother, without his pants on? Or how our brother managed to keep his _own_ pants on, given that you said he was drunk the whole time I was gone?" Cormac looked amused.  
  
"I'm equally interested in that answer. Has Fenris discovered some new talent for keeping Artie's pants on? Perhaps glue on the knots?" Anders's eyebrows hadn't come down yet.  
  
"You'd have to ask Fenris about that last one," Anton answered with a cringing laugh. "As for why my templar was pantsless, it was Wicked Grace night, and Cullen ran out of coin to wager. Fenris won his pants and belt while Izzy won his tunic and smalls." He thought of where those smalls were now and shuddered. "Izzy has those smalls up on the wall next to an, uh, other trophy of hers." He looked meaningfully at Cormac.  
  
Cormac blinked and looked slowly over at Anton. "So, you've met that, have you? Even I have limits."  
  
Limits... But, Cormac had said... "She hung it on the wall!?" Anders's eyebrows looked like they might become migratory, if they climbed any higher.  
  
"Of course she hung it on the wall. What else was she going to do with it?" Cormac shrugged and finally laid back down, resting his head on the arm of the couch. "Did you see the little plaque under it? 'Conquered Cormac's Cockiness, 9:32 Dragon'. No mercy, not that I ever expected it from her."  
  
"Mercy is not part of her charm, no," Anders shook his head. "I was more terrified of her when she left my room than when she'd walked into it, but that didn't stop me from going back for more! And now, I just don't have the time... Where did all my time go?"  
  
"Up Cormac's ass, I suspect," Anton said. And there was a visual he didn't need to give himself. Best to change the subject before he gave himself nightmares. "By the way, the cats missed you. Terribly. They've been cuddling with Sandal and the goat, but Mintaka keeps trying to terrorise them. Or they keep trying to terrorise Mintaka. It's a bit hard to tell with those furballs, really."  
  
At Anton's feet, Mintaka whined in agreement.  
  
Anders chuckled. "We leave for a short holiday, and everyone goes crazy," he teased.   
  
"Andraste's finely sculpted posterior," Cormac swore, "I take a week up the coast, and everything happens. That's it. I'm never leaving home again. You're stuck with me, Anton. I suppose I have to start shopping for wedding gifts, now... Two of my brothers getting married?" He shook his head. "Two brothers getting married and another one licking lyrium with a bunch of fanatics. Dad would be rolling over in his tomb, if we were Nevarran."  
  
"Yes, but just think, none of them are producing grandchildren," Anders pointed out. "He wouldn't be stuck with another generation of you ... extremely flavourful nutbars running around the house."  
  
"Assbiter hasn't tried to eat the goat? Are we still calling it 'goat'? Does it have a name?" Cormac snagged a few slices of cheese and rolled them up, stuffing them in his mouth.  
  
"Maybe you should ask Fenris," Anders suggested.  
  
"If it's friends with Sandal, maybe we should just call it 'Enchantgoat'."   
  
"Engoatment?" Anton suggested. He made a sandwich out of a slice of meat and two slices of cheese and stuffed it into his mouth. "I swear Sandal and the goat have developed their own language. It's a bit frightening, really. The last thing we need is for Sandal to enchant the goat so that it farts rainbows or something."  
  
"Now _that_ would be a goat worthy of proposing with," Anders replied.  
  
"Well, the goat already has a perfect proposal record," Anton reminded him. "Why mess with something that already works?"  
  
"Remind me to keep that goat away from you," Cormac muttered around a few slices of meat.   
  
"Oh, don't worry. I don't want to ruin the enchantgoat's perfect record by turning you down in front of it." Anders laughed. "It wouldn't work, even if it did fart rainbows. It could shit healing runes, and I still wouldn't marry you."  
  
Cormac smiled fondly and reached for the cheese again. "Thank the Maker for that. I think the Chantry would spontaneously combust from the irony."  
  
"If I thought that was true, I might actually say yes." Anders snorted.  
  
"Oh, don't. Bethy would be so pissed if we accidentally dropped the Chantry on Sebastian." Cormac seemed intent on discovering exactly how much ham he could fit in his mouth at once.  
  
Anton watched this display for a moment and rolled his eyes. "Once you're done discovering how much meat fits into your face-hole--" he began.  
  
"Ohh, he knows just how much--"  
  
"Anders, no." Anton held up a hand. He supposed he walked into that one, but he really didn't need the visual. "When you're done, Cormac... can you tell me what the fuck you meant about giving me the house before you left?"  
  
"I mmmt..." Cormac swallowed some of the mass of half-chewed meat. "I meant I don't know how to house. The gardens are going to shit. I'm sure we need .. things? And people? You're the nobleman in the family. Make the house work like a house. I'll take care of making it defensible, in case of ... things. Orlesians. Qunari. Irate gentlemen in platemail who disapprove of your marriage." A sliver of ham flipped up and landed on Cormac's nose. He blinked and stuck it back in his mouth before swallowing again. "This is why I was supposed to wait until I was done, wasn't it."  
  
"And _I'm_ the savage," Anders complained. "I see how you are."  
  
"I see," Anton said, nibbling on a piece of cheese to give himself a chance to think that over. "Irate gentlemen in platemail _have_ been a problem in the past. Perhaps we should install a moat? With a drawbridge into Hightown?" He folded up another piece of cheese and tossed it into his mouth. The house was Cormac's to do with what he wanted. If Cormac wanted him to have the house, that was his choice, but... "Shouldn't you at least discuss this with Artie, first?"  
  
"Why? Artie's got a house. This one is my house. And now it's your house. Just... I don't know, don't kick us out, I guess." Cormac laughed and choked on a bit of ham, rolling over onto his side, for a moment to cough. "I know we're loud. I know we're obnoxious, but I'd really appreciate not being put out on my ass, seeing as I just gave you a house and all."  
  
"Please? I'll invest in a gag, if I have to," Anders said, covering Cormac's mouth with one hand, until the noises of complaint stopped.  
  
"No damned gags, Anders. You know why." Cormac looked mildly annoyed. "And no moat. The Viscount would have our heads for breaking up the street like that. Maybe some more stained glass, though. The lines conceal a multitude of sins and salvations."  
  
Anton was still trying to process this. His house, this place... his? All this only a few years after fleeing Lothering with nothing but his family and the shirt on his back. "A house... a future husband... People are going to start thinking I'm respectable, and we can't have that."  
  
"Throw a few parties," Anders suggested. "I'll sure that will give them the right impression."  
  
Anton grinned around a mouthful of ham. "All right," he said. "If you want me to play house, I will play house. I'm still going to petition the Viscount for a moat."  
  
"If you win us the right to build a moat, I will know I made the right decision. There will be no question that you are truly the heir to the glory of the Amells. Of course, Anders is also right. Our granddad made his name on parties. You've got some powerful expectations, there, but I'm sure you can outdo even the memories of the elderly Orlesian contingent." Cormac grinned across the table. "This isn't the life I was meant to have. It's yours, and I'll make sure you get to keep it, as long as I can. That's what I'm here for, and you know it."


	97. Chapter 97

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AVELINE NO. CORMAC NO. ANDRASTE'S FLAMING ASS, FENRIS! AVELINE YES.

Aveline's palms were sweaty inside her gloves, and she stretched her fingers, trying to get her skin to unstick from the fabric. Donnic walked next to and a little ahead of her, platemail clanking with each step. She shouldn't have agreed to this. This wasn't going to work. They were taking too long and --

Up ahead, a signal fire lit up the path. Right. So no one had died then. This was her chance to say something, anything. Words. What were words.

"So this route's pretty quiet," Donnic said, slowing so that they walked more in step with each other.

Or he could say something first. Yes. That was much simpler. "Yes," Aveline said, perhaps too eagerly, "and it's... a real nice night for an evening."

"Uh, as you say, Captain."

Donnic walked ahead of her again, and Aveline laughed weakly. "Yes," she muttered, "as I say." 

Maker. She was better off not talking.

* * *

Ahead of them, Aveline's friends cleared out more bandits. What was it with the bandits on the coast, this particular weekend? Isabela and Anton had just been up this way a couple weeks ago, and made a point of clearing out this stretch of coast. Still, it was near the city, so it was the obvious place to bring in questionable cargo. 

Varric recovered what bolts he could, from the latest round of corpses, while Isabela opened up that questionable cargo. "Pants," she said. "What is it with Kirkwall and pants?"

"I can think of numerous occasions for which more pants might have been a solution," Fenris said, poking through a chest she'd left open. He tossed a pair to Artemis. "These would look good on you, I think. If they're the right size."

"I think that's the first time I've ever heard you tell my brother to put pants on," Cormac laughed. "Aren't you usually the one who wants less pants on him?"

Fenris turned on Cormac, and promptly bit his tongue. He took a breath. "But, there is a certain joy in choosing something good to be taken out of, is there not?"

Artemis made a face, holding the pants out by the waistband and looking them over. "It looks like these pants were... well-loved," he said, which was another way of saying that someone else's crotch had been in those pants. Some stranger's crotch. "I could clean them, but they're a bit worn in the knees."

"They would be a good style on you, though," said Merrill brightly. "I can see why the bandits liked them."

"We'll have a pair like that made for you when we go back to Kirkwall," Fenris said. Then, in Artie's ear, he added, "And then you can wear _those_ in in the knees." 

Artie smirked and blushed, throwing the pants in Fenris's face.

"Hey, hey. We're here for Aveline's dirty shenanigans, not yours," Varric reminded them, as they set off along the coast, keeping just far enough ahead of Aveline to be sure nothing got behind them, but to still have time to throw the corpses into the sea.

"Oh, Cormac, I keep forgetting to ask you..." Merrill caught up to him. "Why did you choose to have 'attractive buttocks' tattooed on your face? And who did you get to do that? The work is really very nice."

"Oh, shit." Cormac clapped a hand over his eyes and dragged it down his face. Of course Merrill would know.

"He has what tattooed on his face? No, that's just some lines. There's no butt on his face!" Isabela spun around and danced backward to get in front of Cormac and check.

"It's elven calligraphy -- the type used for tattoos. That's why it took me so long to be sure. It couldn't possibly be that, because who would write that on someone's face? But..." Merrill shrugged. "I don't mean to be rude, but knowing you, it does seem like the sort of thing you would do."

"I didn't do it on purpose!" Cormac complained, to the sky.

"Oh, you accidentally got 'nice ass' tattooed on your face?" Varric asked. "This I gotta hear."

"Where do I even start... Let's start with I'm not Andrastian." Cormac shrugged. "I know it's the only thing going, these days, on the surface, but I'm a mage. It doesn't really appeal. The core was pretty solid, but I just can't handle what people are doing with it. So, I gave it up. Dad and I had a big fight about it."

"I'm not seeing what this has to do with getting a disclaimer about your ass on your face," Isabela said, still walking backward.

Merrill's eyes got wide. "Oh, no. You didn't..."

"I might have." Cormac shot Merrill a pained look. "I ... did. The Tevinter gods were dead or dying, and the elves looked at mages as actual people -- and that was something I wanted. For my dad, really. But, I went and studied with as many newcomers to the alienages as I could. People who'd left on purpose, outcasts -- well, you met me around then -- a little later. The first time, I mean. Took a while before I was brave enough to go sit in the road, like that. But, one of the last people I met, before the road, was ... actually a lot like you, Merrill. A storyteller with unpopular politics. Every day for eight days, he told me no. And I'd go back and beg him, every day. I'd devoted myself to Dirthamen, I said."

"Why?" Merrill asked. "Of all of them, why Dirthamen?"

"I'm a mage and a human. There's a lot of secrets tied up in that. It's a long road from where--" Cormac stopped and flicked his hand, setting a pair of archers on fire. Varric finished them off. "-- from where we are to a world where I can be people, just like everybody else. I needed something I could trust. So, as it turns out? I couldn't trust this storyteller. I was an obnoxious teenager, but this..."

"You hassled the man you meant to have tattoo the most obvious part of your body," Fenris clarified. "And you expected this would end well?"

"I was _fifteen_!" Cormac shook his head. "But, he told me to sit for it, finally. Not to move, not to make a sound. And it was my face, so ... I bit through my lip. Twice. Turns out that didn't actually help at all. He told me I had a great and terrible secret on my face, and I was ready to devote my life to my god. So, I did. You want to tell her why I already know what it says?" he asked Artemis. 

Everyone turned to look at Artemis. "I, uh." He paused to clear his throat. "I told him."

Merrill blinked up at him. "How do _you_ know what it says?" 

"Well..." Artemis's fingers twisted in his hair. "I, uh. I knew someone who could read elven calligraphy. Mahariel, actually. Met him around the time we met you the first time, Merrill." He darted a look at Fenris.

"Was this the one who called you 'Earthquake Boy'?" Fenris asked. 

Artie grinned sheepishly and nodded. "Yes, that was Theron. Theron Mahariel. I was -- what -- fourteen? So this would have been a year or so later, I suppose. I'd gotten used to Cormac having those lines on his face and didn't really think anything of it. Then, one afternoon, as Theron and I are, uh --" Another pause to clear his throat. "Anyway, he just starts laughing out of nowhere, and says he has to ask me something. And then he just... he tells me what Cormac's tattoos really mean, and..." Artemis pursed his lips together to keep from laughing. He looked at his brother, and his face turned red from the strain. "I'm sorry, Cormac," he said, voice shaking with laughter. "I know you were upset, but it was pretty funny."

"So," Isabela said, drawing out the one syllable, "how long did you know this before you told him?"

"I assumed he already knew." Artemis shrugged. "And I wasn't going to say anything. He was so proud of devoting himself to Dirthamen, the Secret Keeper, and here he was, with the most ridiculous secret written on his face. I thought it was intentional too. So, um. A few years. At least." He gave Cormac a sheepish smile.

"What the fuck were we even fighting about?" Cormac asked, rubbing his beard. It still wasn't quite right, but it was better. "Did you throw me down the stairs again? Or was it the time I didn't spot the hornets in that tree, before we shook it down -- not that _you_ spotted them either. I don't know, we were at each other's throats. And you turned on me and said, 'At least I don't have propaganda about my ass tattooed on my face!' And I tried to blow you off, because how would you know? And then you just went on like you had a prize, because you'd been banging an elf who could read it."

Cormac shook his head and laughed. "I thought about getting it broken up -- a few more lines, and it wouldn't be legible. But, in the end, I couldn't think of a better secret to carry. So few people could read it, and it was writ right on my face. Made quite an impression on a couple of Keepers, over the years. ... The face. Not the ass."

"Oh, I bet the ass made an impression too." Isabela turned around and knelt down to unhook the tripwire she'd just touched with her foot.

"If it did, I never heard about it." Cormac shrugged. "But, I guess I wasn't listening for it, either. Not what I was there for."

"No," Varric drawled, "I suspect that's more in line with what your brother was there for."

Artemis looked offended for all of two seconds before he nodded and shrugged. "I'm not even going to deny that," he said. Glancing at Cormac, he smirked and added, "I've always been a fan of elven... culture." He looped his arm with Fenris's and slammed a few bandits up ahead into the ground. Varric picked them off where they sprawled.

"I'll bet," Fenris muttered.

"Culture. Is that what we're calling it, these days?" Cormac laughed and lit the campfire as they got closer to the camp, but no more bandits appeared. "I was there for the mythology. He was there for the ... 'c...ulture'." The smile that accompanied the word was slow and wry.

Merrill didn't even pretend she wasn't laughing. Her giggles carried up the coast, echoing off the stone. "You are both amazing fools. Truly amazing."

"Amazing fools with amazing asses," Isabela agreed. "Which waypoint are we up to? Is that the last one, up there?"

"I'm so glad she marked the path, or we'd have ended up hunting bandits until we hit another town," Varric joked.

"I'm sure the dawn would have stopped us, sooner," Fenris pointed out, still looking askance at Artemis.

"I am, in fact, an amazing fool, with an amazing ass," Cormac agreed, after a moment. "And I think both of those things are included in the disclaimer on my face."

"So less of a secret than you'd like, really," Artemis said, shrugging. He wasn't going to deny the fool or the ass part, regarding either of them. "Speaking of fools, I wonder how Aveline is doing. Any platemail flying yet?"

Fenris disengaged from Artemis long enough to sneak back, closer to the path Aveline and Donnic were walking. Isabela padded after him, grinning. Fenris's ears pricked, "They're talking about swords," he said.

"Ooh, are they?" Isabela purred. "That's my girl."

"No, not... metaphorical swords," Fenris explained. He listened a bit longer and made a face like he'd eaten something rotten. "Actual swords. Making swords. This is quite possibly the most unerotic conversation I've ever heard."

"Oh, this is just sad," Isabela sighed. They padded back to the rest of the group and filled them in.

"We're going to have to do something, aren't we?" Varric asked, with a heavy sigh.

"We really are." Cormac stared down the path.

"Well, as long as we can help her, I'm sure it'll be fine!" Merrill seemed so optimistic. "It's good she's finally trying to get out and do things, again."

"People," Isabela said. "Get out and do _people_ . But, I agree. We just have to make it a little more obvious." 

"We can stand around and wait for them to catch up. They'll have to come past us to reach the end of the patrol route -- which should be happening any second, now." Fenris grabbed Artemis's arm and pulled him onto the path.

"Fenris! Fancy running into you here!" Aveline's smile was desperate and awkward, and her eyes darted to the side, encouraging them to go away.

Cormac followed his brother, Isabela and Merrill following him. "Aveline..."

"Cormac, no. Don't." Aveline held up her hands and looked away, as if anything would stop Cormac when he had a plan. 

"Would someone please tell me what's going on?" Donnic asked, looking confusedly between Aveline and the group suddenly blocking the path.

Fenris shook his head and looked straight at Donnic. "She wants you," he said. "Which is pathetic. And admirable."

Aveline's eyes popped wide. She looked more terrified than she had fighting dragonlings.

"I mean, really," Varric chimed in, "do you want me to draw you a picture of where she wants to touch you?"

" _Varric_ \--!" Aveline hissed. Her entire face coloured. 

"Diagrams are nice," Artie agreed. "But we're short on paper. How about pantomime? You." He indicated Aveline with one hand. "And you." He indicated Donnic with the other. Then he brought his hands together and made obscene kissy noises.

"Just bend her over a basin, will you?" Isabela said over Artemis.

Aveline looked ready to commit murder.

Cormac was laughing so hard his face had turned colour, and Merrill was leaning on him for support, as she laughed right along with him. He looked like he might say something but just gestured helplessly at Artemis. "What he said. They. What they said," he finally choked out.

"Captain?" Donnic managed, after a moment staring. "I... should get back to the barracks." He turned around and set off back down the path.

"I thought we were friends!" Aveline accused the group in front of her.

"Friends sometimes push," Fenris said, not unkindly. "At least you know where you stand."

"I... I have to fix this. He'll file a complaint. Ask for a transfer..." Aveline jabbed a finger at Fenris. "You. You're coming to the barracks to explain why you put him on the spot! Double-time, Fenris, or so help me..."

Aveline marched away, her hands clenched into fists, and Fenris threw his arms out wide. "Why me?" he asked. "I wasn't the only one who said something!"

"Come on, Fenris," Artemis mock scolded. "Double-time, she said. Get a move on." He shooed Fenris on while Isabela cackled next to him.

"Mage," Fenris huffed, grabbing Artemis by the arm and pulling him along too. "If I'm going, you're going."

"Fine, but only because you're cute." Artie allowed himself to be elfhandled but threw a pleading look at Cormac over his shoulder. 

"Yes, I know, you like my... culture."

* * *

"Maker," Aveline sighed, pacing in front of the bunkroom door. "Where is Donnic? I need to head this off before it goes to the viscount. Maybe a formal apology. Something that shows the guards they can still trust me."

"Maybe try copper marigolds this time," Fenris drawled, leaning on the wall. "In hindsight, they weren't the worst option."

"It's not funny!" Aveline insisted.

"I beg to differ..." Artemis chimed in, from beside Fenris.

"You'll beg for more than that, if you keep this up!" Aveline looked entirely scandalised.

The sound of throat-clearing made them all look down the hall. Donnic hovered awkwardly. "My apologies, but I need a moment with the captain," he explained.

"Guardsman... Donnic?" The scandal slid off Aveline's face and just kept going. She looked like she might implode with the combination of embarrassment and uncertainty.

"Please." Donnic smiled at her, and embarrassment turned to hope. Aveline glanced at Fenris, at Artemis. Fenris nodded while Artie gave her a grin and a subtle thumbs-up.

The guards disappeared into the bunkroom, and Artemis pressed his ear to the door.

"Really?" Fenris huffed.

"I just want to make sure they're not talking about swords again," Artie said. "At least, not unless they're talking about _those_ swords." He couldn't hear much through the thick door, but after a while, he heard what sounded like Aveline giggling. He couldn't remember ever hearing her giggle before, at least not like that. Artemis grinned up at Fenris and pulled away. "I think our job here is done."


	98. PART XXI: THE GLORY OF THE HAWKE ASS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talk of another celebration. Cormac loses a bet to the wrong brother.

The first thing, Anton had decided, was to do something about the garden and the goat. Cullen knew what to do with goats, so Anton set aside the area formerly occupied by the topiary for whatever Cullen thought the goat would need, but the rest of the garden still needed to be done. Clueless, he wrote a note to the florist, asking if she was familiar with anyone who understood plants and landscaping. Not only did she know, but she showed up with them, one morning, with Orana and a tremendous quantity of Tevinter delicacies in tow.

"Anton!" Orana handed the trays to Bodhan and took Anton's hands. "Evie told me you were having trouble with the garden, so I came to make sure everyone was fed. Messere Artemis worries so. When I mentioned you were having the garden done, he just... I'm not sure how long Messere Fenris can keep him away!"

"That is... so very Artemis." Anton shook his head and then leaned in to kiss Orana's cheeks, in a friendly greeting. "Evie, hm? So the two of you are...?"

Orana laughed. "Didn't you know?"

Evie, meanwhile, had managed to open the garden doors and introduce herself to the goat, as Bodhan laid out the food. "Messere Hawke, this is a goat!"

"Oh, don't mind Goatilda," Bodhan said. "She won't be in the way for long. As soon as a couple of those trees come down, she'll be right out there eating all the leaves she couldn't reach. Just don't let her in the house! Can't have her chewing up the furniture."

"Bodhan spends more time with the goat than I do. It... she... was my mother's. I suppose I've inherited the goat, along with the house." Anton sighed.

"Well, she is... a very lovely goat, Messere," Evie said. She crouched to give the curls on the goat's head a quick pat. "Lovely fur. Hair? Very springy."

"Maeh," the goat thanked her.

"My boy, Sandal, brushes her everyday," Bodhan said, barrel chest puffing with pride. "Combs out her tangles and such."

Now that he thought of it, Anton wondered when they'd decided the goat was a 'her'. _Had_ they decided? Had anyone checked?

As Anton picked at the fruit platter, Evie walked around the garden, tutting at goat-chewed topiary. Anton popped a few more grapes into his mouth and followed her. "Thinking of getting rid of these altogether," he said, gesturing at the sad bushes. "Despite the... fond memories they inspire." He thought of Cullen writhing at their roots and smiled.

Evie was wise enough not to ask. "I am glad you said so," she said. "I was trying to find a polite adjective for them."

"Green," Anton suggested. "Green is an adjective."

"This is true, but they're mostly brown at this point."

"Green and brown, then. These bushes are very... green and brown."

"What are you going to do with the goat, messere? I fear anything we plant, she will eat," Evie pointed out, gesturing to the wide range of goat-chewed plants.

"Oh, I thought we'd take out the hedge maze and put in a goat pen. My fiancé was a ... er, his family kept goats, back in Ferelden. He's been kind enough to draw me a picture." Anton fished a folded page out of his sash and passed it to Evie.

She unfolded it and smiled. "Oh, how very kind. It has labels and measurements. Yes, of course, this will make things much simpler. So that removes everything past this point... And what did you mean to do with the rest of the garden?"

"I'm not really sure. I have some plants I know I definitely want, though." Anton gestured along the line of hedges. "Can we put in something safe for the goat, along the fence? Maybe with fruit? I definitely want lime trees, somewhere. My brother insists on lime, and I agree."

Evie's eyebrow didn't so much raise as twitch. Lime blossom. Hawkes. That wasn't the first time she'd encountered that combination. "Of course, messere," she said pleasantly. "I am sure that will be quite lovely and will provide some shade during the hotter months. For you and the goat."

Evie glanced back to see the goat nudging Orana's hand.

"And... for the less goat-friendly areas?" she asked, making her way around the property.

"Coriander. Orange roses. Perhaps an assortment of carnations -- definitely red and yellow. Always need yellow. Celandine, perhaps?" Anton tapped his lip and looked over the garden. "Keep the roses close to the patio, I think."

"You seem to have a theme in mind, messere," Evie remarked, trying not to laugh.

"Ah! Yes. A very definite theme. I will take any suggestions you have, along that theme. I'm afraid I'm not quite as good at this, without a book in my hand. Many years since I've had to convey _that_ intent with flowers alone." Anton did laugh, then.

"I'm sure of that, messere. You and the Knight-Captain seem very happy, according to rumour."

Anders appeared behind them, with a handful of olives. "Are we talking about the garden, because if we're talking about the garden, I want a bit of it. Just a patch for some herbs that are hard to find. I don't want to have to climb up Sundermount every time I run out of embrium, and if I don't have to fight my way through smugglers when I need more spindleweed, I'll be happy."

"I don't know," Anton teased. "Evie, can we make that work with our, ah, 'theme'?"

"Oh, messere," said Evie, "from what I hear about you, I'm sure you can make anything work with that theme."

Anton grinned and turned back to Anders. "Of course you can have an herb garden," he said. "We'll even be kind enough to keep it away from the goat. We don't want a repeat of the last time Goatilda got into your embrium."

Anders grimaced. "Well, at least now we know Sandal can't add enchantment runes to goat poop. Not that that was a question I'd wanted to have answered in the first place, but there you go."

"So, Anders... You coming to this party, or what?" Anton grinned up at him.

"I don't know. Unlike your brother, I'm not sure I'd look that good in a bustier. You, ah... You understand." Anders gestured at his own chest.

"Ooof." Anton nodded. "I'll talk to Fran. You want to be there, I'll find you something. It'll even be stylish."

"As long as it stays in place, and covers the important parts, I think it'll be fine. I should probably go see her, myself." Anders sighed and popped an olive into his mouth. "At least she still has my measurements."

"Don't count on that. My brother's been feeding you. You're going to end up round as an Orlesian duke, if that keeps up," Anton joked. "How about blue? Blue and silver..."

"I am _not_ that heavy. I still weigh less than Cormac." Anders thought about that for a moment. "Which is probably not good, honestly. I just want to be a nice, solid seventeen stone, again!" He sighed and ate another olive. "Blue and silver? Are you serious?"

"With a steel gryphon on the chest." Anton nodded.

Anders just stared at him, balefully.

"No, you're right," Anton said with a dramatic sigh. "You probably couldn't pull it off."

"Anton Hawke, we both know I could, and we both know what you're trying to do." Anders threw an olive at Anton. It bounced off his chin and landed somewhere in his sash.

"If I were a woman, that would have landed in my cleavage," Anton said as he fished it out.

"What can I say? My aim is better than your brother's."

Anton grinned. "So's mine." He tossed the olive back, and it hit under Anders's chin and disappeared into his collar.

"Hey!"

Evie walked around the garden, taking notes and pretending not to notice the olives flying back and forth.  


* * *

Cormac groaned. He had to stop making bets with his brothers, if only because Anton always cheated and he'd bet an obvious fail, just to see that wicked smile Artemis gave him, every time. This time, though... This time had been stupider than usual. Twelve hours of anything you want, he'd bet. And that never ended well. And he knew it. He was kind of hoping Artie would pick something interesting -- more interesting than an Orlesian maid's outfit. After all, he hadn't specified 'non-sexual'.

"Fine. Damn. What do I owe you?" Cormac sighed, leaning back in his chair and staring at the ceiling.

Artemis took his time considering. He watched his brother, lips curled in that same wicked smile Cormac liked, and tapped his lips. If he were feeling particularly cruel, that could have been twelve hours of cleaning (not that Cormac would do clean right) or, if he were feeling vindictive, twelve hours in a maid's outfit that wouldn't look half as good on Cormac (the man was handsome but didn't have the legs for it). But twelve hours was a long time, and Artie decided on a different kind of fun.

"I have an idea," Artemis said, sounding every bit as smug as he looked. "Let's go look at your toy collection, hmm?"

Cormac should have been afraid, really, but after this many years with Anders, there was nothing his brother could do with anything in that drawer that would even come close to a nine hour marathon with Anders. It was a good thing that man was a healer... He stood up, grinning, and led the way.

Tossing the drawer on the bed, Cormac grinned. "See anything you like?" he purred. "You never did get around to the tentacle." Which really wasn't something he wanted twelve hours with, but encouraging Artie to pick it would probably make him pick something else. "Anything you want, Artie. I'm _all yours_."

"Oh, yes, you are," Artie said, grinning as he looked through Cormac's toys. As expected, he passed over the tentacle, reaching instead for something else, made of polished stone. He picked it up and pushed it into Cormac's hands. "This. Inside you for twelve hours. And you're not allowed to touch yourself unless I say so."

Cormac felt his knees get weak at the thought. At least Artie had only said he couldn't touch _himself_. He was sure Anders would love to get in on this. If he begged just right, Artie might even give in. He pulled up his robes with one hand and stretched out next to the drawer, licking his lips. "You know, there's something else in that drawer that might interest you. If you find it, you could ride me for all twelve of those hours, and I'd still be aching hard. Probably need Anders to set me right, after that, but I don't think he'd mind too much."

Slicking his hand, he made sure Artemis had a good view as he eased the plug into himself. Small, breathy noises spilled out of him as he seated it, and then, reluctantly, he drew his hands away.

"Tempting," Artemis murmured, and it was, especially after that... inspiring sight. "And we can do that, the next time _you_ win a bet." Artie's smile was still wicked. "Now, straighten your robes. I feel like going out. What do you think? Hanged Man? We can pick up Anders on the way."

Artemis was sure Anders would find this just as entertaining.

Anders met them on the stairs. "Oh. I was just coming up to get you. I've got a friend who needs a favour. I'm supposed to go appropriate a shipment from the docks and ... redirect the aftermath."

"You've been spending time with Anton, again, haven't you? 'Appropriate'? 'Redirect'?" Cormac laughed. "Of course we'll help, won't we, Artie? Why don't you tell him the restrictions I'll be operating under, for the day?"

"Restrictions? Did you lose another bet?" Anders eyed them both. "Did you actually manage to lose something that wasn't coin?"

"It was tactical." Cormac grinned.

"I'm not sure I'd say he 'lost', exactly," Artemis said, folding his arms across his chest and leaning his hip against the banister. As he was speaking, he focused on the stone inside of Cormac and sent the smallest of earthquakes through it, making it shake. "Though the goal is to make him lose his mind during the next twelve hours -- well, eleven hours and fifty-something minutes now. I'm sure it's a goal you wouldn't mind helping me reach?"

Artemis looked at Cormac and smiled sweetly.

Cormac clutched the stair rail, breathing slowly through his mouth, as his eyes darkened. No, he wouldn't lose his mind. Tactics. He could get this back on his own terms. He clenched hard around the stone, smirking at Anders. "Put your hand on my back. Right between my hips. It'll only take you a couple of seconds to figure out the rest."

Anders did as he was told, looking confused until he felt the vibration. "That's-- Andraste's knickers, you expect to do that to him for _twelve hours_? Even I'd go mad!"

"You say that like you're not already," Artemis replied. He shut off the vibration without even blinking. "And it's not like it's going to be constant. Just when I feel like it, really." Granted, there was a chance that _he_ wouldn't last for twelve hours, if his brother kept making that face, but he wasn't about to let on. "But yes, of course we will help. We were just talking about picking you up for lunch, as a matter of fact, but that can wait."

Artie waited until Cormac had relaxed before setting the stone shaking again. Only two seconds, then he shut it off. Oh, this was going to be fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, FRIDAY FRIDAY FRIDAY! That's today! The Rhapsody in Ass Major (slightly early) 100 Chapter Party starts around **4pm Dublin time/11am New York time**! How do you join the party, you ask? [Click here!](http://www.groundline.net/rhapsody/)


	99. Chapter 99

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cormac continues to rattle. Things go from hard to difficult and back to hard.

They stopped off to get Fenris, before setting off on this favour for Anders's friend, and Fenris got the same explanation of the situation. As they headed across town, Cormac occasionally gasped or coughed or leaned down and held onto the wall or his knees. He looked quite ill, and more than once, someone stopped to ask if they needed help.

"Don't mind him. Recovering from something. Needs the walk." Anders smiled brightly. "I'm his healer. He'll be fine."

Anders, however, might not be fine, with the way Cormac kept glaring at him. And Artemis, well, it was a very good thing Cormac so adored his brother.

They came into the Gallows only to hear the Harbormaster's man complaining there was a shipment, but no name for it. He was sure it was meant to go here, but he wasn't sure who had to sign. Fenris found the unmarked delivery order sitting atop the crates and handed it to Artemis.

"He's right. There's a location, but no name." He'd become much better at reading some words, at least, and he could make out enough of the slip to gather that was the problem.

Artemis hummed as he looked at the delivery order. He, Anders, and Fenris acting like they didn't hear the buzzing coming from Cormac's rump. "I take it this is the, ah, 'shipment' you were meant to 'appropriate'?" he asked Anders.

Anders took the delivery order from Artemis and sighed. "You know, code words lose their use when you use your fingers to make 'quotation marks' around them."

"Ah, excuse me. 'Code words'. I see."

"You just did it again."

"So what is the shipment?" Fenris asked, cutting over them. The huffed 'mages' went implied.

"Just a little something it will make the templars extremely unhappy to lose. Also happens to be something I have a use for." Anders filled in the blank and handed the page to Cormac. "Here. Go pretend you're one of the Tranquil, so he'll give you the box."

"There's a distinct lack of sunburst on my forehead, you know," Cormac pointed out, through clenched teeth, as his insides continued to vibrate.

Anders dug around in his bag and turned up a bit of paint and a small brush. "I was going to do this, myself, you know, but you just..." He sighed. "I can't even say your face is less known. It's really not. But, I'm a little more obvious, as tall as I am."

"And I'm not so dark as to be obvious?" Cormac argued, but he knew it wasn't true. Dark was much more common than tall like Anders was tall.

"Please, you're practically invisible, compared to me." Anders painted the sunburst onto Cormac's face, looking paler and paler as it took shape. "It's a shite look on you, Cormac. I'm going to advise against taking it up, seriously," he joked.

Cormac took a deep breath and settled his features as best he could. "Artie, seriously, knock it off. If I get dragged off to the Gallows because you rattled my ass at the wrong time, I'm never going to bone you again. Mostly because it's not going to be _possible_."

"Spoilsport," Artemis huffed even as the buzzing stopped. But really, it wasn't all quite so funny with that mark burned -- not burned, drawn -- onto Cormac's forehead. "Just be quick about it, will you? You do owe me twelve hours." He didn't like being around so many templars even in the best of times. He scratched at his arm in agitation until he threatened to leave a mark.

Fenris sighed and leaned back against a pillar. He'd been on his way to lunch when the mages had picked him up. And really, he'd much rather be there now.

Watching Artemis claw at himself wasn't really Cormac's vision for the day -- of course, his vision for the day might also have involved _winning._ He took a moment to reassure his brother, before engaging in this profound insanity -- a warm, slow, toe-curling kiss. "Stop it. I'll be right back."

A quick wink, before he settled his face again, and approached the dock worker. "I am here to accept the shipment for Ser Conrad," he said in a smooth monotone, holding up the delivery order.

"Conrad, is it? Tell him to fill out the damn paperwork right, next time." The man nodded at a stack of two crates and the handcart beside them. "You bring that back to the docks, when you're done, you hear? We'll be unloading the Antivan Queen."

"I will inform Ser Conrad of your instructions. The hand cart will be returned to the docks." Cormac wrestled the crates onto the cart and wandered off roughly in the direction of the gates to the Templar hall, before vanishing into the crowd, by the merchants, and ducking into a narrow alley. As expected -- sewer grate. He hauled it out of the way and dropped the crates down. Anders would know how to get them back from here. A bit of spit, and the mark was gone from his face, which was much more relieving than he'd ever let on. His ass buzzed again, as he stepped out of the alley, and he ducked back in to catch his breath, before he tried to cross the courtyard, again.

Anders smiled as he approached, trying to keep the relief off his own face at seeing that mark gone. There was still a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, but it was quickly forgotten when he heard the buzzing. He knew exactly what that felt like and admired Cormac's ability to keep standing.

Next to him, Artemis huffed, staring at Cormac's forehead. He'd missed a speck of paint, and it was going to drive him to distraction if it stayed there. Artie tried to ignore it, keeping his arms folded, but it was no use. "Damn it. Hold still." He held his brother's chin with one hand and wiped away the rest of the paint with his thumb. The stone kept buzzing.

Fenris turned to Anders. "I do hope there was a point to this other than to steal from the templars? Excuse me. To 'appropriate'."

Anders scowled at Fenris and fought the urge to look over his shoulder and make sure no templars were nearby to hear that. Not even Fenris was that stupid. "There was a point," he said. "It is, however, not a point that is safe to discuss here, so." He turned to the brothers. "When you two are done grooming each other..."

"Oh, we're good," Cormac said, wrapping himself around Artemis's back. "Where are we off to? More adventuring, or can we eat?"

"Both," Anders made his way across the courtyard, toward Lowtown. "We've got a stop to make at the Hanged Man, and then we can go for lunch. I'd say we could have lunch there, but I think Artie might explode."

"If he's doing any exploding," Cormac joked, still wound much too close around his brother, as they walked, "it's going to be my fault."

"We get to watch, right?" Anders asked.

"I might even ask if we'd get to participate, if it didn't mean I'd probably end up touching one of you two," Fenris grumbled.

Cormac whispered in Artie's ear. "You know, if you keep doing that, I might stop being able to resist your charms. Might have to drag you into a nice dark alley and push you up against the wall, have my way with you until I'm good and done. Of course, you'd still have this thing inside me for hours, yet, so 'done' might not mean what I think it does."

Artemis fought to keep his own breathing even, at those words, at the shiver of Cormac's breath at the shell of his ear. His brother the demon, always knew how to tempt him. But he wouldn't let it be that easy, not for either of them. "Is that so?" he asked conversationally, turning his head to give Cormac the full force of his smirk. He made the stone rattle faster, just enough to make Cormac's knees weak, before taking pity and slowing it back down. "I wonder how many alleys there are between here and the Hanged Man."

Fenris smirked to himself as he listened. At this rate, participating might almost be worth the risk of accidentally touching the wrong mage. Almost.

"More than enough to keep you guessing," Cormac purred, staying close enough to keep his voice down. "I'd have to slick you up with my fingers, since I'm not allowed to touch myself. That's all right, though. Anders taught me a trick for that. Might catch up with you, though. Gravity works. Maybe I should let you taste me, first. What do you think, hmm? Should I push you down in some dark alley and fuck your pretty face until you choke? Might not need to worry so much about the grease, then. I could just flip you over and yank those pants down and ram myself into you, still dripping with your spit. What do you think of that, little brother? Your big brother still following all your rules, and just throwing you down and taking you. Using you."

At some point, in there, Anders stopped listening. He had a sense that was what Artie was into, but hearing it just made his skin crawl. It was all right to watch -- he could tell Artie liked it -- but even in Cormac's voice, he couldn't listen to that. His breathing got a little shallower and everything seemed a little further away than he was expecting it to be.

"I think you know exactly what I think of that, brother-dear," Artemis replied, his voice a bit breathy. He turned, slid a hand around the back of Cormac's head and pulled him into a bruising kiss.

Fenris looked around to make sure no one they knew was watching. "Venhedis," he swore, shaking his head. He approached Artie's other side. "Not that I mind the view, Amatus, but you're in the middle of the street, and the urchins are staring."

Artemis pulled back reluctantly and cleared his throat. He couldn't exactly blame that on the alcohol this time.

Cormac tried to get his breathing back under control. "You do that again, and it might be an hour before I have what to follow through with, again." He laughed and squeezed Artemis's hip. It had only been a couple of hours -- the walk across town and halfway back -- and already he was aching terribly, a wet spot gathering on the inside of his robes, which sat just a little differently. It wasn't really noticeable, but the bit of a bulge in the drape was obvious to _him_. Mostly because he could feel it, with every step he took. This was, all in all, an excellent argument for smalls, and one he might be willing to consider, the next time he thought about not buying any.

"You might want to leave room for a sheet of paper between you," Anders suggested. "Isabela gambles in some of these places -- the games she can't play in the Hanged Man. I don't want to know what she'd write about this. And if she knows, Varric knows. And if Varric knows, there's going to be a serial."

"Shit." Cormac let go, after one more fond squeeze, stepping forward to drape himself around Anders, instead. That might also be scandalous, but a very different kind of scandal. He figured if anyone asked, he could claim to have been witlessly drunk. He was a nobleman. It was believable by default.

Fenris stepped into the space Cormac left before Artemis had time to miss his warmth. He wound an arm around his mage's waist and pressed a kiss to one flushed cheek. "I have to admit, I would read that serial," he said, earning him a huff and a jab of an elbow from Artemis. "Though I suspect there would be words in there I do not yet know the proper spelling for."

"Well," Anders said, "few children's books cover the topic of incest, let alone the... finer details."

"You know what else children's books don't usually cover?" Artemis asked, arcing an eyebrow at Fenris. "Those same words in Tevene."

Fenris muttered a few of those words under his breath. "Venhedis. I was hoping you'd forgotten about that." Blight take Isabela. Blight take rum. Well. Not _all_ the rum. Just the rum that made him think that conversation with Isabela had been a good idea.

And now his mage was looking at him with those unfairly pretty eyes, pleading without saying a word, while his brother's ass buzzed nearby.

Anders held the door open for the rest of them, reluctantly letting go of Cormac. They gathered again around the end of the bar. "The man over there in the templar plate is one Ser Roderick. All we've got to do is pass on a little misinformation, and he'll take it right back home with him." He grinned at Fenris. "It's not about the appropriation. That's just a bonus. It's about removing this one _without_ killing him. He's not as bad as Alrik, but he's not safe for mages. I'd like to think he's just in the wrong line of work. So, that's all we've got to do. Just ... mention a little something, other than the lyrium, of course, since that's already going to be a glaring gap in the supply chain."

"Demons? Blood magic? Looking for prostitutes in the likeness of the Knight-Captain?" Cormac shrugged and leaned back, pressing his intensely vibrating ass against Artemis's thigh.

"I was thinking something a bit more... likely?" Anders scratched under his chin. "I'm just not coming up with a good wild story, here. Scandal, you know?"

"You want scandal, we could accuse him of having an affair with a mage. Maybe one who escaped? Maybe even one _we_ know is already dead, and nobody else does." Cormac smiled slyly.

"Like one of the escaped blood mages?" Artemis said, shrugging. "Goodness knows we run into an inordinate amount of those."

"Indeed," Fenris growled, aiming his brooding at the opposite wall. Granted, he was used to that much blood magic. More of it, really.

Artemis peeked around Anders at Ser Roderick. The templar's heavy plate exaggerated his drunken sway. "That man is terribly drunk," he said. "As the resident expert in drunkenness, I feel confident in that assertion. He's definitely drunk enough to believe whatever we tell him, but will he remember it in the morning?"

"Does he have to remember it in the morning? We could convince him to report it straightaway... Yes, he's drunk, but there's also the extremely blatant missing lyrium with a certain someone's name on it," Anders pointed out. "With something like that going on, even a half-assed accusation's going to carry some more weight."

"Why don't we accuse him of what he's actually guilty of?" Fenris suggested. "Then there might be _evidence_."

"You're missing the part where mages involved in accusations against the templars have an unfortunate tendency to turn up with pretty little sunbursts that _aren't_ painted." Anders shook his head. "The truth's too risky. I don't think Cullen would stand for that shit, but I also think he keeps taking things to the Knight-Commander, and I've heard some things about her. Either way, it happens, it's still happening, and I'm not putting an innocent mage in the way of it."

"Look, let's just do this thing and get out of here. The longer I stand here, the less I care. The longer I stand here, the less likely it becomes that I'm going to be able to keep standing, and if I end up on my hands and knees in the middle of the pub, I'm really not sure what's going to come out of my mouth, so let's not have that problem in front of the templar and half of Lowtown." Cormac rocked forward and stopped leaning half on his brother and half on the bar. "And when we get out of here," he hissed at Artemis, "I am going to fuck you so hard it'll be Washday, before you can sit down."

Cormac made his way to the drunken templar, trying to ignore the way his legs threatened to stop supporting him, the brush of thick cloth across his painfully throbbing knob, and the vibration that resonated through his insides, like his ass had learnt to purr. Somehow, he was still standing, when he got there. "I'm here to report Ser Conrad," he said, firmly.

"C--Conrad? I know him. Did he... _do something_?" Ser Roderick asked, wobbling loosely in his plate. Cormac wondered if the metal offered stability, or if the weight made it harder to stand. He was certainly having enough trouble staying upright, himself.

"Ser Conrad's been carrying on with an escaped blood mage. I saw them, together, over the weekend, but I didn't interfere, because he's a templar. But, he must know. I think he's hiding her." Cormac shook his head, trying to maintain some appearance of moral superiority while his insides felt like hot jelly.

"Conrad? Are you sure?" Roderick looked more sad than disbelieving, but that might have been the drink.

"I'm afraid so," Cormac ground out, between clenched teeth, as the vibration changed.

"This needs to be reported!" Roderick declared, staggering off toward the door. "Can't believe it..."

"Well," said Artemis to Anders, "that went surprisingly well." He saw Cormac teeter almost as much as Ser Roderick and bit his lip to keep from grinning. He slipped out from between Anders and Fenris and came up beside his brother, winding an arm around his waist and keeping him upright. At least here it was easier to pass off Cormac as drunk. "Still standing?" he purred into Cormac's ear. "Perhaps I'm not trying hard enough." The vibration changed again.

"Usually framing templars isn't half this much fun," Anders said to Fenris without taking his eyes off the brothers.

"What's this? Blondie and Broody drinking together?" Fenris's ear twitched, and he and Anders turned in time to see Varric coming up between them, a hand clapping each of them on the shoulder. "Do the Hawkes know?" Varric added in a stage whisper.

"The Hawkes are right there," Fenris huffed, pointing at the brothers and praying Artie didn't try to shove his tongue down Cormac's throat this time. "And we're not drinking. There are no drinks."

"So nugs haven't learned to fly yet? Too bad. You two would have been my next book." Fenris and Anders exchanged horrified looks over Varric's head. "And it looks like Cormac's been drinking enough for the four of you. Huh. Someone drunker than Artie. Maybe those nugs are flapping their wings after all."

"Not drunk," Cormac grumbled, entirely unconvincingly. "Tired." That was his story, and he was sticking with it. "Up all night doing things that would turn your chest hair white."

"And your beard remains black, despite this? What a man..." Varric laughed. "Maybe I should buy you a drink, just to see if adding liquor to exhaustion gets me anything interesting."

Cormac's knuckles whitened on the edge of the bar. How exactly had he gotten himself into this? He _had_ to stop making shite bets, just to make Artie smile. He also had to not sit down in public, because he wasn't sure he could keep the _chair_ from rattling. "As simultaneously kind and self-serving an offer as that is, Varric. I'm going to have to turn it down. I'd like to be home, where the seating is soft, before I lose the ability to stay upright. I'm not sure a barstool will do my ass any favours, right now, if you get my meaning."

Anders covered his face and coughed, peering across the tips of his fingers at Varric, and then looking suddenly away. He would not laugh. He would not-- No, that was a lie. He burst into mad cackles, leaning against the bar for support.

Artemis bit the inside of his cheek and ducked his head to keep from following Anders's lead. The din of the tavern masked the buzzing in Cormac's ass, but it was still there, if Artemis listened for it.

"Oh, thank you for that visual," Varric huffed, making a noise somewhere between a laugh and a groan. "Words like that and my imagination are a dangerous combination, Cormac."

"I really hope _that_ doesn't end up in your next serial," Fenris muttered. "I'd say reading it would turn _my_ hair white, but." He gestured at his hair and shrugged. Then again, just the fact that reading something like that was an option now was a pleasing thought.

"It was nice seeing you Varric," Artemis said, "but I think we'll be taking this ass's ass home." He patted Cormac with the hand still on his waist.

"Your ass and his ass appreciate the kindness." Cormac let go of the bar, wrapping one arm around Artemis and the other around Anders, which lasted as far as the door, which only two of them would fit through together, so he staggered out to the street, with an arm around Artemis and Anders holding the door. Fenris followed, looking faintly amused.


	100. Chapter 100

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cormac gets around to exactly what Artie's been hoping for. But, Artie is merciless, all the same.

Coming back out, Cormac _definitely_ looked drunk -- legs shaking, leaning on his brother for support, face a little grey. Just another drunk, stumbling through Lowtown.

Anders fell in beside Fenris. "Do you think he's actually going to do it, or do you think he's just going to fall down in the road?"

Fenris hummed and tilted his head, considering. "Ten silver says he falls over before he does."

Anders watched the way Cormac's legs wobbled and considered not taking that bet. But then again, this was Cormac. "You know what? I'll take that bet. Cormac is a stubborn ass, especially when it comes to his brother's ass."

Artemis flashed them a grin over his shoulder. "Betting with silver," he tutted. "How boring."

"I am not betting with anything else," Fenris insisted, eyes a bit wide.

"I'm not betting anything that's going to leave me with less clothes or a fist in my chest!" Anders protested. "There are some other things that aren't silver that might be acceptable, but none of them are gold."

They almost made it to the bridge. But, just before it were a dozen little nooks and alleys, usually full of beggars and thieves, but the city had calmed somewhat, as the refugees settled out and built places for themselves. There were far fewer people waiting to beg or rob the traders coming over the bridge.

The vibration changed again, and Cormac made a pained sound, before shifting his weight against Artemis. Shit. Force mage. "Artie? You're getting a warning, because I don't want to die. Also because I'd really like it if you actually moved. I'm eyeing the next niche to the left. You want it? You want me? You want me to fuck you up against the wall, just far enough in that no one can see us, but we can hear everyone else walking by? You want to add a stain to that wall, and every time we walk through here, you'll know that your big brother held you down and fucked every last drop out of you, all over that wall?" Cormac was willing to grant that just maybe he didn't need a potion, this time. Still gave him chills, in the back of his mind, but the chills could be pushed aside by the clattering in his guts.

Cormac had barely finished talking before Artemis tightened his grip about his waist, his other hand bunching in Cormac's robes as he dragged his brother into the appointed niche. Artie pulled his brother against him and nipped at his lip. "Like you don't know the answer to that," he purred. "Or did you just want to hear me beg? Oh Cormac, please Cormac, fuck me up against this wall, Cormac." The vibration shifted again, and he grinned.

"You owe me ten silver," Anders told Fenris, peeking in at the brothers.

"I'm not sure that counts," Fenris replied. "Artemis all but hauled him over there."

"But Cormac didn't fall over. That was the bet." Anders held out his palm and wriggled his fingers.

Fenris huffed and passed over the coin, stepping into the mouth of the alley to lean against one wall and watch the street.

Cormac struggled to stay standing, one hand clutching at Artemis's shoulder and the other picking at the knots on his trousers. "You should really consider wearing robes. You should also really consider that if you kick that up too much, I'm going to be the only one of us getting a happy ending, here."

Finally solving the problem of the knots, Cormac yanked Artemis's trousers down just far enough, before spinning him around and slamming him against the wall, shoulders first. There was a limit to his depravity and that limit stopped him from pressing any unclothed parts of his neurotically clean brother against this sort of rank wall. He sucked two of his fingers, with a wet, obscene noise, and then shoved them into his brother. There were grease spells for combat and grease spells for the bedroom, and then there was this one, which bridged the gap. Cormac considered it payback for the fact that he couldn't feel some of the more important muscles in his ass any more, and a jet of grease shot up from his fingertips. "Gravity works," he purred.

Artemis gasped, hips twitching forward. "Ass," he growled affectionately. It reminded him of the time Fenris upended a bottle of oil into his ass, and he bit his lip around a grin. Artie glanced back towards the street and saw an elf-shaped shadow next to a mage-shaped shadow, before he returned his attention back to his brother.

This wall truly was rank, but Artemis braced his forearms against it.

"Ass, indeed. Seems to be the theme of the day," Cormac growled, lining himself up and swapping his fingers for his knob. He thought he'd had something else to say, but apparently he'd been wrong, because any thought he might have had fled directly, as he buried himself deep in that tight, slick hole. Another pained sound wrung out of him as he tried to remember which parts of his body he needed to maintain control over, to make this work.

After a moment of shaking and panting, he wrapped one hand -- the still-slick one -- around Artemis's knob and rolled his hips. "This isn't going to last. I'm sorry," he apologised, before setting a punishing pace with his hips.

Anders tugged at the inseam of his trousers. "Ever considered wearing looser pants?" he asked Fenris, eyes lingering on the dimly-lit brothers.

"It has been considered," Fenris admitted, eyeing the street for a moment longer before glancing back at the entwined mages. "You are, however, the last person I'd go to for fashion advice." He gave Anders's feathered shoulders a pointed look before turning back to more interesting sights. "And Artemis likes my tight pants."

Anders could concede that point, even if he felt offended on his feathers' behalf. The sounds filtering back to them cut off any argument he may have had. Next to him, Fenris tried not to squirm in an obvious way.

Artemis's fingers scrabbled at stone, breaths leaving him in pants and shivery pleas to the Maker. "Maker. Maker. _Cormac_." He was going to be rattling as hard as Cormac's ass if this pace kept up.

"I'm sorry," Cormac gasped, clutching at Artemis with one hand and the wall with the other, as his knees tried to surrender again and he emptied himself into his brother out of time with the vibrations that still rippled between his hips. That Artie could keep that going under the circumstances was impressive.

His vision flashed white, then black, and the only thing he could feel was the movement of his hand and the shivering between his hips. For a very long and precarious moment, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to stay standing, or even if he'd already fallen. The world was gelatinous and nonsensical for a bit, but he just kept stroking his brother's throbbing knob.

"How many hours have we been out?" Anders asked, conversationally. "I'm trying to figure out how long I'm going to be stuck walking around like this."

"I'd say... three? Maybe four?" Fenris answered in the same tone, as though he weren't in the same condition. "Perhaps Cormac should wager a shorter time next time, for the sake of everyone's sanity."

Fenris listened to the sounds still coming from the alley, the slide of wet skin and his mage's breaths. He could tell from sound alone how close Artie was. "And..." Fenris said, one finger in the air. "Earthquake." No sooner had he said it than the cobblestones under their feet began to shake.

"Maybe you should have bet on that," Anders said, sounding impressed.

Back in the alley, Artemis leaned against the wall, legs shaking under him. The vibrating had stopped with the earthquake, at least for the moment, as he tried to get his breathing back under control. Artie reached back and laced Cormac's fingers with his. "For the record," he said, still a bit breathless, "this alley is disgusting. Not that I wouldn't do it again, but... ew." He grinned over his shoulder at Cormac. He would probably need to bathe twice later to feel better, but right now he could ignore it.

"I'm not sure there are any alleys in Lowtown that aren't disgusting." Cormac pressed a kiss behind Artie's ear. "And I'm not trying to tell you what to do, but I'm trying to tell you what to do. If you want this thing to stay in me, well... first I have to make sure it's still there, and then I think you might have to stop the vibrations for a little bit. I can't feel my ass. And that means I might not be able to keep it in."

Cormac eased back, until Artie was standing, instead of leaning on the wall, slowly sliding out with the motion, with a squishy, wet sound. Still holding on to Artie's hand, he brought up his other hand and licked it clean, before reaching back to make sure the plug was still there. He hadn't heard it fall, but... he really couldn't feel his ass, and it was extremely unsettling. Fortunately, both his ass and the plug were where he'd left them, and he adjusted his robes, letting them fall.

"Sorry about your pants," he said, with a hint of amusement.

"You know," Anders said, just as casually, "if they're going to keep leaving us out, we could just take matters into our own hands, and leave them to watch."

Fenris looked askance at Anders. "And just what, exactly, are you implying, mage?"

The elf's tone was only slightly hostile, which Anders considered progress. "Oh, I don't think I need to spell it out for you," he replied pleasantly. "Just a thought."

Artemis came up next to them, walking a bit stiffly and looking sheepish. "I think I might need a change of trousers," he said. The glare he shot over his shoulder at Cormac had no heat to it.

"Or you could just do away with the trousers altogether," Anders suggested. "I doubt Kirkwall would mind."

"Let's keep my brother's pants on at least until we get back to the house. I don't think Kirkwall's prepared for quite that level of glory. Men discovering an interest in buttocks, widows blinded by the perfect beauty -- it'd be a madhouse. The Qunari would take the city within the hour." Cormac shrugged, loosely, and wrapped an arm around Anders, trying to look like he hadn't just had mind-blowing sex in a filthy alley. Mind-blowing, if only because of the several hours preceding it. His hips twitched, as he walked, the feeling slowly working its way back into his ass and the tops of his thighs.

"Some days, Cormac, I look at you and remember why I used to wear robes. I just wish they were more suitable for the work I'm doing, but the draping cloth just ends up in everything. And, you know, it's a great big 'hello, I'm a mage' sign." Anders sighed and looked out into the sea, as they crossed the bridge. "But, I do miss the simplicity."

"You know, all of Kirkwall knows you're a mage. You could just go back to wearing robes. You're a Warden. Nobody cares," Cormac reminded him.

"Justice prefers pants," Anders sighed.

"Now there's a phrase I never thought I'd hear," Artemis said. "Do you hear that, Cormac? Pants are more just."

Fenris sighed and looked at Anders, hoping this didn't turn into a mage rant on robes and about how 'pants were a sign of oppression' or something. "Just pants," Fenris echoed.

"Just pants and nothing else?" Artie teased. "I'm not sure Kirkwall is ready for that, either."

Fenris chuffed and wrapped an arm around his mage as they walked two-by-two into Hightown. After a few minutes, a familiar buzzing picked up.

"Hnnngh!" Cormac suddenly curled in on himself, wrapping around Anders's side, caught by surprise after so long without it. Just when he'd finally started walking normally, again, too, which was probably what Artie had spotted. A few seconds and he caught his breath. And that vibration was in the worst possible place, right now.

"We should get back to the house." Cormac's voice was a bit high as he picked up the pace, just a little quicker than Anders usually walked, damn his long legs.

"You all right?" Anders asked, momentarily concerned. "Vibrations at that intensity, for that long... I'm a little worried about--"

"Fine. Just move. Not serious, just a little uncomfortable." Cormac's grin looked a little strained.

Fenris and Artemis exchanged glances and picked up the pace to keep up. Twelve hours of this? Fenris hurt just thinking about it.

Bodhan and Mintaka greeted them at the door with different levels of enthusiasm. Although Artie suspected Bodhan would be wagging his tail too if he had one, even a stump of one like Mintaka's. "Hello, messeres," he said as they pushed past him. "Have you had lunch yet? Shall I whip up something for messere and his guests?"

"Lunch, yes. That's a great idea." Cormac didn't stop moving toward the stairs, even as he turned around and grinned at Bodhan. "Make that happen. I'm just going to... " He turned and bolted up the stairs.

"I've got five copper that was the piss he didn't take before we left the Hanged Man. Which reminds me, I should probably put some water out before I put any more water in." Anders excused himself as the door of Cormac's room slammed, upstairs.

Artemis bit his cheek against a smirk at his brother's display.

"Is betting with you two always like this?" Fenris asked. First the Orlesian maid's outfit, now this...

"If we're not using silver?" Artie shrugged. "This one's fairly new, at least." He shifted his weight and grimaced. "I need to... pants." To change them, more specifically, but he was sure Fenris understood the gist. And also to clean the alley off of him.

Fenris nodded. "Go forth and... pants," he said as Artemis disappeared upstairs. That left Fenris alone with Mintaka. "Hello." The dog sat on his feet.

" _DAMN IT, ARTEMIS_!" Cormac's shout echoed through the halls. "My boots!? Was that necessary?" More distinctly frustrated noises followed, and after a few minutes, Cormac appeared again, with one damp boot. "And the rug!" he yelled, looking for his brother. "You wouldn't do this, if you still lived here!"

Bodhan appeared in the room below. "Is everything all right, messere?"

"Yes. It's fine. My brother and I are just... having a somewhat complicated disagreement." Cormac looked profoundly annoyed as he made his way down the stairs. He supposed he should be glad it was just his boot and not his robes. His boots had been in worse things.

Fenris eyed the soggy boot and stepped back out of its path, wriggling his toes out from under Mintaka. "Is that...? That's what I think it is, isn't it."

A door opened upstairs. "What are you shouting about now, Cormac?" Artemis appeared at the top of the stairs in different trousers, and Fenris had to wonder where he'd gotten them. Did he still have clothes here or had he stolen Anton's? "Did you ruin your boots?" Artie's shit-eating grin said he knew the answer to both those questions.

Fenris looked down at Mintaka. "Mages." The dog whuffed in agreement.


	101. PART XXII: CORSET REQUIRED

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anton is having a party. Cullen is having heart failure.

Maybe he'd had no business inviting Warden-Commander Amell, but she was his _cousin_. The cousin he'd never met, who'd apparently met all the interesting people he'd found in Kirkwall. The cousin his fiancé had a crush on... Anton had decided, in the end, that his first event, after his mother's passing, would include his cousin. He'd bring the family back together, for the first time since magic had come into it. That would be his legacy.

Unfortunately, the letter he'd received, in reply, made that a little less likely. Solona was unable to extract herself from the duties, blah blah, rebuilding Amaranthine and the Keep. Apparently things had gone well, in that regard, but she still didn't dare leave the Banns alone long enough to make the journey. Still, there were fewer darkspawn and more new recruits, so she was sending a few of her closest friends, in her place, to ... liven things up. More Wardens? Anton couldn't wait.

"Um... Anton."

Anton looked up from his desk to find his favourite templar filling the doorway with his nervous fidgeting. He was turning a familiar piece of paper over in his hand, fine stationary addressed in Anton's own handwriting. "Yes, my knight in too much armour?" Anton asked, resting his chin on his palm.

"There is -- that is, I think there is -- a mistake in your invitations. To this party. That you're throwing."

"Is there?" Anton asked. "Did I send the invitation to the wrong Ser Cullen? Did I mislabel the Estate's address?"

"No, er, it's the... dress code that you have suggested." Anton would never tire of seeing Cullen blush like that.

"Oh, how silly of me!" Anton exclaimed. "I neglected to specify that shoes should be worn! One never wants barefoot guests, once the drinking starts."

"This... but... I do not own a corset." Cullen tipped his chin up, stubbornly. "And I doubt you do, either."

"You doubt I own a corset?" Anton laughed, as he slowly rose to his feet and slunk around the side of the desk to tap on that clattery plate. "Would you like to put a few coins on that, before you go check my wardrobe?"

Cullen's face fell, and he looked dreadfully betrayed, mostly by his own instincts. Of course Anton would own one. He'd probably bought it before he sent out the invitations, if he meant them to read like that-- and that had been what Cullen was counting on, that this whole thing was some absurd mistake. "I... no. Let me not put any coin on that. I've lost enough, this week."

"Smart man!" Anton stole a quick kiss. "But, you don't have a corset, you say? We'll have to do something about that."

"I-- That's-- You can't honestly expect me to wear--"

Anton watched Cullen through all this gibbering, his smile tugging higher and higher. "Expect you to wear? Of course I expect you to wear! That wouldn't be fair, would it, specifying that a corset was required party attire and then changing the rules for you."

"But-- I couldn't possibly--" The red of Cullen's face was a lovely contrast to his blond curls. He stared down at his figure as though trying to visualise it, which would be less than helpful at that angle.

"Don't worry, Ser Cullen," Anton purred, winding his arms around Cullen's waist so that his templar was looking at him instead. "We'll find something in a flattering shape and colour for you. Much easier to move in than platemail armour, I assure you."

"I rather like my armour," Cullen said weakly.

"Oh? Then perhaps Fran can make you a nice platemail bustier."

"No! No, I... No." Cullen managed to look quite firm on that point. "No platemail bustier. I will not bring down scandal on the entire order, just because you're throwing a party." He also didn't much like the thought of how people would look at him in it, the order aside.

"So we won't do platemail. I'm doing red and black. You should probably match. Maybe red and gold? Black and gold? I think I like the idea of gold." Anton leaned back and studied Cullen's face, both his reaction and his colour. "Maybe not the red. You blush too much for red. It'll clash."

"Anton, I'm not a piece of _meat_!" The words were out, before Cullen could think about saying them.

"What? No, of course you're not, darling." One of Anton's hands fluttered up to stroke Cullen's cheek. That was not among the objections he'd expected from Cullen. Objections, yes, but not that one. "You're a handsome and talented man, and very much among the living. I think death comes before meat, so if you're meat, I'm kinkier than all my brothers combined."

"Anton," Cullen said, the name a huff of breath against Anton's palm, "that's not what I..."

"I know what you meant. This is all in good fun, and if you feel uncomfortable, you don't have to go. But everyone will be dressed accordingly, you know."

Cullen weighed this in his mind. "Everyone?" he asked, eyes narrowing dubiously. "Even your brothers?"

Anton smirked. _Especially_ his brothers -- well, especially Artie -- but saying as much probably wouldn't help with Cullen's blushing. "Even the Arishok, if he decides to come. I haven't heard a reply from him yet."

And that just sent Cullen gibbering again. "T-The Arishok? You... invited the Arishok. To a corset party."

"Why not? I'm hoping this might ease some tensions, after that whole disaster with Saemus."

"Maybe platemail isn't the worst choice," Cullen muttered, nervously kneading Anton's hip, with one hand. "Qunari. In lingerie." He paused and stared at the wall, over Anton's shoulder, for a long moment. "You didn't note what else should be worn, on the invitation. It's not just shoes, it's... Is this a pants-wearing occasion?"

"If you like. I'm not wearing pants. I thought I'd go for a drape, maybe a loincloth. I'm sure someone will wear pants -- maybe the broody death elf." Anton smiled, again, nuzzling Cullen's cheek. "Come on, we'll go to the shop, together, and find something nice. Fran made that dress for Anders, you remember? She'll make something that looks good on you."

And that was another thought Cullen hadn't meant to have. Anders in a corset. Anders in a ballgown had been bad enough. Something about that image nagged at him. There was something wrong with it -- more wrong, even, than the idea of Varric using his chest hair in place of a lace ruffle. But, he couldn't place it. Either way, Anton was still looking at him like he expected an answer, and ... what was the question?

"I'll go with you. I'll look. I will not promise to be tarted up in strange lingerie for the sake of everyone else's good time." That. He could do that.

"Everyone else? But, it's your good time I'm interested in, Ser Templar..." Anton purred, and Cullen felt his thighs get weak. He was probably going to end up looking ridiculous, and everyone would stare. Better ridiculous, he supposed, than the alternative.  


* * *

Cullen was the picture of discomfort. His arms folded tight across his chest, shoulders hunched, as he eyed the array of corsetry and hosiery as though waiting for the lace to rise up and attack him. Anton held up another corset design, tilting his head and hmm'ing, comparing the shapes to Cullen's figure.

"No," Cullen said.

Anton rolled his eyes. "You could at least try it on, you know."

"No. That has ten ruffles too many. I draw the line at ruffles."

Anton sorted through some designs on the other wall, and Cullen spotted something in a rather severe cut, near the back. He slipped around Anton, pretending he wasn't actually going to look at anything under his own volition. Still, the simple lines seemed much less distressing than anything else in the shop. No lace, no ruffles, high at the chest and low in the hips. It was almost an actual piece of clothing.

A woman's voice behind him surprised him, and his cheeks flushed as he turned to face the speaker. "That's probably a good choice, for you. You're what, a soldier? That'll accent your shoulders nicely. Swordsman, I'm guessing, with those arms."

"Swordsman, yes." Cullen swallowed and backed into the display.

"The cloth doesn't bite, and neither do I, but those display hooks are deadly," Fran joked, smiling warmly as she rearranged a few pieces to make room for the one she was holding. "Step away, before you hurt yourself, and tell me what you're looking for."

What was he looking for? A way out. That's what he was looking for. Anton sidled over, examining the racks as though he weren't spying on the conversation.

"It's... for a party," Cullen explained, eyeing Anton. "A corset party. To which I've been invited."

"Ah, at the Hawke Estate?" Fran nodded in understanding. "I suspected as much when I saw you arrive with Messere Anton. I've been delightfully busy ever since those invitations went out."

Anton stopped pretending he wasn't eavesdropping and turned around, grinning. "Have you now, Fran, my dear?" he asked. "Working on anything particularly exciting for any of my guests?"

"Of course I am," Fran replied. "But I'm not going to ruin the surprise, messere, no matter how charmingly you smile at me. I can tell you that you just missed Serendipity, and that she's going to look as stunning as ever!"

"Something simple!" Cullen's hands leapt up defensively, at the mention of Serendipity. He knew she was Anton's very best friend, and he knew she had tastes that could overburden Orlais, when she put her mind to it. "I'm looking for something simple!"

Fran reached up and took down the corset Cullen had been looking at. "This one obviously won't fit you, but... I think it would look good, in your size. What do you think, Anton?" She held it up in front of Cullen, who looked profoundly disturbed to be studied like that.

"That's a high one," Anton noted tilting his head as he studied the lines. "Needs something to break it up a little."

Cullen saw the idea start, as his eyes met Anton's. "No. Absolutely not. No. I will _not_ bring disrepute upon the order."

"Sunburst?" Anton suggested, a hint of a smile curling the corners of his mouth.

Cullen groaned. He tried not to picture it, he truly did. Not the corset, but Grand Cleric Elthina's reaction ( _"The symbol of the Chantry on a corset? Andraste did not die for this."_ ). "Better than the Sword of Mercy," he conceded anyway. For all of Elthina's potential disapproval, Meredith's was far more terrifying.

Anton patted his arm. "We'll save the sword for more... private showings."

"A sunburst?" Fran considered. "Yes, I could certainly do that." Cullen considered it a lost cause. "And what about the rest of messere's outfit?"

"There should be a rest of my outfit. Yes," Cullen agreed, a little too quickly. "I, er... I don't... My legs are not meant for the general public. Something long. Pants. Pants are good. I can just ... pants. Yes."

With a great amount of trouble, Anton swallowed a laugh, and then a few more attempts at giggling. "Don't wear pants, darling. I'm not wearing pants." Anton held up a finger, when Cullen's mouth opened. "I'm not saying you shouldn't be covered from your hips to the floor, because I think that could look incredible on you. I'm just saying it shouldn't be pants."

Cullen's concerns were more about blasphemy than skirts, and those concerns were vindicated, almost immediately.

"I like the formal templar drape -- no, don't wear yours, it's too red." Anton grinned and Cullen groaned, but let him finish. "Something similar, but in black, to match the corset? It won't be official, then. It's just ... suggestive."

"That drape would look lovely," Fran agreed. She hummed and looked Cullen over some more in a way that made him feel like his chest was already exposed. "But all black? That would be too much. A bit severe, don't you think?"

Anton tapped his chin and looked Cullen over as well. Cullen fought not to fidget under their combined stares. "This is true," he said. "What would you suggest?"

"How about red and black?" Fran suggested. "In a gradient, to soften the look?"

"Oh, that would be striking," Anton agreed, nodding.

Cullen wondered who else would be there -- who would tell the Knight-Commander that he'd spent the evening prancing around in templar-themed undergarments. On the other hand, 'prancing' would likely be overstating it. He was much more likely to spend most of the evening standing behind Anton, and hoping no one was looking. The Arishok had been invited. How was he supposed to serve as a representative of the Chantry, to the most important Qunari in Kirkwall, in next to nothing? Of course, he supposed, the Arishok would also be corseted, so the point was sort of moot. He could answer any questions about his clothing with, 'Oh, look! A Qunari!'

"Striking. Wonderful." Cullen did not look thrilled. It was an Orlesian underwear party -- exactly the sort of thing he should have expected from Anton, really -- and he was going to walk in as a mockery of himself. A striking mockery. He wondered, for a moment, if Anders would be there, and how long it would take before the mage was crippled with laughter. Better laughter than other things, he supposed. "I'll take your word for it, Anton," he sighed. "Please don't... nothing exciting? Nothing scandalous?"

"Scandalous? No, no, no. If you're doing scandalous things, I want to be the only person in the room for them." Anton winked and grinned.

And that wasn't helping, but Cullen supposed it was rather pointless to say so. Only Anton could talk him into something like this, and Cullen suspected Anton could talk him into anything, if he thought about it. The man had proposed with a _goat_ , for Maker's sake, and gotten a 'yes'.

"Fine. I will... fine." At least there would be alcohol at this party. Assuming Artie didn't get to it first. "We will get--" he gesture vaguely at the corset in Fran's hand "--that. What you were saying. And I will... wear it." Assuming he didn't die of embarrassment first, which might be a mercy.

Fran's smile didn't waver. She'd seen her share of unsure clients and insecure clients, almost all of whom left satisfied after she'd worked her magic. "As you say, messere," she said pleasantly. She turned to Anton. "And what about you?"

Anton winked at Fran, this time. "Don't you remember? You made mine, when I first came to you with the idea. Still, maybe I should wear a little more than I intended. What are my brothers wearing? Yes, I know, the _surprise_ , but I should make sure I _match_."

Reaching under one of the tables, Fran pulled out a thick book. "Cormac's wearing a variant of skirt sixty-five. As a loincloth, instead of a skirt, front and back only." She opened the book across several rather daring pairs of knickers and then reached for another book. "And a ninety-six with it, red and black, of course. Both of you with the red and black."

"We're brothers! We match! It's a grand universal constant!" Anton laughed and looked at the drawings. "The sixty-five looks good. What do you think, Cullen? If I switch to something long, how would that look?"

Cullen studied the diagram, trying to figure out the angles and the way the arrows indicated the cloth worked. "That's... rather immodest, isn't it? Even if it is long."

"Trust me, you'll look like the very figure of decorum, beside me." Anton handed the other book to Cullen, after a moment. "Or next to Cormac, apparently."

Cullen nearly went cross-eyed trying to picture it. Cormac. In a corset. In _that_ corset. He fumbled for an adequate response to that and came up with nothing.

"It looks like Varric's going to have some competition," Anton said, "with all that chest hair on display."

Cullen let out a nervous laugh, only to stop short when Anton's words truly caught up to him. "Wait. Varric. You invited Varric?"

"Of course I invited Varric." Anton thumbed through a few pages. "He's sort of made himself the Hawke biographer, and Maker knows what sort of story ideas this will give him." Anton's grin bordered on terrifying.

Cullen looked like he might topple in the next stiff breeze. "There will be no unauthorized biography of me. It's bad enough he was there when-- for that time. At the Hanged Man."

"You mean when you--" Anton didn't get to finish the sentence, before Cullen was trying to cover his mouth. He dodged a few times, and they eventually stumbled into a table.

" _Gentlemen_!" Fran's voice was strident, even if she looked amused. "Kindly take your horseplay out of my establishment. I'll have these done no later than the night before."


	102. Chapter 102

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen is not entirely comfortable in this corset. The Hawkes, however, are undisturbed.

Buckles. Buckles shouldn't have been difficult, Cullen knew, but they were corset buckles, and his hands were shaking. This was just... He couldn't be doing this. It wasn't possible. Of all the things Anton had talked him into, this was definitely close to the top of the list for 'regrettable', and he wasn't even all the way into the thing, yet. It was just as Anton and Fran had decided -- clean, straight lines, with something resembling the Chantry's sunburst, in the middle of his chest. Like some prostitute dressed as a sister. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, before he reached for another buckle. Which he couldn't close, because Anton's hand was in the way.

"Anton, I can't close that, with you groping my side," he complained, not even trying any more, arms hanging loose at his sides. Maybe if he dragged his feet enough, Anton would let him have a shirt. Or _pants_.

"So don't close it, just yet," Anton purred into Cullen's ear. "Just let me enjoy you for a little bit. Give me a kiss. You know I love it when you're half-dressed."

"I'm trying to get completely dressed, because people are going to start showing up in ... less than an hour, definitely. Probably in the next few minutes!" Cullen reached behind him with both hands and grabbed Anton's ass. "So, please. Stop groping me, and help me get this thing on."

"Well, I wouldn't want you to end up completely dressed, when we head downstairs..." Anton tugged at the nearly floor-length, heavy skirt, with its gradient and its own half sunburst. "You're not wearing smalls, are you? Because wearing smalls would make it a great deal more difficult to drag you into a closet for a good time, and be back before anyone notices."

"Anton," Cullen scolded, and really that stern look was having the opposite effect on Anton. "I'm not going out there with just this one piece of fabric between the world and my... weaponry. I'm sure you can manoeuvre around a set of smalls. You've manoeuvred around buildings -- and stairs -- for less."

"For the same, you mean," Anton corrected. "Different location, same... activity."

Cullen huffed and tried not to smile at that. "Still. We're going to be stuck in _this_ location unless you give me a hand. With the outfit. The _outfit_ , Anton." He smacked the offending hand away, but Anton looked anything but remorseful. "Buckles. It'll be easier from your angle."

"Whatever you say, Captain," Anton said, leaning in to purr the words in Cullen's ear. The buckle Cullen had been fiddling with snapped closed.

The rest of the buckles closed with a bit more of Anton's hands wandering between each one and the next, and finally Anton pulled Cullen around to face the long mirror, mounted on the wall. He'd been the only one of his brothers vain enough to get a full-length.

"Look." Anton held Cullen's hands, for a moment, standing in front of him. "Just look at yourself," Anton breathed, pressing kisses to Cullen's knuckles, before he let go and stepped aside.

It was powerful, Cullen thought -- would have been powerful on Meredith, maybe, but as his eyes rose far enough to take in his own face, he just couldn't keep looking. The flush raced out from his cheeks, to his hairline and down into the top of the corset. "It would be amazing on someone else," he insisted.

"Put on your sword, you'll feel better," Anton suggested.

"No, then I'll just feel like twice the fool. Anton, are you really sure about this? It's not..." Cullen gesticulated helplessly, unable to find the words he meant.

"Just tonight," Anton promised. "Just wear it for me, for one night. You'll get used to it. You're wearing more than a lot of people will be. You're wearing more than I am!"

"That's not really saying much," Cullen said, eyeing Anton's exposed chest longer than necessary. "But..." Cullen squeezed his eyes shut, shoulders heaving in a great sigh. They'd already bought the infernal thing, hadn't they? And he assumed it was just as much a pain to take off as to put on. Cullen opened his eyes again, saw the pleading slant of Anton's eyebrows. "For you, yes. All right."

Anton's grin threatened to split his face, and Cullen wasn't sure if that made the situation more or less unnerving.

Cullen held up one finger. "For a few hours," he said, again in that stern voice. "If I'm still uncomfortable after a few hours, I am changing." He looked at Anton like he meant it, like Anton couldn't talk him out of that too. They both knew better.

Anton clicked his teeth in front of that finger. "Yes, ser," he purred. "Shall we?"

Cullen sighed again, but gestured toward the door. He followed Anton out to the stairs, to the mostly-open hall below, now set with tables of wine and finger-foods. And... there were already people. People he knew. That was Varric. Yes, he knew Cormac and Isabela, but Cormac's opinion had a way of not properly mattering to much of anyone, except Anders, as far as he could tell, and Isabela would flirt with anything with two legs and a heartbeat. Varric, though... Varric was a _writer_. And the Merchant's Guild representative of House Tethras. Practically a proper noble, or at least as close as a dwarf was likely to come, on the surface. Not that the Hawkes weren't a noble family, but... They were the Hawkes. One expected a certain disregard for propriety and good sense, from the Hawkes, particularly his own Hawke, he'd noticed.

"I don't know how he intends to get that thing on, without help. Actually, I think I do know, and I'm doubly sad he won't let me help, now." Cormac laughed, pouring himself a drink. The heavy, articulated -- Cullen thought it was a shawl, until it clinked, but that was actual gold and some sort of stone, draped over Cormac's shoulders and upper back. Probably his chest, too. It looked incredibly heavy, like the matching red and gold bracers. "He's behind me, isn't he..." Cormac muttered, as Isabela stared over his shoulder.

"He's not, but we are!" Anton gestured broadly, midway down the stairs, Cullen still following behind him.

Isabela all but squealed when she saw them. Cullen walked a little closer to Anton and fought the urge to hide behind him. Anton was a reasonable height, but certainly not tall or wide enough to block a corseted templar from view. "Well, look at you!" Izzy cooed, taking the opportunity to let her stare linger on each of them. It was an opportunity she often took, whenever she could. "Oh, Captain." She touched one of his bare arms. "Showing off your nice shoulders, I see."

Cullen fought the urge to duck his head and powered through the blushing. "Isabela," he said. "Showing off your nice..." His eyes were drawn to her cleavage, which was as well-displayed as ever. "...wit, I see." He realised that she was wearing the same style she usually did. He supposed that seemed about right.

"Oh, you know I'm always displaying my 'wit'," Isabela countered.

Cullen cleared his throat and sought out safer waters in the shape of Varric Tethras. Well. He hoped they were safer waters, anyway. They were certainly tightly-cinched, corseted waters. "Hello, Varric."

"Looking good, Curly. Wasn't sure Anton was going to get you dressed up, but here you are, and that is..." Varric shook his head and slipped a few coins to Isabela. "Wow. You've managed to maintain the dignity of your office, while wearing something that is very, very little like your usual platemail. I'm impressed. This is really your first time in a corset?"

"Probably also my last," Cullen grumbled, rubbing his arm, self-consciously.

"Nah, nah. It's a good look. Not something to do all the time, but in a room full of people in corsets? You'll command just as much respect as usual."

"And I will command twice as much respect, if only because I managed to dress myself," Anders remarked, coming into the room with a cat perched in the pewter crown that topped his blue and silver outfit. A Nevarran style, but more subtle than Cormac's choices. The top of his corset led up into a studded chestpiece and buckled collar, remarkably similar to Warden armour -- not an inch of chest showed.

Isabela whistled. "I needed that surprise! Still think you could be showing a little more leg! What do you need greaves for, it's a party!"

"I need greaves, my dear Pirate Queen, because I don't want to gross out half the guests. You've seen my legs since I left Amaranthine, haven't you?" Anders had a terrible scar that wound up from his ankle to where a broodmother had almost removed his intestines. Normally, he'd brag about it, but he tended to keep it covered around people who might not be expecting it.

Staring. Cullen was staring. He really should not be staring, at least not at _Anders_. Anders was a mage. And a Warden. Those were mage-Warden legs he was ogling, if more demurely clad than Anton's. Maker. Cullen was used to that mage dressing himself in layers upon layers of cloth and feathers. The dress had been a hint, but he hadn't been prepared for this.

"Fran works wonders, doesn't she?" Anton said, and Cullen jumped. He turned to see Anton wearing that damnable smirk that said he knew exactly what the captain was thinking.

"I... yes. She's certainly... skilled. In her area. Her area being corsetry. Maker." He was red. He knew it. He could feel the heat rising off his cheeks.

Anders studied Cullen for a moment. "Does everyone have better shoulders than me, tonight? Andraste's tits afire, I knew I should have worn the feathers." He huffed and tried to hide behind Cormac, which might have worked, if he were a foot shorter.

"I like your shoulders just fine, Sparklefingers. You're looking a little narrow, since Denerim, but it doesn't look bad on you. Makes some parts of you that aren't your shoulders look even bigger." Isabela grinned and poured herself another glass of cordial.

"Yes, like my feet," Anders drawled, refusing to rise to the bait.

Cormac slipped a hand behind himself and clacked his fingers against the extremely solid, decorative plate that hung from the silver gryphon at Anders's hips. "I think Varric's got the best shoulders in the room, but he's also cheating, because he's a dwarf. Man's enough to make me feel wispy."

"The day you're wispy, Shouty, is the day I'm two feet taller." Varric shook his head and laughed.

"Oh, but Varric," Isabela said, "there's already plenty of you to go around." She draped her arms around his shoulders, chin resting on his head. She looked in the direction of the door, and her eyes bugged. "Oh ho, it looks like Broody's decided to join us." She patted Varric's shoulder and straightened again. "And so has Artemis. Oh my." Izzy grinned around her thumbnail.

"Hello," Fenris rumbled, giving an awkward wave from the doorway. He was dressed in a scanty echo of his usual armour, all spikes and leather and brooding stare. They were familiar, by now, with the shape of Fenris's legs, but not with the shape his waist was currently in.

"That... doesn't seem physically possible," Anders said, leaning in towards Cormac. "To be that tight, it looks... in fact physically _painful_." He was a bit envious, he had to admit. Then he saw the gold chain in Fenris's hand and what that chain was attached to and stopped talking altogether.

Artemis followed Fenris, giving his own awkward wave, his smile sheepish but also a little pleased. He was in a red Antivan number with flowing skirts and strappy sandals that went up his thighs. But everyone's attention went to the collar around his neck and the golden chain attached to it.

Cormac applauded. "Blessed art the Maker! You've found a way to let my brother get as drunk as he wants without making an ass of himself -- or anything else involving asses, his or anyone else's -- with half the party! And, may I say, you look smashing, Artie." His eyes lingered much too long on his brother, but this was, as far as anyone else knew, the first time he'd seen Artie in a corset. Well, as far as anyone who _shouldn't know_ knew.

"The Maker had nothing to do with it, but you're welcome to thank Danarius, before I slit his throat." Fenris smiled in a way that made it difficult to tell if that was supposed to be humorous.

"A ma--" Anders stopped in the middle of the word and cleared his throat. "A marvellously ingenious idea, Fenris, even if I will be on the regretful side of the room." 'A mage on a leash,' he'd meant to say, 'what a politically-charged statement, for a frivolous event like this.' It would start a fight, he was sure, but fighting with Fenris was one of those things that made life more amusing. Just... not in front of the templar.

Isabela was busy circling the two, checking out the cut of Artie's skirt. "That is very nice. Fran make that for you? Now, I want one..."

Cormac glanced back at Anton, finally noticing something. "Is that the same pattern as mine?" He looked down at his own nearly floor-length black loincloth, with its red embroidery, and then back at Anton's four-panel skirt. "You're wearing the exact same thing, but in the full cut! I thought you were going for the flame-dyed short loincloth! Damn it, Anton!"

"I wanted my templar to be more comfortable wearing a little more than the rest of us, so I got something that shows a little less of my ass." Anton shrugged and wrapped an arm around Cullen, leading him closer to one of the tables, so he could get them both glasses of cordial. Cordial first, he thought, and then that Orlesian fruit wine, to keep the buzz. Cullen was not allowed to get as drunk as the last time he drank cordial, tonight.

Cullen wrapped his fingers around the glass pressed into his hand. Drink. Yes. That was a delightful idea. "Thank you," he told Anton absently before taking a drink. The party barely started, and already there was so much skin on display in the room. He could feel eyes looking him over, but in a curious -- not ridiculing -- way.

"You looked like you could use it." Anton saluted him with his own drink. "You should see how incredible you look from this angle. Or any angle, really."

"That's usually my line," Cullen said with a weak smile. "Except generally with a... great deal more stumbling and less charm."

Anton patted him on the back. "The stumbling is part of the charm, you know." He offered Cullen a wink and a smirk just to watch his cheeks flame red again.

Nearby, Artemis had an arm around Cormac's shoulders and an elbow on Varric's shoulder. He looked back and forth between the two of them. To Varric's quizzical look, he said, "Now we can know for sure. Who has the most... er, impressive chest hair. You or my brother?"

"He does." Cormac pointed to Varric.

"I do," Varric agreed.

"I'd argue that," Anders said, returning with a glass of something questionable, "but Cormac's been a little less fluffy, since he shaved his chest."

"You shaved your _chest_?" Varric looked completely scandalised.

"He started it!" Cormac pointed at Anders, outraged, and then his face softened. "No, I know. I knew it then, too. Some asshole magister started it, I just had to finish it. I couldn't walk around with only half my chest hair. It was ridiculous."

"Speaking of ridiculous, why'd you grow back the stupid beard?" Varric asked. "That's gotta give you more trouble than it's worth..."

"My beard is not stupid. It is a remarkably elegant beard, in a style popular across Thedas." Cormac sniffed and crossed his arms over his chest. "And it is worth every second of distraction."

"Because he looks sixteen without it," Anders threw in, laughingly dodging Cormac's attempts to pinch him.

"Artie, come here and look younger than me!" Cormac demanded, finally landing a sharp tweak on Anders's thigh.

Artemis tugged at Cormac's beard. "If by that you mean 'look prettier', I already have that handled." Pretty or not, Cormac was certainly something in that corset. Artemis found him attractive in anything -- or nothing -- but he never thought corsets could be Cormac's thing. This was a pleasant surprise, and Maker bless Fran for it.

A tug on the chain and a raised eyebrow from Fenris said he was starting to stare too long. Artie cleared his throat and extricated himself from brother and dwarf. "Well, then, my fine, furry friends," he said. "If you excuse me, Anton appears to be serving some lovely cordial over there. While I am over here. I will now go... over there." He pointed in that direction in case it wasn't already clear. Fenris followed, gold chain in hand.

"Cordial," Fenris remarked as approached the drink table. "Do you remember the last time you had cordial?"

Artemis thought for a moment, glass halfway to his lips. "No?"

Fenris gave him a meaningful look. "Exactly."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who didn't catch the corset images, the first time around, [here's all three Hawkes](http://penbrydd.tumblr.com/post/118460322303/hawkes-in-corsets-cormac-artemis-and-anton).


	103. Chapter 103

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unexpected guests. Old... 'friends'. Mayhem ensues.

A squeal from Isabela told them the next guest had arrived. Within the hour, the party had gone from a small group of friends and relatives to a surprising number of lesser nobility and entertainers of varying types.

Anders and Aveline sat together on the patio, discussing Fran's latest designs, and how everyone always underestimated the impact of a good brown -- except Aveline, of course, who looked incredible in her latest of Fran's creations. She'd tried to bring Donnic, but he refused to believe that guardsmen -- specifically men -- belonged in corsetry. Noblemen, perhaps. Guardswomen, definitely. But no, not guardsmen.

Serendipity circled, in some confection of orange satin and white tulle, gossiping and trading compliments. Anton would end up with anything usable she gathered. That was just how they worked.

From the doorway, Bodhan announced, "Presenting the Wardens Sigrun and Shale!"

The enormous golem in the begemmed blue-steel corset protested. "I am not a Warden. She is a Warden."

Anton froze, elbowing Cullen. "Does that look strangely familiar to you? That looks strangely familiar to me..."

If Cullen's face had been red earlier, it was devoid of colour now. "Maker," he said or maybe breathed. His lips formed the words, whether his lungs pumped the air or not. "Is that--? It can't be." He looked at Anton, looked at the cordial in his hand, and looked back up at the golem. No. That still looked exactly like that statue in Honnleath. The one he used to use as target practice. "Hide me."

The golem approached, and Cullen and Anton ducked behind the nearest ficus.

Across the way, Fenris ducked through the crowd, the chain forcing him to keep up with Artemis, which was, in hindsight, the opposite of what was supposed to happen. Artie came up behind Cormac and prodded his arm. "Cormac, Cormac, I'm seeing things. Tell me I'm seeing things." He took his brother by the impressive shoulders and turned him towards the corseted golem.

"That's not possible," Cormac said, firmly, taking in the golem in one glance. "It's a golem, right? Don't all golems look alike?" He'd never seen a golem before the Deep Roads, and those had been much bigger, but anything that looked like the statue that had been in the middle of town, but was now walking into their house had to be a golem. And this was a small golem. For a golem. Still much bigger than he was. "There's no way. What are the chances? It's just the same kind of golem we had a statue of." There'd been stories about the wizard, though... Wizard, statue, golem... Cormac shut down that thought as fast as it happened. "Can't be."

He looked for Anton, who was nowhere to be seen. Apparently he'd had the same thought. "They're Wardens, right? Go get Anders. He probably knows something. I'll ... stall."

"There is a golem, wearing a corset, in your house, Cormac. I have seen golems, before. I have seen golems in the Imperium, and they are not this small," Fenris pointed out. "If you knew a small golem, once... I would assume they are far fewer in number. There is a very good chance this is that golem."

"I didn't know a golem. I knew a statue," Cormac insisted. "Golems move. Sometimes they talk. Statues do neither of these things."

Fenris ran out of leash, and followed Artemis out to the patio.

Cormac was right. It couldn't be. That was simply much too big a coincidence. His luck was terrible but not that terrible. Artemis found Anders chatting with Serendipity and, with a tug on Anders's arm, interrupted what sounded like a riveting political discussion. "Anders. Anders? Resident Warden Anders?"

"Yes?" Anders noted Artie's wide eyes and looked back and forth between Artie and Fenris. He was immediately on guard, Justice sitting up at the edge of his thoughts. "Did something happen?"

"No, no," Artemis said with a nervous laugh. "Not yet, anyway. Something might happen. To Cormac. Or myself. Most likely to Cormac, considering..."

"Artemis. Breathe."

"Right. Yes. There is a golem. A golem in a corset that we might know. The-- the statue. It looks just like the statue, from..."

Anders tried to get a good look at Artemis's eyes. "And how much have we had to drink tonight, Artie?"

"I'm not--Augh!" Artemis grabbed Anders by the wrist and tugged him back inside, planting him somewhere he could see the golem. Fenris trailed after, throwing Serendipity an apology and a long-suffering look.

"That's a golem. And, that's my friend from the Legion!" Anders pointed across the crowded room and bellowed, "Six pints for the first floor, and five shots each to the top of the tower!"

"Less fear! More beer!" came the answering shout, and the confused crowd parted for the dwarf suddenly barrelling through. Sigrun leapt up, scaling Anders in seconds, to hang from his shoulders. "How the fuck are you, healer?"

"Oh, you know, went out on patrol, got stabbed by a templar, decided it was time for a little holiday. Got a home, a family, a clinic. I'm doing all right. I just... can't come back." Anders tucked an arm under Sigrun, as if holding up a dwarf were a perfectly normal part of his day.

"Didn't you go out with Justice? We've all been wondering -- did he make it back to the Fade?" Sigrun asked, looking concerned. "We found... well, we think it was Kristoff. It was wearing his armour. Templars tried to say you killed him and their guys, but ... it was a mess. We thought you'd been in there, until that letter to the Commander."

"Kristoff... you remember what happened to Kristoff? Happened to me." Anders shrugged. "Just, I was alive at the time. We're both here. Well, no, I guess we're both me would be more accurate. I'm a little different, now. He's a little different."

"Mages, man, you just keep getting weirder." Sigrun laughed and looked up at the cat peering down from the top of Anders's head. "Is that Pounce?"

Anders's face twisted wistfully at the name. "No, this is Ser Purrcival," he said, reaching up to pet the cat with his free hand. "Purrcy, for short. His brother, Lord Assbiter, is downstairs, likely whining at their food dish." The room was too loud to hear Purrcy, but Anders could feel the cat's ribcage vibrating with purrs. Sigrun pet him, and Purrcy seemed more than content to let her.

"'Lord Assbiter'," she huffed. "Oghren would have gotten a kick out of that." She let out a parody of Oghren's bark of a laugh, which Anders copied.

Next to them, Artemis turned to Fenris and spread his hands. "Golem. Giant... giant golem in a corset, and he sees the dwarf." Fenris sighed and made a face Artie knew too well. "Yes, yes, 'mages', I know."

"Yes, you do," Fenris rumbled, giving the chain a teasing tug.

The ficus next to Fenris rustled, and a familiar head of blond curls appeared around it. "Is it gone?" he asked Fenris. "The golem?"

"It doesn't appear to be going anywhere. It's just ... standing there, by the tarts." Fenris shrugged and eyed Cullen intently. "Is there something I should know? Did you also know a suspiciously small golem, at some point?"

"We lived in the same town, for a while. Long time ago. But, there was a statue that looked _just like that_ , right in the middle of town." Cullen ducked back behind the tree. "I never expected it to get up and walk away!"

"I think further introductions are in order," Anders said, finally lowering Sigrun to the ground, without dropping Purrcy. "Artemis, Fenris, this is my friend Sigrun. She was Legion, before she became a Warden. We're all doing the same thing, just for different reasons. Sigrun, this is Artemis, the twitchiest mage in Thedas, and his fiancé, Fenris, who glows in the dark. Somewhere around here are Artie's brothers, Cormac and Anton..."

Sigrun offered both her hands at once, arms crossed over at the elbows, as she held them out to Fenris and Artemis. "I've heard nothing about the two of you, because none of us are supposed to know he's even alive, but whatever he's said about me... it's probably true. Unless it involved twelve copper, a nug, and seven pints of stout. That is a dirty lie."

"I... can't say I've heard that one, but now I almost want to," Artemis replied, shaking her hand as Fenris shook the other. He didn't know how he felt about being introduced as the 'twitchiest mage in Thedas'. How could Anders know that? Had there been a contest of some sort to determine that? "Wait. Hold on." Artemis gave Anders a sidelong look. "Friend in the Legion. This is her?"

Anders grinned and told her, "Artie's a fan of your work."

Sigrun's brows bunched in confusion at first only to smooth over in realisation. "You kept it? Seriously?" Her laugh was the loud, snorting kind that was infectious.

"I started referring to it as the 'Magic Wand'," Anders replied, which did not help with Sigrun's snorting laughter.

Fenris threw a puzzled look at Artemis. "Am I missing something?" he asked.

"If you are, you want it that way," Artie replied, face red. "So, um. Sigrun. Your friend, the golem -- Shale, was it? How did you two meet?" That seemed politer than asking if Shale used to be a statue pigeons pooped on.

"Oh, she's an old friend of the Commander. Travelling back through from somewhere to somewhere else, and she stopped by. She's fascinated by the cellars of the Vigil, but who wouldn't be? Some really amazing old machinery down there, most of it almost finished." Sigrun caught herself about to start rambling, and verged back into the subject at hand. "But, she used to be a dwarf, she says. Forged into a war golem, by the Paragon Caridin, who, I don't know if you know much about the Paragons, but he was a pretty badass dude. Complains about pigeons, all the time. I guess she got stuck as a statue, for a while, after some jerk mage broke her control rod."

"She was ... _forged_? into a golem?" Fenris had always assumed golems were made of stone and metal, but never gave them much thought.

"Oh, yeah, all the golems were criminals and Casteless. They volunteered to be turned into golems, because at least then they could still fight and regain their families' honour. Kind of like the Legion, actually, but way more painful. More effective, too, really. We're kind of squishy." Sigrun nodded, like she was explaining something inconsequential and obvious. "Why do you ask?"

"One might say I, too, was 'forged'," Fenris said, with a hint of bitter amusement. Artie's hand slid over his and squeezed, and he smiled. "I should like to meet her, after."

A nervous laugh punched out of Artemis's throat. "It... sounds like you should. Yes. I, on the other hand, should inform my big brother that the even bigger golem was in fact a statue at some point in her life. A fact that I am sure has nothing to do with the Shale-shaped statue that we knew." Artemis excused himself from the Wardens and cat and waded through the crowd again, in search of a familiar bearded face.

"Um." Fenris looked at the chain in his hand, looked up at Anders and Sigrun. "Mage. Warden." He followed the golden chain and decided he'd have to introduce himself to this Shale later.

Anders huffed. "Unbelievable. You're 'Warden', and I'm still 'mage'."

Artie tapped on Cormac's shoulder again.

"Yes, my darling sweet--" Cormac looked over his shoulder. "-- _brother_. Well. That wasn't what I expected. Did you find him, or had he wandered off into invisibility again?"

"Your golem statue is an actual golem. Probably this actual golem." Fenris cut to the chase. "Something about a 'jerk mage' and a 'broken control rod'." A breath of amusement slipped out of him. "I know the feeling."

Cormac took a moment to absorb that, straight-faced and unblinking. "I have never been so glad I didn't pee on something in my entire life," he remarked, a little too calmly. "But, that was always more Anton's thing... where is Anton? Someone should probably warn him..."

Varric walked by, clearly in pursuit of more liquor, carrying on a conversation with Isabela. A few words drifted past. "... but would you look at that _elf_! Maker! I'm all the way across the room, and Bianca's getting jealous."

Fenris blinked at the dwarf's back and shuffled out of the way of the next person walking by. His spikes had already caught on some woman's fabric earlier, and that was not an experience he wanted repeated. "Since I do not see your other brother," Fenris said, returning to the conversation at hand and cutting in before Artemis could fumble any more words, "or your... other brother, I would assume Anton is aware."

"I'd expect so," Artie agreed, "especially since Ser Cullen is hiding behind a ficus. Was he in Honnleath? I think I remember Anton saying something about that once." Most of the places their family had travelled to blurred together, but Honnleath stuck in his memory, mostly because of why they'd left. He cleared his throat. "Do you think she -- Shale -- the golem -- remembers anything from when she was a statue?"

Maker, he hoped not. That statue -- golem -- whatever -- had been a favourite hiding place of his. Between her legs. He used to hide between her legs. Sweet Andraste. She was going to kill him if she remembered.

"What, exactly, did all of you do to this... statue to make you worry about her reaction?" Fenris asked, eyeing the brothers.

"I just used to climb up and stand on its -- her -- shoulders and pretend I was king of the world. I was ten. It made sense at the time. I'd make stupid proclamations and wear crowns made of sticks and flowers. The weaver thought it was hilarious. She'd come up and petition me for silly things, like ... I think once she wanted me to raise troops and start a war against the squirrels in her garden." Cormac laughed, remembering all the silly games he'd played as a child, and how many townspeople had just run with it, when he was being weird. "Anton, though... if Anton's hiding, I bet he peed on it. Probably to get back at Artie. I don't even know for what. It's not like Artie was force pushing people down the stairs, yet -- he didn't have force and we didn't have stairs."

Bethany arrived with Merrill, but no sign of Sebastian, who had stolidly refused to show up to a party in his underwear or hers, as he'd put it. Merrill wore green and brown, with pink lace at the top -- looked like a flower, really, at least according to Bethany, who was clad in black and red, just like her brothers, but in a cut more similar to what Serendipity wore, with layers of fluffy, asymmetrically cut tulle. Bethany hugged Serendipity, as they passed, and the three ladies descended upon the rather out-of-place looking golem, who did, admittedly, wear that steel corset well.

"Your sister appears to be facing the golem with no ill effects," Fenris said, keeping an eye on the proceedings. "No stone flying, no one calling for the abomination..."

"She was a baby when we were in Honnleath," Artemis said, shaking his head. "She doesn't have to worry about being recognised. We should keep Anders handy though, and -- where _is_ Anders, anyway?"


	104. Chapter 104

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aveline gets her toenails painted. Artemis avoids getting squished by a golem, for all the wrong reasons.

Back out in the garden, it turned out, giving Sigrun and Aveline and impromptu tour.

"So you're telling me," said Sigrun, "that all the flowers in here mean 'bone me'?" That set the dwarf into another gale of laughter. "You're making it up!"

"I am not!" Anders insisted through a laugh of his own. He gestured them closer to a few plants. "Like here, look. This one is coriander." He pointed out a cluster of white petals. "Which means 'lust'. And then over here these orange roses..."

"Not to mention the lime tree," Aveline said. "Even I know that one."

"The... lime tree..." Sigrun squinted across the garden and then up at Aveline.

"Look, just ask Nate, if you don't believe us," Anders said, with a huff, crossing his arms and looking away, in mock offence. "It's a noble thing. He'll know."

"I don't think Nate and plants really get along," Sigrun snickered. "I mean, not after Velanna--"

"Was that Velanna? Was it? Augh! He kept blaming me! Rashvine in his sheets, nettle in his boots, purple spots all over his face..." Anders laughed and shook his head. "I guess I was the obvious choice. I did keep all those things on hand, but for making potions, not ... torturing idiot noblemen in the midst of personal crises. I had other tools for that."

"I know. We all know. I think most of Amaranthine knows." Sigrun leaned on a statue, cackling madly. "It's why I got you that thing. So _he'd_ shut up!"

"A ball gag might have been more effective." Anders shrugged and looked around the garden. "I think ... I think I'm growing everything she used for that, right here. Andraste's ass, I'm lucky he didn't come with you. He'd have been sure it was me, after this."

"How long did it take him to get those spots off?" Sigrun cackled.

"Did this Warden have a habit of not washing?" Aveline asked, confused at what had been used to make the spots in question.

"Oh no, he washed," Anders told her. "He was a bit fussy about it, actually. But no, see, these berries _stained_. Velanna didn't mess around."

"You don't know the half of it," Sigrun said. "She was an artist with those berries. You know how her nails always looked ridiculously perfect? Berry-stained."

"Now you're lying," Aveline huffed. "You can't stain nails with berries. It would wipe off!"

"She always told me they were stained with the blood of her enemies," Anders said. "Meaning humans, really." Anders tilted his head and took a moment to consider this. "I actually kind of believed her. But the berries. That makes more sense, though a part of me is disappointed."

"You would... rather she paint her nails with human blood?" Sigrun asked, nose scrunching.

"Seems about as plausible as berries," Aveline said.

Sigrun straightened, tilted her chin up. "Do you want me to prove it? I'll prove it. We've got the berries right here."

"Well, I can't walk around with my nails half-stained! I'm the captain of the guard!" Aveline protested.

"You do have toenails," Anders pointed out. "It would work just as well, but nobody would see them."

Donnic would see them, Aveline thought, but that was something she wasn't going to discuss with Anders. "Fine. Prove it. With my toenails." Aveline tipped her chin up in a challenge.

Minutes later, they sat around one of the tables closer to the house. A small dish, nicked from under some food item and rinsed of its sauce, sat in front of Anders, and he crushed berries in it, with a small rock. Sigrun convinced some grass heads into a shape they'd hold fluid without getting it on everything.

"This would be easier with a brush," Anders muttered, choking as Aveline dropped her heels into his lap, unexpectedly.

"Oh, don't worry about it, Anders. You're a miracle worker," Sigrun reassured him. "After that time when Oghren--"

"No! No stories about Oghren that have me in them. I don't want to remember any of those. Do you know how much whiskey I put into not remembering those?" Anders shook his head. "Especially if they involve miracles. I'm sure it's a miracle I didn't drown in a sea of dwarven beer vomit."

"It's a miracle we all didn't," Sigrun replied, her smile managing to look both cheery and disgusted. "Just thank Solona that he didn't come to this."

Anders was assailed with the mental image of Oghren in a corset and had to take a moment to recover. "I will send her a fruit basket for just that reason."

He muttered at Aveline to hold her feet still as he set to work on her nails, moving painstakingly slowly. Over by the lime trees, the goat brayed to let them know he was hungry, and the sound startled Anders enough to make him twitch. He cursed at the smear of berry juice across his fingertips.

"That's a goat," said Sigrun, looking over at Goatilda's pen.

"Two of the Hawkes are getting married," Aveline explained. "There should be two goats, but Anton's too cheap to buy his own, so he borrowed his brother's."

"Anton... the Anton throwing this party?" Sigrun blinked in disbelief, looking from the goat to the house. "He doesn't seem particularly cheap."

"It's just because he's throwing a party. He never parties cheaply. But, gifts?" Aveline sighed and leaned back in her chair, covering her face with both hands. "If he gives you a gift, he probably stole it. Not because he can't afford one, but just because he's like that."

Anders shrugged at Sigrun. "You know, when Fenris first sent that goat, nobody thought it was him. Cormac thought it was me, pranking him. Getting back at him for some ... pointed floral commentary."

"Wait, wait. So, the goat is for getting married, and you thought he got you one for a _joke_? Who does that?" Sigrun stared for a few seconds and then started laughing. "It's really just you, isn't it? All the unbelievably weird things happen to you. And Nate. Nate happened to you."

"Nate _is_ unbelievably weird, and don't believe any evidence to the contrary. I assure you it's all fabricated with the intent of sprucing up the family name. He's gloriously deranged." Anders rubbed his eye with the back of his wrist, and uttered a sharp laugh. "And in answer to the first question, you really need to meet Cormac. I think I have a type."

"A type?" Aveline drawled. "Are you saying there's someone out there like Cormac? Maker preserve us."

"I don't think there's anyone out there quite like Cormac," Anders said, grinning over her toes. "He is already more than Thedas can handle. But there are some... similarities between him and Nate."

Anders sat back to admire his handiwork so far. Not as neat as Velanna but not terrible. There was a bit of a spillover on the third toe of her left foot, but hopefully Aveline wouldn't notice.

"And suddenly, I don't want to know," Sigrun said. "Nope."

"Well, there are differences, too. He's not afraid of spiders, for one." The corner of Anders's mouth twitched, as he tried to clean up after their spontaneous pedicure party, without spilling berry juice on anything important. "But, I think he might actually be _louder_ , if you can imagine that."

Aveline studied her feet. "They're purple. It looks like I got hit in the foot with a mallet." She licked her thumb and tried to rub off the colour, but as promised, it stayed put.

"Lalala, I can't hear you, Anders!" Sigrun leaned over for a better look at Aveline's toes. "It does not. If you got hit with a mallet, the edges wouldn't be so clean. Your whole toes would be purple."

"Would you like us to prove that too?" Anders asked, earning him a punch in the arm. "Rude! I stained my fingers purple for you!"

"No, you stained your fingers purple to prove a point," Aveline said. "You'll forgive me if I don't feel sorry for you."

"We could always do your toenails, too," Sigrun said, comforting Anders with a pat on the back. "Steal a few more berries."

Anders looked down at his feet. "No," he sighed. "Then I suspect they _would_ end up looking like a mallet hit them."

Sigrun exchanged a look with Aveline. "Is he insulting your technique or mine?"

"I don't know," Aveline answered, "but either way I think we should get a few more of those berries." Grinning, Aveline and Sigrun plucked a few. Aveline brandished one as though readying to throw.

"Oh no," Anders said, shaking his head hard enough to make Purrcy squeak. "Ladies. No. Put the berries down!"

* * *

Back inside, a quiet conversation continued, behind a ficus. "I can't stay back here all night! It's my party! I have to get out there and be seen!"

"There is a golem on the other side of this tree, and I don't know about you, but if I were that golem, I might still have a grudge over the events of some years past." Cullen shifted from foot to foot and peered out between the leaves.

"I was six! There's no way it's going to connect my face, then, with my face, now. You, on the other hand... You were a little older, weren't you?" Anton gazed thoughtfully at Cullen.

"I didn't leave town until I was thirteen!" Cullen hissed, eyes wide.

"And given that you still look sixteen, when you panic like that, I can see where that might be a little close for comfort." Anton laughed and leaned in to kiss Cullen.

From the other side of the leaves came the sound of throat-clearing. "Anton, if you're going to get it on with your boyfriend, in the middle of a party, can you at least do it in a closet? Those leaves just don't hide as much as you think they do."

"Bethany?!" Anton jumped and leaned out from around the plant. "Shh! There's a --" He stopped talking and looked up, and up, and up. "That's a golem."

"It is most astute," said the golem. Those four words held more sass than all the Hawkes put together. "I did not even need to hold up my 'I'm a golem' sign."

Anton would tease Cullen for the high-pitched whimper he made if he weren't so terrified himself. At least the good captain was still partly hidden by the ficus.

Shale squinted at Anton, a hum rumbling in her chest. "Have we met it before? It looks strangely familiar."

"No!" Anton said a bit too quickly. He tried to smooth over his panic with what he hoped was a charming smile. "No, I do not believe I've had the pleasure. Meeting you would certainly be... memorable."

"Why does it look like it's about to pee itself?" Shale's eyes narrowed even further only to pop wide. " _You_." The one word came out in a growl like gravel on rock.

"Me?" Anton squeaked.

"There were two things I despised, more than any other things, those thirty years I stood in the square: pigeons and small boys, and for much the same reason. I knew its name sounded familiar! It peed on my foot!" Shale loomed, leaning forward just a bit, over Bethany.

"It doesn't-- I mean, I don't... Did I? Where would that have happened, exactly? I don't recall having seen you in the Deep Roads, and that's the only place I've ever seen a golem. Most of them didn't stop to chat, I'm afraid." Anton shrugged and smiled with as much confusion as he could muster.

"Honnleath." Shale's eyes narrowed further.

"Nonsense. There were no golems in Honnleath! I think I'd have noticed!" Anton's smile faltered, and Bethany snickered behind her fan.

"Shale tells me she was a statue, in the centre of the town. Got to hear everyone's dirty secrets, but the pigeons were a dreadful problem." Bethany's eyes sparkled over her fan. "I don't remember, of course. I was just a baby. Did you pee on the golem, Anton? He does that, you know, pees on stone things that shouldn't be peed on. You should have seen the Altar of Dumat."

That was it. Anton was going to kill his sister, provided he survived long enough to do so. "That was different," he said. "I was making a statement. A statement regarding archdemons and Old Gods."

"And what was its statement when it peed on my foot?" Shale asked, looming over Anton. "That it wanted to be squished? That can be arranged." Shale moved her hands as though cracking her knuckles, except the sound was stone grinding on stone.

"I... wasn't aiming for your foot. Not exactly." And shit, he'd just confessed, hadn't he? "I was just trying to rile up my brother who used to like to hide out under you. He used to sit between your legs. Why don't you ask him what that was about? Or Cormac. He was the one who used to climb all over you. They're right over there, in fact!"

Anton pointed in his brothers' direction. Shale glanced over, and Anton took advantage of her momentary distraction to dart into the crowd, snatching Cullen by the wrist and pulling him along. Cormac had shields. His brothers would be fine.

Cormac turned his head in time to see Anton and Cullen make a break for the garden. And then there was a golem heading toward him. "Artie? I think we've been noticed. I think Anton ratted us out."

Fenris considered the situation and then yanked on Artemis's chain. "Down. On your knees. Whatever this is, your brother and I will take responsibility for it."

"How is that an improvement?" Cormac demanded, the strain in his voice completely unlike the relaxed and easy set of his shoulders. "That is a golem. You just changed which one of you gets stepped on, first."

"I had meant to introduce myself to this golem. Perhaps I can use this as further bonding material. What exactly did the two of you do, anyway?" Fenris looked like he might not believe the original story.

"Nothing!" Cormac insisted. "Well, except Anton. Anton peed on it. But, we didn't!"

"No peeing," Artemis agreed, on his knees as instructed. He had no idea if having his face at crotch level was really going to help, but he didn't exactly mind being there. "Just... well. Antics. We were kids." Artemis frantically combed through his memories, hoping to the Maker that he hadn't done anything particularly mortifying to or near that statue.

The crowd parted for Shale, and the golem paused to loom over the three of them. Artie was glad his face wasn't at _her_ crotch's height. Artemis gulped and looked up at his brother.

"Ah, two more familiar squishy flesh-creatures," said Shale. "All we need are the pigeons, and we'll have a Honnleath reunion."

Shale spat the word 'pigeons' the way Fenris spat the word 'mages'.

"I never thought I'd see the day!" Cormac looked up, amazed, and hoping he'd picked the right answer. "That really is you, isn't it? I used to pretend I could see as far as Redcliffe from your shoulders!" Hero worship was usually a good start, when you didn't want to get squished, he'd noticed. "And you've crossed all of Ferelden, to see my brother again? We were only there for a few months! It's so kind of you to remember us! Just... wow! How did you know? We were all so young, then!"

Fenris's eyebrow arced up, but he let Cormac keep talking. If the idiot mage wanted to engage in pointless flattery, Fenris wasn't going to interrupt.

"Oh, of course, I'm Cormac." He held out his hand, half expecting to have all his fingers crushed, and wondered where Anders had gotten to.

"It expects fond memories?" Shale rumbled, still firmly in looming mode, as she towered over the three of them.

"You were the best friend we had in that place! Even if you didn't talk. Or move, really. But, you didn't throw rocks at my little brother, and that was the important part!" Cormac grinned, still working on that dazzled look. "And you were just so big and tall and awesome. We never knew you were a real golem. That's just... well, I don't know about him, but that's my wildest dream come true."

Artemis caught on and tried to make his wide-eyed terror look like wide-eyed wonder.

"It used to put its foot in my face," Shale told Cormac. "And shout. Such a loud, screeching little voice." She looked Cormac over and considered. "But at least it scared away the pigeons. For that reason alone, you will remain unsquished." Her gaze slid to Artemis. "Now as for you..."

Artemis tried to make himself as small as possible, his smile wide and terrified. "Have I mentioned that's a lovely corset? Because that's a lovely corset. Very sparkly. Very... um. Yes." Fenris tensed, ready to step between them if need be.

"It made me quiver all over," Shale interrupted his babbling. "I rather enjoyed that. Can it still do that?"

"I... _what_?"

"Oh, shit," Cormac breathed. "That was _you_ , Artie... I didn't even think..."

Fenris looked back and forth between the brothers, waiting for some explanation. Quivering... golem...? And then his eyes widened and he shot a horrified look down to where Artemis knelt at his feet. _Earthquakes_?

Anton and Cullen crept by, behind Shale, heading for the table with the cordial. For all that Cullen did not want to be quite that drunk, ever again, he at least wanted to face his impending demise at the foot of a golem with a little more courage than he could manage, under the circumstances. Liquid courage would have to do. Maker. Who would ever have imagined this?

"You used to tell me the statue purred when you sat under it, and I thought you were just making it up. You weren't... it was _before_. Obviously." Cormac stroked his beard and gazed contemplatively down at his brother. "I wonder if dad would have noticed, sooner, if we'd told him."

"I'm rather glad he didn't," Artemis said, perhaps a bit more harshly than he'd meant to. Honnleath, sitting under that statue... they were the last memories he had from before he knew he had magic, from before he was afraid of what he could do. That statue had hummed softly against his skin and soothed him when he was a child.

Artie fiddled with the skirts in his lap, smoothing out the creases. "Uh." He looked up, up at the golem. "Technically? Yes. I could. I think."

Shale smiled as much as a golem could smile, and somehow that just made her more terrifying. "Then you shall remain unsquished as well. For the moment."

Part of the conversation reached Cullen, and it took a little bit to sink in, since he was much too focused on the rapidly-approaching table with the cordial. He poured himself a glass, and then had a strange thought. "I thought Cormac was the mage in your family," he said to Anton. "I must be hearing things. I'm sure there was something about Artemis making statues quiver."

"Drink more. You'll feel better," Anton assured him. "I'm just glad the golem hasn't squished any of us, yet."

"I'll drink to that." Cullen tapped his glass against Anton's and poured it all down his throat, before pouring himself another. And that was another strange and uncomfortable thought... quivering... statues? His eyes darted to the garden wall, all window, and the statue that had long since been replaced. That... _had_ been Anton, hadn't it?

And suddenly Cullen decided he'd had enough cordial. He set down his glass on the table and let Anton tug him away again.


	105. Chapter 105

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conversations on lyrium crafting. Cormac is surprisingly neither pale nor whiny.

"Your name is Shale?" Fenris asked the golem, relaxing now that the mages weren't in danger of being squished.

"Well, it isn't 'golem' despite what most of its kind seem to think."

Fenris wasn't sure how he felt about being called 'it', but he could understand Shale's bitterness. "I am Fenris," he said. He ducked his head cordially instead of offering his hand. He'd rather not have his bones crushed, and he didn't have Cormac's shields. "Do you -- that is, I would like to offer you a drink, but..."

"I do not drink. I can, however, eat the wine glasses and spit out the shards, if you want to make the Orlesians squeal."

"As tempting as that is, I suspect our host might disapprove." Fenris cocked his head in acknowledgement of the entirely amusing offer. It wasn't actually Anton he was worried about. Artemis might implode.

"Our host peed on my foot. I am not certain I require its approval," Shale pointed out, studying Fenris. "What are you?"

Fenris blinked and pointed to his ear. "An elf...?"

"I was unaware that elves were made of lyrium. Are you truly an elf, or are you a construct? Golems may have come a long way, but I thought the art to have been lost..." Squinting, Shale leaned down to get a closer look. "If it is alive, how is it not mad from the lyrium? That is quite a bit, even if there is no more than I can see, but I suspect there is."

"It is presumptuous to assume I am not mad," Fenris pointed out. "And I am not a golem. I am an elf. I live and breathe, and several other things that support this assumption. As to whether I am a construct, that may depend on your definition. I am certainly not as I was born, or at least that's what I'm told."

"It was crafted then, too?" Shale said, her stone face in Fenris's. "For what purpose, I wonder? Not for battle. It seems much too squishy for that, still."

Fenris's lips quirked in an unhappy smile. "I was 'crafted' for much the same reason as you, I suspect," he said. "And I am far less 'squishy' than I look." He stepped into the Fade, body glowing a ghostly blue and turning translucent.

"So it is a glowy elf," Shale said, though she sounded intrigued. "And what does the glowing do?"

Fenris's hand hovered over Artemis's back, and his mage looked up and nodded. Fenris sank his hand into Artie's ribs, and Artie sucked in a breath.

Deeper into the crowd, Cullen was glad he'd put down his drink or he would have dropped it. He grabbed Anton's arm. "Anton, your brother... Fenris... I think the elf is a mage, and I think Artemis..."

"What? No. Fenris isn't a mage. Fenris _hates_ mages." Anton turned around. That was very definitely Fenris's hand thrust into Artemis's back. He almost moved. Really. Almost. But, Cormac was right there, and didn't seem to be concerned. "I have no idea what's going on, and I'm pretty sure I don't want to. But, look to the left. Cormac doesn't look upset by this, _at all_. I know you don't know my brothers like I know my brothers, but if there were something wrong, Cormac would be in the middle of murdering an elf."

"That is still _magic_!" Cullen hissed, debating whether he had any authority, dressed as he was.

"No, it's lyrium crafting," Anton corrected, wrapping an arm around Cullen. "He used to belong to a magister. Something something, depraved experiments, so now he's a living arcane rune. Sandal gets a kick out of him. I don't really get it, but it's not magic. Well, no more magic than _you_."

"Than me? But, I'm not--" Cullen looked confused for a moment.

"Templar? Lyrium? Yeah, you are." Anton kissed him on the cheek.

Cullen suddenly wondered if that was something _he_ could do -- whatever it was. Probably not, but what other uses did the lyrium have, that simply hadn't been discovered or maybe disclosed? He was under no illusions about the distribution of information, being a captain. So many things he probably should have shared with his men, but couldn't, on orders from above. But, this? This was really kind of uncomfortable.

"Yeah... I guess I am..." Cullen's eyes lingered on the glowing elf.

Cormac glanced toward Anton, finally noticing his brother, and just made a pained face and an obscene gesture in that direction. Well. That answered that question, in all the ways Anton _didn't_ want it answered, sadly.

"Oh that _is_ special," Shale all but purred, bending to better see where elf and mage melded. "Usually when I want to reach through a fleshling there's quite a bit more blood and crunching involved. What's its hand doing now?"

Fenris's fingertips were gentle as they traced the shape of Artemis's heart. Beneath him, his mage's breath grew ragged, eyes fluttering shut. "Touching his heart," Fenris answered. "I could tear it out, if I wished." Fenris darted a glance at Cormac, hoping the older mage understood that he wouldn't. Artemis didn't even flinch, and Fenris wondered what he'd done to earn that kind of trust.

"Fen," Artie breathed. His hands bunched in the fabric across his thighs, fabric that did little to hide his reaction to these proceedings. "If... if you keep that up, Shale's funbits are going to start quivering, and we're attracting a crowd."

"Your brother looks like he's in pain," Cullen said, hands opening and closing into fists, unsure if he should stop this, if he _could_ stop this.

"I don't think that's pain," Anton replied, looking a bit pained himself.

Fenris slid his hand out gently, and Artemis shuddered, a whimper caught in his throat. Fenris stepped back out of the Fade, solid fingers carding through his mage's hair. The Orlesians went back to tittering amongst themselves, turning back now and then to glance at the strange tableau.

Cullen was caught in that strange space between flushing and all the colour draining from his face in horror. Somehow, he managed to maintain something not far off his usual shade, as he watched the... whatever was going on, over there. "He... does seem to have survived it," he observed, completely uncomfortable with the entire situation. This wasn't covered by all his years of training. There were mages and not-mages, and when mages did dangerous things, it was his business to make it stop. But, this... And the idea that it _wasn't_ a problem, that Artemis had been... And he was marrying into this family. Maker. What had he done? What was he _doing_?

He let himself be dragged into another kiss, Anton's hands wandering over his skin. These weren't second thoughts. They were more like fifth thoughts. Eighth thoughts. And still, he kept coming to the same conclusion -- that Anton was worth all of this.

Cormac grinned at the golem and shrugged. "My brother's into some unusual things. This one's... maybe not the weirdest. You'll have to forgive his sudden... ah, circumstance."

Artemis glared up at his brother, his cheeks still flushed. "You're one to talk," he said. He was aware of all the eyes on him and of the display he was making, had made. That was rather mortifying, and he wasn't sure if that made his 'circumstance' better or worse. "I need a drink," he decided, though he made no move to stand just yet.

Shale made a noise that sounded more resigned than disgusted, as if she were less surprised than she ought to be. "I doubt it would be making such faces if it were _my_ hand in its chest."

Artemis's eyes widened in horror at the very thought. That _did_ make his 'circumstance' better. "Please don't."

"Yes, don't. I would be extremely upset by that, and so would the glowy elf. And then we'd end up upsetting the Orlesians, and it would just degenerate into a riot. Honestly, Kirkwall has enough troubles without rioting in Hightown." Cormac laughed and reached out to stroke his brother's hair, tugging absently at the tips.

Anders returned from the garden, with Sigrun on his shoulders, cuddling Purrcy. "I'm telling you, I can see Amaranthine from here!" Sigrun laughed, pointing out toward the garden.

"I am not that tall," Anders insisted. "And Amaranthine is that way." He pointed toward one of the walls of the house.

"It is correct. It is quite small. Like all squishy creatures," Shale remarked, watching them.

"Well, if it isn't my gorgeous magical unicorn!" Cormac grabbed one of Anders's hands and kissed his fingers. "Mountain savage, meet savage mountain."

"The 'savage mountain' has a name, puny fleshling."

"Shale, isn't it?" Anders said, smiling charmingly and holding out a purple-stained hand. "Solona mentioned you. More than mentioned, really. She seemed quite fond of you." 'Fond of' from Solona meant 'amused by', but somehow he didn't think Shale would appreciate that wording.

Shale wrapped a hand around Anders's, and Anders braced himself, only to find her touch gentler than expected. Only minor bruising then, and that would blend well with his berry-stained skin.

"And which flesh creature is it?" she asked. "Never mind. Do not bother answering. I won't bother remembering its name. Why does it have a furry flesh creature on its head?" She squinted at Purrcy.

"Now, that's no way to talk about Sigrun!" Anders said.

"What?" Sigrun squinted at Shale and clutched Purrcy to her chest. "Don't talk about Purrcival like that! He's a kitty!" She held Purrcy out, for examination. "Anders always has a kitty. I think he's secretly mastered a new school of magic. He's a _cat mage_."

Cormac started laughing, and it didn't look like he was quite sure how to stop. He rested one hand on Artemis's head, for balance. "Don't mind yourself about the cat mage's name. He doesn't have a name."

"Hey!" Anders protested.

"Well, you _don't_!" Cormac shrugged. "You have a series of descriptors, ranging from the general to the extremely specific, and I'm pretty sure not one of them is an actual name -- or not a personal name, anyway."

"That's--" Anders looked profoundly annoyed, and then stopped. "A fair point, actually. He's right. I don't have a name. Not any more."

Fenris glanced at Anders, completely confused. Didn't have a -- Oh. Right. That really wasn't a name, in Common, was it? How odd.

Artie arced an eyebrow at the brother leaning on his head but didn't swat his hand away or try to get up.

Shale hummed and stared narrowly down at the cat wriggling in Sigrun's hands. Purrcy sniffed the air between them, little nose twitching, somehow still purring. She wriggled one massive finger in front of Purrcy, and the cat whacked at it with one paw. "Fuzzy flesh creature," Shale decided with a huff.

Anders grinned up at the golem and at the little white paw he could just see from this angle. He almost asked why Artie was on his knees but decided better of it. It was probably something he didn't want to know, if the leash still in Fenris's hand was anything to go by.

"I don't have a drink!" Sigrun noticed, putting Purrcy back on Anders's head. "Anders, why don't I have a drink?"

"Are you doing impressions of Nate, now?" Anders asked, poking Sigrun in the knee. "Because that's not quite whiny enough."

"I'm not quite winey enough! I need more wine!" Sigrun dug in her heels. "Hup! Go! ... Horse noises... Whatever it is you people say to make them go..."

"... This is because Cormac called me a magical unicorn, isn't it," Anders drawled, looking entirely less than impressed.

"Wait, _that's_ Cormac?" Sigrun was suddenly much more interested in the company. "Well, hello! I was expecting something paler and angstier! Maybe whiny and in denial!" She held out her hand. "You can call me Sigrun."

Cormac reached up and shook her hand. "Have you been telling stories about me, again, Anders? I can only hope they're as unflattering as the ones I'm about to tell about you..."

"That depends on your definition of 'flattering'," Anders replied with a nervous laugh. "Your definition is, I suspect, different from most. And I doubt you could tell Sigrun anything that would surprise her."

"You can tell me anyway," she said. "I have some great stories myself, and we can compare. Some about Justice too."

Anders winced. "Yes, well, those stories are less fun, I suspect."

"A different kind of fun," Sigrun said, bending forward to grin down at him. Purrcy squeaked. "Well come on, Cormac! You, me, drinks, embarrassing Anders. Let's go!"

Cormac grinned. "These are a few of my favourite things! Come on, I think I see Varric. He's got a few more good ones, I bet, and -- Oh, have you heard the one about the week he spent in a brothel in Denerim? If not, I'll find Isabela."

Anders groaned, but still followed Cormac into the crowd -- really, it was either follow Cormac, or have Sigrun run off to hear stories without him there to object to the ridiculous parts. Even with Isabela, he doubted much would be untrue, but he had to make some protests at the bits that shouldn't have been true.

They vanished into the crowd, with Cormac still chattering about the more blatantly bizarre things Anders had done. There were stories he wouldn't tell, and some he'd tell a little differently than they happened, and he hoped Anders knew that. He was pretty sure there was nothing that couldn't be turned on him, too.


	106. Chapter 106

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Artie's in a bit of a state. Fenris solves this problem. ANTON NO.

Fenris offered a shallow bow to Shale. "If you will excuse us, I believe it is time for me to solve a problem. I look forward to continuing our conversation, later this evening." He wondered if he would ever cease to be surprised by how inspiring he found the sight of Artemis kneeling at his feet. In so many ways, it still troubled him, but he was content with it, as long as Artemis enjoyed it.

Fenris gave Artemis's collar a light tug, and the mage looked up at him curiously before getting to his feet. His hands still fiddled with his skirts, trying to camouflage his knob's interest, an interest not helped by the light pressure of the collar on his neck. He went where Fenris led him.

"Problem?" he asked. "What problem are we solving?" Artie hoped it was the problem already on his mind.

Fenris didn't answer. He merely threw Artemis a smirk and pulled him into the coat closet.

In the foyer, Bodhan watched the door close and sighed. Every party.

"This problem." Fenris reached down and cupped a hand around Artemis's knob, through the skirt, still moving forward, backing him into the opposite wall of the closet. "Do you want me to solve this problem? Do you want me to solve it like you begged your brother to solve it for you?" he rumbled, quietly, wrapping another loop of the chain around his hand.

A sound Artemis would deny was a whimper left his throat. He let his head thunk back against the wall. "Oh yes," he breathed. " _Maker_ yes." His hands scrabbled at Fenris's arms, his shoulders, and hips pressed forward into Fenris's hand. There were plenty of reasons why this was a bad idea -- earthquakes? At a party? -- but there was no way Artemis was going to say no to that.

Fenris's grip tightened, and he swallowed hard, before pulling the chain. "Genibus adnitere et ei precare," he growled. "Get down on your knees and beg for it." One hand moved from Artie's knob to loosen the buckle holding his own leather loincloth in place. There were easier ways, he supposed, to get himself out of it, but he didn't want anything that might end in the cloth blocking Artie's face.

Artemis's brain shorted out for a moment. "Did you just... Tevene at me?" he asked, sounding awed. Fenris usually only swore at him in Tevene, but that had not sounded like a swear. "You just Tevened at me." And then it occurred to Artie that he was missing the point of that Tevene, and he dropped to his knees with an eagerness he'd probably be embarrassed by later.

Artemis ran his hands up Fenris's thighs, tracing the tattoos there just to watch the muscles jump under his touch. "Please," he begged, looking up through his lashes at Fenris. He licked his lips, gathered the courage to say the rest. "Please fuck me, Fenris. Use me. Fuck my throat until I can't speak."

For a moment, Fenris sympathised with the discomfort Anders seemed to take in hearing Cormac say certain things to Artemis. And that, itself, was a dreadfully uncomfortable thought. But, in that moment, he got it. He flexed his thigh, to steady himself. "Irrumabo," he promised, rubbing his half-interested knob against Artemis's cheek. "I will make you swallow my knob. Te eo suffocabo dum cluniculas scalpas, velle clementiam. I will choke you with it until you claw my thighs for mercy. Is that what you want?"

And that was the thing -- he always asked. He couldn't do this, otherwise. Disconcerting, in its own way, that he still needed a mage to frame his actions, but it was his mage, and actions taken -- liberties taken -- with his mage's flesh.

A breath shuddered out of Artemis at those words. He turned his head to mouth at Fenris's knob, tongue caressing the head. "Yes," he said, tilting his head so that the collar tugged at his neck. "I want that. I want you." Artie's fingers kneaded at Fenris's thighs to keep from touching his own. He looked up at Fenris with pure adoration in his eyes. Maker, he loved this elf.

Fenris ran his fingers along Artemis's neck, before grabbing his jaw and squeezing his mouth open. That adoration troubled him, even as he craved it. What had he done to deserve this trust, this devotion? None of the answers were particularly pleasant, and he pushed them away, as he slid his knob into Artemis's mouth. Tilting his head to the side, he tried to judge how deep Artie's mouth actually was, and the only answer he could find was that it wasn't deep enough. He released his grip, and let those lips close around him, before he swallowed his own objections one more time, and yanked the chain. "Mage," he breathed, leaning forward to hold on to the wall, "if I hurt you, do what you need to. It is far more important that you are well, than any other thing."

Artemis patted Fenris's thigh to let him know he was heard, all but purring around Fenris as the chain pulled taut. Breath was hard to find as he was, choked from two angles, and Artemis revelled in it, in the ugly thrill in the pit of his stomach, in the way his head felt floaty after a few breaths. There was no room for overthinking here, no room for anything but Fenris and how hot and huge he felt on his tongue.

Fenris tried so hard to focus on the feeling of Artie's tongue against the lyrium, but even that had magic in it. He had a mage kneeling before him, on a chain, pleasuring him exactly as he commanded. And the scene flickered, as memories he didn't know he had crowded against the edges of his vision. Things he'd seen -- never done, not as far as he knew. Things he'd watched Danarius do. His legs tensed, and he thrust slowly in and out of Artemis's waiting mouth, feeling the mage's throat relax, after a few quick clenches around him. His eyes weren't right, as he looked down, much more afraid than commanding. This... _was_ this just a mage thing? To take control or submit to it? And, really, with all the mages he'd known, only Artemis gave so easily. Perhaps that was it. Perhaps he was broken. And that didn't make this any better, somehow, but Fenris really didn't know what to think of any of it.

Still, he'd made a promise, and one that was eagerly accepted. Steeling himself, he pulled harder on the chain and let his hips decide how he would make use of this mage's throat.

Artemis groaned around the knob in his mouth, focused on breathing, on the feeling of being used. He looked up at Fenris, wanting to see the look on his face, the want in those green eyes. But he didn't find what he was expecting. That wasn't desire or adoration... that was _panic_.

Artie squeezed Fenris's hip, then tapped his thigh three times to get his attention, motioning for him to stop. He didn't want to have to force push him unless he absolutely had to.

Fenris pulled back, quickly, hips first, and nearly dropped himself on the floor. Unwrapping the chain from his hand, he fumbled to his knees, one hand holding Artemis's cheek. "Have I hurt you? Have I done this wrong?" The words spilled out a little too quickly, too close together, and Fenris's eyes never rose above Artemis's shoulder.

Artemis wanted to comfort him, but his lungs insisted on getting air first. He coughed and sucked in a few breaths as Fenris watched him, barely breathing himself. "I'm fine," he said when he could finally speak. "I'm fine." He squeezed the hand on his cheek and kissed its palm. "You were doing exactly what I... You were doing fine. I stopped because I was worried about _you_. You looked terrified."

Turning his face away, Fenris looked even further down, eyes settling on the floor. "I was present for many things," he said, finally. "Many things in which I did not participate, because I was not commanded to do so." He paused, struggling to make the connection make sense -- the kind of sense it was supposed to make, not the kind he thought it might. "You ask me to do things to you, things you clearly take pleasure in, but I--" Irritation flashed across Fenris's face, as he shrugged helplessly. "I have watched these things. What do I become, by doing them?" He huffed. "I know it's not the same. You _want_ this, and that is all the difference in the world. But, I--" A frustrated sigh escaped him. "I need time? No, it isn't time. I need ... I need you not to stop asking, just because I'm afraid of myself. I'm not afraid of _you_ , mage. It's just me."

"Okay." Artemis fought to breathe, for a different reason this time, as he filtered through that. "Okay. First thing? You need to tell me these things. If I ask you to do something that makes you uncomfortable, you need to _tell_ me. Please." Artie pressed a kiss to Fenris's forehead, cupping his elf's cheeks in his hands. He tilted Fenris's face up, trying to get Fenris to look at him. "We don't have to do this, you know. I enjoy it because I... like the idea of enjoying _your_ enjoyment, if that makes sense. Does that make sense? Anyway, I... I want it because I trust you not to hurt me and because I want to give you everything I have." He carded his fingers through Fenris's hair.

"First thing, I can't tell you, if I don't know. And I don't." Fenris tipped his head against Artemis's hand. "I don't know, until I try. And if I can start and finish, and everything is... nothing has been damaged, then I know it doesn't matter. If you ask me, and I can do it, and it's what you wanted, then it's right for me to do it, when you ask for it, however you ask. I -- there's nothing left to fear, if I can do it." He stroked Artemis's face, gently, fingers lingering where the texture of the skin changed. "I have been no one for so very long, I barely know myself. I know you. I know what you like, because you tell me. You show me. I don't know what I like, until I try it. And sometimes, I don't know what I like until ... A magister destroyed me, once. Ruined everything I thought I had and things I didn't know I'd ever have, years before I got to them. I will not let him ruin this." Fenris huffed, again, and kissed the silly bit of fluff on Artemis's chin. He'd never admit it, but that still made him strangely happy. "I keep putting words together, but I have no idea if I've said what I meant."

Artemis retaliated with a kiss to Fenris's lyrium-lined chin. "No, I think I understand," Artemis murmured. "You want to try." To push through his fear. And Artie could understand that. He remembered how terrified he'd been, once, of being with Fenris sober, of being with _anyone_ sober even, not because he was afraid of Fenris but because he was afraid of himself. "Anything you want, you know. You just need to let me know if you need to stop." Artemis tilted Fenris's face up again to make sure his elf understood that, and then he kissed Fenris's lips sweetly. "I love you, you know. Have I said that today? That's something else you'll have to teach me how to say in Tevene."

"Te amo," Fenris mumbled against Artemis's lips. "You say, 'te amo'." He kissed Artemis much more intently, passionately, as if to pass the words and their meaning directly into his mage's mouth. "Do you want to try something else, for now? Maybe save the rest of that for when we get home?" A wicked smile flickered across his lips. "Perhaps I should pull down one of those nice, fur coats, and lay you down on it, hmm? Make you beg for me. And then we can just hang it back up and go have another drink. Maybe check on your brothers, to be sure they haven't been crushed by a golem."

Artemis wrapped his arms around Fenris's shoulders and hummed into another kiss. "That's not a bad suggestion," he purred. "But let me get the coat." He tugged on a particularly garish one over Fenris's shoulder, using a bit of force magic when it got caught in the hanger. It ended up flopping onto Artie's face, earning a snort from Fenris. "That went much more gracefully in my mind," Artie said, voice muffled in a sea of fur.

Fenris untangled the coat from Artemis and spread it on the floor, fur side up. Orlesian make, he thought, by the look of it, and he would take a particular pleasure in defacing it. He unclipped the chain from Artemis's collar and set it aside, hooking two fingers into the front ring, instead, and yanking Artemis onto the coat, until the mage sprawled, already debauched, beneath him. His hands wandered over exposed skin, slid down the shining smooth side of the corset and dipped into the slits of the skirt, to knead Artemis's thighs. "I think I want you on your belly," he decided, finally. "Pull the skirt aside, so you don't ruin it."

"And so I ruin the coat instead?" Artemis hummed. "It _is_ a travesty, isn't it?" Damn Orlesians. At least fur would feel better against his knob than tree bark. Artie bit his lip around a grin and obeyed, rolling over onto his stomach and lifting his hips to move the skirt out of the way. "Like this, messere?" he teased, looking back at Fenris over his shoulder.

"Just like that," Fenris growled, tucking the back of the skirt up out of the way, before leaning down to bite both sides of his mage's enticing ass. It really was a work of art, he thought, and proof of some divine sentiment. He hadn't much use for divinity of any kind, until he discovered that ass. Perhaps the Maker hadn't made the world, but someone had crafted this mage. He darted his tongue between the cheeks, licking insistently at Artemis's hole, as his hands kneaded that divine ass.

A breath shivered past Artemis's lips. He rested his chin on his forearms and canted his hips at an inviting angle. The furs tickled him as he moved, and he fought not to squirm. "Te amo," he said, just to taste the words on his lips. He purred at the attention, eyes fluttering shut. "So how do you say 'fuck me' in Tevene?"

Fenris had to stop licking, to answer that, and he took the opportunity to spit into his hand, before he answered, better adjusting the loincloth for this position, before slicking himself and lining up. "You say, 'pedica me'. Will you say it? Will you beg me to do it?" He rubbed the tip of his knob against Artie's hole, never quite pushing in.

A needy sound caught in the back of Artie's throat as he tilted his hips back. "Fenris," he breathed. "Pedica me. Please. Fuck me. Pedica me." He would say those words as often as Fenris liked.

As many times as Fenris had heard those words, they'd never been for him. He nudged Artemis's legs closer together, with his knees, wrapped his hand around one hip, and pushed slowly in.

At that moment, the door pulled open, and amid a great lot of masculine giggling, Anton and Cullen manhandled each other into the closet, pulling the door shut, behind them, before either of them looked down.

"Er, Anton?" Cullen was suddenly mortified, a blush flashing across his cheeks, as he tore his eyes away from the scene at their feet and stared off into a corner, as he fumbled for the doorknob.

"Wha-- Oh. Shit. Sorry, wrong closet." Anton cackled, inanely, and swept Cullen back out the door, closing it again, behind them. Nope. He hadn't seen a thing. Certainly not his older brother sprawled across Orlesian furs, speaking a foreign language, with an elf in his ass. Nope. Hadn't happened. "You know, Cullen, you could just lift up your skirt a little and sit in my lap..."

Artemis groaned, more in mortification than in pleasure. He dropped his face onto his arms.

"Popular closet," Fenris said, which startled a weak chuckle out of Artemis. "At least for Hawkes."

"Oh, Maker, there's a thought," Artemis replied, his smile shrinking. "Praise Andraste it was _you_ with me." No. Nope. Artie wasn't going to think about that. Artie was going to think about the gorgeous elf behind him with his knob up his ass. He shifted his hips to get Fenris's attention. "Now, where were we?"

"Were we here?" Fenris asked, squeezing his knees tighter against Artemis, as he pushed down and in, grinding hard. "Or maybe here?" His fingers snagged the back ring of the collar, tugging ever so subtly. "Perhaps both..." He settled a hand on the back of Artemis's shoulder, to support himself and ground in hard and slow, curling his fingers at the same point in each motion of his hips. "Is this something you want?"

"Those are all... good places," Artemis panted. "Yes, I want... _Maker_." He leaned into the collar to feel its sweet pressure against his throat. The press of Fenris's hips ground Artie's knob against the fur, and... well, that was new. Pleasant new. He made a note to never leave his coats inside this closet. "Pull... harder. Just a little." Always a bit greedy, wasn't he?

Fenris pulled a little tighter, remembering that Artie was leaning into it, so there wouldn't be a problem. As long as there was still room for Artie to tip his head back, he'd be fine. The thought was comforting. "What if I just take you like this? If I hold you down and please myself inside you? Maybe you'll finish, or maybe I'll just be done, and you'll have to wait until we get home," he teased, picking up the pace. He supposed Cormac would solve that problem, really, and he just hoped that if he _actually_ treated his mage so poorly, he'd still be invited to watch. He suspected not.

Artemis groaned at those words, fighting not to squirm. He'd never grow tired of Fenris's voice, especially not when it was pouring such lovely filth into his ear. With the collar tight against his throat, Artie's breaths came out ragged. "Please," he choked out. "Yes. That."

"You want me to take you, to use you, with no regard to your pleasure? Be careful, _mage_ , I may do just that." Fenris sounded amused, even as his breathing quickened. He moved faster, slamming into Artemis, roughly, and grinding at the end of the thrusts. He couldn't bring himself to be quite that cruel, though. Or at least he hoped he couldn't. He'd run out of hands, though, with one on the collar and the other supporting him. There was nowhere to safely pass his hand into Artemis's flesh -- and watching how suddenly, irrepressibly turned on Artie had gotten from just that, and in the middle of a crowded room... A low groan slid out between Fenris's teeth, at the thought. He wondered if this would actually be enough, for Artie.

"Fuck. _Fenris_!" Bits of fur came free where Artemis gripped too hard, but the coat was ruined anyway. The collar didn't quite choke off the desperate sounds starting in the back of his throat, or the desperate words that tumbled out after them. "Yes. Please. Use me. I want it. I--" Words were a bit too much effort after that, though one particularly hard thrust strangled a shout out of him.

Maker. Party. Right. He couldn't be making noise like that. Artemis bit his lip against any other sounds.

Perhaps he didn't need another hand, Fenris realised. Those sounds, the way Artemis squirmed beneath him... "Like this?" Fenris growled, between gasps. "Oh, Artemis, the way you squeeze me, the way your insides tremble around me..." And that was it, for words. He couldn't remember how they went together, and his lips felt strangely electric. And then that tingle became a crackle that shot through his bones, dancing across the tips of his fingers and toes, and he felt himself curl forward, muscles clamping down, as he throbbed and spurted into his mage.

Back in the main hall, next to the table of hors d'oeuvres, Sigrun stopped mid-story to look at Shale. "Are you... humming?" she asked.

The look of bliss was disconcerting on a stone face. "Mmm, I believe the other squishy one called it 'purring'," Shale answered.

Anders squinted at her, mouth full of olives, and nearly choked. The golem. Was vibrating. The _stone golem_. Anders looked at Cormac, cheeks still bulging with olives.

Cormac's eyes shot wide, and he cackled, resting his head on Anders's shoulder. "I guess I know whose problem got solved," he laughed.

"I should take it with me, I think. The squishy rumbling thing," Shale decided.

"I think the glowy elf might object. I think I might object," Cormac said, looking only slightly more serious.

"I think the large, squishy, furry thing talks too much." Shale shot a disapproving look at Cormac.

Anders choked on an olive.


	107. Chapter 107

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mistakes and secrets. CULLEN NO.

Artemis and Fenris filed out of the closet, looking every bit as dignified as anyone who'd just had closet sex could. Artie smoothed down his hair and his skirts long past the point they needed smoothing and nearly tripped over his brother. Anton sat on a bench just outside the closet, a certain corseted templar in his lap.

Artie's ears burned as he remembered their earlier... mishap. "Hello," he said with an awkward smile.

"Hello," Anton replied in kind. Artemis didn't know it was possible, but Cullen managed to look both ghost-pale and wine-flushed. He stared at Artie like he hadn't seen him before, or, rather, like he'd seen him do too much. And really, that was a bit of an overreaction to walking in on somebody.

Then Fenris tugged on his chain and ushered him away from there.

"Mage!" Cullen finally managed, jabbing a finger at the couple walking away.

"Fenris is not a mage!" Anton groaned, loudly enough to be heard. "I told you that. He's just got a... thing. He doesn't even _like_ mages."

Fenris reflected that he'd become rather fond of mages, over the last couple of years, particularly the one standing next to him, but this wasn't the time to argue that point. "You think I'm a _what_?" Fenris turned around, handing the end of the chain back to Artemis, as he made his way back toward Cullen. "Take another look," he demanded, turning full-circle, to display the lyrium etching on most of his body. "This is what mages did to me. I am _not a mage_. You're a templar. You know what this is." He held his hand up inches from Cullen's face. "If I were a mage with this much lyrium in my body, I'd be one of the ancient magisters."

Fenris hadn't looked that irate in years, possibly because he hadn't _been_ that irate in years. He towered over the seated templar.

And it _was_ lyrium, Cullen could tell. Even at a distance, he should have known only lyrium glowed like that in the light, but here, this close, it was undeniable. He took in the rest of Fenris's tattoos -- which he had always thought were simply that, tattoos -- and sucked in a breath.

"How are you not dead?" Cullen asked. Or at least lyrium-addled. So far, accused mageness aside, Fenris was one of the saner people in this house.

Fenris answered with an ugly smile, drawing back his hand. "I should be. You'd have to ask the magisters why I'm not."

"But... the room shook. I felt it. If you're not the mage, then..." Cullen's stare slid to Artemis. Artie, who would have been the right age back at Honnleath, who made Shale 'quiver', and who could make stone --

Oh. Oh, now that wasn't a thought he needed to have, just now.

"Earthquakes. Yes." Artemis stepped forward, eyes a bit wide. "Um. Mother used to complain about those all the time. The house, you see, it's... it's over a tunnel into the Deep Roads, which are currently being mined."

"Quite annoying, really," Anton agreed. "We thought they'd stopped."

"Maybe you should ask Anders," Fenris suggested. "He's the local Warden. If anything notable were going on in the Deep Roads, he'd know. Or Cormac, who owns half a mine." Fenris huffed out a laugh. "Wouldn't that be a thing? If he's been mining under his own house, all this time."

"Cormac owns...?" Cullen squinted at Anton, distracted by the bizarre revelation.

"The Bone Pit. Yeah. Got the union going and everything. Killed the dragons, improved working conditions." Anton shrugged. "Every once in a while, he manages not to fuck something up. I wish he hadn't killed all the dragons, though. I wanted a dragon."

Cormac owned a mine. Solona was the Warden-Commander of Ferelden. Every time he blinked, Cullen kept running into perfectly normal mages. And then there was Anders. But, given what Anders had been through, he was still a decently normal individual. Mages, outside the tower, didn't seem to be much different to anyone else -- aside, of course from maleficars. But, the average apostate ... didn't seem to be that much of a threat. Changes. There had to be changes. Something had to give.

"Why would you want a dragon?" he asked.

"Why would I not want a dragon?" Anton laughed and bounced his thigh, and Cullen's fingers dug into his shoulder, a tiny, choked sound escaping the templar.

Artemis blinked. Fenris must have fucked him stupid that he didn't realise until just then that, not only was Cullen sitting on his brother, but he was sitting _on_ his brother. Well. This conversation just reached new levels of awkward. At least Cullen had changed the subject from mages, lyrium, earthquakes, and all things related.

"You are not getting a dragon," Artemis told Anton in his best older-brother voice. "Where would you put it? Next to Goatilda?"

"On the roof. Obviously."

"So it could pee on passers-by? That seems to be a bit of a theme with you. The peeing, anyway."

"And you know what's a theme with you, Artie?" Anton said sweetly. "Drinking. Why don't you do that?" He made a shooing motion with his fingers.

Artemis scowled. "I would be insulted by that comment if it weren't such a good idea." Drinking. Preferable to talking to templars as they're being boned.

"... and it took a good five or six drinks, but he was interested. Alcohol-soluble noble graces." Anders shook his head and put his glass in Artemis's hand. "Speaking of alcohol-soluble nobility... Where did you two run off to? We all know what you were doing, but we've got a silver piece riding on where."

"Anton's preferred closet, apparently," Fenris drawled, a little less than thrilled with everything that had happened since leaving the closet. "His templar just mistook me for a mage."

Isabela turned around from a nearby conversation. "You're not a Hawke, but that ass is magic," she called out, before returning to the conversation at hand.

" _You_?" Cormac blinked, a fruit tart raised halfway to his mouth. "That's the most ridiculous and offensive thing I've heard this week! He knows about me and Anders, of course, but _you_? What, does he just think Anton collects apostates?"

"The Hawkes have done stranger things," Fenris said blandly. "And the glowing threw him off. Apparently he sees glowing as a strictly mage-only talent."

Artemis was still parsing through Cormac's words. ' _He knows about me_ '. Had Cormac really just said that? Or had that earthquake rattled his brains? Artie flailed internally for a moment before grabbing Cormac's wrist, interrupting his communion with the fruit tart. "Hold on," he sputtered. " _What_? Cullen knows about you? When did this -- _what_?"

Cormac took the tart with his other hand and took a bite. "Before Anders and I took that holiday up the coast. It's fine. Honnleath," he said, around a mouthful of tart. "He thinks I'm you."

Artemis stared at his brother, mouth falling open. Honnleath. Where Shale had been a statue. Where Cullen had grown up. Where Artie's magic had...

 _Maker_. "He... thinks..." Artemis's expression tightened, and he looked murderous. "And you didn't tell me. A templar mistook you for me, and you didn't tell me. Is that why you went on that 'vacation'?" Artie struggled to keep his voice down. "How are you not in the Gallows?"

Anders leaned in, clearing his throat. "Artie? I think Shale is purring again." He tilted his head in Shale's direction.

"Because he knows the Gallows, I suspect. And he's utterly mad about Anton. But, he's promised to give Anton the heads up, if I need to find myself on holiday, again." Cormac looked largely unconcerned with any of that. "But, really, why would I have told you? He didn't figure out it was _you_. There's no need to get you worried over something like this. I went on holiday, and Anton fixed it. And apparently also proposed... Didn't see that coming." He laughed and put an arm around Artemis. "You're my little brother. It's on me to look out for you, so I did. Problem solved."

"The templar is not particularly good at his job, either," Fenris scoffed. "Me. A mage. Ridiculous."

"He's better than most of Kirkwall's templars," Anders said, reaching up to pet the cat still curled on his head. "I swear, one of them walked up to me the other day and asked if I knew anything about mages in the city. Hello? Warden mage, here."

Fenris shook his head. "Well, they're bound to make Carver look good in comparison. For better or worse."

Artemis pinched Cormac under the arm, still scowling. "I do not like not knowing," he murmured. "We're supposed to look after each _other_ , you twat." Artie would never have let Cormac take the blame for something like that, which was, he supposed, exactly why Cormac didn't want to tell him. He sighed and kissed his brother's cheek.

"Me... I've done this before." Cormac laughed, holding Artie close against his side. "They'd never have gotten me, and you know it. You, my dear brother, are the delicate mageflower in this family, and? You know it. So, just let me look out for you. Shit, Anton was ready to throw me to the dogs for you. I was ready to throw me to the dogs for you. Bethy would have signed off on it. Carver would have thrown a damn party. When it's your turn to step up, you'll know it. It's just usually mine. It's what I'm here for." It was yet another reason he'd signed the house over to Anton. Fewer unpleasant questions, if anything happened.

"He's the delicate mageflower, and I'm the magical unicorn." Anders shook his head, gently, and Purrcy meowed.

"Well, you were pretty horny, as I recall!" Cormac joked, grinning at Anders. "Not a state you seem to have recovered from."

Fenris made a disgusted face. "Aren't unicorns usually drawn to virgins?" he asked. "If so, he's a rather terrible unicorn."

Anders plucked up a few more olives from the table. "Being a unicorn is one thing I don't mind being terrible at," Anders said, grinning and waggling his eyebrows. He popped the whole handful of olives into his mouth, and Fenris looked even more disgusted. "But what the magical unicorn would like to know," Anders said, mid-chew, "is how the broody elf managed to squeeze that far into his corset without puncturing an organ. Or have you? Am I going to need to heal you after?"

Artemis snorted and stole the last of Cormac's tart.

Cormac huffed and pinched Artie's ass. "I guess I'm eating a different kind of tart, tonight." He studied Fenris. Now that Anders mentioned it, that was an extremely small waist on the already slim elf.

"No organs have been punctured, in relation to this corset." Fenris looked smug and glanced down at the spikes. "That could change at any time, but they won't be my organs."

A disbelieving look crossed Cormac's face. "Anders? How's Justice doing, right now?"

"Aside from reminding me I'm not having another glass of wine?" Anders swallowed and didn't put more olives in his mouth right away. He blinked and looked at Fenris. "No. You didn't..."

"I think he did," Cormac said, sounding more than a little bit impressed. "That works? How does that work?"

"Why?" Artie laughed. "Are you thinking of trying it?" Then he remembered that his brother was just as capable of... doing the glowy thing, and his smile froze. "You're thinking of trying it. Maker."

Fenris shrugged. "It works the same way I'm able to reach into your chest and pull out your heart," he said. That made Artie squirm a bit, and Fenris smirked. "The parts of me in the way are in the Fade, while the rest of me is here. Enough to keep the corset on."

"Lacing the thing was bizarre," Artemis said. "His waist is... both there and not there, and... well." He gestured at Fenris. "The spikes added an extra challenge."

Cormac shook his head and kept staring. "I can't do the parts thing. I'm either here or I'm not. I'm not sure it's possible for me to do just a part. I'm going to need a different book."

"You think someone wrote about that?" Anders asked, rubbing his stubble with his knuckles. "I suppose if someone had done it, there'd be a book about it. It's probably going to be in Tevene, though."

"Is this how magisters happen? Mages trying to adjust the rules of fashion with magic? I wonder how many demons have been summoned in pursuit of the perfect figure," Fenris drawled, looking thoroughly unimpressed with all of them. Still, that Cormac wasn't sure he was _capable_ of this was somehow reassuring.

"How many demons I'd summon _accidentally_ , just trying to get into that thing," Cormac muttered. "What is it with you and spikes?"

"I think he's still going for 'Broody Elf Chic'," Anders said. "Either that, or he's discouraging hugs."

"Possibly both," Artemis agreed, earning a raised eyebrow from Fenris.

"Honestly, I'm surprised you didn't leave that closet with a few puncture wounds, Artie," Anders said. "I mean, I know impaling was the goal, but..."

Fenris grinned. "Notice that there aren't any spikes in the important places," he said. "Aside from the one, that is."

Artemis groaned and hid his face behind his hand and against Cormac's shoulder.

"Is that a thing for you, Artie? Glowy, Fade-touched ... spikes?" Cormac was not helping, but he hadn't meant to. "I mean, this is getting to be a theme, here."

Fenris could have done without the reminder, but Artemis always came back to him. Even when he was being a fool. "I believe only one of us glows quite the way he likes."

"I think only one of us has actually glowed _in bed_ ," Anders pointed out.

"If you mean literally, 'in a bed', then yes," Fenris muttered, one ear twitching. He had no desire to remember that time in the Vimmark Mountains. That was too much glowing, even for him.

Artemis hummed, resting his cheek on Cormac's shoulder. "Is that a thing you could potentially do?" he asked, knowing he probably shouldn't. "Glow in the bedroom?" Or closet. Or dining room. Or anywhere, really. And there was a thought: Fenris and Cormac laying on their glowy hands. Maker have mercy.

"I don't know if it's a good idea," Cormac said, thinking of the last time he was glowing for something like that, and if Anders didn't remember, Cormac wasn't going to remind him. Better he didn't know, really. "But, if you want it, I'll try it. I'm going to have to insist that Anders be there, though, just in case. If I break something... if I break you..."

"Do not break my mage," Fenris growled.

"I've watched you -- well, heard you -- squeeze my brother's beating heart. I could say the same to you, but I don't, because it wouldn't be _polite_." Cormac raised an eyebrow disdainfully. He rather tactfully avoided mentioning the later events of that evening, when Fenris's hands had ended up in his own body, if only because that time, he _had_ asked not to be broken.

"For the record, I'm not going to glow in bed." Anders tossed another olive into his mouth. "Justice isn't into that. Any of that, really. If he wasn't me, I'd apologise for the amount of it he's had to sit through, but I know he knew what he was getting into."

Artemis darted a look at Cormac but refrained from commenting. If Cormac wasn't going to remind him, Artie wasn't going to either. As for Cormac glowing... the thought was tantalising, but he wasn't going to press the issue if his brother didn't want to do it. It certainly made for a lovely image, however.

"I still don't think it's fair I'm the only one who doesn't glow," Artemis huffed.

"You have earthquakes," Anders reminded him. "It balances out."

The party was not quiet, but one voice cut across all the noise, suddenly, echoing in from the hall. "Oh, shit, _Anton_!"

It was followed, shortly, by another voice cackling hysterically.

"Well," Anders observed, "someone's having a good time..."

"I'd hoped they'd have the sense to take up the closet, once it was empty. Apparently not." Fenris's ear twitched.

Cormac was silent for a long moment. "Wow. I don't think I've _ever_ heard them. I'm going to have to ask Anton about that, later. I think everyone's going to be asking Anton about that, later."

Artemis shook his head as though trying to shake the last few seconds out of his brain. "I... I could have lived without hearing that," he said. "Or... sort of seeing it a few minutes ago."

Fenris cleared his throat. "To be fair, Anton and Cullen heard and saw quite a bit more than that earlier."

"Hey, we were in a closet. There was a _door_. Something resembling privacy. They should have knocked!"

Anders shook his head and exchanged a look with Cormac. "Between the basement and upstairs, there are how many bedrooms with lockable doors, and everyone crowds into the closet?"

"All right, that's it," Artie sighed. He pulled away from Cormac and looked around. "Where did the alcohol run off to?"


	108. Chapter 108

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is why we don't pee on statues. Also, a crown of lime.

Cullen sat in Anton's lap, panting. Perhaps it wasn't so much sitting as sprawling, one arm hooked back behind Anton's neck, a leg stretched out far enough to have been rude, if anyone were trying to use the hall for its intended purpose. Starry-eyed, he stared up at the ornate patterns of the ceiling, head resting on Anton's shoulder. Anton flexed his ass, bouncing his hip, and Cullen groaned. "You're insatiable."

Anton laughed. "Nah, I just fake it well. The illusion won't last, if you move."

"We should probably get back -- do you think anyone heard...? Oh, Maker, I hope not." Cullen's free hand rose up to cover his face.

Anton shrugged one shoulder. "It's a loud party. I don't think you were _that loud_." Of course, it had been right next to his ear, so he really had no way to judge. Still, if it had been that loud, he didn't figure too many people would actually ask about it. Isabela, probably. Maybe one of his brothers.

A familiar, tattooed dwarven face appeared around the corner. Sigrun grinned at them and waved. Anton waved back while Cullen tried to hide his face and his mortification behind his hands.

"What is it doing?" Shale asked Sigrun, noting her impish grin. "Is it spying on the noisy fleshlings in the hallway?"

"Just curious," Sigrun said with an exaggerated shrug. "I was half expecting it to be Anders, but, knowing his type, that probably would have been louder." She spied the Warden in question, blond hair and cat towering over the crowd. "I miss drunk Anders. Well. Except for that... noisy part."

Shale made a disinterested and yet mildly disgusted noise. Soft voices floated in from the hall, and Shale stilled, eyes narrowing. "Is that the flesh creature who peed on me?" she asked. "I was wondering where it scampered off to."

Cullen was in the middle of extricating himself from Anton's lap, when a shadow blocked the light from the main hall. He looked up, still half on Anton's knob, to see the golem of his future nightmares standing in the entryway. He froze, stuck between a rock and a... well, a recently hard place.

Shale's eyes moved from Anton's face to Cullen's, the first time she'd gotten a clear look at him, all night. "It swatted me with sticks! It swatted me with sticks for _years_!" Her eyes narrowed. "And now it engages in absurd, noisy behaviours with the flesh creature that peed on me! I should squish you both, like pigeons."

"No! No, no. No squishing, like pigeons or otherwise," Anton insisted. "We're, er, rather important. It would cause no end of difficulties."

Cullen straightened up, as best he could, while leaving the bottom of his skirt draped across Anton's lap. "Well, if I'd known you were a real golem -- I mean, you -- I -- I couldn't possibly have expected..."

"It attacks all rock formations with sticks, does it? Perhaps I should swat _its_ rump with a stick to see how it likes it!"

"I'm... I'm fairly certain my rump would not enjoy that," Cullen replied. Anton fixed his own skirts under Cullen's and slid to his feet. Worst case scenario, the front door was at his back, and they could make a run for it again. That would mean missing his own party, however. And he doubted Cullen would enjoy running through the streets dressed as he was.

Shale advanced towards them, stone hands in fists. "As for its equally squishy friend, it is lucky I do not have such vile bodily functions or I would pee on it too."

Cullen looked to Sigrun for help, but she was bent too far over in hysterics to pay him any heed.

"Oh, that is a marvelous corset!" came a voice from behind the golem. "What is that, silverite?" Serendipity swished up the hall, skirts rustling. "That is an amazing colour on you!" She pinched Anton's cheek, eyes still on Shale. "Why do I think this isn't about cards, for once, Tony?"

"Cards? No." Cullen looked utterly terrified, still, stark white and staring upward. "No, no, he _peed on her_ , as a child!"

"Me? You hit her with sticks!" Anton spat, eyes round and a little too wide.

"Steel. It is very kind to ask. It is the first flesh creature to ask about my clothing, this evening. I think its choice of orange is somewhat questionable, but it appears very decorative in that outfit." Shale addressed Serendipity in a much less threatening tone. "Does it know the peeing creature?"

Serendipity fluffed her tulle skirts. "We are acquainted," she replied. "He really is quite charming when he's not peeing where he oughtn't."

"She says this like it's happened more than once," Cullen said, eyes still on the golem. "Is this a habit I don't know of? Are there other vengeful statuary I should look out for?"

"But steel, you say," Anton said, elbowing Cullen and following Serendipity's lead. "It really is masterful craftsmanship. I was admiring it while praying you wouldn't squish me." Anton smiled, still looking terrified. "And those gems are a lovely touch. Are they some kind of crystal?"

"Opal," Shale answered. "I thought the way they caught the light rather festive. The flesh creature making the corset insisted the whole thing be done in a rather putrid shade of pink. I insisted on squishing his head if he tried, so we compromised."

"The Commander really wanted to come to this party, herself, but between Amaranthine and Gwaren, she's got her hands full," Sigrun added, finally choking back her laughter, as she leaned against Shale's leg. "She had to distract the smith's husband with ice custard and talk of a vein of veridium, to get that corset made, though. Herren just gets so shouty when Wade agrees to her weird ideas."

"Ice custard?" Cullen asked. "She's sharing the ice custard? And I thought I was special!"

Sigrun held out her hand. "I'm guessing from the ... er ... from the theme of your outfit, that you're a templar? And if you know the Commander's ice custard, you must be Ser Cullen. I'm Sigrun. This is Shale. She talks about you." Sigrun's eyes sparkled with amusement.

"She... does?" Cullen was already a nervous knot of tension without hearing that. Solona Amell. Talking about him. "Oh. Oh Maker. She didn't tell you about that time in the First Enchanter's office, did she?"

Anton raised an eyebrow. "If she has, do share."

"It was nothing like that!" Cullen sputtered, face turning shades. "No... closet shenanigans, if that's what you're thinking."

"That's always what I'm thinking," Anton murmured, giving Cullen's ass a pinch. Cullen squeaked, and Anton gave Sigrun a wink. "And he's not just 'Ser Cullen'. He's Knight-Captain, you know." Anton beamed with pride. "Here to represent the Order."

"No. No, I'm not. Not in a corset, I'm not."

"It's a very nice corset, Knight-Captain," Serendipity purred, stepping in to get a better look. "Fran does such excellent work, doesn't she?"

Cullen's face finally picked a shade of red and stuck with it. The flush went well with the red of the bottom of his skirt. "She... I, er... Well... Anton looks amazing, doesn't he?"

"I do not understand why the squishy creatures squish themselves into these outfits. If they wish to be squished, I would do it for them, and much more effectively. They would not be partially squished." Shale was still looking for an excuse. The one had peed on her and the other hit her with a wooden sword! Unforgivable.

"The squishy creatures are more attractive to each other, partially squished," Serendipity explained, tactfully, patting Shale on one heavy arm. She'd done parties in Orlais. A disgruntled golem may have been one of the stranger things she'd encountered, but it was no more dangerous than an Orlesian noble family. "It's a matter of shapes. You are much more solid, and I'm sure if you picked a different shape, you'd keep it. We can only change for a little while, with a bit of squishing and unsquishing."

"It's a gross mating ritual," Sigrun clarified. "Surfacers do that."

Shale made another disgusted noise. "I have seen enough 'gross mating rituals' among the flesh creatures. Tediously messy. And loud."

Sigrun bit her lip against another snorting laugh. "I forget sometimes that you've spent more time with Zev than I have."

"It's something I should like to forget, myself," Shale replied. "Among other things." She shot Anton and Cullen another baleful look. The 'like being peed on and hit with sticks' went unsaid but implied.

Anton bit back a groan. Shale wasn't advancing on them anymore, but she still blocked their path back into the main hall. "You know, Shale," Anton said, dialling up his charm, "I am glad you came to my party. It gives me the chance to tell you from the bottom of my heart how deeply sorry I am." He pressed a hand to his bare chest for dramatic effect. "Is there any way I can make it up to you? Maybe hit Cullen with stick?"

Cullen stepped back to give him a scandalised look.

"Very kinky, Tony." Serendipity winked at Anton.

"Oh, if you're hitting him with sticks, the Commander's going to be so sorry she missed this!" Sigrun covered her mouth with one hand.

"I thought she liked me!" Cullen protested.

"Oh, she _does_..." The words were a bit muffled, but Sigrun's eyes sparkled, as she struggled not to laugh.

Shale studied the two men. "It is proposing another gross mating ritual, isn't it. Come, Sigrun, I wish to speak with the elf-construct, again." Shale looked entirely disgusted. "Let us go, before they become loud and messy, again."

Sigrun offered another wave, lips still pursed against a laugh, and followed Shale back into the Main Hall.

Cullen let out a relieved breath, his whole body seeming to deflate with his lungs. "Maker. Thought I was staring my death in the face again. She's almost as frightening as Meredith."

Serendipity chuckled, smoothing out the corner of her skirts. "Then I suggest making sure Tony here doesn't pee on _her_." She winked at Anton, who looked another kind of horrified.

"That's..." Cullen glanced at Anton. "That's not a talk we have to have, is it? Please do not pee on the Knight-Commander."

"I try not to pee on people. _Things_ , but not people. How was I supposed to know she was a people?" Anton tugged at the front of his skirt, adjusting the overlap of the panels.

"It may be best to assume that if it's shaped like a person, it's probably a person. I hope you haven't been anointing statues of Andraste, in your spare time. That's going to be something to explain." Cullen sighed and took Anton's face in his hands. "Some days, Anton, I look at you, and I understand anti-Fereldan prejudice. Am I marrying a dog? Is that it? Is this some demonic dream, and you're actually a mabari? No, I think mabari are smart enough not to _pee on golems_."

Anton raised an eyebrow and barked.

There was a long pause. "No, Cullen, I'm not a damned dog. Smartass. And I'm not going to pee on your boss."  


* * *

Shale found the elf-construct out in the gardens with his usual mage trio. They sat under the lime tree, next to the goat pen, skirts fanned out along the ground. The blond flesh creature was braiding branches into a makeshift crown, the tip of his tongue poking out through his teeth, while the rumbly flesh creature was snorting with laughter, one hand up to his face and the other threatening to spill a glass of cordial. The third mage sat between them, waiting for Anders to finish the crown.

Fenris looked up at Shale, a pained look on his face she could commiserate with.

"If this is another gross mating ritual," Shale sighed, "then I am trampling everything in this house."

"If I spend another five minutes in the company of drunken fools, I may assist you in that." Fenris handed Artemis's leash to Cormac, as he stood up. "I desire a stronger drink."

"I could help it crush them," Shale offered. "A kindness to a fellow construct."

"Let us not crush anyone, just yet," Fenris said, diplomatically -- far more diplomatically than he felt about much of anything, at this point in the evening.

Sigrun produced a mostly-full bottle of strawberry cordial from behind her back and offered it to Fenris. "I decided it was time to liberate some beverage options."

Fenris gave her a measuring look, his scowl lightening. He took the bottle from Sigrun, pausing to point one finger at her. "You. I like you."

"Is this another fleshling ritual of some sort?" Shale rumbled. "Dealing with drunken foolishness by getting drunk and foolish?"

Sigrun grinned and nodded. "You've met Oghren, haven't you?" she asked wryly. "He's perfected that ritual."

At this point, the moue looked carved onto Shale's face. "It doesn't need to remind me." To Fenris, she said, "The trampling of flesh creatures is an open offer. Though I might keep the rumbly mage as a pet. The leash is handy."

"You'll have to get your own mage, I'm afraid. This one is mine. I would also prefer you not trample him, even if he is obnoxiously drunk." Fenris debated whether he would be able to protect Artemis, if the golem decided to go through with the trampling, and decided it was extremely unlikely.

Under the tree, Cormac laughed as his brother laced lime blossoms into the crown of sticks.

"We could put it on you," Anders said, "and you'd be the king of dicks."

Cormac laughed harder. "I think that position's already filled by you and your flagpole."

"Technically, _you're_ the one filled by Anders and his flagpole," Artemis answered, words running together. He was drunk enough to be extremely proud of his wit. "And there's another joke in there about positions..." He knelt in front of Cormac and set the crown on his head. He was about to sit back when he reached for the crown again, tilting it just a little to the left. Then again, rotating it just a bit clockwise.

"Artie. Artie. It's a crown of twigs." Anders gently pulled Artemis's hands away. "That's as even as it's going to look."

Shale watched the display and hissed. "This looks dreadfully familiar," she said. "If it starts climbing my shoulders, I will begin trampling."

"I don't think you have to worry about your shoulders. He seems to have graduated to climbing slightly smaller things. If he starts climbing Anders, though, I may be willing to look the other way, while you trample," Fenris offered, taking a swig of cordial before handing the bottle back to Sigrun.

"I just never understood the appeal of Anders," Sigrun said. "He's really freakishly tall, and to hear Nate talk -- well, to hear Nate shout, drunkenly -- that's not the only monstrously large thing about him. Actually, I do know that, firsthand." She laughed. "I saluted his flagpole over breakfast, one morning, complete with flag. I guess he got tired of Nate talking about it, and decided to solve the whispers once and for all."

Fenris took the bottle back before Sigrun could have a drink. "For giving me that mental image," he said, grimacing through an even longer swig. It wasn't the first time someone had intimated that Anders's... staff ran on the large side, and he was just as uncomfortable thinking about it now. "A flag? Really?"

Sigrun's grin split her face, and she took the bottle back. "Really."

"Is it tall?" Shale asked with a sniff of disinterest. "All you flesh creatures seem tiny to me. He is no less squishable."

"It's tall," Fenris confirmed. "Even for a human."

  
Cormac was just drunk enough not to mind the company. He slid a hand up Artemis's thigh, fondly, slipping a quick pinch under the edge of cloth, where two panels of his skirt joined. "That's a lot of lime, little brother. Is that a suggestion?" he purred.

"I think it should be a suggestion." Anders ran his thumbnails along Artemis's palms, still holding his hands. "Maybe not with so much of an audience, but definitely a suggestion I look forward to observing the outcome of."

Artemis licked his lips and looked them both over, at the miles of skin on display in front of him. He could still feel Fenris from earlier, but that made the idea no less tempting. "Oh, it's always a suggestion," he said. "Would be more than a suggestion right now if not for that audience." He shifted his knees so that his thigh muscles flexed under Cormac's hand. Artie was just on the edge of drunk enough that he would have already forgotten that audience if Anders hadn't reminded him.

Fenris watched the trio of mages over the lip of his -- Sigrun's -- bottle while Shale ranted about pigeons. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but he could make an educated guess from the smirk on Anders's face. Anders. The mage with the flagpole currently touching his mage's hands.

Cormac leaned in a little closer, to be sure he wouldn't be overheard. "Is that a fact? I bet you're still all wet, inside. I bet I wouldn't even need to use grease. I could just fuck you with your lover's spunk for lube. And then, maybe... would you let me beg Fenris for you? Let me beg him to let Anders fuck you, too? To stretch you wide and empty himself into the lake of come inside you? Leave you fucked out and dripping down your thighs, until I lick you clean? Do you want your big brother to make you come again, licking that drippy mess off your trembling thighs, eating it out of your gaping, wet hole? I'll fuck you with my tongue to get it all out of you, little brother. I know how important it is to get you clean again."

Anders made a small, strangled sound, letting go of one of Artie's hands to tug at the bottom of his corset and the top of his loincloth. He wasn't wearing nearly enough to be hearing things like that... to be _imagining_ things like that.

Fenris handed the bottle back, suddenly. "I believe I need to put a stop to something, before it inspires any crushing, squishing, or trampling. Shale, I would like to continue this conversation, another time. I do not know how long you are in Kirkwall, but would it be acceptable for me to send you a letter, if I do not see you, before you go? My writing is poor, but you seem to have a particular insight my companions lack."

"If it will convince the rumbly flesh-creature to induce that vibration, again, the elf-construct is welcome to send me letters. I do not receive letters. It will be a pleasant change."

If things kept going the way they were, Fenris suspected that Shale _would_ end up vibrating again before long. He cleared his throat awkwardly and gave Shale and Sigrun a parting smile and nod of his head.


	109. Chapter 109

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old wounds and unexpected pleasures. Fenris finds a use for magic.

Artemis toyed with the golden chain hanging from his neck, just to give his fingers something to do that didn't involve grabbing any part of Cormac. It was unfair how ragged his breathing had grown after just a few words, but Cormac always knew just what to say. "Is that a promise?" he purred, lips against Cormac's ear. "You know just how to take care of your little brother, don't you?"

There was a tug on his chain as Fenris took it back from Cormac. Artemis pulled away from his brother reluctantly and looked up at Fenris with big eyes.

"Always," Cormac said, half a promise and half a reminder. He looked up at Fenris. "I think our mage is looking forward to some more earthquakes. Do you want to see how many we can get him to give us?"

" _My_ mage," Fenris growled. "What filth have you been promising him?"

"Oh, just that we'd fuck him full and then I'd lick it all out." Cormac shrugged, a faint smile on his lips.

That sounded like potentially one of the more disgusting things Fenris had heard, since he came to Kirkwall. Certainly there were more vile things in Tevinter, but this was close to the top of the list. "That ' _we_ ' would? How many of us are 'we'?" He decided not to bring up the other objection, since it was entirely up to Cormac what he'd put in his mouth.

"Whoever he wants and you'll allow." Cormac smiled up at Fenris. "You know what he likes..."

Fenris looked coolly down at the three of them, careful not to tighten his grip on the chain. Artemis rose to his feet, filling Fenris's vision.

"It's up to you," Artemis said. He pressed a kiss to Fenris's lips, stroked the side of his face. He kept his next words soft, so that only Fenris could hear them. "Remember what I told you, hmm? You need to tell me if it's something you do not want."

Which was well enough in theory, when Artie wasn't looking at him with those pleading eyes. "I will let you do this. I will watch you do this. And you will be done when I tell you that you are done. Is that good enough?" Fenris's words were just as quiet.

Cormac watched, silently, reaching back to squeeze Anders's hand. This was different, this time. It might involve all four of them, if Fenris could convince himself not to kill Anders for even looking at Artemis like that. Cormac wasn't interested in Fenris, and Fenris didn't seem to be interested in him, which had the potential to get a little awkward, but as long as the focus was on Artemis -- as long as Artemis didn't ask for anything too bizarre, like that one time...

Artemis kissed Fenris hard enough to rock him back on his heels, fingers tangling in white hair. "Te amo," Artie reminded him between smaller, nipping kisses. "I don't deserve you." Grinning, Artemis reached over their heads and plucked a lime blossom from the tree. He tucked it behind Fenris's ear just to watch it twitch.

Fenris sighed and gave him a look that was somehow both long-suffering and fond. Anders smirked behind his hand and waggled his eyebrows at Cormac. This could either be amazing or disastrous. Or amazingly disastrous. He couldn't tell.

"That looks promising," Anders ventured, nibbling the edge of Cormac's ear. "Are the two of you going to join us? Will Fenris and I get to do more than just watch, this time, Artie?"

"Just watching?" Cormac teased, turning his head to kiss the side of Anders's nose. "Do you mean to tell me the two of you haven't been manhandling each others' funbits?"

"I think he's allergic to mages, other than your brother." Anders shrugged. "Although we never did check to see if I had anything that would make for a less-horrific experience."

'Less-horrific' wasn't exactly the standard Fenris wanted to go into this with. "Or maybe I'm just allergic to abominations," he sniped, more out of habit than any real rancour. "And... do you mean to do this here? In the garden, with the..." He darted a look at Artemis. "...statuary?"

Artie coughed and scratched the back of his neck. "The garden, ah, has been redone. As you know. As you can see. The statues are more, um. Stable. Less likely to fall over."

'Less-horrific'. 'Less likely'. This was one instance where less was not more, where Fenris was concerned.

"Better Artie rattle the statuary than the walls," Anders reminded him. Smirking, he added, "Shale didn't seem to mind."

"Shale... didn't...? Oh Maker." Artie groaned, passing a hand over his eyes.

"We do still have a full party with at least one templar, inside," Cormac noted, twisting to stretch his leg. "Out here, we have a few statues that Anton made sure were a little more... er... earthquake proof, and a goat. It's also dark and starry, out here, and there's fresh air, and anything we get on the ground will soak in."

"And I'm not an abomination," Anders muttered under his breath, finally registering the rest of what Fenris had said.

"No, you're really not," Cormac said, rubbing his fingertips over Anders's scruff. "We've seen enough of those. They're not nearly as amazingly sexy as you are."

Fenris was almost willing to concede that point -- not that Anders was sexy, but that abominations did tend to horrifically deform the host, after a while, and that even when Justice showed itself, Anders still looked like Anders, aside from the glowing. Still, that was not the point that needed to be settled. "This is for you, Amatus. It's your decision. Which is the lesser risk?"

Artemis chewed his lip, glancing back at the house. He didn't relish the thought of pushing his way through the crowd just to get somewhere more rattly, especially after that close call with Cullen. On the other hand, trees.

"Out here. Out here is fine. Just... out of sight of the patio, obviously. And the goat. The goat is looking at us like it knows what we're thinking."

Anders glanced over his shoulder to see the goat at the edge of her pen, chewing hay and staring at them without blinking. "I second the point about the goat, actually." He rose to his feet, dusting off his skirts. On his head, Purrcy yawned and stretched.

"I'm thirding the goat. Let us not be too near the goat." Cormac agreed, grabbing onto Anders and dragging himself to his feet. "I think we should put Purrcy aside, too. Let's not traumatise the kitty, hm?"

"Purrcy," Anders cooed, removing the cat from his head. "Would you like to spend some time visiting with Goatilda?" He let the cat into the goat pen, watching for a few moments, to be sure all was well, between them. The cats had always gotten along with the goat, and this time seemed no different.

"I've seen some of the invoices for this garden," Cormac said, looking around. "And I know there's furniture we paid for that I haven't actually seen. Benches, swings, a fountain... I'm willing to bet none of that can be seen from the patio."

Fenris's eyebrow twitched, but he knew better than to ask. He'd known magisters with gardens like that, likely designed for a similar purpose.

Artemis clucked his tongue. "And here Anton only gave me a tour of the flowers and the goat pen." He twined his fingers with Fenris's and tugged him deeper into the garden, around the trellis that hid the rest of it from view. It occurred to him that holding Fenris's hand might be redundant with the chain in Fenris's grip, but whatever.

They followed a flagstone walkway shadowed by a bower made of trees woven together, branches lacing overhead.

"Okay," Artemis huffed, looking up at the braided branches. "I'm a bit envious."

"This is amazing..." Cormac followed the path, eyes taking in the wide array of low-light flowers and small statues that would be covered in vines, by the next year. Nothing Artie was likely to knock over -- short, wide-bottomed pieces, some depicting dragons, others of men and women in heroic poses. Fairly traditional garden art, until the end of this path, which wrapped around a shallow, stone basin, the rim carved in an impression of ancient Tevinter erotic art. Interesting that Anton hadn't chosen a more Orlesian look, given the local trend toward Orlesian art and fashion, but Anton had always had a taste for slightly understated things. Fantastically tasteful, regardless of how he talked it up. The ground between the loop of the path and the basin seemed to have been sculpted in waves, radiating out from the centre. Tall metal torches stood, unlit, on the outside edge of the clearing.

"Your brother has fantastic taste," Anders said, further examining the carvings. "I think this isn't just decorative," he muttered, running his hands over some of the ridges. "I think this may also be actual Tevinter work. What did this cost you guys?"

"You don't want to know." Cormac laughed, sitting down on the rim of the basin. He shifted to the side and noticed that his thighs sank into shallow cups carved into the stone. "Definitely made for sitting on."

"I know a few other things made for sitting on," Artemis said, letting go of Fenris's hand to plop into his brother's lap. He hooked an arm around Cormac's shoulders. "You make a lovely chair."

Fenris almost forgot he was holding Artie's chain as he wandered about the clearing. "It _is_ Tevinter," he said, careful to keep his voice neutral. He stopped just before the chain could pull taut. "Danarius had... a similar piece in his garden." He gestured vaguely at the piece Cormac was sitting on. His face carefully blank, his twitching ears were the only thing that betrayed any reaction.

Anders sat next to Cormac, wriggling his bum until it fit into the curved stone. "Hmm. I suspect this was made with the legendary Hawke ass in mind," he said. He doubted Danarius's had been but didn't say as much.

"Your ears are twitching," Cormac said to Fenris. "Is that a good twitch or a bad twitch?"

"My ears do not twitch!" Fenris insisted, one hand grabbing at an ear to still it.

"No, I'm... watching your ears twitch," Anders confirmed. "Maybe you should come sit by me, and I'll see if I can help you relax a little. Magic fingers." Anders wiggled them.

"I have had enough magic in my--" Fenris stopped in the middle of that extremely displeased sentence, letting his curiosity get the better of him. "Do you actually think you can make it stop hurting?" he asked, twisting the tip of his ear.

"Well, you and Artie don't seem to have any problems, so it must be possible. How do you--"

"I ignore it." Fenris's smile was less than entirely pleasant, and the ear he wasn't holding twitched hard enough he _couldn't_ ignore that.

Artemis's smile slipped at that. He remembered their first time lying in Fenris's bed -- now their bed -- when he'd first traced those lyrium lines with his fingers. Fenris had told him then that Artie's touch hurt, even if it was 'not unpleasant', or something to that effect. Somewhere along the line, after all this time and after the number of times Fenris had enjoyed his body, Artie had stopped worrying about it. Which he shouldn't have. Ever.

"Would healing magic help?" he asked, twisting in Cormac's lap to address Anders. That was one type of magic Artie couldn't offer Fenris.

"No," Fenris answered before Anders could as he padded over to the three of them. "I have felt his healing magic. It is... it does not help with that." And that was something he wondered if he could blame Danarius for doing on _purpose_ , or if that was just a side effect of the lyrium. He considered the empty space next to Anders, the cradling indentations that would sit him closer to the abomination than he usually preferred. But that didn't matter, he reminded himself. Anders would need to be close enough to touch for this to work.

"So, let's try something totally different. No creation. Maybe ice might soothe it?" Anders suggested. "If it's irritation from the lyrium, that might make it better. There's a lot of use for ice in healing."

Fenris swallowed and held out his hand, closed. "Artemis... te amo. You know that I have never turned away from your touch, and I never will. But, he put this idea in my head -- that maybe this is something that could be even better, that I might come to desire you even more than I do, if this one thing weren't there, distracting me from you. You have taught me there are good and decent uses for magic, and I want to believe this can be one of them." He opened his hand and nodded. "If you can't trust the healer, when you are unwell, then where do you turn?"

"A mage broke it. Let's see if a mage can fix it." Anders grinned, bringing up a chill around his fingertips and touching two fingers to a line in Fenris's palm.

Artemis shifted in Cormac's lap to get a better look at what was going on, turning in time to see Fenris bare his teeth and suck in a hiss. Lyrium markings lit along that arm, from palm to shoulder. Anders frowned, but Fenris didn't pull his hand away.

"Was that reaction pain or surprise?" Anders asked. He was speaking in his 'healer voice', calm and clinical but warming.

"It's..." Fenris's jaw muscles worked as he ground his teeth. "It... burns a bit." His markings stayed lit a few seconds after Anders had taken his hand away, but the sensation lingered. "Heat?" he suggested, shrugging.

Anders sucked in a breath. Heat. Right. Not fire, just heat. He shook the cold out of his fingers and cast again.

"Not heat!" The words were out almost as soon as Anders's fingers touched him, and Fenris's markings lit all the way up his neck to his chin.

Anders jerked his hand back. "Not heat. Lesson learned. I assume that if moving the earth would solve this problem, the two of you would already know it, so let's try something a little strange. If this doesn't work, I'm not going to hold it against you if you punch me."

"What are you...?" Fenris asked, eyeing Anders a bit suspiciously.

Anders held up his hand, and tiny purple sparks danced between his fingertips as he wiggled them. "Isabela calls me 'sparklefingers' for a reason."

"Yes, but you use that as a -- Oh. That's why I would punch you, yes." Fenris managed half a smile, smoothing one hand down the arm that still glowed faintly, and the light went out. He took a deep breath. "I am insane. Artemis, I have gone mad with my love for you. Let that never be questioned. Do it."

"Sometimes, I swear insanity's contagious," Anders said, his smile just this side of nervous. His fingers hovered over that stripe of lyrium until Anders took a deep breath of his own and closed the distance, steeling himself for that punch.

Another breath sucked in through Fenris's teeth, and Fenris straightened, fingers twitching but not curling into a fist and not striking Anders. Lyrium lit the length of Fenris's body while Anders kept holding his breath, trying to read that reaction.

"That's..." Fenris knew he had the words somewhere. He could feel them clogging in his throat. "Venhedis."

"Is that a good venhedis or a bad venhedis?" Anders asked.

"A disbelieving venhedis," Fenris replied. "That feels..." He swallowed. "It's not pain."

"That sounds good," Cormac observed. "Go poke him in the other arm," he suggested, bouncing his thigh and patting Artie's ass. "Just be more gentle with him than you are with me. Unless he's into that. Are you into that, Fenris?"

"I might have an answer, if I had any idea what you were talking about, but I probably don't want to know." Fenris squirmed, fingers tensing and spreading. He remembered Anders teaching him to massage Artemis's back and wondered what it would be like to have Artemis's hands on him like that, like this. He thought he might never get out of bed again.

"Mage... healer... thank you." His eyes stayed on Anders's hand, where it met his own.

"I have a name, you know," Anders teased.

"You do not!" Cormac reminded him. "Or if you do, you haven't shared."

Anders huffed. "Fine, I have a common reference. Principally, it counts as a name."

"Anders, Fenris just said the words 'thank' and 'you' to you, unironically," Artemis said. "Together, even! Baby steps." He squeezed Anders's shoulder in a thanks of his own and slid to his feet, fussing a moment with the panels of his skirt before sitting to Fenris's other side.

His fingers crackled with electricity, but he hesitated. How much charge was too much? Too little? He hadn't yet mastered the subtle art of 'not frying people' with this particular spell, and Fenris was the last person he wanted to fry. Magic. That was something he usually _avoided_ with Fenris, except when he couldn't help it.

Artie shook himself before he could work himself into a state and kept the charge in his fingers at the low end of 'interesting'. Green eyes met his, waiting, expectant, adoring, and Artemis touched his fingers to the inside of Fenris's wrist.

Those beautiful green eyes rolled back, and Fenris's entire body tensed, head tipping back, thighs spreading a little wider. A low groan wrenched out of him, as he struggled to catch his breath.

"That's usually my reaction when he does that to me, too," Cormac remarked, resisting the urge to drop a jolt across Fenris's toes. That just... no. Anders was more than enough in the 'mages other than Artemis' department, he was sure.

" _Mages_ ," Fenris growled, with a distinct lack of ill intent, struggling to remember where all the parts of his body were, now that they didn't ache dully. The subtle pain that had been the background to everything had faded out, however briefly, to be replaced by this pleasant tingle. The sensation was even more compelling at the points of contact. He tilted his head forward, looking at the ground between his feet. "Touch me."

That look on Fenris's face was one Artemis planned to commit to memory, and memory was best served through repetition. Artie leaned in, kissing the corner of Fenris's jaw, mouthing at his neck, at the soft skin behind his ear. All the while Artemis's hand traced lyrium lines he knew by heart, mapping every bend, every swirl, from the inside of Fenris's wrist, up to his shoulder, down to his chest.

Fenris's breathing deepened, toes curling against flagstone. Even his mage's lips were electric, mage skin lighting nerve endings he didn't know he had. He wondered, for a moment, if this was the way Artemis felt when he reached inside him. And then he stopped wondering, stopped thinking, anything, brain shorting out enough for him not to care when a second hand traced his tattoos from the other side, a hand he knew belonged to Anders.

Anders's other hand slid up Cormac's thigh, without comment from either of them, and Cormac tugged his loincloth out of the way, leaning closer to nibble behind Anders's ear. Cormac's hand darted up under Anders's skirt, pressing his own sparking fingers against Anders's inner thigh. Perhaps this was something that needed to happen, Cormac thought. And if Artemis wanted it, he'd ... do whatever he was told, really, but for now, his hands would stay on Anders, who hooked a foot around his ankle.

"Oh, _Artemis_ ," Fenris gasped, one hand finally free to press into his mage. He glowed more strongly, reaching back to sink his fingers into Artemis and grab his hip. His fingers traced along the curve of bone, down over the pelvic arch and back up, stroking and caressing the bone. Everything was perfect, aside perhaps from the part where Anders was touching him, but if that mage could make him feel this good, he was willing to overlook it. He could tell the difference not just in their hands, but in the quality of the electricity that ran through his skin. Anders was smoother, gentler, more sensual. Artemis was strong and raw, demanding and sexual -- so different from so much else about his mage, but no less thrilling for that.

Artemis sucked in a breath, twisting into Fenris's touch but determined to keep his focus. The last thing they needed was for him to lose control of his electricity. Eventually he swore, needing, aching to be closer, and he swung into Fenris's lap, mindful of the spikes as he pressed thighs to thighs. Someone was going to injure something on that corset before the night was over, and Artie thanked Andraste they had a healer with them.

Fenris adjusted his grip on Artemis's hipbone, reached down and around to tease at his tailbone. He breathed in his mage's gasp, lips meeting clumsily, distracted enough not to notice that there was still only one hand on him per mage. Artie's other hand was occupied with Anders, tracing the inside of his thigh.

Anders cupped Cormac's balls and squeezed in that way he knew Cormac loved, and sure enough, the spark against his thigh flared and shot through him. Artie's hand on one leg, Cormac's on the other, and just enough magic running through him to let him say stupid things. "Do you want us?" he asked, not clarifying who he was asking or which 'us' he meant. "Tell me. We can make it happen. Anything you want."

And that was a bad habit he'd picked up from Cormac -- 'anything'. He knew better, in all the worst ways, but he didn't think any of them would take advantage of that in a way he didn't want to deal with. Artie usually liked _being_ held down; Cormac liked _being_ hurt. And Fenris... He didn't have the sense that Fenris would be particularly kinky, aside from that glowing hand thing, which frankly scared the shit out of him, and okay, there was that. That was something he'd probably object to pretty strongly, so maybe 'anything' really wasn't something he should have been offering. But, it was already out of his mouth, and Cormac's hips rocked against his hand, and there were two brothers with their electric fingertips up under his skirt, and just maybe he'd get through the night without any complaints. That and the sounds Fenris was making were enough to make him ache, all by themselves.

"Anything," Cormac agreed, swallowing his own objections at the idea he might end up getting a lot closer to Fenris than he thought either of them would actually like. That, really, was the best thing going for him. _Fenris_ wouldn't stand for it, either. Well, unless Artie made that face. And then they were both done for.


	110. Chapter 110

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The best kind of sandwich is filled with a Hawke.

It took Fenris ridiculously long to realise that the sounds Anders and Cormac had made were actual words, longer still to realise that some of those words had formed a question. He assumed Anders was asking Artemis and pulled his lips away long enough for his mage to answer. Anders couldn't have been asking _him._ Even if he had, Fenris didn't know his own wants well enough to answer, and Artemis's wants would always come first.

Artemis licked his swollen lips, taking just as long to form words as Fenris had taken to hear them. Anything. That was on the table, and that was exactly what Artemis wanted. 'Anything'. So what he told them was, "Everything. All of you. I want... I want all of you." He could blame what alcohol was left in his system for that. Or Fenris's glowy hand going tap, tap on his tailbone. _That_ was distinctly unfair.

Cormac had no idea how that was going to work, if he meant _all at once_. "Which one of us do you want first?" he asked. "The glowy elf? The flagpole? Your big brother?"

"I think," Anders said, hands still wandering Fenris's and Cormac's skin, completely out of time to each other, "it could be all of us at once. Depending on how you want us. You fuck one of us, one of us fucks you, and you suck on the third. Or maybe -- assuming our delightfully glowy companion can still get it up after that -- and assuming you can actually make it work, the two of them fuck you while you fuck me. That's really the only way that one's going to work, and I know it. I'm sure there's a couple more I haven't thought of."

What Anders was proposing was absurd, Fenris was sure. How would the bodies fit together? Artemis couldn't possibly fit him and Cormac at the same time... But, before Kirkwall, he'd seen... and that never ended well for the slaves involved, so how could Anders be seriously offering that to Artemis? His confusion manifested out of the pleasure still obvious on his face.

Artemis rather liked the images Anders was putting in his head. Maker bless that man. Fenris and Cormac at _once_? Artie hadn't considered... He'd heard it was possible, but... "Can we try that?" he asked, hips rocking against Fenris just at the thought. Then, remembering that Anders's question had been multiple choice, Artemis clarified, "Cormac and Fenris at the same time."

Anders's lips quirked up. "And where would you have me?"

Artemis chewed on his lip, looked down at Anders's skirt where the flagpole announced its presence. "You know, my mouth is still free." He'd never admit it in front of Fenris, but Artie had missed the flagpole.

Fenris was busy trying to figure out the mathematics of this equation.

"Aw, but if you've got your mouth full, how am I going to hear all those breathtakingly sexy little noises you make?" Cormac complained, trying not to think about the fact that he was about to be rubbing his knob against Fenris.

"I suppose you can still listen to him choke on the flagpole," Anders teased. "Please don't actually choke. People choking on my knob makes me sad."

A strangled sound emanated from Fenris, that took a few moments to register as a laugh. Clearly Anders didn't know _everything_ about Artemis, then. He felt a little better about the situation, but the physics still confused him some, although less now that Anders wasn't getting _fucked_.

Artie tugged on Fenris's ear, fingers still holding a light charge, and felt it twitch. "So, um." He looked around him, at the clearing, at the three gorgeous men who would be... Ha. "How are we-- How do we do this?"

Fenris was relieved he wasn't the only one struggling with the physics. He drew his hand out of Artemis to give him room to move, and his mage slid off his lap

"Preferably without you being stabbed by Fenris's corset, that's how," Anders said. At Fenris's look, he added, "In fact, preferably without anyone being stabbed by that corset."

"Or stabbed in general," Artemis agreed. "Sound advice."

Anders studied the other three and the lay of the clearing. "Cormac? How tall are you?"

"You don't know that, by now?" Cormac scoffed, elbowing Anders. "I come up to your chin. Why?"

"More of an 'in relation to the landscape' question." Anders squinted at the ground and pointed to the trough of one of the ripples surrounding the basin. "If you lie down in that ripple, do you have enough space not to hit your head on the path?"

"Or I could lay the other way, and avoid that problem entirely," Cormac pointed out. "My feet wouldn't mind."

"Not enough space," Anders said, shaking his head. "I think I know how to do this, if you're not too tall for that space."

Cormac got out of the thigh-cupped seat on the edge of the basin and stretched out in the grassy dent. "You'd probably fit in this," he said, feeling for the edge of the path beyond his head.

"Artemis goes on top of you, facing you. Fenris goes behind him. And, after a bit, I think I get to go over you, the other way." Anders looked entirely smug. "I really hope I guessed right, or this is going to be a little less fun than I had in mind."

"Worst case, it will take some trial and error," Artemis said, his smile just this side of nervous. "That's why we have a healer on hand."

"Reassuring," Fenris muttered.

Artemis padded over to his brother and straddled his hips, knees sinking into grass. Fenris stood over them awkwardly, leash still in hand, and wondered how he could do this while touching Cormac as little as possible. There was going to be a certain amount of touching required for this to work, but Fenris would rather keep it to the minimum.

"Remind me to compliment Anton later on the party," Artemis quipped. He sat back so that Cormac's knob teased at the cleft of his ass, thin fabric all that separated them.

"As long as we don't both compliment him on his choice of garden furniture, I think we'll be fine," Cormac joked, reaching between them, to tug the loincloth to the side. He rolled his hips as he slid his hand out, grinding against his brother. This needed to happen before he had time to do too much more thinking about it, or it was going to become very difficult to keep his knob interested in the proceedings. The crown of lime dug into the back of his head, as it tipped and fell back against the grass.

"You two should start," Anders said, kneeling beside them and offering his sparking fingers to Fenris. "I'm going to be the last one to join the party. And the both of you should probably consider trading sparks, for most of this, if Fenris is going to be touching both of you."

"Thank you," Fenris mumbled, still uncertain where he belonged and somewhat constrained by the length of the leash.

"Sit," Anders suggested. "You'll be part of it in just a minute." He traced a finger up the side of Fenris's leg, following the lines and watching them light up.

Cormac winked at Artemis and pressed a jolt to the inside of each of his thighs. "Think you can do this without stopping my heart, this time?" he teased.

Artemis's hips jumped, the jolt making his laugh come out breathy. "I might stop it on purpose if you tease me too much," he said, reaching behind him to place a spark right behind Cormac's balls. Artie bit his lip against a smirk, as Cormac bucked under him, a choked sound of surprise wrenching out of Cormac's chest.

"Ooh, I like that sound," Artie said, his face the very image of smug. He ground back against his brother's knob, sparking fingers skimming up over Cormac's corset, across his chest. He bent forward to nip his brother's chin just under that ridiculous beard. "Grease. We're probably going to need it if... both of you... yes. That would be good." His smile was a little less smug then. This wasn't on the long list of regrettable things he'd done, sober or otherwise, but he trusted his brother, and he trusted Anders and Fenris. And Maker, he _wanted_ this. "I'd cast, but I'd probably just end up ruining everyone's corsets."

Fenris chuffed. There was a reason Artie rarely used that spell, even with him.

Anders pressed a hand to Artemis's belly. "Let me. I was a master of the self-greasing ass. Shouldn't even be enough to drip on your brother, although I really am going to suggest taking that off, Cormac. The skirt, not the corset. You're going to end up with something on it. You're on the bottom." He cast directly into Artemis, a warm, runny sensation.

Rolling his eyes, Cormac realised Anders was probably right. He was wearing black, but they were dealing with things that would show up even better on black. A bit of squirming and he shoved the unbuckled belt and the top of the cloth down to his knees, kissing Artemis, before he laid back down. "Come on, Artie. Take me. I'm all yours." His hands kneaded Artemis's thighs. "Hurt me. Make me scream for you. I want to fill you up." Don't think, just do. This always ended well, and this time would be no different.

It always gave Artie chills, the way his brother begged to be hurt, but he would do anything to please the man under him. "All mine, hmm?" Artemis reached behind him for Cormac's knob, giving it a lazy stroke before pressing the sparking pad of his thumb against the tip. He rose up on his knees as his brother bucked beneath him, and he watched his brother's face twist. Finally, Artemis sank down onto Cormac, grease keeping the motion smooth, his insides already stretched from Fenris's earlier... attentions.

Artemis circled his hips, a pleased sound rumbling in his chest and eyes fluttering closed. "I'll never get tired of this," he sighed. "Feeling you like this."

Stroking more current into Artemis's thighs, Cormac bit his lip and closed his eyes, just letting all the things he shouldn't say pass by. They weren't things that were his to say -- less what he meant by them than how Fenris might take them. He finally settled on, "Always. Anything. Just tell me. Show me what you want."

Fenris looked awkwardly at Anders and shrugged.

"Just give Artie a minute to relax. He'll tell you when he's ready for more. Start with your fingers." Anders moved a little closer to Fenris. "I'll take care of the grease for you. And, if you'll let me, I'll keep the electricity on you. Just let me know where you need it."

Fenris nodded, his smile stilted.

For a while, Artemis just focused on feeling, on the sensation of Cormac inside and under him and nothing else. No thinking. No counting, no obsessing, just... this. "More," he said when he'd adjusted. He licked his lips. "Please." Turning his head, he locked eyes with Fenris to find his elf watching with more than a passing interest.

Fenris looked to Anders, who nodded, taking Fenris's hand and coating it with grease. He tried not to think about how often Fenris had threatened to kill him with that hand, and whether that made this whole thing better or worse.

Fenris sat up on his knees, clean hand taking Artemis's chin. "Te amo," Fenris murmured, giving him kiss.

Anders's gaze was nearly clinical, as he watched the scene unfold. There would be time enough to enjoy it, later. Right now, he just had to make sure nobody broke anything serious on the way to later. "Slowly," he suggested to Fenris.

Fenris's slick fingers slipped down between the cheeks of Artemis's incredibly enticing bottom. He stroked with one finger, feeling where his mage met Cormac, rubbing the rim of that stretched hole. How exactly was he meant to fit? But, Anders seemed to know what he was suggesting, and Artemis wanted it... He pressed the back of his finger against Cormac's knob, trying very hard not to think too much about that, and carefully worked the fingertip into Artemis, tugging gently at the edge of the hole.

Cormac tensed and writhed, trying not to buck. The last thing he wanted was to break Fenris's knuckles. A near-constant stream of sound spilled out of his mouth, moans and pleas and expletives. Artemis had been an incredible fit around him, a constant low-grade pressure, but no pinch. But, with Fenris's finger added, and slowly more and more of that finger, it was getting to be a bit of a squeeze. He rubbed more electricity into his brother's thighs, with one hand, the other teasing the tip of Artemis's knob.

Artemis braced his hands against Cormac's chest, turning off his own sparklefingers for the moment. He ducked his head, eyes a bit pinched. Not painful, not yet, but... different. Breathing. Right. That was something he should do.

Fenris pressed a kiss to Artie's nape, finger working slowly deeper. "All right, Amatus?" he asked, voice a low rumble.

Artemis nodded. "Y... yes. Keep going."

A second finger prodded at Artie's hole, and Artemis sucked in a breath through his teeth. Fenris paused, fingers stilling, but his mage didn't tell him to stop. "All right?" he asked again, getting an impatient nod in reply.

"Yes. All right." Artie's voice came out breathier than usual. Fenris's fingers went back to work, and Artie focused on Cormac's face, on Cormac's hands and just breathed.

Somewhere around that second finger, Cormac completely lost track of everything but that tight, grinding pressure against his knob. He fought the incoherent shrieks of pleasure down as he realised that if he was thrilled with it, Artie probably wasn't. Still, Artie's knob didn't seem to be flagging in his grip, so maybe his little brother _was_ that kind of kinky, at least some of the time.

Anders kneaded Cormac's leg, just a reminder that he was there, as he continued to watch. No one was bleeding, yet, which was a good sign. Well, for everyone except Cormac, who probably would have preferred to be bleeding.

"Artie? We love you," Cormac forced out, between ragged breaths. "We love you so much, we're about to rub our knobs together inside you, just to watch you come for us. Just to hear every little sound you try not to make, as you take us both. Just for you, Artemis."

"Your brother is right," Fenris murmured. "I do love you. I love you enough that I don't have to understand why you want this, I just have to know that you do."

Artemis laughed weakly, the sound little more than a gust of air. He wasn't sure this desire was something he could explain to Fenris. He could only hope his elf got some pleasure out of this too. "Love you," he said, addressing them both and wondering what he had done right in his life to earn such devotion.

Another finger, and Artemis felt a bit lightheaded. His mind filled with words like 'full' and 'stretched', but he didn't ask to stop, just grit his teeth and breathed. A few swears made it through his teeth, but he softened them with a smile and another breathless laugh. Then the pain eased, became an ache, became a pressure, and Artie relaxed in increments.

Anders watched his face all the while, healing ready at his fingertips. Still no bleeding, no force pushing of any kind.

Cormac bit through his lip, finally, the rush of blood giving him something to think about other than the exquisite ache in his knob. The only times he'd been wrung this tight had involved hands, and that hadn't been nearly this... well, _this_. He thought about the fact that was Fenris, as the kiss of the lyrium became more of a bite. Maker, he suddenly understood what his brother saw in this elf. Or maybe he didn't, but that was something _he'd_ give Fenris some unexpected credit for.

He glared at Anders as the blood stopped running down his cheek. He'd been using that.

"Soon," Anders promised Fenris, running one sparkling finger down his arm, before leaning down to kiss the blood off Cormac's cheek.

"Oh, shit, _Anders_..." Cormac pleaded, eyes desperate.

"No," Anders said softly, stroking the unbloodied cheek. He smiled sadly and touched his lips to Cormac's forehead, before he sat up, again. "But, you can kiss my ass, in a few minutes."

Cormac couldn't quite manage to look irritated. "I'll take it."

Artemis watched the two of them, shaking his head fondly. Still in so much denial, but that was one argument he didn't plan to have again. If Cormac was happy in his obliviousness, then so be it.

Fenris spread his fingers inside Artemis, and this time the breath Artie sucked in left again in a groan. There. Those were the kinds of sounds Fenris had wanted to hear, and he smiled, pressing a kiss to Artie's shoulder.

"Okay," Artemis said. "Okay, I'm... That's... Shall we try this?" He brought electricity back to his fingertips, careful to keep the spell weak for now, and sent some sparks through Cormac, just under his corset and above where they joined.

Anders nodded and offered more grease to Fenris. "Leave a finger in, until you get the tip in, or you're never going to be able to do it," he warned, sounding like he'd done this before. He _had_ , but from the other side. Not even Nate had been crazy enough to take anything _with_ the flagpole.

Fenris nodded, with a nervous glance at Anders, as he freed himself from his leather loincloth. He took the grease and stroked it onto himself.

" _There_?" Anders asked, horrified, finally getting a look at Fenris's knob.

"Everywhere." Fenris shrugged, taking a few deep breaths as he watched Artemis's back rise and fall. "You have seen me in even less than this. Your face has been much closer to those lines than it is, right now. Did you not notice?"

"I wasn't _looking_ at you! I was well on my way to drunk, and you were trying to choke me with your knob!" Anders continued to look horrified. How had he missed the taste of lyrium? How had _Justice_ missed it? And if that wasn't another reason to avoid getting that drunk...

"Good," Fenris said, with a hint of a smile. He carefully lined himself up, clean hand stroking Artemis's back. "Would you... my lower back? I don't know if I can..."

Anders didn't need the rest of those sentences. There were three mages in this tangle, and he was pretty sure at least two of them could only get that spark going in their _hands_. As he'd shown Isabela, Anders could get it going in some more interesting places, to exciting effect -- though he'd only need his hands, here. He laid a hand just below where Fenris's corset stopped, letting the current chase ourward from his palm, along the lines of lyrium.

The current lit Fenris's tattoos, the glow bright enough that Artie could see it out of the corner of his eye. Fenris made the most delicious sound at his ear, and then there was a knob prodding at his hole. Artemis didn't know when he'd grabbed Cormac's wrist, but he was clutching it now tight enough to bruise.

And Artemis could feel the difference between them, not so much the size as the texture, the prickle of lyrium against the heat of skin. Fenris kept smoothing a hand down his back, a comfort as well as a guide, reminding Artie not to lean back into Fenris's spikes. Artemis was already impaled enough as it was.

"All right, Amatus?" Fenris asked one more time, still pressing slowly, slowly inward. His own voice came out a bit choked, the pressure overwhelming. Artemis had never been this tight around him.

"Oh, fuck, Fenris, stop! Don't move." Cormac sounded somewhere between pleasure and panic. "Just... a minute. Give me a minute." His hands clutched at Artemis's thighs, as he tried to remember how to breathe properly.

Anders's eyes caught Cormac's, and he raised his eyebrows. Did he need to be concerned? But, Cormac shook his head with a hint of a smile. He knew that look.

"You didn't bring one of those potions, did you?" Cormac asked, smile widening, as he squeezed his eyes shut.

Anders snorted. "You know, if I had any idea we were going to wind up here, I'd have brought three."

Fenris shot a confused look at Anders, still but for his hands still caressing Artemis.

"He's fine." Anders laughed. "Cormac. Pierro says thank you."

"Oh, ahhh!" Cormac winced. "Please, somebody move. Do something. Oh, Andraste's brazen ass, I _hate_ you, Anders!"

"No you don't. Thank me later." Anders smiled sweetly and gestured for Fenris to continue.

"Mages," Fenris huffed. It was the only response, after not understanding most of that exchange. Artemis shook with soft laughter, reaching blindly behind him to pat Fenris's thigh.

"Mages," he agreed, shrugging.

Fenris pushed in the rest of the way, letting out a shaky breath as Artie sucked one in. Slowly, Fenris rocked his hips, the pressure and mage-skin making spots dance before his eyes. His mage made a shivery sound that could have been pain or pleasure or both.

Artemis certainly couldn't tell which it was. He moved slowly in counterpoint to Fenris, feeling the grind of knobs inside of him. Maker. Surrounded and possessed by two men he loved. This was... He felt...

"Artie," Anders's voice was soft. "Tell me when you want me. If you still want me." His hand lingered on Fenris's back, for the moment, keeping up that low current.

Cormac rolled his hips, electricity sparking between his fingers and across his palms, although the latter might have just been his nerves having an opinion about the state of things. Artie was so tight around him, crushing lyrium lines against his knob. He'd be able to trace the pattern from memory, after this, he was sure. The idea darted across his mind that this might leave a mark.

This was the physically closest he'd ever been to anyone, that he could recall. He'd never been squeezed like this, crushed together with another man's knob inside of someone. And that someone being Artemis... He looked up into those beautiful blue eyes, so much like his own. Fine, maybe he had nice eyes to go with his nice shoulders. He might admit to that.

Small, ragged noises poured out of him, as he tried to keep himself in check. This was incredible, but he reminded himself over and over that it could be even more, if he could just hold out for it.

Fenris's hands rested on Artemis's hips as the three of them tried to find a rhythm. Artemis panted for breath, writhing between his brother and his fiance. He laid a hand on one of Fenris's and shot another electric current through the tips of his fingers. Fenris's hand squeezed in response, threatening to leave finger-shaped bruises until Fenris loosened that grip, thumb rubbing in soothing circles against the abused skin there.

Artemis smiled dazedly, looking over his shoulder for Anders. He tugged lightly on Anders's hand. "Hey. I think it's time to make this a real party." He was already skirting the line of 'overwhelmed', but he wasn't one to leave someone out.

Fenris huffed, giving Artie's chain a teasing tug. "Always such a greedy thing, aren't you?" he rumbled.

"Don't pretend you hate it," Artemis shot back over his shoulder.

"Artie, hold on to him. I have to let go." Anders waited until he was sure there were enough hands in close enough to the right places, before he moved his own.

Fenris choked back a whine, as the soothing current left the bowl of his hips. He would never admit to it.

Anders positioned himself over Cormac, after a bit of a tangle of arms and legs, and Cormac propped himself up on an elbow to bite one still-clothed ass cheek.

"You know, if you wait a minute, that won't taste like linen," Anders chided, unfastening his belt, and taking care not to drop the heavy front plates on Cormac's chest, as he set the skirt aside, baring his almost-interested knob to Artemis. Cormac made some low and desirous sound, from behind him, and Anders's breath hitched.

"You're welcome to wait for your brother to make that more appealing, or you could help him work it up. Sorry, I was a little too interested in making sure you didn't get hurt. Either of you." He tipped his head to indicate Fenris. "Him, not so much," he joked, reaching down to dig a thumbnail into one of Cormac's nipples. There was a desperate sound, distorted by tongue, from Cormac.

Keeping one hand on what he could reach of Fenris, Artemis stretched forward to nuzzle at Anders's knob, mouthing at his balls. "Hello, old friend," he said to the flagpole, earning him an amused snort from Anders.

The first thing Fenris noticed was the ugly scar just under the base of the corset, that extended down the inside of Anders's hip, broad and pocked. It looked like the mage had been gutted. That didn't make as much of an impression as it might have, under other circumstances, but Fenris's hips stilled when he caught sight of the flagpole. Venhedis. The others hadn't been exaggerating. An hour ago, he would have wondered how Artemis could have... have taken that (he didn't want to consider Cormac), but considering the current state of things...

"Mages," he mumbled again, shaking his head. He had no other word for it. His hips picked up again, wringing another choked groan from his mage. His mage who was mouthing and licking at the tip of Anders's knob.

Anders let his head fall back, one hand resting on Artemis's shoulder, as his breathing grew deeper and slower. "If this is what I spent my life paying in advance for ... it might almost have been worth it." Reaching back, he squeezed the one of Cormac's hands that gripped his ass. It was best, he thought, that he'd ended up here, of all of them. He was the least likely to fall, with two people licking at his nether regions. Still, he meant to give Cormac an endless amount of trouble about that beard, later. There was a reason they didn't tend to do this sort of thing -- at least not like this.

"Almost?" Cormac asked, catching his breath, before he dove back in, all teeth and tongue, and left a few dents around Anders's tailbone. His hips rolled of their own volition, matching the pace Fenris set. He teetered just on the edge, senses taking in all of everything, as his brain completely failed to filter any of it.

"Almost," Anders replied, and the tone was enough to discourage any further commentary. He felt himself thicken, between Artemis's lips. "Just like that, Artie. Feels so good..." Almost an absent comment, half his attention on their surroundings. Outside always made him fall back into what he'd learnt in the tower. Outside, parties, anything where someone might take an unwarranted interest in unexpected sounds.

Artemis let out a pleased hum around Anders at the praise, eyes rolling up to look at his face. Anders carded a hand through Artie's hair, pushing it back.

Fenris watched Artie's head bob, watched the way the muscles of his jaw and throat worked around the abomin-- around Anders. Gold chain wrapped around one hand, Fenris knew he could put a stop to this if he wanted to, knew that Artemis had agreed to those terms, but the sight was... more 'inspiring' than he would have thought.

Artemis lost tack of what hands belonged to whom, lost count of limbs and knobs and left all the thinking to the men around him. His hips moved on instinct, mouth and throat eager around Anders, who stoppered the desperate noises building in his throat. It was overwhelming, too much and not enough, electricity spiking through his nerve endings.

"I'm sorry," Cormac whined, thighs flexing under Artemis and Fenris. "Can't--" And then the words gave way to ragged sounds, loud, raw, wordless pleas. The electricity skipped from one hand to the other and back, singeing a few blades of grass around his fingers, before returning to the thumb he had squeezing Anders open for his tongue. He arched, hips lifting up, and cried out, throbbing hard inside his brother, crushed against Fenris's lyrium-laced knob.

Those sounds, that particular burst of electricity, brought Anders from mostly interested to craving more, the flagpole jutting sharply from his hips to where it vanished into Artemis's mouth. "Missed your lips," he breathed, reaching further behind himself to tangle his fingers in Cormac's hair.

Fenris swore, hips stuttering in the wake of Cormac's spend, adding another layer of slick between him and the two mages pressed against and around him. He didn't know where the sparks were coming from anymore, or even where they were landing, his markings lit from toes to chin. Pleasure coiled at the base of his spine, setting off sparks of its own along his skin, but Fenris forced it back.

"Oh, Artemis!" he gasped, and Artie replied with another desperate sound, the next spark from his fingers just this side of too much. Fenris knew that sound. It was the type of sound Artemis made before begging to be touched, the type of sound he made when he was close but not there yet.

Fenris let go of one of Artemis's hips to stroke a hand down his mage's spine. On the second pass, that hand sank into skin, then into bone, curling inside each vertebae, and Artemis's hips jerked and trembled, his eyes rolling back. A groan vibrated in Artie's throat, making Anders suck in a breath, as Artemis clutched at Fenris, at Cormac, at Anders, uncaring where his magic was going or who was doing what. The ground shook almost violently under his knees, his body shivering to match, as he spilled over his brother.

Anders reached down and swiped the mess off Cormac's corset, offering his dripping fingers to Fenris, an obscene and obscure gesture, but hopefully reassuring. His thighs trembled and his toes curled as both brothers ricocheted lightning off the inside of his skin. He wasn't this easy, except for the part where he absolutely was, but with Artie's throat wringing his knob and Cormac's fingers and tongue in his ass, he was getting there so very quickly. The first one was always fast, and then he'd ache for hours, until Cormac took the time to finish what they'd started. Justice didn't approve, neither of his impossible Warden stamina (under these circumstances) nor of the nagging pain of leaving the flagpole untended, but this was one of those things Justice had learnt it was better not to argue too much about -- just as Cormac had learnt not to argue too much, if Justice got to him first. But, for now, the only complaint from Justice was that the lyrium in Fenris's skin was so very close and he couldn't touch it.

Behind him, Cormac was still rambling desperately, a steady stream of incomprehensible words crammed into a slushy rush of erotic noise, muffled by the crush of hot Warden ass. He'd gotten used to Anders, after all these years -- spoilt by Anders, really -- and a single incredible orgasm was a beautiful distraction, but hardly something to put a stop to this amazing convocation of knobs and asses and magic. Another jolt lanced out from his fingertips, and Anders became perfectly still, but for a single short gasp and the forceful throb of his knob against Artemis's tongue.

Fenris caught Anders's eye over Artemis's shoulder, watched his face twist. He growled around Anders's fingers, pressing teeth to them in a parody of a bite, and even that touch was electric where it sparked against his tongue. Artemis still shivered and shuddered in his grip, still squeezed him so deliciously tight, and, still holding Artemis by his bones, Fenris lost himself in the feel and taste of mage skin and mage magic. This. He supposed this counted as magic serving man, didn't it?

Artemis reached back, fingers scrabbling under Fenris's spikes to send a jolt along his spine, sparks chasing each other up and down rivers of lyrium. Fenris's vision went white, a strangled sound caught in his throat. Anders managed to pull his fingers free before the elf accidentally bit them off.

"Like biting... you should... Cormac," Anders choked out, with a sliver of a smile and a gesture downward, with his wet fingers, before he stroked more electricity against the lines on Fenris's chin.

Cormac muttered something faintly annoyed, refusing to stop licking to deliver the obvious point -- that he'd really rather _not_ , thanks. But, just for that, the next jolt was less gentle, and Anders stiffened, hands spreading, toes curling, but still almost soundless.

"Artie," Anders said, waiting until he was relatively sure he had the attention of the mage in the middle of it all. "Swallow." He tugged Cormac's hair, an encouragement to do the same thing again. For all the attention, he was still just on the edge -- too much of his mind on the surroundings, to surrender -- but he could force it, with a few more nudges in the right direction.

Artemis's brain was still a scattered mess after all of that, but he heard. He gave Fenris's thigh an affectionate squeeze, and then let go to reach for Anders instead, both hands grabbing him by the hips and pulling him closer. His throat worked around Anders as Artemis pulled him in, taking him as deep as he could. Air wasn't something Artie needed right at that moment, not with Anders hot and throbbing on his tongue.

Anders carded his hand through Artie's hair, struggled to keep his thrusts shallow so that Artie didn't choke. But Artemis wasn't making it easy, the way he was tugging at Anders's hips, urging him to move.

The noise from Cormac was substantially more coherent than the last few, as Anders's hips rocked forward and then snapped back, landing a tailbone against the bridge of Cormac's nose. "Ow, _fuck_!"

Anders stroked healing into the side of Cormac's head, a wordless apology, even as he kept moving with Artemis's hands. This was too much, this was too deep -- he should never be that far into anyone's mouth, but Artie just kept pulling him deeper in. Another jolt from Cormac, and he tensed and arched, despite himself, plunging in even further, with a warm, contented sigh, pouring himself down Artemis's throat. His fingers tightened in Artemis's hair, as he pulled back, slowly, and he felt Cormac shift, behind him, dropping back to the ground, one hand still lazily squeezing and stroking.

Artemis sucked in air as Anders pulled away, pressed a hand to his numb and swollen lips. A breathless laugh shook his shoulders. "That was... Maker." He coughed, voice sounding raw.

"Don't think it was the Maker," Fenris rumbled, sounding a bit dazed himself. He pressed a kiss to Artemis's shoulder and slid out carefully.

Artie sucked in a breath at the feeling, then pulled up and off his brother, flopping over to lay sprawled out in the grass. He felt boneless, achy and well-used, and he turned to smile lazily at Cormac. "The Hawkes really do throw the best parties, you know."

Cormac rubbed at his jaw, a laugh bubbling out of him as Anders backed up and curled up along the curve of the path behind his head. "Was that everything you dreamed?" he asked slowly, words thick and just shy of garbled. His tongue was sore from being put to more intense uses than the constant running of his mouth. He reached out a hand and stroked whatever part of Artemis he could reach.

"So," Anders asked, looking at Fenris, "are mages still wholly on your shit list?" He fought to keep the strain off his face -- one was just enough to make him want more, and even the evening air against his sloppy-wet knob wasn't enough to relieve that. 'You could stab me in the dick,' he'd once said to Nate, and the more time passed, the more he realised he might not have been kidding. A Warden's knob bowed for no man, including the Warden it was attached to. Well, at least not until several hours of polishing had passed.

Fenris harrumphed and settled in the grass too, sitting crosslegged by Artemis's head, fingers brushing back his mage's sweat-lank hair. He'd rather sprawl too but suspected it wouldn't be comfortable in this corset. The spikes had been a good idea at the time, but now he was starting to regret them.

"Wholly? No." Fenris grinned toothily at Anders, who rolled his eyes at the non-answer. But Fenris hadn't threatened to kill him, hadn't shoved him away, had even _allowed_ Anders's touch. Overall, he'd consider that a victory.

Artemis purred at all the petting and wriggled back until his head was pillowed in Fenris's lap, throwing one leg over Cormac. It was a bit awkward, with the ripples in the landscape, but he was too boneless to care. "How's the flagpole?" he asked Anders.

Anders grimaced. "I'm trying to figure out how to get back into the house, without flashing the entire party. I could try tucking it under the bottom of my corset, again, I suppose, but that's just going to hurt."

"Or you could cram it in my ass and quit whining," Cormac suggested, rolling onto his side, without moving Artie's leg.

"I thought I should spare Fenris the sight and sound of his two least-favourite Kirkwall mages engaging in things that didn't involve him or his favourite mage." Anders aimed for at least slightly tactful. Not that he was usually one to object to a few rounds with an enthusiastic partner, in front of people he'd just had sex with, but Fenris was something of a special case. They were just finally getting somewhere, and he really didn't want to ruin that.

"They don't have to not involve us," Artemis offered, which was, perhaps, a bit ambitious considering the state of him. Maybe after a nap. "Just... give me ten minutes?"

Fenris chuffed, hearing the way Artie's words ran together. "In ten minutes you'll be snoring, Amatus."

"I don't snore," Artie mumbled, eyes slipping closed. "Do I snore? No, I don't."

"You snore."

"Well, you kick in your sleep."

Anders pointed at Cormac. "He fucks in his sleep."

"Only you, apparently. Izzy was a little annoyed when she found out I did that to you and not to her." Cormac laughed and rubbed his face. "Come here, before you say anything worse about me."

"I'm not sure I can say anything your brother doesn't already know," Anders teased, sliding down behind Cormac and resting Artie's foot on his ribs. He pressed himself gently against Cormac's back, one hand stroking and tugging at the thick, black fluff on Cormac's chest. "What do you think? If I go slow and keep petting you, will you fall asleep, too?"

Cormac snorted. "You're the one who usually falls asleep. Which, to be fair, is why I pry you away from Justice, sometimes."

"Do you?" A flicker of fear shot through Anders at the thought. How many hours he couldn't remember. How many days... Waking up to Cormac leaning over him, kissing his neck, as the words he meant to write vanished and Justice let go. How had he not realised that was Cormac negotiating with Justice?

"Of course I do. You need to sleep, occasionally, and I happen to think that's a much better way of getting there than passing out into fresh ink." Cormac wiggled his hips and reached back to squeeze Anders's hip. "You going to do this, or are you just going to lie here and be angsty? Don't tell me you're not. I can feel it in my spine."

Anders bit Cormac's shoulder in reply, not quite hard enough to bruise but just hard enough to frustrate Cormac. "There's still the matter of our audience, you know," he said against that shoulder, looking across at Artie and Fenris. He kept tracing shapes in Cormac's chest hair.

Fenris watched the pair out of the corner of his eye, keeping his expression indifferent. "You didn't seem to mind this 'audience' so much in the Deep Roads," he reminded Anders wryly. "It's not like I haven't had to endure it before." Which was as close to giving permission as he was going to get.

Artemis smirked against Fenris's thigh, his foot rubbing Cormac's side.

"We were all pretty drunk, last time," Anders muttered against the back of Cormac's shoulder. "And even if you did like looking at us, this isn't going to be very sexy to watch. I'd really rather it didn't take several hours -- there's still a party going on, and someone's going to notice we're missing eventually. And I think Sigrun knows why we're missing, which is going to end in all kinds of wild rumours before the night is out. Just rather we not get _caught_ like this."

"So stop talking and hurry up." Cormac landed a sharp pinch on Anders's ass.

Anders cast against Cormac's belly and twisted his hips until he could slowly push in, fingers still tugging at the fluff. His teeth sank in hard, this time, and Cormac moaned, encouragingly.

"Wish you hadn't used so much grease," Cormac muttered, rocking his hips back against Anders.

"I'll use less, later, when you can enjoy it. Right now I just need -- That!" Anders squeaked. "Do that again. Do that a lot of agains."

Cormac smirked at his brother and worked his hips in that way he knew Anders loved, squeezing tight, the whole time. He was relatively sure he could keep this quick. He'd been doing this long enough to know all the tricks, including the flicker of current he pressed to a bared scar in Anders's shoulder.

Artemis shifted his cheek against Fenris's thigh to get a better look, watching the way his brother's hips twisted. It was sexy enough for him, if not for Fenris, and it made him wish he had the energy to join in. For his part, Fenris pretended not to watch as he continued to pet his mage's hair, fingers toying with the edge of one rounded ear.

Anders rutted into Cormac, breath leaving him in quiet exhales against Cormac's shoulder. He didn't need to be the one on watch this time, and he could let go, could trust Fenris and Artie -- well, Fenris -- to keep an eye out. Or a pointed ear out.

"Next time, we'll try it with those potions," he heard Artemis say.

"Next time?" Fenris asked, eyebrows shooting up. He would deny his ears twitched.

Artie smiled sheepishly and shrugged.

"Next time shouldn't be in the middle of a party," Cormac panted, each thrust from Anders jarring the breath out of him. His corset wasn't that tight, but Anders's arm around his waist was. He would definitely be spending the rest of this party standing up.

A choked gasp, and Anders sank his teeth into Cormac's shoulder, again, hooking his leg over Cormac's hip, as his eyes squeezed closed and he pounded in harder and faster. The rush ran through him, spilled out of him, and he didn't slow down at all, using one as a springboard into the next. His breathing grew ragged, but barely louder than it had been as he rammed his aching knob into Cormac, over and over.

Cormac was reduced to half-coherent begging, thoughts cut off by each new thrust, a jumble of words that didn't quite fit together, all alike in tone. He pleaded with Anders for more, to make his body ache all night. One hand squeezed and kneaded Artemis's calf, in time to the rhythm of thrusting and throbbing inside him.

Fenris stopped pretending he wasn't staring as he watched this display. He'd forgotten how insatiable Anders was once he got started, or at least, he hadn't forgotten but he hadn't _seen it_ in a while.

Artemis looked up at him. "Mages?" he suggested.

Fenris shook his head. "Wardens," he huffed instead.

Anders's teeth worried at Cormac's shoulder as he continued to thrust, aware only of the tight heat around him and the pleading sounds in his ear. The wet sounds of skin on skin filled the clearing, and Anders tasted blood as he spilled again.

Minutes passed, and between distraction and exhaustion time became liquid, as the clearing filled with the smell of blood, sweat, and sex. Cormac writhed in Anders's arms, skin hot with exertion and desire, as Anders reached down and cupped a hand between his legs, squeezing just a little too hard, pressing the heel of his palm against the base of Cormac's knob, which still struggled to take an interest in the proceedings. But Cormac's nerves lit, all the same, under that familiar pressure, that edge of pain and pleasure rushing up into his belly. He gave up words, entirely, bucking between Anders's hips and hand.

"Come for me," Anders breathed against Cormac's ear. "You feel so good inside. So many, so fast, can you feel what you do to me? Next one's going to hurt. Might be the last one, for now, and I want to take you with me."

Cormac really didn't think he could -- not yet, anyway -- but Anders's voice, and the crushing hand around his bits, he didn't even get hard, he just came, spurting over Anders's fingers. And then thinking just wasn't a thing, any more, and he drifted in the space between the incredible ache in his hips and the faint lick of evening air across his skin, as Anders bit him one more time, this time, with a sharp, little squeak of pain, but still almost silent.

And then they fell almost still, Anders clutching Cormac to his chest, Cormac's hips very slowly rocking, both of them breathing deeply, Cormac panting and Anders breathing quietly, meditatively.

Once their breathing had evened out, Fenris cleared his throat awkwardly. Anders peered up at him around Cormac to see one ear twitching. "Are you two finished yet?" the elf groused. "Or do you plan to drill a hole through Cormac straight through to the other side?"

Anders smirked, stretching his toes and wriggling until a clump of grass wasn't pressing into his thigh. "I'll save that trick for the next party," he said.

Artemis was snoring lightly in Fenris's lap.

"Shit, Anders, if you fuck me into the Deep Roads, I think there are going to be some profoundly irritated dwarves. And you're probably still not going to like the place, no matter how we got there," Cormac joked, easing himself off of Anders, before attempting the buckle on his loincloth. Not quite as easy as robes, but not bad. He'd be willing to consider wearing something like this again. He gently bent Artie's leg off his side and laid it atop Artie's other leg. "I think we wore him out. I might even be a little surprised, honestly, but I guess you two started earlier, didn't you?"

"Started and finished, before you got involved," Fenris grumbled.

Cormac staggered to his feet, while Anders fumbled with his clothes. "You seem to have volunteered to be the pillow, tonight. I'll bring you some wine and tarts, once we get back inside. Do you want a blanket? You're not wearing much, even if it is leather."

"Mm. That would be acceptable, yes." Fenris rubbed at one arm, aware of the chill now that Cormac had mentioned it. "Thank you." Artemis shifted in his sleep. Fenris's hand returned to his hair, and his mage relaxed again.

Anders toyed with the fabric around his legs until it sat right, and then he stooped to pick up the lime blossom crown that had started all this. "Now that you have properly earned this," he teased, setting it atop Cormac's head. "Shall we?"

Cormac took off the crown and laid it on the side of Artie's head. "King of the boudoir? No, no, I think this goes to Artie. I'm impressed, if still a little unsettled." He hooked his arm through Anders's. "Tarts, wine, blanket. We'll be right back."

A few steps back out into the garden, Cormac's voice echoed back, as he discovered the drying spatter on his corset. "Aw, _shit_."

Anders just laughed.


	111. PART XXIII: INTERLUDE - THE BEGINNING OF THE END

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isabela has a problem, and Anton's determined to solve it, even if it means invoking Aveline's displeasure.

A lovely afternoon, and Anton had spent a good part of it under Cullen's desk. It had started as a bit of a joke that got a bit out of hand, and then there really hadn't been a convenient way out, once those other templars came in with their weekly report about apostates down by the docks. So, he'd just kept going, while Cullen tried his very best not to give him away. Kicked him a couple of times, too, which was completely worth it. A lovely afternoon.

At least until he got into the house. The sound of voices reached him as soon as he opened the door. Aveline and Isabela arguing about something. Bethany leaned in the hallway leading into the main hall, eating from a bowl of spice drops.

"My bets are on Aveline, if only for the armour," Bethany said, offering the bowl to Anton.

"Don't underestimate the rogue. That armour's very, very slow." Anton grinned and actually started listening.

"This is important," Aveline said, cheeks flushed from arguing. "Don't interrupt with your selfish prattle!"

"Get off your high horse," Isabela snapped. "I have problems, too!"

Anton took a few spice drops, popping them into his mouth one at a time.

Aveline scoffed, getting into Isabela's face. "'What drink should I order?' and 'Who's the father?'"

Isabela's face twisted in a snarl. "Oh, you little..." She raised a hand, and Anton decided it was time to intervene. He distracted Izzy by bouncing a spice drop off her head.

"Ladies, please!" he said. "If there's going to be a proper fight, how about we move this somewhere else? Preferably somewhere with better seating?"

"Anton, the Arishok is sheltering two fugitives who have 'converted' to the Qun," Aveline began, and Anton could hear the quote marks around 'converted'. "He must be convinced to release them. He's already feared, because of Petrice. If people think he can just ignore the law... I need your help so this doesn't get out of hand."

Anton opened his mouth to suggest perhaps Artemis or Bethany -- not that he couldn't do politics, but in his line of work, maintaining too open an association with the guard wasn't particularly profitable -- but Isabela cut him off.

"I'm going to die!" she announced.

Anton held up his hands. "I heard 'Arishok' and 'die'. What's the problem? You probably don't really want me, Aveline. It just wouldn't look good, this time."

"Remember the relic?" Isabela asked, speaking quickly. "The one Castillon is going to kill me over? A man called Wall-Eyed Sam has it. If you help me get it, Castillon won't kill me. Please."

"I'm trying to keep the entire city from rioting against the Qunari!" Aveline sounded annoyed, frustrated.

Anton pointed to Bethany. "Take Bethy with you, Aveline. Stop and get Artie. I'd suggest Fenris, but if I'm dealing with this thing for Isabela, I need a sword at my back. I'm really not the one you want, right now. They're the polite ones. They're the ones who can afford to be seen upholding the law."

"I'm just going to ignore all the implications of that, and very politely not arrest you right here and now, Anton." Aveline was furious and looked like she might take that back at any second.

"Thank you. I'd hate to see what would become of us both, after that." Anton bowed and gestured to his sister again, turning to look at her. "Negotiating with the Qunari. You in?"

"And here I thought there'd be nothing to do, while I waited for those books to come in!" Bethany smiled and patted Aveline's shoulder, as she headed past, toward the stairs. "Let me just change into something more suitable for political manoeuvring."

"I'll wait for you in the library," Aveline replied, her glare pinning Anton in place. She left the room, her shoulders a stiff line under her armour.

"Thank you," Isabela said, sounding relieved but her eyes still just this side of too wide.

"I take it you already have a plan?" Anton asked. This was Isabela, after all. She always had an escape route.

"Sam is planning to sell the book tonight," she answered, nodding. "The exchange is happening in a Lowtown foundry."

Anton managed not to wince at that. The Foundry District. He hadn't been there since Mum had...

"Right. Best get Broody and... how about Daisy?" Probably a dangerous combination, but no more dangerous than pairing Broody with any of their resident 'sparklefingers'.

"Oh, Merrill's always fun! Almost as fun as your sister, now that Carver's away, most of the time." Isabela wiggled her fingers and smiled.

"Izzy, no. Don't... Cormac's bad enough. I don't need to hear about Bethy from _you_." Anton shook his head and glanced around. "Two questions. Do I have time for a sandwich? And how'd you finally find out about the thing?"

"Yes to the sandwich, but only if you make one for me." Isabela grinned and draped her arm around his shoulders, walking with him to the kitchen. "And this poor, unassuming idiot has been in touch with all his black market contacts. It didn't take me long to hear that he was selling what I wanted."

"Do you know who the buyers are?" Anton asked. "I'm assuming you didn't bother to make an offer..."

"An offer! Now why would I do that?" Isabela grinned and hiked herself up onto one of the countertops, to watch Anton make food. "The buyers are Tevinter mages. I don't think they'll take kindly to us interrupting. But, we're bringing Broody, and if there's one thing he's good at it's killing Tevinter mages."

"And this Sam... Martin's man Sam? The scrounger? Rustles tables at the Hanged Man?" Anton asked, piling things onto slabs of bread.

"Aye, that's the one." Isabela nodded. "Ooh, more peppers on mine."

Anton looked amused as he loaded one sandwich down with peppers. "And we're sure this is the right artefact, this time?"

"I've had my ear to the ground for a while. There was a description of the book. It's the right one." Isabela nodded and snagged a spare slice of leftover roast.

"Book? Thought you didn't know what it was. Playing your cards close again, I see. Must be some posh book, for all that." Anton laughed and handed a plate to Isabela.

"Well, I know it's a book, but it's in a foreign language. Didn't look like Orlesian, so it's all Tevene to me." Isabela shrugged and took a bite of the sandwich. "Mmmf. Still regret letting you win. Could have done with a decent cook." She held up a finger until she finished chewing. "But, really, why's it important what the thing is? If I give it to Castillon, he won't kill me."

"Fair enough," Anton said, shrugging as he took a bit of his sandwich. He knew better than to be insulted. People like Isabela, like him, never showed their whole hand, even to the people closest to them. Especially to the people closest to them. "Maker knows you're more entertaining than any book."

Isabela smirked around her next bite. "That's what I keep trying to tell Bethy," she said, words distorted by meat and bread.

"Oh, ew, see? No. We just talked about this, Izzy. Keep it up, and I'm taking away your sandwich privileges."

Isabela made a disapproving sound in the back of her throat and angled her sandwich away, in case Anton made a grab for it. "It was a perfectly innocent statement," she sniffed.

"There is nothing innocent about you or your statements."

Izzy stuck out her tongue and took a mammoth bite of her sandwich. Anton smirked, and they chewed in companionable silence.

"So," he asked, "how do you think he got the name 'Wall-Eyed Sam', anyway?"

"Probably because of his amazing peripheral vision. You don't play cards with him, do you?" Isabela laughed and slid down off the counter. "Let's go get Broody, before he wanders off to do something more interesting, like yell at the wine merchants again. You know he actually caught a guy passing off a recent Antivan vintage as something rare and Orlesian, the other week? I thought he was going to rip the merchant apart. And here I thought he just guzzled swill..."

"Nah, that's you, Izzy. You're the swill-guzzler around here. Has money not changed your tastes at all?" Anton teased, counting knives as he headed for the front door.

"Sure it has! But, only when I'm sober enough to appreciate what I'm drinking. After that, it's back to swill." Isabela whipped the door open, and gestured out. "It's a sound money-management strategy."  


* * *

Isabela still teased Anton when he insisted they stop at the bakery, because Fenris would need to be bribed. He suspected they could do it without the bribe, but the few silver spent on tarts meant it would be an easier task. Isabela bought herself something ridiculous and probably made of marchpane, eating the little fruit-shaped pastries, as they crossed Hightown.

"I think this is supposed to be a peach," she said, holding one up. "But, maybe it's an offering meant in praise of the Hawke ass."

Anton looked disturbed for as long as it took him to open his mouth, and then it passed. "Izzy, that's horrific. There is not ass-pastry. There will not be ass-pastry."

Isabela burst into a bawdy song about bawds' bottoms, and it continued right up to Fenris's door. Anton knocked.

Orana opened the door, stare lingering on a still-singing Isabela before turning to Anton. "Ah. Messere Anton," she said. "If you're looking for your brother, he's--" She noticed the box of pastries in his hand, and her expression smoothed over in realisation. "Ah. Apple tarts?"

Before Anton could answer, the window above their heads snapped open, and a familiar head of white hair and twitching ears leaned out to glare at them. "Isabela," Fenris called down, "if you don't stop singing on my doorstep, I will empty the chamberpot on your head."

"Please don't," Anton called back, craning his head back.

"Why?" Fenris said. "Because you don't want to get pee on you? You're one to talk!"

Orana still stood awkwardly in the doorway, but with the door angled so that she could close it in the case of a chamberpot-related emergency.

"Because it would be a waste of apple tarts!" Anton insisted. "See?" He held up the box of pastries and smiled sweetly.

"You have come to my door with a singing pirate and a box of tarts. Since Artemis has already gone to see the Arishok without you, I will assume this is not Qunari-related," Fenris deduced. "What, exactly, do you want with me?"

"Adventure! A compelling story! Rescuing a lovely maiden from a dreadful villain!" Anton pressed his free hand over his heart. "And you get to stab some Tevinter mages."

Fenris turned this over in his head, for a few seconds, looking one way and then the other, contemplatively. "I'll be down in five minutes and all dozen tarts had better be in that box."

"By your will!" Anton called out, but the window had already slammed shut.

A few minutes later, they were heading for the bridge, Fenris with his mouth full of tart, the box in one hand. "So, what, exactly, are we doing? You said something about stabbing Tevinter mages?"

"It's a long story. The short version is they're trying to buy something that was stolen from me, and I need it to save my life," Isabela explained.

Fenris eyed her, sideways, as he pulled another tart out of the box, without opening it. "Stole it from you. After you stole it from someone else, I presume?"

"Well, of course!" Isabela laughed and yanked a sliver of apple out of the tart, while Fenris chewed his first bite of it. "It's not like anything I came to rightly would cause that kind of a stir!"

Fenris heaved a sigh through his nose, mouth still full of tart. He waited until he'd swallowed his bite before asking, "Am I allowed to know what this stolen stolen object is?"

Isabela reached for a tart, but Fenris held the box away, a growl starting in his throat. "Just some book," she said.

"A book." Fenris arched an eyebrow at her. "You, Captain Isabela, Queen of the Seas, risking your life for a book? Will wonders never cease."

"Technically the book is risking _my_ life," she huffed. "But it doesn't matter. What matters is that you won't share your tarts."

They took a turn, passing the Hanged Man, and Fenris realised they were heading for the Alienage, which distracted him long enough for Isabela to snag a tart. "Why are we going this way?" Fenris asked, cutting a look to Anton.

"We need a mage," Anton replied.

"We don't need a blood mage," Fenris growled, left ear twitching. "We have other mages. I am marrying one of those other mages. Why do we need this mage?"

"Would you prefer Anders?" Anton shot back, shrugging.

"I might," Fenris growled. "At least Anders can _heal_. What about Cormac?" And that was almost as absurd as agreeing to Anders, but at least Cormac wasn't a _blood mage_.

Isabela blinked, turning her head to look Fenris up and down. "Well, well... That's an unexpected turn. Has Artie convinced you of the pleasures of sparklefingered mages, in the bedroom? Have you been introduced to the talents of another mage?"

Fenris's ears twitched. "I have enough mages in my bedroom, with just Artemis."

"Cormac and Anders are busy, anyway," Anton pointed out. "Something about a ship hitting a reef, up the coast a bit. They went tearing out at some unholy dark hour. The shouting up and down the stairs woke me."

"Your... brother has gone out as a healer?" Fenris looked completely confused at that idea.

Anton shrugged again. "No matter what Anders has to say about it, Cormac's not _completely_ useless. I'd have a lot more scars, if he were."

Isabela darted ahead to knock at Merrill's door. "Come out, come out, my daisy of the Dales! We've got adventure!"

After a minute, Merrill poked her head around the door. "Adventure? What sort of adventure? The kind where I need my staff or the kind where someone ends up with underwear on their head?"

"The first one," Fenris said, glaring at Isabela before she could say something. He crossed his arms. "I hope."

"The first one," Anton agreed. "At least to start."

"Oh, Anton!" Merrill waved at him, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "You just missed your brother. Have you seen him in his templar armour? He looks so handsome in his templar armour!"

"I bet he looks better out of his templar armour," Isabela purred. "And it sounds like you've been having the second kind of adventure already!"

"Izzy. No." Anton's face twisted in a grimace. "What I said earlier about Bethany? That applies to Carver as well."

"You are just no fun any more, Anton!" Isabela sighed, reaching out to pinch Anton's bottom. He stepped aside in such a way that Fenris ended up where he had been.

"What!?" Fenris had been too busy glaring at the elves and muttering about blood magic, to notice what was happening, until it was too late. "Kindly remove your fingers from my ass, pirate."

"You don't have an ass-pirate, Fenris," Anton laughed. "Unless you're complaining that someone else is groping Izzy. Izzy's definitely an ass-pirate. Pirates asses all the time."

"There's been an awful lot of plundering booty, in my recent past," Isabela agreed, "and I'd be happy to add your pillowy posterior to my list."

"No. There will be no plundering of my booty," Fenris grumbled, ears jutting asymmetrically, as he slapped Isabela's hand away.

Merrill, meanwhile, had found her staff and packed a bag with potions and useful things. "Oh!" she said, noticing Isabela's hand, as it darted away from Fenris. "Fenris, are you letting people touch you, now? I've thought for a long time you'd be better for a few hugs from your friends." She wrapped her arms around him, for a quick squeeze, patting him on the back, as she let go. "It's so good to see you getting more comfortable with us!"

Fenris held his shoulders rigid, arms pressed to his sides for a few seconds after the hug ended. "Hug me again, blood mage, and there will be more touching," Fenris grit out. "The kind where my hand is wrapped around one of your vital organs."

"Oh, never mind Ser Grumpy-pants, Daisy," Isabela said, wrapping an arm around Merrill's shoulders. "Threats are how he shows affection! Plus, you can hug _me_ whenever you like."

"After what I saw at the party with you and Artie," Anton said, face looking pained again, "I'm not so sure that was a threat."

"It was a threat!" Fenris insisted, eyes a touch wide. "Definitely a threat!" He shoved a tart whole into his mouth to keep himself from sputtering. His cheeks bulged ridiculously as he tried to chew.

"Right," Anton sighed. "Foundry District? Before our resident sworder chokes on pastry?"

"Is he very good at swording?" Merrill asked, with a sly look at Isabela. "I might have to ask Artie."

"Too late!" Isabela declared, as Fenris coughed into his hand, trying not to spit pastry into the street.

"Foundry," Fenris croaked. "Going."


	112. Chapter 112

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The relic has been found. Anton was really hoping things wouldn't go that way, but he's not surprised.

"Hold!" a Qunari called out, as they rounded the last corner. "You will surrender the relic!"

"If I had your stupid relic, would I have come here _looking for it_?" Isabela scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"It's a _Qunari_ relic?" Anton looked horrified. "Of course it's a Qunari relic. That's why they were chasing you."

"I really thought you might have figured that out by now, Anton." Isabela shrugged, before addressing the Qunari again. "We still don't have it. But, we can get it, if you let us past you. There's an entirely unscrupulous man in that building, about to sell your relic to Tevinter mages. I don't know what you think about mages, but I think none of us are great fans of Tevinter."

"Don't you need it to--" Anton began.

"Shut up, Anton. Our Qunari friends are right here. You're on good terms with the Arishok, aren't you?" Isabela grinned, wrapping an arm around Anton's shoulders.

That did not seem to impress the Qunari. Then again, with their stony faces, nothing really seemed to impress the Qunari, but that might have just been Kirkwall's influence. "You _will_ surrender the relic," repeated the leader, the only Qunari blessed with metal armour on his torso. "And you will surrender it now."

"Shit," Isabela said through still-smiling teeth. Her hand inched towards a dagger.

"She doesn't have it!" Anton said, following suit. "I mean, look at her. Where on her person could she possibly be stashing a book?"

"You'd be surprised," Izzy said out of the corner of her mouth, earning an impressed once-over from Anton before the Qunari unsheathed their swords.

"The bas has no honour," roared the Qunari leader. "Kill it!" Before he could charge, he found his feet tangled in vines, vegetation rising up from cracks in the pavement to wrap around his ankles. "Saarebas!" There was as much fear as rage in that one word.

"Yes," Fenris agreed, lyrium lighting as he leapt forward, landing a strike before his feet touched the ground. "Very dangerous."

Anton and Isabela vanished, as soon as all the attention had turned toward Merrill, leaving Fenris the only one guarding her, as she wreaked havoc on the Qunari. Blood seemed to eat its way out through their skin, as she leaned heavily on her staff, her own blood running down her arm. Of course, with the number of blades involved, no one could be quite sure as to the source of any particular blood, but Fenris knew enough Qunlat to hear them complain of the burning and boiling in their veins. This was why he could never approve of blood magic, even as other magic became easier to accept. Boiling a man's blood inside his body... that was just a bit too far, even for him, he thought, plunging his sword into one Qunari warrior and plunging his other hand into the chest of another.

It was over swiftly. The Arishok had not known they were coming, and had sent out a team prepared to deal only with a single smuggler and a small team of thugs. He hadn't planned for this eventuality. On the other hand, that meant he also hadn't planned for the mages inside, given how surprised and terrified this group had been by Merrill. Anton shook his head and sheathed his daggers. "That could have gone better. I hate having to do that, but we'd have had to go talk to the Arishok, to prevent it, and I really wasn't expecting to run into any Qunari."

"It may be a Qunari artefact," Isabela said, "but I had no reason to imagine they'd found it, so quickly. Most people aren't in the habit of dealing information to the Qunari, and most Qunari aren't in the habit of leaving the compound."

Anton sighed and rubbed at his forehead. A Qunari relic. While his brother and sister were potentially confronting the Arishok at that very moment. This had 'disaster' written all over it. "Right. Well, if the Arishok finds out about us killing his men, we'll say it was an accident. Or a misunderstanding. 'Your warriors? Oh yes, they tripped and fell onto our daggers. All of them. Clumsy fellows'."

"Isabela," Fenris said, fingers twisting about his sword's leather hilt. "I think it's about time you tell us what this 'relic' actually is."

"It's just--"

"A book, yes. I am familiar with the concept. But I suspect you know more about it than you're letting on. Than you've _been_ letting on."

Anton eyed the two of them, the way Fenris was still in battle mode, the way Isabela looked about her for an escape route.

"It will be easier for us to help you, if we know," Merrill said, soft voice cutting the tension.

Isabela couldn't quite make eye-contact with any of them when she answered, "The relic... It's a Qunari text handwritten by that philosopher of theirs -- Keslan, Cousland... whatever his name is."

"Koslun?" Fenris looked a little less than entirely amused with this revelation. "The founder of their religion? The most revered being in their history? The text would be sacred beyond measure."

"Oh, no." Merrill looked terribly disappointed in Isabela.

"What, yes, I stole it from them, and they followed me here to reclaim it, and it's why they're still in Kirkwall." Isabela spread her hands dismissively. "Unfortunately, I can't make them go away, because I don't have it. Also because Castillon is going to kill me if I don't give him the book."

"How... did you manage to steal from the Qunari?" Anton's head tipped to the side in confusion. Fenris thought he looked like a confused mabari.

"The Arishok never had it; the Orlesians did, and they had plans to return it to the Qunari. In theory, anyway, you know the Orlesians." Isabela smiled, reflectively. "All I had to do was waylay the Orlesian caravan, before they could meet with the Arishok. Getting the book was easy. Getting away from the Qunari was the hard part."

"Maybe if we actually give them the book, it'll solve Aveline's problem. And everyone else's. They get the book, they go _home_." Anton shrugged.

"Except mine!" Isabela reminded him. "If I don't give the book to Castillon, he'll kill me!"

"Or we could kill him," Fenris pointed out. "He doesn't sound like someone whose continued existence much benefits the world."

"But why would anyone besides the Qunari want this relic?" Merrill asked, brow furrowing.

Isabela darted a look at Fenris. "Tevinter would," he said. "The Imperium has been at war with the Qunari for centuries. That's why we're here, isn't it? To steal the book from Tevinter mages?"

Isabela nodded. "If the Tevinters get the relic, it will strike a blow to Qunari morale. That's probably what the mages want."

"To think, all this for a bit of light reading," Anton said. "You should have slipped the Arishok a copy of your friend-fiction, Izzy. He might even have come to my corset party."

"So all this time," Fenris said, rubbing his forehead with the heel of one hand, "you could have done something about the Qunari, but you didn't."

"Done what?" Isabela asked defensively. "The blighted thing didn't show up for three years!" The grim set of Fenris's face said he wasn't impressed with this answer. "Look, the book's right in this building, and I'm not letting it slip away again." She gestured at one of the foundries. Anton was relieved it wasn't... _that_ foundry.

"Let's go get the book," Anton said, clapping Isabela on the shoulder. "We'll get the book, we'll deal with Castillon, and then we'll do something about the Qunari. With any luck, we can solve all these problems. You're not going to _mind_ if we stab Castillon and heave him into the bay, are you?"

"Why would I mind? I'm just not sure it would be that easy." Isabela paused at the door.

"My brothers and I killed a dragon. You were there when we -- tell me that actually happened, and it wasn't just some horrible nightmare, Fenris?" Anton glanced over at the elf.

"If you mean that nightmarish deathtrap full of darkspawn, topped with an ancient Tevinter magister? Yes, that happened. I'm less than entirely convinced of his vintage, though. Nothing survives that long. Not even magisters." Fenris shook his head and shrugged.

"We still killed the thing." Anton grinned. "Castillon's just a man. We can take him."

Isabela smiled uncertainly and opened the door. Hearing voices within, she slipped inside, unnoticed, and hid among the shadows, motioning for the others to do the same. Even if the elves weren't as stealthy as Isabela and Anton, bare feet kept their entrance quiet.

"Where is the relic?" That was a woman's voice, and it echoed around the cavernous room.

Fenris bit back a growl. Mages. Not magisters, but certainly Tevinter, their leader's head tilted up in a haughty look that echoed of Hadriana.

"I... er... I have it," stammered a bearded man in dirty clothes, a man Anton recognised as Wall-Eyed Sam. Sweat beaded along Sam's brow.

The mage's eyes narrowed. She opened her mouth to speak when another voice cut over hers.

"The Tome of Koslun will not fall into Tevinter hands!" boomed a voice from the second level. The voice of a Qunari.

Isabela swore under her breath.

"'Oh, yes, Arishok?'" Anton said, drawing out his daggers. "'Those other Qunari? Yes, they tripped and fell on my daggers too. Such a shame.'"

The mages drew their staffs, and the air filled with lightning and the stink of blood. In the confusion, Sam darted for the door. Isabela bolted after him.

"I'll get the book, you get the mages!" she called back.

"I have to say I approve of that plan," Fenris joked, drawing his sword. "Do you think we should let them soften each other up, first, and just clean up?"

"Why not?" Anton leaned against a wall and cleaned under his nails with a dagger. "Isabela's got the book. Sam's not the fighting type. He is the running type, though, so that might be a bit. Might as well let this go on. They'll wear down at some point, and I'd rather not get my ass set on fire, today, if I can help it."

Time passed, and few were still standing, the Qunari moving more slowly and the mages running out of mana. Anton decided it was time for them to step in.

"Hey, Merrill? Can you do that thing with the vines again? I think Fenris and I can handle it from there." Anton winked at the mage, and she smiled as she cast.

Fenris looked less thrilled. "We could have handled it without that. They're barely standing."

"I don't like it when things try to sneak up on me," Anton said, slipping into the shadows.

It was over in less than a minute, and it looked like the two groups had done each other in.

"Maybe we don't have to explain anything to the Arishok. We just ... arrived a little late and tidied up the mages." Anton's smile didn't waver at all. "Let's go find Izzy, shall we?"

Outside, instead of Izzy, they found Wall-Eyed Sam's cooling corpse.

"Hm. Not much of a runner after all," Fenris rumbled.

Anton looked around, but the street was deserted. Izzy didn't meet them or pop out of the shadows. Pursing his lips, Anton crouched by Sam's body and found what he'd expected: no book. "Oh look, she left a note." Bloodstained, and pinned to Sam with a stiletto dagger. "'Dear Anton, I have the relic, and I am gone. I'm sorry it has to be this way. You've been a loyal ally, but this is best for us both. I know you'll fight Castillon for me, but I don't want this. I've dragged you too far into this mess already. You don't have to forgive me, but I hope you understand.'" Anton crumpled the note. "Signed, 'Isabela'."

"Oh dear," Merrill said in a soft voice.

Anton barked a laugh. "'Oh dear'," he agreed with an ugly smile. "And you know? I can't even be mad because that... that is exactly the sort of thing I would have done." He pushed himself to his feet, swearing under his breath. "Dammit, Izzy."  


* * *

They got back to the house, bloody and unsuccessful -- though at least the blood was other people's -- only to find Aveline, Bethany, and Artemis waiting for them in the library.

"I don't know what my brother was thinking, really..." Bethany trailed off as Anton walked past the door. "Anton! In here!"

Looking grimly amused, Anton slapped the doorframe as he came in, tossing himself onto the couch below the stairs. "Tell me your day was better than mine?"

Fenris lurked awkwardly beside the fire, and Merrill sat down next to Bethany.

"The Arishok refused to see us at all," Aveline declared. "We weren't _worthy_ of an audience."

"I really think you should go see him, Anton," Bethany added. "He likes _you_."

Anton considered where they were, where they had just been, and tried not to laugh at the irony. "Of course he likes me," he said, lying back and folding his hands behind his head. "I'm the charming one of the family!"

Artemis and Bethany exchanged sidelong glances. "At least he hasn't peed on the Arishok," Artie said, shrugging.

"I don't pee on people, Artie. We've been over this. Though one day I might pee on _you_ if you're not careful." Anton smirked at the horrified look that twisted his brother's face.

"So where is that slattern, then?" Aveline asked. "What were you up to that was so much more important?"

Anton laughed, finally. "She, ah... she gave me something to think about. She's off to save herself. Wouldn't let me help her, which is a damn shame, because then we both could have helped _you_."

"What? What are you even--" Aveline sputtered.

"The Qunari. Her Castillon? He wants the Tome of Koslun, the single most sacred artefact the Qunari have. Apparently she stole it from the Orlesians, and that's what these Qunari are doing in Kirkwall," Fenris explained, glaring at Anton.

"Hey, I just didn't want her to do ... exactly what she did. Grab the book and run." Anton shook his head. "Cormac's going to kill me."

"I still believe the correct answer to this problem would have been to execute Castillon," Fenris put forth. "It may still be the correct solution, but that would require us to know where he is, which we don't, and presumably she does."

"So we'd need to find her to find him, in order to get the book to give to the Qunari," Anton explained with another laugh. "Which is... is... just great, really. It was exactly the one thing this giant clusterfuck of a political situation needed." If he kept laughing, maybe he could convince himself this was funny, which it was, in a way.

Eyes closed, Aveline kept her breathing slow and steady. "So you're saying," she said in a voice dangerous for its calm, "that this book, the one Isabela stole, is the entire reason the Qunari are here in the first place?"

"Well." Anton drew out the one syllable. "Maybe not the entire reason, but..." He trailed off with a sheepish smile, shrugging.

"But it was _her fault_?"

Fenris held up a hand towards Aveline before she could start breathing fire. "There is no doubt she is at fault," he said, "but deciding how much at fault doesn't help us get that book back. And if the tensions in this city keep rising, we are going to need that book."

"I'm not doing another damn thing, today. It's the middle of the night." Anton reached up and pulled a random book out of the shelf above the couch and opened it onto his face. "I'm just going to lie here and do impressions of Cormac, until I figure out what to do next."

"Go see the Arishok," Aveline insisted, turning around in her chair, to look at him.

"Not at this hour, no." Anton's voice was muffled by the pages.

"I must agree," Fenris said. "The last thing we want to do is show up in the middle of the night, to ask a favour."

"If anyone protests the delay," Bethany suggested, "tell them there are 'negotiations' and 'cultural differences' must be accounted for, in this delicate situation with our Qunari neighbours, who in all their years here have had very little interaction with the laws of Kirkwall. Which, I suspect is what will actually happen, once we get someone inside, but we can start ahead! It calms people to hear that, rather than 'the Arishok refuses to see us'."

Anton pointed at his sister. "And that is why I told you to take Bethany."


	113. PART XXIV: ACTUAL ELVEN CULTURE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merrill asks for Bethany's help with a certain magical piece of furniture that's giving her a hard time. Mage party! Fenris is less than entirely amused with any of this.

Merrill was a flurry of activity, fluttering into the study before Bodhan had a chance to announce her presence, shorter legs scrambling to keep up with her.

"Hello!" she chirped, waving at the Hawke she found inside. "Oh dear. Are you busy? You're busy, aren't you?"

"Hello." Bethany tucked a slip of paper into the tome she was reading to mark her place, her greeting and smile distorted by the quill between her teeth. She set aside the tome, stacking it with its brethren and pulled the quill back out of her mouth. "I'm always keeping myself busy, certainly, but that doesn't mean I don't have time to talk."

Bodhan finally caught up. "Lady Merrill... here to see you... messere," he puffed.

"Are you sure this isn't a bad time?" Merrill fretted. "It's a bad time, isn't it? I should have waited for you to see if she was busy. That was silly of me. Sorry, Bodhan."

Bodhan smiled politely, having been putting up with this from Merrill for years, now, and shrugged slightly at Bethany, who covered her mouth with the end of the quill, in a shoddy attempt to hide a different sort of smile.

"It's all right. Both of you." Bethany set the quill on a scrap of blotter paper. "What are you so flustered about, Merrill? Is it my brother, again? _Any of my brothers_... And would you like some tea?"

"Brothers? Oh, no. No, no. It's ... it's not Carver. I ... I don't see him very much, since he joined the Order." For a moment, Merrill looked a little lost, but she recovered quickly, and continued. "I would like to invite you to see something I've been working on. It's... well, it doesn't work, and I really need another mage to look at it. I just don't know what else to try! You were the first person I thought of..."

"Well, if it's not Nevarran death magic, I don't know how much good I'll be, but I'd love to see what you're working on! What an excellent excuse to get out of the house!" Bethany smiled brightly, dismissing Bodhan with a wave of her hand. "Do you just want me, or should we let the boys come along, too? If we bring them all, between us, we'll have almost all the schools represented, I think, some of them a few times over."

"Oh! Do... do you think they'll come?" Merrill hadn't been so sure about Cormac and Artemis, each with his own weird elf fetish. Learning that Cormac's face had been an unfortunate accident had softened her view of him a bit, and Artemis didn't seem to have any interest in _her_ , no matter how drunk he got. And at this point, the more mages she could trust to take a look at the thing, the better. It was just beyond the help of everything she'd tried.

Bethany chuckled, giving Merrill an arch look. "You're working on something mysterious and magical. Artie loves puzzles, and Cormac loves to meddle. Of course they'd come." Bethany finished setting aside her research materials, organising everything so she could pick up right where she left off. "Though if we're bringing _both_ of them, we should probably see if we can bring Anders along too."

"Oh!" Merrill's eyes lit. "Right. He was in the Circle! I'm sure he knows all sorts of things the rest of us don't. Magically, anyway." She thought of the time she'd poked through his books while he wasn't around, looking for dirty spells. The ones she'd found had been interesting but not much help to _her_. But with blood, earth, vines... she'd found ways to improvise.

"I was thinking more in case we needed healing, but yes, this is true."

"Oh! Right. Healing. Healing? Why would we need...? Never mind. These are your brothers, after all." She covered a laugh with her hand. Hopefully her place wouldn't be too crowded. Had she remembered to clean the dishes? Well. Dish, really. And clothes... were all her clothes put away? Was there enough seating? Did they need seating? She really should have thought this through.

"I'll go change into something more appropriate, and tell Cormac to put something on. Anything." Bethany laughed and stopped herself before she patted Merrill on the shoulder with an inky hand.

"Other than Anders," Merrill joked, eyes sparkling. It wasn't often she spoke Common well enough to joke in it, but when she did...

Bethany paused in the doorway. "I'd almost give money to see the two of them try to walk across town like that." She laughed and headed for the stairs.

Cormac made it back down, first, staff in one hand and a book in the other. He ducked into the library. "What's this I hear about exotic magical secrets?"

"Oh, I don't know about exotic. It's just an old elven thing the Keeper didn't want." Merrill smiled nervously. 'An old elven thing the keeper didn't want', because it had killed a man and brought darkspawn into the forest. But, she was so sure it had once had value and a use, and that these things could be restored... if she could figure out how to use it.

"Well, shit. I don't know what good I'll be. Half of what I know about elven history and magic, I learned from your tribe." Cormac shrugged apologetically.

"It's the other half that's important." Merrill's eyes narrowed. Half? Did he know things she didn't? Being a shem meant he had an easier time travelling, but who else could he have spoken to -- who else wouldn't have killed him on the spot for a stunt like he'd pulled with them?

"Well, I'm going to run down and tear Anders away from whatever's sucking his brains out, today. We'll be right up." Cormac winked and ducked out again, and the cellar door slammed, a few seconds later.

Bethany padded down the stairs, staff strapped to her back. "And here I thought it would be Cormac sucking out his brains."

Merrill blinked as the joke processed, and then she tittered into her hand.

"Not sure how much help I'll be," Anders told her when he appeared at the top of the stairs, as though he'd been a part of the conversation from the beginning.

"That seems to be the theme of the day," Merrill said, shrugging. "Frankly, I don't know how much help any of you will be either, but." She scratched the back of her head and smiled sheepishly. "Well. I could use a second pair of eyes. Or a third pair. Fourth. Fifth. However many. And mage eyes, really."

"So... this elven thing," Anders said. "What is it, exactly?" He was starting to wish he'd done more reading while he was in Kinloch Hold. Usually if he went to the library, it wasn't for the books.

Merrill hesitated. Which was silly, really, because they needed to know if they were going to help. And chances were they wouldn't know, anyway. Would they? Well. It would actually help her if they did... "It's called an Eluvian," she answered. "It's... it's a mirror, really. Or part of one."

"I caught a bit about those once, but I thought they were Tevinter. There was a book back in the tower that mentioned them, in passing -- some kind of thing to talk to people from far away, right?" Anders nodded to himself, rubbing his knuckles along his jaw as he stared down the hall trying to remember. "Maybe we should bring Fenris along. He knows the weirdest things about Imperial history and magic."

Bethany blinked. "You want to put Fenris in a room full of mages, with a broken magic mirror that might be Tevinter?"

"It's not Tevinter," Merrill insisted. "They stole them, like they stole everything else."

"And there's the Imperium, ruining it for everyone, once again." Cormac rolled his eyes. He had some strong opinions about Tevinter _anything_ , and over the years, he'd started hammering those ideas into Anders's head -- Anders who had once seen the Imperium as an escape, and had pushed aside everything that was wrong with it, knowing that if he could get there, he'd finally be free. Cormac had a feeling Justice had been working on him, too.

"Hey, at least they're _honest_ about keeping slaves," Anders muttered.

"Don't say that in front of Fenris. I'm probably not going to save you, if you do," Bethany said, with a shrug, opening the door.

"I'm not saying it's good or right. I'm just saying they're not _lying_ about it," Anders grumbled. "So are we getting the broody Tevinter elf and his delicate mageflower of manic cleanliness?"  


* * *

The Tevinter elf had reached new levels of brooding by the time Merrill had ushered them into her home. It was cramped with the six of them, five of them mages. Cramped mages, in a blood mage's home, looking at something ancient and magic and likely terribly dangerous. Fenris was at the point where he was more resigned than surprised, but he still positioned himself within range of the door.

"Come look!" Merrill chirped, beaming with pride as she led them into her bedroom. She toed a dirty plate under her bed before gesturing towards the corner, where a heavy mirror stood, cracked and filmy but still recognisable as a mirror. "Isn't it beautiful?" she sighed.

Artemis took a step forward, fingers twitching with the urge to clean the thing. "What is?" he teased. "The mirror or my reflection?" He shrugged. "Sorry, couldn't resist. It is... certainly very nice, for a mirror."

"I've spent the last few years restoring this," Merrill said, laying a hand on the ornate gold frame. "One of our clan found it in the Brecilian forest, we think." She bit her lip, wondering if she should tell them about Tamlen.

"But that's the thing, Artie," Anders muttered, stepping closer. "It doesn't reflect you. Or the room."

"Odd." Cormac frowned and squeezed past Artemis to squint down the side of the mirror, trying to get a better look at the glass. "It looks a little dinged, but it should be reflecting something, even if it's all fucked up."

"Magic," Fenris huffed, back pressed against the furthest wall, as he tried to look like he was nonchalantly leaning on it.

"The glass hasn't reflected anything as long as I've had it. It's not that kind of mirror. I wish I could find the missing shards, but..." Merrill decided to tell the story. She had to tell it, really, if they were to understand how everything had gotten to this point. How the thing had been broken, what it would have meant, if it were whole. "Mahariel, actually. Mahariel and Tamlen, but Tamlen didn't come back. We never found him, just the shattered pieces of the eluvian."

Cormac's eyes darted to his brother, and he didn't ask any of the questions that piled up against the back of his teeth. Artemis caught that glance before looking down at his hands instead, picking at the dirt under his nails nervously.

"Yes, that doesn't sound ominous," Fenris muttered, voice dripping disdain. "Does anyone remember what happened the last time we encountered something ancient, magical, and potentially dangerous? No?"

"It's not like that!" Merrill argued. "This is a part of our past! Our heritage! I _know_ what it is. Sort of."

"And what is it, exactly?" Artemis asked, throwing Fenris a look that begged for patience. The elf huffed but bit his tongue. "Besides a mirror that doesn't... well, do any mirroring?"

"Yes," Bethany added, stepping forward to examine the artefact. "Anders said something about using them to communicate?" She touched the edge of the frame delicately.

"Long ago, the elves had a kingdom," Merrill began, and Cormac recognised the shift in her breathing, in the rhythm of her speech, as she fell into the storytelling mode of the Dalish. "An empire that covered Thedas. And every city had an eluvian. The mirrors let them communicate across their empire, like Anders said, but I don't know _how_."

"And then men came from the north, and slaughtered what they couldn't enslave, enslaved what they couldn't slaughter, and stole everything that wasn't nailed down," Fenris grumbled, from behind them all.

"I have the singularly most terrible idea." Cormac's eyes lit up. "What makes magic go? Lyrium makes magic go. Come here a minute, Fenris..."

"No." Fenris continued leaning on the wall, weight settling differently, and Cormac thought he was likely to be nearly immovable, in that position. Not that Cormac had any intention of trying to move him.

"We could always ask Carver," Bethany pointed out. He'd become a templar, and he'd at least have access to lyrium.

"Wait, what did you ever do with that shipment we stole from the templars, Anders?" Cormac grinned, eyes glimmering with excitement.

"Most of it went into potions, but I do still have some in storage. Just in case, you know. Never really want to be caught without something when you need it." Anders rubbed his jaw. "You think it would work? It's not crystalline. It's not the raw stuff. The last time I saw something actually lyrium-powered, it definitely took crystals."

"I hate to interrupt whatever dastardly plan you are all cooking up," Artemis said, "but are we even sure this is a good idea? Creepy mirror, elf goes missing? Varric could tell you what kind of stories start that way."

"The ruin we tracked Tamlen to was full of traps and monstrous things," Merrill replied. "We found no body, but anything could have taken him. His tracks merely ended at the mirror." Unless the mirror had been working when Tamlen had found it. But that was a dangerous thought, and she'd given up hope of finding him long ago.

"So you say," Fenris rumbled. "But why do I have the feeling this has to do with why the Keeper sent you away?"

Merrill straightened, setting her jaw. She didn't even bother denying it. "The Keeper wanted me to destroy the fragment I kept. She said our ancestors meant it to be forgotten." Merrill shook her head. "But it's a Keeper's place to remember! Even the dangerous things. We argued. I... left."

"So even your Keeper thinks this is a terrible idea?" Fenris snapped.

"Nothing should be forgotten," Cormac said, quietly. "When you forget, the only thing left is the danger from before you knew."

"Seconding that," Anders said, raising a hand. "And how can she say it was meant to be forgotten, when the city was probably emptied by _force_? It's still there, because it _was_ nailed down, and that sounds like something someone wanted remembered."

"He... has a point," Fenris admitted.

"She's wrong," Merrill agreed. "This mirror could teach us so much about who we once were!"

"Or it could be booby-trapped, because the Tevinter army was over the next rise, and they didn't want the thing taken," Anders reminded them all. "Still, some of them _were_ taken. There are books. It was less important to me, because it required some rare magical artefact, and I was trapped in a damn tower in the middle of a lake, but now that I'm standing in front of one, I really wish I'd paid more attention to those parts."

"Still, that means someone did figure out how to use them, at some point, and _wrote it down_. There are instructions for using this thing, somewhere, but they're very likely back in Ferelden, in one of the last places in Thedas I really want to set foot." Cormac sighed and eyed the mirror balefully.

"It's not booby-trapped any more!" Merrill said, suddenly. "I fixed it. With blood magic. At least, I made it stop being dangerous. Now it's just broken. But, I tried everything, and it just doesn't work. I think it's because it needs to be finished with a special tool. An arulin'holm. My clan has one. It's been in their hands for generations."

"If you think you already know how to fix it," Bethany said, "then why do you need us? Why not just get the arulin'holm and finish what you started?"

Merrill blew out a sigh, pacing the short length of the room. "I wanted to see if there was anything else I could try first. The Keeper will know why I need the arulin'holm, and she... You have to understand. The Keeper... I can't talk to her. We fight or... or talk circles around each other." She looked down at her feet, toes curling against the wood. "And she has this disappointed frown that turns your bones to jelly. I really don't want to face her unless I have to."

Artemis sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He still wasn't sure about any of this, but he doubted anything he said would stop them at this point. "Well. I'd say we could get it for you, but I'm not sure she'd be any happier to see us." He gestured between Cormac and himself. Anders and Bethany exchanged wry looks.

"Ah. Right." Merrill let out a nervous laugh. "She might be more agreeable if she knew the tattoo wasn't intentional, though."

"She was never particularly disagreeable to me," Cormac protested. "She just... always looked at me like I was an idiot child, which, to be entirely fair, I was, at the time."

"'At the time'," Fenris rumbled, clearing his throat and glancing at Artemis. "Yes."

"Now, now," Anders chided. "He's not a child any more."

Bethany laughed, patting Merrill's shoulder.

Cormac huffed. "See if you're getting laid, tonight."

"I am. Isabela left town." Anders smiled all too sweetly and fluttered his eyelashes at Cormac.

"But, yes, we'll go with you. What about you, Bethy? She doesn't know you..." Cormac grinned at his sister.

"I don't have nearly the experience with Dalish politics the two of _you_ have," Bethany answered, almost tactfully.

"Politics," Fenris muttered. "Is that what we're calling it, now?"

"Elven c...ulture." Cormac drew out the word as he clapped Artemis on the back with a wicked grin. "We all know how much you enjoy elven c...ulture."

"You're lucky you have shields," Artemis said, throwing Cormac a half-hearted glare. "Or you wouldn't have a 'c...ulture' to speak of."

"I don't understand," said Merrill, tilting her head to the side like a bird. "Aren't you both Fereldan? Don't you have the same culture?"

Anders bit back an ugly laugh, throwing a hand over his face to block the sounds. Artemis's ears turned red.

"Oh." Merrill blinked. "That was dirty, wasn't it? I missed something dirty again."

"I wish _I_ had missed it," Fenris muttered. _Mages_.


	114. Chapter 114

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Up the mountain to retrieve the arulin'holm. Fenris becomes a little less fond of other elves, with every passing moment.

They were halfway up the mountain, and the mages had started singing again. Fenris debated stepping off the next cliff they passed, but Artemis would be so disappointed in him. Instead, he found himself grateful for how very little Orlesian he understood, although a few of those phrases very definitely indicated this was some bawdy ballad or other. When they next paused for breath and to argue over the next song, he started behind them with the most utterly vile song he'd ever heard in a Tevinter brothel, hoping to horrify Anders into silence. Instead the bloody abomination joined in. Of course he'd know that song. It was hideously offensive. But, Fenris kept on, reaching for more and more verses, hoping to hit one Anders _didn't_ know.

"I wish I had any idea what they were singing, because that sounds filthy, and Fenris's ears keep twitching," Cormac muttered to Merrill. "Don't suppose you know?"

"Do you think it's dirty? I thought it might just be that all Tevene sounds dirty to me," Merrill whispered. "Oh, now I'm curious."

Cormac reflected that in all the time they'd known the man, he'd never heard Fenris sing, which now that he was hearing that voice was something of a surprise. He didn't speak Tevene, so the nuance was lost on him, but the crisp clarity of the words and the fluid handling of what was a fairly complex melody for what seemed to be a bawdy song was kind of astonishing, really. He'd never associated Fenris with any artistry outside his swordsmanship, but the root of that talent must have expressed elsewhere -- like here.

"It's definitely dirty," Cormac said, nodding. "Look at Anders. I know that look." He elbowed Artemis. "Hey, you know some dirty words in Tevene, right? What are they singing about?"

"I, um." Artemis stumbled over a rock as he stared at Fenris. His elf's speaking voice was gorgeous enough. This was terribly unfair. "Some... some of those words are definitely familiar." Some of those words brought to mind a certain coat closet and a collar around his neck. Artie leaned in and whispered, "Maybe we can get them to act out the song later." He grinned, biting his lip. Then he thought better of it. "Well. Maybe we should have a translation first and _then_ decide if it's the sort of thing we'd want acted out." There were two kinds of dirty, after all: the 'fun' kind and the 'ew' kind.

Bethany didn't know the words, but she'd picked up the tune and started humming along. Sebastian would not have approved of any of this.

Fenris and Anders kept on singing like it was a competition until Merrill tittered and waved to get their attention. "I'd love to hear the rest," she said, "but we're close to the camp, and Marethari knows some Tevene. Hopefully not the dirty words, but. Well. Who knows what she's been reading since I left?"

The singing and humming died down. "All right," said Anders, "we'll wait to scandalise her until we have your... special elf-tool thing."

"Arulin'holm," Merrill said.

"Yes, that."

From ahead of them on the path there was a voice, after a few minutes, "Hey, it's Assface and them! Looks like they brought back the First."

"Too weird, even for the shem," another voice laughed.

"Did I hear somebody say 'Assface'?" a third voice asked, that one familiar.

"Yeah, yeah, your earthquake shem is with them, Mahariel. Don't start drooling on things," the second voice replied, and then the group came into view, as they crested a ridge.

"We'll tell the Keeper you're here." The first voice belonged to a young hunter who dashed back across the camp.

"I'd say you should let Mahariel keep you company, until she's free to speak, but we'd rather not have the aravels shaken to splinters." One of Ilen's apprentices, this time.

"Hey, now, we didn't break anything _last time_!" Cormac protested, shrugging as he traded lopsided grins with Mahariel. "Keep your dick out of my brother, would you please? I don't really want to deal with the bloody mess."

"And now you sound like him, don't want to deal with the mess," Mahariel teased.

"No, I mean ... _bloody_. Have you met his fiancé? He's getting married." Cormac cocked a thumb at Fenris.

"Fiancé?" Mahariel's eyebrows shot up. Fenris waved, his smile decidedly unfriendly. Mahariel eyed his clawed gauntlets.

"Yes. Fiancé. The 'earthquake' mage is mine, and mine is the only elven dick that will be going anywhere near him."

Artemis swore and hid his face in his hands. " _Maker_. Can we stop discussing elven dicks and their proximity to my ass? Yes, hello again, Theron. This is Fenris. Fenris, meet Theron."

Mahariel looked Fenris up and down, making Fenris's ear twitch in answer. Mahariel had barely turned to his wife before she was giving him a flat look and saying, "No."

"But they're _both_ pretty," he wheedled.

"Earthquakes," Tabris insisted.

"Exactly!"

Artemis wondered if this was how Anders felt right before bursting into flames. "No. No earthquakes. On a mountain."

Cormac lifted an eyebrow at Mahariel. "You know, Fenris has a lovely house in Hightown. As do I -- well, I should say it's my little brother's house, but I live in it. Ours has the most interesting earthquake-proof garden of ... excitements. No aravels to ruin, no children to frighten..."

Anders leaned his head on Cormac's shoulder and laughed down his back. "Aren't there enough dicks where Artie's concerned?" he cackled.

"Yes, but you and I don't count. We're self-contained. We're also assholes." Cormac laughed.

Merrill cleared her throat and pointed to where the runner was returning.

"Anyway, come see us, sometime. We're pretty easy to find. Ask any messenger for 'Lady Amell's sons, with the parties', and you'll get to the right place." Cormac winked at the elven couple, one of whom seemed to be considering it, while the other looked on in exasperation.

"The Keeper will see you," the runner announced, gesturing for them to follow her.

Artemis opened his mouth to say something to Mahariel, but Fenris grabbed his hand and pulled him along. "No." He pointed a finger in Cormac's face and repeated the sentiment, "No."

Anders still struggled against his laughter. "I take it Fenris isn't as into elves are Artie is." He snickered. "Though really, it's more the elves that are _in_ to Artie."

"I swear to the Maker," Artemis muttered, "I will collapse this mountain if you all don't stop talking about this."

Merrill shook her head at the lot of them. "Keeper," she said as they approached Marethari, more a statement than a greeting. She barely looked at Marethari.

"You return to us, da'len," the keeper said, voice painfully hopeful. "Have you reconsidered this path at last?"

"I..." Merrill stammered and fidgeted, toes digging in the dirt. She looked helplessly at her companions.

Cormac opened his mouth, looking like he might address the keeper, but turned to Merrill, instead. If Merrill was to become Keeper one day, she had to do this, herself. "Go on, Merrill. We're with you."

"Thank you, Cormac." Merrill smiled, uncertainly, and looked back at the keeper. "Keeper, I need the arulin'holm, the ancient carving blade that Master Ilen keeps."

"I see." Marethari's eyebrows rose. "You wish to rebuild the eluvian."

Merrill cut her off. "You don't have to approve of it. I'm invoking vir sulevanan. I'll do whatever task you wish."

"Well, I'm glad to know I can still disapprove," Marethari snapped, crossing her arms. "It is your right. I will give you a service to perform, if you insist."

"You're invoking the what?" Anders hissed.

"It's a Dalish thing," Cormac said, quietly. "All the history of the elves belongs to all the elves. If she performs a service for the clan, it doesn't matter if she's even part of the clan, she can borrow the artefact."

"We appreciate your help," Bethany said, putting on her most charming smile. "This means a lot to Merrill."

Marethari gave her an appraising look, as though trying to decide if this human were as strange as her brothers. "I'm... glad that Merrill has found such friends. I hope you will look after her."

"I can take care of myself, Keeper," Merrill replied, holding her chin high.

"Yes, da'len," Marethari sighed. Her weary expression said they'd had this argument before. "I know." She was all business when she turned back to the Hawkes. "A varterral has taken the lives of three of our hunters. It lairs in a cavern in the mountainside. Seek it out. Slay it. No one else must fall to its anger." She folded her arms across her chest. "Do this for us, and I... will give you the arulin'holm."

"A var-what-al?" Artie asked Merrill in a loud whisper.

"Very angry giant spiders with hands," Cormac muttered. "Sacred to Dirthamen. Larger than an aravel. They're sacred guards of the ancient places. Or... some of them, at least. I wonder what it's doing here..."

"Let's see if your god gives you any sway," Anders muttered. "And thank the Maker Nate's not here for this. Spiders the size of an aravel? He'd piss himself."

"I still don't know your Nate," Cormac reminded him, "although after all those stories Sigrun was telling, I might as well."

"So, we just have to kill the giant angry spider that is sacred to an elven god? That doesn't sound like a terrible idea, _at all_ ," Fenris drawled, crossing his arms.

"They're ... not actually spiders. They're constructs. And they only have five legs and, well, two arms. Did I mention they're poisonous?" Cormac coughed and tugged at the ends of his hair, looking down the path.

"This just keeps getting better," Fenris grumbled.

"We'll do it." Merrill said, nodding. "Thank you, Keeper."

"May the Dread Wolf never catch your scent," Marethari told them, smiling brittlely.

"Five legs and two arms," Artemis muttered to himself as Merrill led them up a familiar mountain path. "That is seven limbs. That is a terrible number. Cormac? Tell your god that is a terrible number."

"I'll cut one off for you and make it six," Fenris promised. "Is that better?"

"Yes. If it's a leg."

"Cut off giant angry spider leg. Yes, that seems doable." Then he frowned, brows scrunching together. "Hold on. I'm the only not-mage. We're fighting a giant construct, and I'm the only not-mage. Venhedis."

"Sorry," Anders said with a shrug. "We didn't know that was on the agenda. I'll just keep flinging healing, don't worry."

They were still within sight of the camp when Merrill gestured at the cave they were looking for.

"No wonder the Keeper was worried," said Bethany. "That is awfully close."

Merrill nodded. "I suspect she would have just warned the hunters away, otherwise."

"But, your clan has been here for how many years? How is there just now a problem with this varterral? Varterral are eternal, aren't they? If it's here, it's been here since the days of Elvenhan." Cormac looked deeply confused by this, toying with his beard as he gazed into the mouth of the cave. "And if it's here, that means it's here for a reason, too. There was something here important enough to warrant its own varterral."

"I know you're right," Merrill murmured, twisting her staff nervously in both hands. "But, whatever it is, it must be gone. There's nothing much in this cave. It doesn't lead anywhere. There's just the occasional ancient coin or part of a sword."

A few more steps and the ground began to shake, twisting and rising in man-sized lumps.

"I didn't think it was that exciting, Artie," Anders joked, and then the first skeletal hand breached the earth, clutching a shield with an ancient Tevinter emblem bossed on it.

"As if undead weren't bad enough, we have _Tevinter_ undead," Fenris grumbled. "Tell me the fortune of the Hawkes hasn't brought us another ancient magister to go along with these soldiers..."

"No, just warriors, it looks like," Bethany sighed. "And some of them missing limbs, the poor dears."

Fenris took pity on one that tried to draw a bow with one arm. He lopped off its head with one clean swipe and then stood back to let the mages unleash chaos. The skeletons were charred and ground to dust in a matter of seconds.

"Okay," Artemis said, rubbing his forehead and lowering his staff, "we have an ancient spider-thing that guards ancient things, and now we also have long-dead Tevinter rising out of the ground? This is... not a combination I like."

"And don't forget what we know is at the top of the mountain," Fenris added. "More undead, though of the elven kind. And who knows what else."

"So the general consensus is that this is a Bad Place," Anders said, looking around. "Why are the Dalish still camped here?"

"We have no halla. We can't move on." Merrill shrugged. "The halla are not native to this place, and it would be a long journey to find more, and a difficult discussion to convince them to travel with a clan that has obviously failed its halla in the past."

"So, you're basically trapped here," Cormac muttered, picking through what remains hadn't burnt. "A battle happened here. We know that. The evidence is all around us, and the stories tell of it, from both sides. Even after all that time, the demons raised to bring forth the horrors are still able to raise those corpses, if they're disturbed, but they're barely here. They're less than shades." A few deep breaths as Cormac tapped at the air in front of him, as if rearranging things.

"But, the other demon is still at the top of the mountain," Merrill reminded him. "That may be what's keeping them here. Still, they've been here longer than we have. Why is this a problem now?"

"One of the hunters found something," Fenris suggested. "Found something and woke the things guarding it. If a varterral is a guard, and we don't know why it's here, then there's something here we don't know about. If it hasn't been active, then it's likely no one has gotten close enough to set it off. And waking up the varterral meant there was something for these soldiers to fight -- something they already recognised as an enemy."

"That's ... pretty likely." Cormac nodded, looking impressed. "I'm not going to say you're right, but that's more likely than anything I've come up with." And safer than anything he'd come up with, since the other answer meant the demon at the top of the mountain was working itself free...

"Makes you wonder what it is they found," Bethany said. "Then again, we could always ask the varterral."

"I'm not sure it's going to be in the mood for answering questions," Anders said. "Maybe we should have brought tea. Or pastries."

Fenris was reminded of all the time Anton had bribed him with apple tarts, pre-empting his temper. He huffed.


	115. Chapter 115

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A varterral, a great deal of grieving, a disagreement turned angry.

Inside, the cavern was surprisingly well-lit, lanterns lining the walls in regular intervals, like the cave had been seeing regular use. The lanterns, themselves, looked old, but not as old as the ruins above. Definitely after the Dales, maybe not even a century. But, they were lit, which suggested someone had been through quite recently, despite the keeper's warnings.

"Funny how the stone here is white, but down at the coast, it's black. I wonder where it changes," Cormac murmured, looking at the way the light reflected off the walls, making the caverns seem brighter.

From ahead of them, Anders cursed, swatting at something around his head. Webbing. "Shit! Actual spiders!" he yelped, swinging his staff around as they descended from above. Actually very large actual spiders, in fact, but still smaller than an aravel.

Artemis made a face, swatting at a bit of webbing that caught on his arm. At least these spiders were the squishy kind, a fact he demonstrated by launching one into the wall. It splattered, most of the spider-gunk hitting Anders. "Oh ew. Sorry!"

Anders threw him a resigned look before icing the next spider. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to get spider guts out of feathers? Let me freeze them first. _Then_ smash them."

"Oh! Good plan." Anders caught two more spiders in a blast of cold, and Artie smacked all three of them into the wall. It rained frozen spider-bits instead. "For the record, let it be known that I prefer to fight creatures with four legs or fewer," Artemis muttered. "Wyverns. Wyverns are less disgusting than this."

By the end of the battle, the room was a mess of spider webs, vines, and various frozen and not-frozen spider-bits. Fenris had spider-gunk in his hair and a pissy look on his face.

Easing past the rest of them, Merrill made straight for the corpse that lay a little further into the room. "Falon'Din guide you, lethallan," she murmured, kneeling beside the body to remove an amulet from it. "If you see the others, let me know. Keeper Marethari didn't ask, but it would be wrong to leave them untended."

Cormac and Anders nodded, Anders stepping up to rest a hand on her shoulder. "Whatever you need, Merrill. That's what we're here for."

"I'm still not sure what the hunters were doing in here," Cormac muttered, looking around. "Unless you've got more uses for spider-guts than I'm aware of..."

"No, we... Fenris was right about the artefacts. The keeper would have sent them in to check, before we had to leave again. Any time we find ruins, we check. Anything we can recover..." Merrill sighed, twisting her staff in her hands.

"But, varterrals are supposed to allow elves to pass..." Cormac went on, looking up the walls to check for more spiders, as they made their way through the room.

"They usually _do_!" Merrill protested. "I don't know what would make one do this!"

"Maybe you're the wrong kind of elf," Fenris suggested. "Not... you, but your clan. I know there were Tevinter magics that could recognise more subtle features than race. Members of a family, priests of the Old Gods... Maybe this is more complicated than it seems."

"Alternately, the thing's a couple thousand years old, and it might finally be starting to break down. If it's effectively gone mad, it may not be able to distinguish between elves and everyone else, any more," Cormac speculated, holding his hand out to Anders. "Come away. We need to burn the body before the demons take it."

Anders looked ill. "I don't ... I don't know elven custom," he said, squeezing his hands as if to work the feeling back into them. "I'll ward it. Him. Them, I suppose. Wards, and then the clan can do what needs to be done."

Cormac saw it happen and just kept holding out his hand. "Of course, it's for the keeper to attend to. I wouldn't want to step on any toes. You're right."

"Liar," Anders whispered, as he stepped in closer and Cormac's arm wrapped around him.

They paused long enough for Anders to ward the body, the rest of them keeping respectfully silent. After, Merrill laid a hand on Anders's shoulder and offered him a watery smile.

"Thank you," she murmured. Anders nodded.

There were fewer lanterns deeper in, the tunnels narrowing, and when they came to a set of rickety stairs, Fenris tested it first, bare feet gauging the sturdiness of each step. The ageing wood held their weight but gave Fenris's feet a few splinters.

"Fasta vass!"

At the bottom of the stairs, he swore and hopped on one foot while Merrill bent over a second body.

"Oh, Harshal," Merrill sighed, rubbing at her eye with the heel of her hand. "Why did this happen?" She unclasped his amulet and slipped it into the pouch with Radha's. "I'm so sorry. I'll tell Irena for you."

Anders stepped away from Cormac, to put his arm around Merrill's shoulders. "No one could have expected this," he said, quietly. "Come on, we'll do what needs to be done. Won't bring back your friend, but it'll keep it from happening again."

"Thank you, Anders," Merrill said, because it seemed to be the thing to say, and she let herself be led away from the corpse.

"I'm really starting to hate spiders," Cormac shouted, from somewhere ahead of them, as another colony descended from the ceiling. This time, he froze as many as he could reach, as quickly as possible. There was no sense in wearing any more spider than strictly necessary. It was over soon enough. Frozen spiders did not withstand the beating dealt out, and shortly, the floor was decorated with melting chunks of spider.

More rickety stairs led them deeper into the cave, and Anders glanced around, nervously.

"There's nothing dwarven for miles," Cormac reassured him. "It's just a cave. A cave full of angry spiders and an elven construct, sure, but it's not the Deep Roads."

"As long as there's an exit," Anders said, eyes too wide for his laugh to be genuine. "No one has slammed a door shut behind us, have they? No crazy dwarves locking us in?"

"No crazy dwarves," Bethany assured him. "We left Varric back in Kirkwall."

Artemis was about to suggest Anders and Fenris start singing again when Merrill wailed the name, "Chandan!" and fell to her knees at another corpse. This time, her fingers shook as she took his amulet, and Artie wondered if she'd been closer to him. "Tread carefully, lethallin," she said, voice choked. "May the Trickster never find you in the beyond."

This time it was Bethany who wrapped an arm around Merrill's shoulders. Anders hoped this was the last body he'd have to ward.

Fenris's ears twitched, hand reaching for his sword as he squinted deeper into the cave. "Footsteps," he said. He called out, "Is someone there? Show yourself!"

A blond elf stepped out of a doorway, ahead of them, looking relieved to find they weren't giant spiders. "Praise Andraste-- I mean, the Creators. I thought I'd never get out of--" His eyes darted to the side and settled on Merrill. "Merrill?" he sounded amazed.

"Aneth ara, Pol. Are you hurt?" Merrill seemed pleased to have found someone still living.

"Stay back!" Pol warned, backing away from her. "What do you want from me?"

"Pol, what's wrong? I'm here to help!" Merrill looked confused, holding out her hands, palms up.

"Stay back!" Pol snarled, making for the door again. "Don't touch me!"

"Don't touch you? Merrill couldn't hurt you if she tried! At worst, she'd make frowny faces." Cormac squinted at Pol, utterly baffled at this turn of events.

"Don't be a fool," Bethany sighed. "There's a varterral in here, somewhere, and it's not behind us, which means it's behind _you_. If you're going to run screaming from the little scholar, go the other way. At least _out_ is that way."

"She'll do worse than hurt me," Pol insisted, talking over Bethany. "Don't you know what she is?"

"Yes, I do, and I still think your chances are better with us than with the varterral," Fenris offered. He knew how to kill a blood mage. He wasn't sure he knew how to kill a giant spider construct.

"Creators help me! Someone, please!" Pol shrieked, bolting back through the door he'd arrived from.

"Idiot," Bethany sighed.

"Pol, no!" Merrill called, eyes round. To the Hawkes, she said, "We have to catch him. Hurry!" She darted off after the shrieking elf without waiting for them to follow.

"The fool deserves what happens," Fenris said. But he still winced when the shrieking came to an abrupt stop.

The tunnel opened in front of them. They felt it before they saw it, the ground trembling under their feet, and then a massive... something slammed into the ground in front of them, a massive something that turned out to be a leg. More specifically, one of five legs and seven limbs, all belonging to a varterral.

Anders looked up, up at the construct and said, "I think I'd much rather fight those spiders."

"Don't say stuff like that," Artemis hissed. "We'll just end up fighting spiders _and_ a varterral." Artie drew his staff and threw a wall of force at the creature. It barely moved. "Well fuck."

"Andraste's highly-polished ass," Cormac grumbled, laying a crushing prison on the thing's head. It was much too big for that, really, but maybe if he crushed the head, it would stop moving -- or at least stop being able to tell where it was going. He'd meant to try to negotiate with the thing -- they were servants of the same god -- but opening with force never really led to negotiations, in his experience.

Anders promptly failed to stick the varterral to the ground, but Merrill's vines did the job just as quickly.

Fenris just stared up at the thing for a long moment, eyes wide and terrified. This wasn't how the world was supposed to work; he was sure of it. Bigger than an aravel, Cormac had said, and it was. But, there had been no mention of _how much_ bigger. The thing was the size of a high dragon. Dragons were bigger than aravels. He'd fought dragons before. But, this...?

" _Mages_ ," he groused, drawing his sword and lighting himself up. He leapt at the thing, hacking at one leg, as he tried to maintain his footing on its foot.

The varterral let out a screech that made Fenris cringe, his ears flattening against his head, and tugged at the vines snaring its legs. The mages pummelled it with lightning and ice, and Fenris kept hacking away, growling whenever a spell would wash over him.

Shadows danced across the floor, and Merrill looked up. "Spiders!" she called out in warning, just as the varterral broke one of its legs free.

"Dammit, Anders!" Artie cursed. "I told you!"

Bethany _laughed_ , and with a wave of her hand, the spiders froze above their heads, paralysed. Artemis made a face and launched them back towards the ceiling. Which he realised was a terrible idea when it started raining spider goo.

Fenris finally succeeded in hacking off a leg, and the varterral spasmed and _shrieked_ , two more legs snapping free of Merrill's vines. With a kick, it launched Fenris back into the wall. When he didn't immediately get back up, Artemis grabbed a fistful of Anders's jacket, his eyes wide.

"Anders. Elf down. My elf. _Anders_."

Anders threw a hand to the side. When the first wave of blue didn't get Fenris back on his feet, a faint panic clutched at Anders's chest and he tried again, tried something _else_. "Don't get hit," he called to Artemis, as he checked the way the varterral was moving, before dashing around a leg that was suddenly much closer, to drag Fenris to his feet.

"Come on, Fenris. Move," Anders muttered, healing with both hands, as he half-carried Fenris back behind the line of mages.

"Put me down, abomination." Fenris sounded drunk, and the world was still a little spotty.

"Don't look at me, Artie," Anders insisted, pointing at the varterral. "I can only get one of you off the ground at a time, and that thing still has four more legs."

"Put me down," Fenris demanded, sounding a little less thick, as the healing continued to wash over him.

"Ah, Fenris? You are down. Any leaning on me you're doing is on you," Anders pointed out.

"... Shit."

Anders handed a healing potion to Fenris as he staggered free and lunged back toward where he'd dropped his sword. "Don't get killed! I can't actually fix _that_!" Anders called after him, tossing a lyrium potion to Merrill, as the vines faltered.

Artemis still felt like there was a hand clutching his chest -- and not in the fun way Fenris did -- but at least now he could breathe. "Thank you," he said, to both Anders and the Maker.

The varterral stomped its feet, and the ground shook, raining rock and more spider guts down on them.

"Thank me by killing this thing," Anders replied, launching ice at the construct's feet. What feet he missed Merrill caught in more vines, giving Fenris a chance to lop off one of its great forelegs, the one on its already hobbled side.

The varterral screeched and flailed, listing heavily to one side as they continued to bombard it, until eventually, battered and sundered its legs gave out beneath it. The ground shuddered when it collapsed, and Fenris continued hacking at it until it stopped twitching.

"I'm good!" Cormac yelled, from the far side of the mass of wood and ... whatever that thing had been. Almost hadn't been good. It nearly came down on his head.

Merrill looked around frantically. "Pol? Pol, can you hear me?"

There was no answer, and after a minute or two, Anders grabbed her around the waist, so she'd stop running back and forth. He'd had enough of the spiders, and she was going to attract something with the way she kept going on. "I think he's under it. And if he is, there's no way..."

"Oh, Pol, why did you run? You shouldn't have run!" Merrill buried her face in Anders's chest and Bethany picked her way across the broken shards of varterral and spider guts to lay a reassuring hand on the back of Merrill's neck.

"He ran because he was more afraid of you than of certain death," Fenris said, checking himself for cuts and loose buckles. "And, for the record, I think that makes him an idiot."

"Well, you are the expert on idiots," Artemis said, crossing to Fenris and checking him over for injuries as well. His brows pulled together in concern at the drying blood in Fenris's hair, but the elf swatted his hands away.

"I'm fine," Fenris assured him. "That's why we have a healer."

Artie nodded and took a breath. Fenris was fine. Fenris was alive. He could panic about all that later. He turned back to the other elf to see her shoulders shaking with sobs. "I'm sorry, Merrill," he said softly, wishing he had something more concrete to offer her.

Merrill finally pulled away from Anders's chest. She sniffled and wiped at her eyes with the edge of her sleeve. "Pol wasn't like the others," she said, voice shaking. "He was city-born. Worldly. He ran away from Denerim and found us. I thought if anyone would understand, he could. This..." She sniffled again and straightened, gathering herself. "Something is very wrong. I want to see the Keeper."

"We _should_ see the keeper," Cormac muttered, clambering over the gigantic heap of dead construct between him and everyone else. "I want to know what city-boy, there, was doing in this cave, if three hunters had already been taken down by this thing. That doesn't sound sane or reasonable, at all."

"Perhaps he was trying to prove himself. To solve this problem for the clan and earn a place for himself. I understand that to be common behaviour for people who wish to belong," Fenris said, easily separating himself from those he spoke of. He had no need for anyone but himself, and his mage knew him with no demonstrations of his excellence.

Cormac knelt and spoke quietly to the varterral, apologising and drawing Dirthamen's eye back to the creature, or so he hoped. He wished he'd seen one working _properly_. Varterrals had been a part of the elven story he'd never been certain of -- they were legendary, who would have imagined them to be real? But, here, he'd just destroyed one, because it had malfunctioned and attacked Merrill's clan. He expected nightmares, after this. Merrill was right. Something was very wrong.

They started back out of the cave, Anders and Bethany supporting Merrill, as she grieved, sobbing, one minute, and yelling, the next. "Pol... what was he thinking? He acted like I was a monster!"

"He was Andrastian, Merrill," Anders pointed out. "The Chantry tells ugly stories, and he hadn't been out here long enough to learn differently. You _are_ the monster, in those stories. Just like me."

"I would _never_ harm the clan," Merrill said. "They had no reason to be afraid of me! None of this makes any sense."

Bethany rubbed her back consolingly. She wondered what the Keeper had told the clan about Merrill and why she left, knew Merrill was probably wondering the same thing.

Skeletons sprang out of the ground here and there as they made their way back, but they made short work of them. Artemis watched the ground for any shifting, and he smacked down any skeleton-sized clump of earth that moved. Fenris stomped on them for good measure.

As they left the cave and squinted into the sunlight, Merrill drew away from Anders and Bethany with a watery smile. She wiped at her eyes and nose, dried them as best she could, and straightened her back, chin held high as she led them back into camp. Stares dogged their backs as they made their way back to Marethari.

"The varterral is dead," Merrill announced, not bothering with a greeting.

"Ma serannas. I'll breathe easier knowing we will lose no more people to it." Marethari looked relieved.

Merrill held out the amulets recovered from the bodies of the hunters. "We found these..."

What appeared to be genuine sadness touched Marethari's face. "I'll return them to their families."

"We... We lost Pol." Merrill backed into Bethany, who wrapped an arm around her and stroked her shoulder. "In the cave, he... he fled at the sight of me, straight into the varterral."

"He shouldn't have been in the cave, at all," Bethany reassured her.

But, Marethari declined to address what Pol had been doing in the cave. "Many of the clan fear you'll bring back the corruption -- or worse -- from the mirror."

"And where would they get that idea?" Merrill's eyes snapped up, suddenly clear and dry.

"I am their keeper, da'len. It was my duty to warn them." Marethari looked so sure of herself. "It's not too late for you to return to us. Reconsider -- there's no need for you to live alone."

"Must we go over this again?" Merrill crossed her arms, eyes sharp. "You'll never accept what I'm doing."

"The eluvian is a trap," Marethari said, gesturing desperately. "It cost us Tamlen. It led you to blood magic." She shook her head. "Will you let it twist you further from who you really are?"

"And who am I?" Merrill bit back. "We've done as you asked. Honour our bargain. Give me the arulin'holm."

Marethari sighed, shoulders sagging as the fight left her. She drew the arulin'holm from where she'd tucked it into her sash and held it out in front of her. She looked first to Merrill, then to each Hawke in turn as though considering her options and crossing them off a list one by one. She bypassed Anders and handed the artefact to Fenris.

"Because Merrill won't listen, I give this heirloom of my clan to you for safekeeping."

Fenris's face twisted, ears flattening. He looked behind him, but there was no one there. She was looking at him. The Keeper. "What." Was she near-sighted?

When Fenris made no move to take the knife, Marethari took his hand and wrapped it around the handle. "Please... don't let her do this."

"Er..." Fenris said, intelligently, blinking at the weight of the tool in his hand. He fumbled for an appropriate answer. "We'll be sure it gets back to you, unharmed," he promised, hoping that was reasonable, but the keeper had already walked away.

Cormac looked amused and Anders rubbed his face, irritatedly.

"It's not right," Anders insisted.

"Thank the Creators!" Merrill breathed, the colour starting to return to her face. "I thought... maybe she'd go back on her word."

"I have a nasty feeling she might have, if Fenris hadn't been with us," Cormac admitted, leaning down to study the blade. He didn't mention that he was fairly sure the keeper had just tried to kill them all.

"So, what did the keeper mean the mirror led you to blood magic?" Anders asked, finally having gotten past the keeper's decision not to fulfil the bargain with the one of them who'd made it.

"The shard I found was corrupted. I couldn't cleanse it, without help," Merrill explained, looking down. "The keeper refused. She said it belonged to another time, and should be left there. So, I found a ... spirit. It gave me the power to purify the mirror through blood magic."

"Because the blood would increase the power of the spell." Anders snapped his fingers, as he got it. "That's what blood magic is. That's what it's for. It just... there's a lot of really shitty things you can do with it, too, and that's what people remember. Still not something I'm jumping into."

"I might have been able to do it with lyrium, if I had piles of it laying around, but I didn't. I used what I had. Myself. My blood."

Fenris fidgeted with the knife in his hand, unsure what to do with it.

"Is it worth restoring this mirror if it turns your clan against you?" Bethany asked, squeezing Merrill's arm.

Merrill bowed her head and looked down at her feet, at the furrows her toes dug in the earth. "You know what it's like to lose everything," she said. "Not just our land and freedom, but history, stories, language, magic, rituals. Even our gods are gone." She glanced at Cormac, at the tattoos on his cheeks before turning back to Bethany. "You are a scholar. You understand the need to _know_. It is a sacrifice, but if the mirror restores even one fragment of the past, it is worth it."

Bethany nodded, her smile sad. She looked at Fenris expectantly, and one by one the others followed suit. Fenris stared back at them, eyes wide and ears twitching. "What? Oh." He looked down at the arulin'holm and shuffled his feet.

Anders held his breath, waiting for Fenris to refuse Merrill, to keep the arulin'holm away from her and her blood-magic-stained hands. Instead he handed it to her as though it touching it burned.

"Artemis, my hands." Fenris held them out as if he'd burned them, spread and stiff-fingered.

Anders was quicker, reaching over Merrill's shoulder to press a sparking fingertip to one of Fenris's fingers. "So, it's actually magic, then?" he asked. "Not just ancient?"

"Yes, it's magic. But, we don't know what kind of magic or how it was made," Merrill explained, watching Fenris's hands, curiously, as the lyrium lines on his fingers flickered. "What--?"

"Allergies," Anders said. "Don't worry about it."

"Yes. Allergies." That was as good an explanation as any, Fenris decided.

"Let's get back to town, before anything more unpleasant besets us, hmm?" Bethany suggested. "Unless Artie's going to extend his education in the joys of elven culture."

Cormac flicked a hand at his brother, freezing the spider guts still covering his robe. "Crush it and shake it off," he said, quietly. "It'll get the worst of it out."

Artemis nodded and did as instructed. He'd been scratching at his arms and trying not to think about the mess. The sticky mess. The sticky, spidery mess that was sticking to everything and-- Breathe. Yes. Cormac was right. Freezing it got out the worst.

"I don't think I'll be experiencing much, ah, elf culture covered in spider guts, Bethany," Artie said, his smile a bit manic as he continued to pick spider-bits off his clothing. "I would, however, like to experience a bath and a change of clothes. And then possibly Fenris's brand of elf culture."

Anders chuffed, earning him a flat look from Fenris. Glancing in that direction gave Fenris a good view of Mahariel standing by Master Ilen's shop and eyeing Artie's backside, and Fenris growled and curled his hands into fists.

"We're going," he said. "I've had my fill of hearing about elf culture for the day."

"I'm still curious, but about the actual, er, history. Not my brother's history with elves. I'm sure I know most of that, already." Cormac laughed and waved to Mahariel, as they left the camp. "Come visit!" he called.

"This is going to be scandalous," Bethany reminded him, her eyes sparkling with amusement. " _Dalish_ elves in Hightown!"

"Hightown seems to have adjusted well enough to Tevinter elves holding land. Dalish visitors shouldn't be much more the scandal," Fenris pointed out. "Of course, I'm not sure if they've adjusted to me, or just adjusted to the idea I will murder anyone fool enough to vandalise my home."

"It's likely the murder part," Cormac agreed. "But, does it matter? We've brought elves to Hightown, and people are still coming to our parties. I think that's a sign the city's ready to see change."

"Speaking of change, I can't wait to see this eluvian start working. I wonder if there are others that still work!" Anders leaned over Merrill's shoulder to look at the arulin'holm. "I wonder who's still out there..."

"We'll find out," Merrill declared, a hint of a smile on her face. "Thank you. All of you. And you, Fenris. Especially thank you."

"I wash my hands of it, one way or another," Fenris replied, crossing his arms. "But do not make me regret it."

Merrill's smile was beatific. "I won't! I promise." She looked like she was about to hug Fenris, until he took a cautious step away.

They were still in earshot of the camp when Anders started up that bawdy Tevinter song again, singing at the top of his lungs.

Fenris shook his head. " _Mages_ ," he muttered before joining in.


	116. PART XXV: A FIRE IS BURNING IN KIRKWALL

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Maker's ... I am not allowed to put an expletive in this sentence': the Hawke-filled adventures of Ser Cullen Rutherford. ~~PUT DOWN THE PEN, VARRIC!~~

The day had been quiet, thus far, for Cullen. Just the usual reports and a few meetings. No disciplinary actions, no rioting over lyrium rations, no mages trying to escape. A relatively pleasant afternoon, until the messenger arrived.

"Ser Cullen?" the girl asked, holding a note in one hand. "I'm only supposed to give the message to Ser Cullen."

"I am." Cullen had a bad feeling about it, as he held out his hand.

"You're wanted at the Blooming Rose, in Hightown, Ser Cullen, ser," the girl said, pressing the note into his hand. "The man there said it was very urgent."

"What's the man's name?" Cullen asked, opening the note.

"I don't know, ser, but I heard a one call him Lord Dog." The girl shrugged and waited, as Cullen read the note.

'It's your recruit, Evans,' the note read. 'He's making an ass of himself, and the girls are afraid of him. You need to come up and get him. Don't send someone. Come yourself and show the people the Order's got its head on.'

That was fair enough, he supposed. With the way they'd gone through officers, the last few years, he should really make the public point that he was still available and still _in charge_. Cullen stood up. "Tell Lord Dog I'm on my way."

"Yes, ser!" The girl bolted out the door as Cullen checked his buckles and got his sword.  


* * *

Cullen marched into the Blooming Rose, careful to keep his shoulders square and his expression stern so that anyone who saw him knew he was there on templar business and not for his own... interests. Anton saw to his interests. Anton _was_ his interest.

Cullen hadn't entered this... establishment... since that mess with Wilmod a few years ago, but tonight it was rowdier than he remembered. The tables were full, cramped even, a few chairs overturned. Evans was easy to spot -- and hear -- with his raucous laughter and the Sword of Mercy emblem on his chest. He'd hounded one of the girls into a corner.

Hands clenched into fists at Cullen's sides. The man was here, in full templar plate, bringing disgrace to the order. "Ser Hamond Evans!" Cullen's voice boomed across the room.

Evans's spine stiffened, and he turned to see who called him, ready for a fight.

"You bring disgrace upon the Order. An order which exists to guard against the evils of magic, and how do I find you but perpetuating other evils on people you are meant to protect." Cullen's shoulders squared, but he didn't cross the room. He didn't need to. He stripped off one gauntlet, snapped his fingers, and pointed to the ground in front of him.

"Knight-Captain! I-- It's not what it looks like! I was just in for a little fun..." Evans tried to extract his foot from one of the flipped chairs.

"It's exactly what it looks like!" Jethann called, from the top of the stairs.

Cullen spared the elf a glance, and then a second when he recognised the man standing next to him. Anton grinned and waved, leaning with his elbows on the railing.

'Lord Dog'. Maker, he was an idiot.

Cullen turned back to the recruit, deciding he'd figure out how to react to that later. "Well, your 'fun' is over," he said, voice carrying. "Outside. Now."

Evans shrank into himself and into his armour, like a frightened turtle, and picked his way across the room.

Cullen crossed the room, in the other direction, at last, to speak with Madame Lusine. "I apologise on his behalf. I intend to make it clear this sort of behaviour will not be tolerated. If you see any of my men causing trouble, please send a messenger, and I'll take care of the problem." He wrote his name on a napkin. "Send me a bill for any damages, and I'll see that it's paid. Again, I'm terribly sorry about all this."

"Oh, don't you worry, Knight-Captain. We get your boys in here all the time, and most of them are sweethearts. Except that Alrik, but I heard he died. Don't suppose we have to worry about him again." Madame Lusine patted Cullen's hand. "It's good the Order's finally taking a good look at itself. I know some folk have been hesitant to speak up, and that just encourages the bad ones -- there's not many, but they're bad enough to make an impression."

"Any complaints you have or hear should come straight to me. I suspect people are much more likely to talk to you than to come to me. Nature of the business." A faint blush darkened Cullen's cheeks. "I'll go deal with Evans. He shouldn't give you trouble, again. And... let 'Lord Dog' know I'll be back for him, in a few hours."

"It's true, then?" Madame Lusine asked. "He doesn't talk about it much, but we hear things."

"I'm sure that depends on what you've heard." Cullen offered a shaky smile and made his way toward the door, glaring balefully at Anton, on his way out.  


* * *

Jethann drew another card, placing it face-up on the table. "Angel of Death!" he announced. "Let's see how badly you two lost."

"You say that like you haven't lost every hand so far," Anton tutted, a slow smile curling his lips as he laid out his hand. "Three Serpents."

"Four Songs!" Serendipity crowed, slapping her cards onto the table. Anton and Jethann groaned as she cackled, scraping up her winnings.

Anton sat back, taking a few peanuts from the bowl on the table and popping them into his mouth. "Cheater," he teased between bites.

"Scoundrel," Serendipity countered, throwing a peanut at Anton's face. Anton stretched in his chair and caught it in his mouth, smirking as he crunched.

The sound of heavy boots on the stairs attracted almost no attention, until Jethann glanced to the side and realised exactly who was coming up the stairs, and what that expression threatened. "Ah, Tony, dear? Isn't that your templar?"

"Come to play a hand with us, then, Cullen?" Anton asked, grinning, as he stretched one arm over the balcony rail. "One silver says I get Denier's drink," he said to Serendipity.

"You're on." She grinned, eyes never leaving Cullen. "Well, hello, Knight-Captain. I never imagined we'd see you here for anything other than business, but that's already been handled!"

Anton's fingers flicked and there was a round of cursing from below. Serendipity slid the silver piece across the table, wordlessly, and Jethann shook his head. Cullen paused at the top of the stairs, looking completely confused, as he took in the scene. _Cards_? He'd expected something at least a little more risqué. There wasn't even any clothing on the table -- and he was damned if he'd be caught playing strip Grace again, any time soon.

"What are you doing?" Cullen asked Anton, watching as his fiance plucked up another peanut.

"Twenty silver says you can't do it again," Jethann said, peering over the railing.

Anton grinned and stretched out his arm. "You're on. And what does it look like I'm doing, Captain?" he asked. "I'm playing cards with two of my most charming friends and dropping peanuts into drinks for money." He dropped the peanut, and there was another, louder round of cursing.

Jethann ducked back behind the railing, holding up a hand to stifle his laughter. "That wasn't his drink!"

"Such a small target?" Dips replied. "Still worth twenty silver."

Cullen shook his head and rubbed his forehead. "No, I... I mean, what are you doing _here_?"

"As opposed to somewhere else I could be doing the same thing? Ah! That's right. There is nowhere else, in this town, that I could be." Anton smiled lazily, holding out his other hand to Cullen. "You know me as a man who makes a lot of money doing a little as possible, yes? This is part of my 'as little as possible'."

"But, I thought your brother--" Cullen started.

"I don't live out of Cormac's pocket. That would be rude. He handles most of the expenses related to the house, but the rest of our extravagant lifestyle is my doing, and it has to come from somewhere," Anton explained, smile still firmly placed. "I play cards, quite frequently. Sometimes here, sometimes at the Hanged Man, almost always with travellers and merchants, unless we're waiting for someone to beat. Which we are. Sometimes, we get people who are just here to take me for a few sovereigns. One of them actually did, once. I don't play him, any more."

"That Orlesian, right? The Comte de ... wherever the shit he was from." Jethann flicked his hand dismissively, when he couldn't remember the name.

"Oooh, I didn't like him, anyway." Serendipity shuddered, gathering the cards to shuffle again.

"That's the one." Anton nodded. "You thought I was here for other reasons, didn't you? If I wanted excitement, I wouldn't need to come here for it."

"Reeeally?" Jethann eyed Cullen contemplatively.

"Oh," Cullen replied intelligently. It was ridiculous how relieved he was to hear that. "I apologise. I just... I assumed..." He gestured helplessly, feeling his cheeks heat. "Usually when someone, ah, comes to... such a place, it is for a specific purpose."

"You'd be surprised how many people come here just for the food," Jethann said. He tapped his lip as he considered his cards. "You should try our Hopeday night special while you're here, Knight-Captain. Comes with free entertainment." A wicked smile curled his lips, and Cullen somehow flushed darker.

Anton saw the look on his face and bit his lips to keep from laughing. "I don't think Ser Cullen is feeling quite that adventurous tonight," he said, "even if the stew is delicious."

"Ooh, is it stew night?" Serendipity asked. "I love stew night!"

Cullen stood by their table, stiff and awkward in his full plate, and Anton craned his neck back to look at him. "Come on," he said. "Sit down. Have some peanuts. Maybe play a hand or two?"

"That... no." Cullen shook his head. "I can't. I'm still dressed from work. How would that look? I stand here, and I'm just checking facts. I sit down, and suddenly I'm a customer. I can't. I just... I needed to know."

Serendipity patted Anton's hand. "You know what to do, Tony. We can amuse ourselves."

"Thanks, Dips." Anton stood, holding a hand out to Jethann, who shook it. "I hear we've got some Tevinter merchant ships coming in on Sunday. You in?"

"Oh, I wouldn't miss it!" Jethann's grin was almost savagely delighted.

"If you'll both excuse me, I believe I have to introduce the Knight-Captain to the Hawke definition of 'excitement'." Anton offered his elbow to Cullen, who gave him an exasperated look and did not take it.

"You have to tell me if I was right about that bench," Serendipity said, shooing them away from the table. "But, later. Tell me later, after you've had time to really get to know it."

"'Introduce' me to the Hawke definition of excitement?" Cullen asked, following Anton down the stairs. "Introduce? What have we been doing all this time?"

"Nothing quite like this," Anton assured him, smiling in a patently unreassuring way.  


* * *

Cullen knew the gardens were large but not just how large. He'd spent most of the last party behind a ficus, and Anton hadn't given him a proper tour until now. He marveled at the artistry, at the weaving of trees and flowers on either side of the flagstone pathway. He also noted the statuary was a great deal... sturdier than what was there before.

"This is lovely, Anton," he said, honestly. "But... when you said 'excitement' I wasn't expecting the garden. Do you remember the last time we tried for some 'excitement' in the garden?"

"Goatilda is penned in," Anton said, waving his hand. "Your underthings are in no danger of being eaten this time."

"The statuary is reinforced, the goat is penned, and we are... going to enjoy the shade of one of these lime trees?" Cullen guessed, looking around. "It's really quite lovely, but when I hear of you and excitement together, this is a bit more subtle than I've come to expect."

"Ah, but the subtlety is half the fun." Anton smiled and spread his arms. "The goat pen is not, as you might recall, the back of the garden, as it seems to be. I know you saw those plans -- you helped me with them. There are other delights in this garden, if you can find them. Pick a path you like. I'll follow."

Cullen studied the ground near the goat pen more closely. The flagstones just in front of the gate seemed to trail off artistically, winding around the corners, until the paths met what seemed to be a wall of greenery. He picked a path and followed it, finding the solidity of the wall to be merely an illusion and very good placement of a hedge.

"You've brought back the hedge maze!" Cullen sounded terribly amused by this.

"Less maze, more interesting," Anton said, checking a few branches. "Keep going..."

At the end of the long and winding trail, Cullen found a small clearing ringed with roses, a reflecting pool in the centre, and several small stone benches around it.

"Definitely less visible from the house," Cullen noted, walking around the little garden. The benches all had what looked to be inset dials on them as well as barely-visible circular cuts in the stone, and the stone at the front and back reached the ground, making them seem more pedestals than benches, on a second glance. "What's this for?" he asked, crouching and tapping on one of the dials.

"Twist it and find out," Anton suggested, sitting on the corner of the next bench.

Cullen turned the dial, watching as the traced circle turned into a cover that sank in and slid to the side. As he twisted it again... that... no. That couldn't be... "Anton, is that... Am I looking at...?"

"Yes?" Anton asked, feigning ignorance. "What is it?"

Cullen fumbled for words, syllables choking in his throat. He should probably stop staring at it. Shouldn't he? Yes, he should. "A knob. Your bench has a knob."

"Multiple knobs, technically," Anton said, gesturing at the other circular cuts in the stone. "But yes. You twist the dial to, um. Twist the knob." He bit his tongue to keep from grinning. "So what do you think? Still too subtle for you?"

Maker. Cullen was still looking at it. He pulled his stare away. "Subtle? Ha. Well. As for what I think, I'm not sure what opinion I'm supposed to have regarding furniture with genitalia. I... um." He looked back down and -- nope, still a penis. Stone penis. Attached to a bench.

"No need to be shy," Anton said. "You use it just like any other bench. By sitting on it."

Cullen's cheeks were red again -- he knew it -- and he wondered if they'd ever been any other colour in Anton's presence, the way this man carried on.

"Or maybe you'd like it if I sat on the bench, first?" Anton suggested, slinking closer and loosening the laces on his shirt. "If I sat on the bench, and then you sat on my lap, maybe?" The shirt ended up somewhere in the roses, and Anton started on the laces for his trousers. "Or you could sit first, and I'll show you what I meant by 'excitement'. But, I think you want the one to your left. It's not quite as big. The one to the right is bigger."

Cullen tried not to look at Anton, but his eyes landed on the bench. He tried not to look at the bench, but his eyes lingered on Anton's half-naked body. "It's a good thing you proposed to me before I learnt the depths of your depravity," he joked, voice a little higher than he expected. He cleared his throat. "I don't know if I could have said yes to-- to all this... What would people think?"

"People would think you were a very lucky man. And anyone who thought otherwise should be advised to get their own house in order, before casting aspersions, because they're full of shit." Anton's voice was unexpectedly strong, right along with his opinions on the subject. "And if they knew any such thing about you, it would be because they'd encountered my delightful garden, and then they doubly wouldn't have room to talk, don't you think?"

Cullen's mouth opened and closed a few times, as he considered that. Anton was right, of course. It wasn't really anyone's business, and if it became their business, it said more about them than about him.

"But, we're not here to discuss other people, are we, Knight-Captain? I thought we were here to discuss excitement, and the depths of my depravity, which you seemed all too happy to marry, when it merely involved coat closets and scaling the wall of your tower." Anton raised his eyebrows and paused for a long moment. "Pick the one on the left," he whispered, loudly, after a bit. "Thank me, later."

Cullen reflected that there was a time when their 'closet activities' had been scandalous enough. But that was before the goat and -- Maker help him -- the corset, and before he'd fallen head over heels for this man. This _insane_ man with the depraved benches.

"I... all right. I will... try your bizarre furniture." Try. There was no one here to see this. No one except Anton, and it was Anton's fault to begin with. "Just... um. Give me a hand with this plate mail, will you?" It was awkward enough to take off when he wasn't fumbling all over the place.

"Happily!" Anton got in the way as much as he helped, pressing his body closer than was practical, fingers caressing what they could under each piece of armour. At least they were working towards a common goal, that goal being Cullen's nakedness.

"Do I even want to know where you got these?" Cullen asked, his laugh just this side of nervous as each piece of armour coming off left him more exposed.

"Oh, it's Tevinter craftsmanship," Anton answered, his smile almost gleeful. "Rather ingenious, isn't it? Expensive, but worth every copper."

"And you're going to go cheat the merchants at cards, this weekend. This is your idea of business sense?" Cullen perched on the knob-free corner of a bench, to take off his greaves and boots.

"It's perfectly good sense. They know I spend an outrageous amount of coin, and the more I take off them, the less goods they'll have to carry back, because I'll be buying the goods with the coin I just won. And I never take them for that much. Always spend more than I've taken. Just... willing to go for the better and more expensive models, after I win a few hands, and do you know what the markup is on Tevinter goods? It's not like they're actually losing money." Anton shook his head and laughed, grabbing Cullen's tunic and standing with it, tugging it over his head.

"So, you're convincing them to give you a discount, by taking it from them at the card table." Cullen tried to smooth his hair, with one hand.

"More or less, yeah." Anton grabbed Cullen's hands and pulled him to his feet. "You've still got clothes on. I should fix that," he said, with a smile, unlacing Cullen's trousers and sinking to his knees to tug them down. He nuzzled the edge of Cullen's smalls, dotting kisses along the line where cloth gave way to skin. "I should get grease," he muttered against Cullen's skin, but made no move to get up. "That's already out here, too. Self-contained little pleasure garden."

Cullen let out another high-pitched laugh. "Self-contained... you really planned this out, didn't you?"

Anton grinned, tucking a finger into the waistband of Cullen's smalls and teasing the skin there. "And you've only seen part of it," he said with no small amount of pride. "I'll give you a proper tour later, but the flowers closer to the house were a rather big hint. So were the lime trees."

Cullen still couldn't decide if he was more dismayed or impressed by all of this. He ran a hand through Anton's hair, smoothing it back, as Anton tugged more insistently at his smalls, sliding them down, down his thighs. Anton paused to kiss the newly exposed skin there.

Cullen wriggled away from Anton long enough to step out of and kick away his smalls. "This... grease. I don't suppose that's built into the benches too?"

Anton wiggled his eyebrows and pressed one of the flowers engraved on the front of the bench, oil spilling down the petals to fill his hand. "I may not like magisters, but the Imperium has some incredible craftsmanship."

Cullen watched as Anton freed the smaller stone knob and stroked the grease onto it. This was something he was actually going to do, wasn't it... getting buggered by a rock in some secret sex-garden. What had his life become? Maybe he wasn't ready to marry into a noble family, after all. He'd heard and read stories like this, but he'd always figured them for outrageous fictions. But, Anton hadn't been born to this, either, so maybe they'd read the same books, and Anton had decided to make those outrageous fictions real. That, he decided, was actually kind of charming. As was the idea that Anton might have done this for him -- however much he might fail to appreciate it.

"Notice the shape of the bench? There's more than one way to sit on it. If I were to join you, we could sit side by side or facing each other, and it would be just as comfortable." Anton smiled up at Cullen and slipped his slick fingers between Cullen's legs. "Let me work you open, first, so it's easier," he said, fingers sliding along the crack of Cullen's ass, as he fluttered his tongue against the tip of Cullen's knob.

Cullen sucked in a breath. "Easier. Right." He still wasn't entirely sure about this, but Anton's fingers and tongue made a good argument. Best to stop thinking, really. If he thought too hard about this, his head was going to explode, and -- oh -- Anton's fingers _did_ feel lovely right there.

Anton took his time teasing him, coaxing him open, and slowly, slowly Cullen relaxed. His knees were jelly by the time Anton slid his fingers free, and by then Cullen felt like he _needed_ to sit down. Which was, he suspected, Anton's plan all along.

Rising to his feet, Anton steadied Cullen by holding his hips, his smirking lips meeting Cullen's. "Ready?" Anton murmured. "We'll take it slowly."

Cullen didn't trust himself to say anything intelligible, so he nodded. Ready was subjective, but if he didn't try the thing now, he wasn't ever going to. He held on to Anton's arms as he eased himself down, and _Maker_ , that was cold! "Of course it's a Tevinter design," he muttered, angling himself against the stone. "It's not freezing cold if you're a magister."

Anton grimaced. "I'll get a rune for that. I didn't even think..." He paused, still standing between Cullen's feet, holding his hips. "Do you want to try again, after I get that fixed?"

"If I don't do this, now..." Cullen breathed, as the cold stone slid into him. "That's -- that's really cold. That's really quite really cold." He shivered, fingers digging in to Anton's forearms, as he rethought the wisdom of this entire idea. But, he was already halfway there, so he tried to relax and eased himself down until he was sitting on the bench.

"What if I warm you up, hmm?" Anton purred, stepping closer and pressing himself against Cullen's chest. His fingers tangled in Cullen's hair, tugging gently to tilt that uncertain face up to look at him.

Cullen wrapped his arms around Anton's hips and conjured a smile for him. Well, this was certainly... different. Not that it was the first time he'd sat on something of that, er, shape, but stone was much less pliable than flesh and this wasn't quite like sitting on Anton's knob.

As he adjusted, Anton distracted him with another kiss, this one lingering, his fingers digging through curls to massage Cullen's scalp, his nape, and Cullen sighed at the attention.

"Still cold?" Anton asked, lips against lips. His hands trailed down Cullen's neck, down his chest.

"Less so," Cullen admitted, shifting his hips experimentally. Still colder than Anton's knob. Still more solid than Anton's knob. "Have you... used this bench before?"

"Not this one. One like it, though. I, er..." Anton laughed and stepped back a bit, so he could tug off his boots. "It was summer, when the merchants came, and they didn't mention the runes weren't included, but I did have the opportunity to test most of the equipment I had installed, here. This is my warning to make sure nothing else is missing any runes. I bet it's something about the import restrictions on magical items through Kirkwall. I'm so sorry, I should have checked." Anton's trousers followed the boots, and he set his knee on the bench, to one side of Cullen. "But, I'm sure if we get you warm enough, it'll stop being so cold. You can't possibly stay cold if I'm hot enough for both of us."

Cullen groaned and rested his head on Anton's abs. " _Anton_..."

"Too much wit, not enough warm? Let's fix that." Anton climbed across Cullen's lap, kneeling on the bench. Kisses followed kisses, and Anton's hands darted teasingly over Cullen's skin.

"You are..." Cullen murmured between kisses, only to trail off with a laugh and a shake of his head, unable to find an adequate adjective. Or finding too many, some flattering, some not, but all incredibly, exasperatingly Anton.

"I am what?" Anton prompted, teasing with a press of his hips. "Hot? We've already established this."

"Debauched," Cullen huffed, the word almost affectionate. He ground up into Anton, changing the angle of the stone inside him, and -- well. That wasn't terrible. And if he shifted just so, that was even better than 'not terrible'.

Anton watched the change in expression and grinned. "You seem to be settling into my debauchery," he teased, rocking his hips against Cullen.

"Onto. Settling onto." Another flash of panic flickered through Cullen's chest, at the thought, but there was no one to see them. There were no eyes but Anton's on him, and Anton looked like he was about to further the debauchery.

"Lean back a little," Anton suggested, nudging Cullen's chest. "Lean back so I can get closer."

Cullen gripped the back of the bench, looking up at Anton. "What--?" And then Anton's hand was between them, stroking them both together.

"Oh, just making sure you're not still too cold for this..." Leaning forward, Anton kissed Cullen again, all tongue and teeth.

Cullen gasped into Anton's mouth, hips arching up into his touch. He was certainly feeling warmer, heat touching his cheeks and splashing down his chest, pooling where skin met skin. Anton's soft skin contrasted pleasantly with hard stone, and Cullen rocked between the dual sensations.

Even with the air on his skin, they were still hidden away, Cullen reminded himself, _kept_ reminding himself until the points of contact between stone and flesh were the only things he could focus on.

"You are..." he began again, more breathless this time.

"Debauched?"

"Maddening," Cullen corrected. He shifted his weight onto one hand, reaching up with the other to pull Anton as close as he could. "Incredibly maddening."

"Or maddeningly incredible, you mean."

"That too."

Anton reached down to get more grease, which was cold, and held it in his hand for a moment, before drizzling it into their collective lap, hand following the last slow drop, to squeeze and stroke it over their flesh. "All this wealth, a family name with a history, and all I want to do with it is find new ways to get you to make that face."

Cullen's jaw slackened and his eyes rolled back, as Anton stroked him just so. His hips rolled between the stone and that hand, and anything he might have meant to say was reduced to a lusty groan and a few pleading whimpers.

"That face, that you're making right now." Anton's clean hand kneaded the back of Cullen's neck, as he kissed him again, shivering in the afternoon breeze that danced across his skin.

Cullen's hand became more demanding, clutching at Anton, clawing and wringing the sleek muscle of that lean, hard body. Anton was caught between wanting to watch that face twist and wanting to kiss those slack lips. Then Cullen panted his name, and Anton decided that was a better use for his mouth.

"Yes, Cullen?" Anton teased, his own voice breathless. He twisted his hand just so, and Cullen bucked under him, another whimper shivering out of him.

" _Anton_ ," Cullen said again, unsure if that was a plea, a statement, or simply the only thing his senses could understand in that moment. "Oh, Anton!"

Anton did kiss him then, swallowing the groans he coaxed out of his templar.

Everything was perfect, because Anton, Cullen decided. It wasn't a well-formed idea, it was an even worse sentence, but he was certain of the truth of it, as his thighs tensed and he clamped down around the stone inside him. There was no give, and somehow that made it better, in ways he could never have imagined, even twenty minutes ago. Anton had done this to him. Anton had given him this. The entire world was reduced to Anton, as Cullen spilled over Anton's fingers.

He came down slowly, to the sound of Anton moaning into his mouth, hips and hand still in motion. His hand slid down Anton's back, cupping one firm buttock, kneading the flesh. Everything was strange and distant, except for Anton filling every sense. Yes, he'd made the right decision, and every time he doubted it, things got better. Weirder, but better.

"I love you," Cullen said against Anton's lips, his hand on Anton's ass encouraging every shift of his hips. "You incredibly maddening, maddeningly incredible man."

Anton choked out a sound between a laugh and a groan, eyes meeting Cullen's before they rolled back. Cullen kissed his chin, his jaw, whispering endearments and encouragements to the skin there as Anton stiffened against him, muscles bunching under Cullen's hand. Anton let out a groan, low and long, his breath hot against Cullen's cheek.

They sat, panting, in each other's arms, for a long while, the breeze licking the sweat from their skin. A new twist to an old game, and one Cullen thought he'd never tire of, even without the twists. Anton nuzzled his neck, nibbled along his jaw, and finally sat up, letting the air pass between them. Cullen shivered and tried to pull Anton close, again.

"Reset the dial," Anton suggested, "before one of us slips and I have to go get Anders."

Cullen's eyes squeezed shut as the blush dashed across his face. That was one of the last things he wanted to be seeing a healer for -- sex accidents. Of course, if he and Anton kept on like this, it was bound to happen, eventually. He fumbled for the dial, beside him, and after turning it the wrong way -- which prompted a surprised squeak -- he managed to disengage the stone knob, and it sank down out of him, the draughty hole in the bench closing after it.

"Good?" Anton asked, stealing another quick kiss.

Cullen considered that for a moment, waiting for his brain to rearrange his thoughts into the proper order. "Different," he said. "But good, yes."

Anton's grin was the smug, self-satisfied kind. "Good," he said. "Now you see why I don't have to leave home for any... 'excitement'." He slid off of Cullen's lap to sit next to him on the bench, sucking in a breath at the touch of cold stone against his rump. He shifted from one cheek to the other until it warmed.

"And yet you still scale the Gallows walls to steal into my office," Cullen said with fake exasperation. Or mostly fake, anyway.

Anton grinned, bumping Cullen's shoulder with his. "Is that a hint that you would like some new office furniture?"


	117. Chapter 117

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some troubles with the Bone Pit. Cormac is not thrilled with any of this.

The letters from Hubert had been piling up on Cormac's desk, over the course of the week. It wasn't that he didn't care. It wasn't that he wasn't going to do something useful. He just needed to talk to some people, first. Namely, his brother. But, Anton assured him that no one he knew would be stupid enough to hit the supply caravans for the Bone Pit. Everyone knew that was a Hawke venture, and hitting that would irritate Stabby Hawke, Varric (and by extension, parts of the Merchant's Guild), and the Pirate Queen -- and that sort of irritation tended to end in death.

But, now, there was a letter about a lead. Apparently Hubert had uncovered someone who'd been part of the scheme, and thought Cormac might want to come down and talk to the guy. Which he would, but he was bringing Anton, just in case. He slipped a note under Anton's door, and assumed they'd catch up, before supper.  


* * *

"You got my letters!" Hubert exclaimed, as Cormac approached, Anton following just behind him.

"You've been gone a while. I thought you had everything under control..." Cormac looked expectantly at him.

"I told you I would take care of it, and I did!" Hubert's chin tipped up. "Now, after a year of raids on our shipments, I have caught one of the culprits! One of our miners, Sabin, has been leaking information. Do you know him? He claims to be from your hometown, in Ferelden. I would like you to get this festering sore to divulge who is behind the thefts. When you are ready, I will bring him to you."

"Sabin? From Lothering?" Cormac looked at Anton, confusion on his face, even as his fingers picked at the edge of his sleeve. There had been no survivors. He'd been so sure no one else had made it. Was it possble? But... he didn't know the name.

"Don't look at me." Anton shrugged, a similar look on his face. They understood each other, what this would mean.

"I would not expect you to remember every pisspot from your past," Hubert said, waving dismissively. "But, he brags to his fellows that he grew up with you, in Lothering."

"Then he'd have far fewer pleasant things to say about any of us," Cormac laughed. "Bring him to-- Anton, where do we want this guy?"

"Bring him to the docks. Warehouse nineteen." Anton shrugged again. "I have to pick up some cargo, later, anyway."

"Excellent idea," Hubert said with a conspiratorial grin. "I will get him now."  


* * *

A few hours later, they met Hubert at the appointed warehouse. The lighting was dim, sunlight dampened by filmy windows, but amidst the crates of product, Anton could make out the figure of a man tied to a chair.

"Here is the dung pile I caught leaking next week's shipment schedule," Hubert sneered, flicking his hand at their prisoner. The man, Sabin, lifted his head at they approached, eyes wide and skin ashen. "He won't tell me who he's working with!"

Before they could address Sabin, Hubert grabbed the man's blond hair by the roots and wrenched his head back. "Who else has been screwing me over?" Hubert roared, flushed with pique. The back of his hand cracked against Sabin's cheek, knocking his head to the side. "Tell me, you rutting mongrel!"

"You know," Anton sighed, "he can't talk with a mouthful of broken teeth."

"Please, messere, don't hurt me!" Sabin cowered, looking up at the brothers. Well, looking at Cormac, really. And there was a sign. "I knew you since you was young, in Lothering. Your mum's family and your pop -- Maker grant him rest."

"You know me so well, who's the man standing next to me?" Cormac asked, a hint of a smile at his lips.

"That's Hubert! He owns the other half the mine! I know Hubert!" Sabin nodded so hard he looked like his head might fall off.

"No, no. The other side." Cormac grinned and cocked a thumb at Anton. He knew exactly how full of shit the man was, but he needed that out in the open, and by Sabin's own admission. "Nice try though."

"I don't know! It's been years!" Sabin looked panicked.

"That's my brother." Cormac pulled over a crate and sat down on it. "And mum's family wasn't from Lothering."

"Pathetic." Hubert spit in Sabin's direction, but only succeeded in landing a gob on Cormac's shoulder. "I leave this bastard in your capable hands. Get me when he is ready to talk."

Cormac flicked a dismissive hand after Hubert, and kept talking to Sabin. "So, here's the thing. You're in a very bad spot. You're in an even worse spot, claiming to be close to us, because we're not really that popular, in some quarters."

"I protest! The Qunari, the Viscount, and the Merchants' Guild all love me!" Anton grinned and leaned on Cormac's clean shoulder.

"So, my brother's going to ask you some questions, and you're going to tell us the truth. Sounds simple enough, right?" Cormac reached up and jerked the handkerchief out from between two of Anton's buttons and wiped off his shoulder.

"Whatever you say, messere," Sabin answered, eyes wide and earnest. "So maybe we didn't know each other, but... I am from Lothering, I swear!"

Anton exchanged a glance with Cormac, his expression carefully neutral. He suspected the man was lying, but everyone did in his line of work. Best to assume everyone was lying, really. Especially in Kirkwall. "What made you betray your employer?" he asked, folding his arms across his chest.

Sabin looked down at his hand, twisting it against the robes. "Before the Blight," he said, "my family had a good life in Lothering: clean home, fertile lands, friends..." He sucked in a breath and turned damp eyes up at Anton. "In Kirkwall we lived in a hovel. People spit on us. And some days we went hungry."

And Anton could sympathise with that. He could. Sharing Gamlen's... living quarters with the rest of his family hadn't been his favourite time. Maker knew he didn't miss sleeping on the floor, and it wasn't like he could take the moral high ground, with the way _he'd_ earned much of his coin.

Anton rubbed his forehead. "Right. Well. Sabin, I don't want to deal with this any more than you do, so help us help you. The sooner you talk to me, the sooner we can all leave. Preferably without any bruising, but that's between you and Hubert."

"Soon as I tell Hubert what he needs to know, he'll kill me or throw me in prison!" Sabin protested, wringing his hands. "My life's not worth much, but my family... I only wanted to give my wife and son a better life."

Cormac looked up at Anton, who raised his eyebrows and tipped his hand out. Hubert did seem to be a little more violent than sensible, and maybe Sabin would be worth more alive and owing favours.

"I'll deal with Hubert. Just give us something to go on," Cormac offered. If it went wrong, he'd blame Anton. Brothers...

"Oh, thank you messere! I'll talk!" Sabin looked thrilled by even this tiny change.

Anton nodded and went to fetch Hubert. He was standing just outside the door, talking to a woman with a grim smile and worn leather armour. Hubert's poofy sleeves billowed as he gestured.

"Messere Hawke," said Hubert, "this is Lilley of the Coterie. Given the importance of stopping the cargo robberies, I have enlisted a..." He shrugged."...consultant."

"Consultant?" Lilley scoffed. "Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

Anton's face was still carefully, pleasantly neutral. Coterie. That was the last thing he needed right now. Why had Hubert dragged them into this mess?

"Well, dog? Are you ready to bark now?" Hubert demanded of Sabin.

"I'm going to strongly advise you to tone down the anti-Fereldan sentiment," Cormac said, quietly, picking his nails with the corner of Anton's handkerchief.

"Why?" Hubert did not seem entirely thrilled with the idea. "Dog Lords are all the same. Lying, stealing filth."

Cormac stood up and turned to face Hubert, jabbing a finger into his chest. "That's _Lord_ Dog Lord, to you, you whinging piss-eared Orlesian."

"Of course I didn't mean you! Why, you're hardly Fereldan at all! You have a title in Kirkwall!" Hubert cowered in the shadow of Cormac's shoulders.

"My brother sleeps with a mabari and a dagger in his bed. We're as Fereldan as they come, and don't you forget it." Cormac barked and clicked his teeth just shy of Hubert's nose. "Now, where were we? Ah, yes, Sabin was going to tell us a story." He sat back down, attention on the extremely nervous man in the chair.

"There's an ambush planned tonight, at Dietrich Crossing," Sabin sputtered.

"Tonight? That barely leaves you enough time to intercept them! You had best leave immediately!" Hubert sounded annoyed again.

"We'll protect your precious shipment. Just make sure you have the Coterie's payment," Lilley cut in. "Want me to deal with this runt? I'll drop him in a ditch on the way out. Free of charge."

"Yes, take him with my blessing! I assume my partner will not object--" Hubert began, gesturing broadly, pleased to be free of all of this, at last.

"Your partner thinks this is why you keep losing money on this venture." Cormac stood up, again, and pressed two sovereigns into Hubert's palm. "It's more than the price of a dowry goat, and it should be more than the price of a crook. _I_ will deal with Sabin."

"Er, yes. Yes, of course." Hubert backed away.

"Anton, go get Aveline and Varric. I'll grab Anders and meet you at the market gates," Cormac said. "Just want to clear a couple things up, here."

"Anton-- Anton _Hawke_!?" Lilley drew her sword, but Anton was already elsewhere.

Cormac sighed and slapped a barrier on her. It wouldn't do any damage, but it would keep her from moving, which was the important thing.

"No, no, no! The _cargo_!" Hubert cried.

"Take your Coterie consultant and get out, Hubert. We'll handle it." Cormac's hands glittered. "You lay off my brother or you die. Those are your choices," he told Lilley.

She sheathed her sword and eyed him suspiciously, but he lowered the barrier.

"Whatever it is you think you're doing, go do it. We'll be behind you." Cormac watched until both Hubert and Lilley had left. He assumed Anton had also left, during that unpleasant several seconds, and he took a seat before Sabin, again. "So, you're from Lothering, are you? Did anyone else get out? I've been looking for a guy... Turlin? Turpin? The farm at the top of the hill. Turpin, I think the family was. His name I don't remember. Barmy or Gormy or something..."

"Gantry? Gantry Turpin?" Sabin's eyes widened a little. "He... he didn't make it. They got him, and I just kept running. Maker, I don't think any of the Turpins made it."

"Gantry! That was his name. Thank you. It's been driving me mad." Cormac shook his head. "Pity the man didn't make it. I liked him."

"Wait, you-- You're the mad Rivaini with the knife! No matter how many times he told that story, I never once believed a word of it! I used to tease him about how far in his cups he must have been to dream something up like that!" Sabin was back to abject horror, leaning away from where Cormac sat.

"He talked about that?" Cormac laughed. "Maker, even I didn't talk about that. But, yeah, I'm the crazy Rivaini with the knife. And he was good with that knife." He held out his hand and stood up. "Come on, I'll walk you out. You talked to Hamlen, with the Union, yet? He'll make sure you get a fair shake. We have lunch, every couple of months and talk equipment and pay raises. Don't take what Hubert's offering. Take what Hamlen can get you."

Sabin avoided the hand, but nodded and followed Cormac toward the door.

Anton appeared behind Cormac's other shoulder, after a few moments. "Knives!?" he hissed.

" _A_ knife. Wasn't one of yours." Cormac shrugged.  


* * *

By the time they caught up to Lilley, the bandits were already ransacking the caravan. Anton saw the corpses in the road and swore, already reaching for his daggers.

"We're too late for your men," Lilley informed Cormac, "but we'll make the rotters pay."

"Anders," Anton said, "see if any of the poor sods are still alive. We'll handle the bandits."

Anders nodded, already making for the first body while Aveline covered him, her shield up and sword drawn. She cracked the closest bandit across the face before he could finish reaching for his sword. "Hey!" she roared as Anton and Lilley slipped into the shadows. "This is _my_ city, you blighted fucktarts!"

Back beside Cormac, Varric nocked his crossbow, snorting a laugh. "'Fucktarts'?" He shook his head, glancing at Cormac. "She's been spending too much time at the Hanged Man."

Cormac laughed and unleashed a terrible storm, lightning and snow pouring from the sky onto the bulk of the bandits. "Donnic getting her to come out more?" he asked, as if he hadn't just brought down a blizzard on a dozen men.

"More like he's driving her to drink, I think. I don't see him so much, but I'm seeing a lot more of her. At least she's usually _smiling_ , which is a nice change." Varric started taking shots at anything that came out of the storm. "What's with bringing in the Coterie?"

"Hubert's an asshole. Said he'd handle it, paid a lot of money to some extremely unpleasant thugs, and got stiffed on the deal. We've still lost the whole crew, by the faces Anders is making, over there." Cormac shook his head and lashed out with a bolt of lightning.

"Shit, I know whole crews that would've done a better job for half the cost of even getting a meeting with the Coterie." Varric shook his head.

"Man's got a thing about Fereldan parsnips. Keeps forgetting he went into business with one. Me, I think he should've paid my brother to see to the problem. We'd be up eight men and three weeks of damages, easy."

After a bit, the storm blew over, and the pile of bodies, beneath, was revealed. Anders shook his head and shrugged at Cormac. None of them had survived. Anton stepped out of nowhere, and Lilley punched him in the teeth, knocking him back.

"What did I say about my brother?" Cormac roared, indigo blazing around him, as he faded out.

"You usually say he had it coming," Varric pointed out.

"He's got some Coterie problems," Cormac muttered, to Varric.

"He _did_ have that one coming," Lilley said, eyeing Cormac and the indigo glow he'd turned into. "And now I feel better." She held her hands palm out in a gesture of surrender but didn't look the least bit remorseful.

Anton staggered to his feet, tongue probing at his split lip. "Damn Coterie," he muttered, turning his head to spit blood. Anders's hand glowed blue, and Anton's lip healed over. "Thanks."

Anton glared at Lilley, but she was busy poking at the bandits, nudging one corpse with her foot. "Wait," she said, tugging off the corpse's helmet, "I recognise that lout."

"Yeah?" Anton asked. "Are you going to punch him too?"

"I already did," Lilley replied. She shook her head, straightening. "He's in the Coterie. One of that damned fool Brekker's men."

"The _Coterie_ is behind this?" Anton said, exchanging a look with Varric. "Well, that's just a whole new level of stupidity even for you."

Lilley shook her head. "We got explicit orders not to," she scoffed, looking insulted. "Hubert's been good on his payments."

And this? This was why Hubert should have let the Hawkes handle this from the beginning.

"If Brekker ordered this," Lilley went on, "the rest of his life will be very short and painful."

"Brainless Brekker from the south side?" Varric asked, stepping up to get a closer look at the corpse.

Lilley nodded. "He always had more balls than sense, but his lackeys are loyal, so if this guy's here..." She spread her hands for the obvious conclusion.

"I think it's time my brother and I introduce ourselves to Serah Senseless, then," Anton quipped, stepping back, to stay behind Lilley. "I think he needs a lesson in following the directions." Not that Anton had ever beeen any good at following the directions, but he didn't tend to screw up quite this badly. Hitting the same caravan, every trip, for a _year_? That was just asking to be caught.

"I know who to lean on to get answers. Find me in the Undercity." Lilley nodded, before a smile darted across her face. "Of course, we might have to start calling you Hapless Hawke, depending on how you get there..."

"Whatever sacrifices you feel you need to make, I'll be more than happy to accept," Anton warned, stepping past her, finally.  


* * *

Later that night, they did, in fact, find Lilley. Or rather, they found her corpse.

"Oh look at that," Anton said drolly. "Such a shame, really. Struck down in her prime."

Aveline clucked her tongue and smacked him upside the head. Anton made a face at her and knelt next to Lilley's corpse. Her body was still warm, still bleeding from the knife wound to her back.

"Shit," he muttered. "Looks like this just happened."

Varric reacted before the others, Bianca snapping up and pointing over Anton's shoulder. Anton drew his knives as he stood and turned in one fluid motion, spotting the armoured figure standing behind him. Coterie, judging by that armour, the same as Lilley's.

"Don't let them get away!" she shouted, and more Coterie appeared, hemming them in.

"You more of Lilley's 'friends'?" Anton asked the woman he was suddenly staring in the face.

"Lilley was ours. She was working for you. Now she's dead. You get one chance. Did you kill her?" The woman looked angry -- justifiably so, if she was, in fact, a friend of Lilley's, but Anton knew that meant he could keep her off balance, if it came to blades. An angry opponent was usually a dead opponent, except in the case of mages.

"I didn't kill her, but someone did. Someone who might have been more interested in ... well --"

Cormac cut Anton off, mid-sentence. "Interested in me than in her."

"Explain yourself," the woman commanded.

"This is a case of the right hand not knowing what the left is doing," Anton explained. "We've got caravans coming down from the mountains. Lilley was hired by one of the partners to guard those caravans, but one of the 'bandits' we found at the scene is one of Brekker's boys. Last thing we heard from Lilley, she was looking into it, and we were going to meet her here, tonight."

"Obviously, that did not go as planned," Cormac pointed out, "but I'd be looking at Brekker."

"Brekker, hmm? If you're lying, I'll find you," the Coterie woman promised.

"We're not lying, but you're welcome to find me anyway," Varric said with a grin. "I like a girl with talents in the lightfingered arts."

Aveline slapped him across the back of the head, without looking.

The Coterie woman's lips twitched in something that might have become a smile, but she had other things to deal with. "Men, we have to get to the bottom of this. Now." She walked out, and the rest of her crew followed.

"Why do I feel like we've just stepped into the middle of someone else's war?" Cormac asked eyes darting to Varric and then Anton.

Anton's smile was thin. "That's getting to be a familiar feeling," he said, remembering Petrice's body falling to the Chantry floor, a Qunari bolt between her eyes. "But while we're already muddying the waters, why don't we pay this Brekker a visit? You said he was from the southside, Varric? I don't suppose you'd know where we'd find them?"

"Me?" Varric said dramatically, a hand on his chest. "Familiar with someone of such ill repute? Really, Anton."

"If I roll my eyes any harder, they're going to fall out of my head," Aveline muttered, earning a twitch of a smile from Anders.

"Well, I haven't had any dealings with Brekker personally," Varric said, "but I know a guy."

"You know a lot of 'guys'," Anders said, eyes narrowing.

"You better believe it, Blondie," Varric said, grinning. "Just like I know this other guy. He's a Warden apostate, you see, who likes to heal children and cuddle kittens..."

"Oh, ha ha."

"But we're not talking about that guy. We're talking about Brekker, and I can tell you his hideout is close by. Stupid of him to leave Lilley's body so close by, actually. Almost like he's asking us to knock on his door." He indicated a set of stairs with a nod of his head and then led them in that direction.

"Well, let's not keep him waiting!" Cormac urged, smile bright and staff at the ready, as he began the descent. The man with the shields was always point.

They made it to the bottom of the stairs with no difficulty, but a nearby group of thugs spotted them and were spotted at the same time. Anders promptly stuck them to the ground, and Cormac followed with a stun.

"I don't expect we really need to kill them," Anders said. "They'll be out of our way for long enough to sort this situation. And if it doesn't go our way, then we'll smack them twice as stupid on the way back. Show them why mages are feared."

"I'm pretty sure 'fear' and 'mages' usually go together because 'death'," Varric pointed out.

"I'm feeling merciful, today." Anders shrugged.

Varric led them up another flight of stairs and into a twisting passage.

"Down those stairs, up these stairs... Andraste's flaming knickers, who designed this place? It's _crap_!" Cormac complained.

"Well, that's not very nice," sneered another thug. A thug who, judging by the fancier armour, led this band of thugs. "I don't come into your home and insult _your_ stairs."

"That's because our stairs make sense," Anton said. "I take it you're Brekker?" He flexed his grip on the knives in his hands but smiled as though he were simply making small talk.

"And you're those lice-covered refugees," Brekker replied, his smile just as fakely pleasant.

"Lice," Anton scoffed, glancing at Cormac. "Could you imagine if we had lice? Artemis would have a fit." To Brekker, he said, raising his voice so it would carry, "I'm only going to say this once. You need to leave the Bone Pit alone."

Brekker scoffed and traded looks with his men. "You're making demands of me? You own half a stake in that mine, and you think you're somebody, huh? Some Fereldans don't have the courtesy of knowing when to bloody die."

"Oh, allow me..." Cormac purred stretching a hand past Anton and clenching his fist, as more Coterie thugs rushed forward. The sight of their leader folding up like a cheap market stall was enough to put an appropriate fear into some of them, and they turned and ran.

"Ah, good. Smart ones!" Anders stuck the rest of them to the ground. "Surrender or die! The choice is yours! Choose wisely!"

Few of them made the wise choice, and Varric started picking them off, as they struggled to continue their charge. Anton and Aveline took care of the rest.

"I expect that solves your problem, brother!" Anton wiped his daggers on a corpse and sheathed them, before picking through the dead men's pockets.

"And possibly yours as well." Cormac grinned and stretched his fingers. "I can't imagine clearing out this discipline problem the Coterie was having will go unnoticed."

"As little as I like the Coterie," Aveline muttered, "I cannot imagine that what would come up from its ashes would be aught but worse. At least we've taken out the ones who can't even play by their own rules."

"Let us go inform my whiny Orlesian partner that the job is complete, and we have once again solved the problem he couldn't figure out on his own." Cormac was still all smiles as he wrapped an arm around Anders, leading him away from the bloody mess still dripping down the stairs.  


* * *

Aveline returned to her office to update the files on the Coterie. Not that much was in them, but this would be a good place to start adding things, she supposed. The others went to meet with Hubert, in the market.

"I found the thieves responsible for the cargo thefts and put them out of business." Cormac's smile was a little sharper, now, but not so wide as to be threatening.

"Excellent! With that resolved the mine's profits will soar!" Hubert swung an arm jauntily.

"Yes, and the next time it comes to this? Tell me, immediately. We'll be even more profitable if we don't spend a year sorting it out and paying off the Coterie for protection that doesn't actually help." Cormac's eyes hardened over the smile that lingered, still.

"Yes, yes, of course. But, for now, partner, just visit the workers, occasionally. You have a knack for keeping them happy." Hubert nodded, as if this were some strange Ferldan magic that he knew nothing of. Which it might as well have been.

"Possibly because I ensure their safety and pay them what their work is worth," Cormac muttered, turning away and clapping Anton on the back. "So! Mine inspection, this weekend. You in? There might be dragons!"

"If there are more dragons in that hole, I am definitely going." Anton nodded. "We have a mansion. We have a whole estate. I can keep a dragon, if I want one, right? Who's going to tell me no?"

"Bethany," Cormac replied, with a grin.


	118. Chapter 118

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trouble in the mines. Nothing serious, just a few spiders! Maybe some undead...

Anton grabbed a glass of wine and a sandwich and sat in the library. A high-backed chair, a roaring fire, and some trashy reading were how he planned to de-stress from all that Coterie nonsense. He kicked off his shoes and took a bite of ham sandwich, and--

"Maker's sake, Anton, at least use a plate. You're getting crumbs everywhere!"

"Mmf?" The sandwich still in his mouth, Anton peeked around the high-backed chair to see Artemis in the back corner, dusting shelves and reorganising books. It was a familiar sight, but one he hadn't seen in a while. Anton chewed the bit of sandwich in his mouth and swallowed. "Artie? What in Maker's name are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" Artemis answered, barely sparing him a glance. He frowned as he turned over a pair of books, examining their spines. "Though I can never decide if I want to organise them by author or by category. Both? By author within each category? But not all of these have an author -- well, obviously they did, but not _labelled_ \-- and then how do I categorise? For example, should this treatise on the necropolis outside Nevarra City go with other books on art and architecture across Thedas or with the other books on Nevarra's history? Decisions, decisions..."

Anton closed his eyes, took a deep breath. "Artie. Don't you have your own library to fuss over?"

"I... well, yes. But I already reorganised that. Fenris said I was getting twitchy and suggested I get some air and leave the cleaning to Orana." His fingers tapped against the books in his hands.

"So you... came here to clean our house instead?"

"I... got some air in between. On the way over."

"So, I found out we're not the only ones who got out of Lothering. There's this guy from the mine, Sabin, who says he's from there, and given what he knows about Cormac, I stopped doubting him in a hurry." Anton shrugged and took another bite of the sandwich, trying to look casual, as he remembered that part of the conversation. "And Cormac admits to it, too, in that not actually explaining anything sort of way that Cormac has. Something about Gantry Turpin and being the 'crazy Rivaini with the knife'? Do you know anything about that? All he'd tell me is it wasn't my knife." Anton's fingers left dents in the bread, as he tried not to squeeze the sandwich until it crumbled.

Artemis fumbled the book he was putting away. "Gan... Gantry?" Oh Maker. _That_ was his name. Maker knew how Artie had forgotten it with the way Cormac had been shouting it. "The farmer boy?" He coughed, bent to pick up the book he'd dropped. "I mean, uh. No. No idea. Knife? What knife? That is something I totally knew nothing about. Until just now."

"Andraste's blooming asscakes!" Anton dropped the sandwich onto the plate in his lap and shoved the plate onto the table. "It _is_ something sexual, isn't it? And you know all about it, don't you, you poor git. That's... with a _knife_? How--? _Why_ \--? What is _wrong_ with our brother!? How many years, now, after the town was razed to the ground, and _this_ is what people remember our family for?" The wine went into his mouth. All of it. Very quickly. "I am not drunk enough for this. I am not drunk enough to be related to either of you."

"I don't think anyone is ever drunk enough to be related to us," Artie muttered. "Maker knows I'm not drunk enough to _be_ one of us." But in a way, he found Anton's shock reassuring. If the thing with the knife was the worst thing he thought Cormac had done, then they were all better for it. Oh, sweet Andraste, if Anton ever found out about -- no. He was not going there.  


* * *

  


* * *

"Hey Anton!" Cormac thumped his brother's door. "Get your knob out of the templar, and let's go. You said you'd come check the mines with me, today!"

Cormac doubted there would be dragons again, so soon, with the mine being in use, like it was. The old infestation must have settled in between the Tevinter occupation and Hubert's decision to re-open the mine. Still, it was worth going up and making sure nothing untoward was going on -- possessed artefacts, angry demons, five-legged spider constructs the size of an aravel. With the way Hubert had been talking, it sounded like something was wrong, and he wasn't going to admit it. Fucking _Orlesians_. Everything had to be complicated.

Anton whipped the door open, fully dressed and ready to go, one hand counting his knives. "The templar is not here, and my knob is rather sorry about that." He shouldered past Cormac and headed for the stairs. "Some meeting or something, at sunrise. It was still dark when he got up. Who does that?" Anton sounded profoundly irritated at the idea of making someone get up at that hour -- an hour he generally considered appropriate for getting home and considering sleep.

"Templars. Templars do that. Just another reason to tear down the system." Cormac grinned and picked up his staff, from where he'd left it in the hall. All the miners knew he was a mage, but he was _their_ mage -- the heroic magical solution to their problems. "Speaking of the system, Aveline coming along?"

"Yeah, she wouldn't miss it for the world. Still looking for something to take Hubert down." Anton laughed and checked his face in the mirror, before opening the front door. "It's kind of fun, being on the right side of a guard captain."

"Only you, Anton. And if she takes Hubert down, I will go to the Viscount to get the rest of that mine. It's all Fereldan workers, and it's in the Marches. There's no reason for some prancy Orlesian who can barely put his shoes on to be skimming the better part of the take. I am extremely aware he's been cheating me, for years, but I make enough that I'm not complaining." Cormac pulled the door shut behind him.

 

* * *

They arrived at the Bone Pit to find the miners milling about, some looking battered and all looking harried. Anton recognised Jansen, one of the original miners from that first incident, the one with the dragon he hadn't been allowed to take home. Jansen jumped to his feet when he saw them and ran to meet them.

"Thank the Maker you're here!" he said. "We've had to lock down the mines."

"Not more dragons, I hope," Anton said. "Are there dragons?" Aveline gave him a look, and he realised he might have sounded more excited than was appropriate.

"Andraste's tits, no," Jansen said, eyes widened. "And thank the Maker for that. No, Crankovich was clearing out a collapsed section when giant spiders poured out the new opening. They got Crankovich, poor sod. Rest of us made it out, but now we're sitting here with our thumbs up our asses."

"Spiders. Why is it always spiders?" Cormac shook his head. "Well, at least they're not five-legged, holy, mechanical spiders, this time." He paused and shot a look at Jansen. "They're not, are they?"

"No, boss, just the regular giant kind. Unholy in every way."

"Right. We'll see what we can do." Cormac nodded and pointed firmly toward the tunnel entrance. "Tally-ho!"

"One!" Varric called out, pointing at Cormac's back.

Aveline stared at him, confused.

"What? Isabela's not here, so there's one." Varric laughed and followed the Hawkes into the mine.

"I'm not a ho, Varric. That implies I have a price. I'm much too cheap for that," Cormac assured him, not turning around.

"Try not to get killed!" Jansen called after them.

"'Try' is all I can ever do with these idiots," Aveline sighed.

Inside, the mines looked deserted, still. Anton brushed a spider web away from his face, pausing to shake it off his hand. "Love what you've done with the place, Cormac," he said. "Now, if you had let me _keep_ the dragon, it would have eaten those spiders and saved us the trouble."

"Probably would have eaten the miners too," Varric said, "but hey! No spiders." He pointed Bianca at the ceiling, squinting up at the mess of webbing above, the the torch and lantern light didn't reach.

Anton looked up as well, watching shadows scurry past. He plucked more webbing out of his hair and hummed.

"Well, we're not going to have spiders for long, if I have any say in it." Cormac looked up and considered the webbing. "You guys think you can handle whatever makes a break for this tunnel?" he asked, cracking his knuckles.

"I haven't even heard this idea and I already don't like it," Aveline grumbled, unsheathing her sword.

"Visibility's kind of shit with all the webbing, but I don't think there's much getting past us. What're you thinking, Shouty?" Varric squinted into the gloom, checking the angles. He'd been in here, before, but he didn't know it well enough to go at it blind.

"You take out the dragons, you take out the spiders, what's going to come up here, next, dwarven revenants?" Anton sighed dramatically. "One of these days, you're going to dig up something really nasty."

"Like what, an ancient dwarven thaig full of demonic rocks? Oh, wait, we already did that." Cormac lightly shoved Anton. "I'm thinking I should light it on fire. Webbing burns well, and it burns fast. I can blow out the whole room in a couple of minutes, and then it's just us and whatever survives. If I throw a shield on the far door, everything runs toward us."

"That's the sound of a man thinking ahead!" Varric declared.

"A stampede of spiders, headed right for us? Oh, yes, that's the best idea I've heard all day," Aveline scoffed, but it was too late.

The room ahead of them went up in flames, fire racing along the walls and ceiling, spiders dropping in its wake. A few loud pops from spiders bursting in the heat told Cormac he'd made a good decision, and Varric picked off most of the rest, before they even got close.

"It's like shooting fish in a barrel. But, spiders. And an inferno. It's like shooting spiders in an inferno!" he laughed, taking another shot.

Anton rather liked this method of killing spiders. Much more efficient than getting spider guts on the soles of his shoes, though dodging shrivelled spider bodies as they fell was perhaps less fun. And when he and Aveline hacked at the few that made it past the fire and Bianca's bolts, they ended up covered in spider guts anyway.

But then they came face to face -- or face to leg -- with the mother of all spiders, or at least what Anton assumed was the mother of _these_ spiders. Not quite the size of a varterral, assuming Cormac hadn't been exaggerating, but still pretty fucking huge.

Anton scuttled back and away from those wicked pincers while Varric stuffed the giant spider full of bolts. Eight legs flailed and spasmed when a bolt hit the thing in the eye, and Aveline pressed her advantage, hacking at its softer bits.

There was quite a bit of sweating and swearing involved, but eventually the spider slumped to the ground.

"Well, if I'd known it would be this clean, I'd have brought Artie along," Cormac joked, looking around at the distinct lack of spider guts on everything.

"I think he's over at Merrill's again," Anton said, wiping off his daggers. "I heard him talking to Bethany, in the library, the other night. What are you guys doing, anyway? Something about elves and a mirror that isn't a mirror?"

"Pretty much that, yeah." Cormac nodded. "Merrill found a thing, but it doesn't work. If it did work, it would let us talk to other people who also have a thing like it. So, we're trying to make it work."

"You could've just said 'weird elfy magic shit', and we'd all have gotten the point, Shouty." Varric patted Cormac on the elbow as he took another quick circuit around the queen.

"You know me. Why say one word, when I can say ten?" Cormac shrugged and dropped the shield on the next door. "I just want to make sure we've gotten rid of this infestation, before we head back out. You're welcome to check for dragons, Anton."

Anton chuffed as he walked around, toeing aside burnt spider husks and making sure the things were dead. "No, no dragons caught in the webbing." He sighed dramatically. "I told you you should have let me keep that last one!"

"Congratulations," Varric said to Cormac as he finished his circuit. "The only living spiders I see are the usual, normal-sized ones. If your miners need you to kill those too, I'd leave it to the Orlesian."

"Now that I would like to see," Anton said, picturing Hubert in his fine clothes, stomping baby spiders.

Aveline shook her head, wiping spider gunk off her sword.

"Shall we?" Varric nodded back towards the entrance, Bianca slung over his shoulder.

"Sure. Let's. You guys mind hanging around for a day?" Cormac asked, following Varric toward the exit from the caverns. "I just want to make sure I don't have to come back out here, tomorrow, because we missed something."

"You want us to camp. In a spider-infested mine?" Aveline looked at Cormac like he was beyond stupid.

"Well, it's not spider-infested any more!" Anton said, cheerily, clapping Aveline on the shoulder, hand clanking against the plate.

"You know I have a husband I could be getting back to? A warm bed? A hot supper?" Aveline went on.

"And I could be going home to a warm bed and a hot cock, but here I am," Cormac drawled. "Come on, it's just one night. You'll be back by the afternoon."

Aveline grumbled, as Cormac went to talk to Jansen again.

"All clear," Cormac said, holding up one thumb.

"Thank the Maker! And thank you!" Jansen's enthusiasm bubbled over, all smiles and broad gestures. After a moment, his face twisted grimly. "Wow... is that what the inside of a spider smells like?"

"Roasted." Cormac nodded.

"Let's get back to work, boys!" Jansen called to the miners. "Roasted spider's not going to clear itself!"

"Well," Cormac remarked, "with that, we might not even be here all night."

The mines still reeked of burnt spiders when Jansen approached them again, his face ashen. He stood in front of the group and waited until he had their attention. "So, funny story," he said, punctuated by a nervous laugh. "My friend Earl and I were just checking the side passages for spiders. I asked him what more the mines could throw at us: dragons, spiders, Hubert... And here comes Crankovich, limping towards us and moaning."

"Crankovich?" Anton asked. "Wasn't he spider food?"

Jansen nodded enthusiastically. "That's what I thought! I even said so. I said, 'Oy, Crankovich! Thought them spiders got you.'"

Varric snorted. "And what did Crankovich say?"

"One word: 'urgh'."

"'Urgh'?"

"Yeah, 'urgh'. And then he tried to eat Earl! That's when we figured out something was wrong." Another nervous laugh. "Good thing you guys decided to stick around. Looks like we let in a horde of undead. Makes me wish I'd taken up farming."

Anton glanced at his brother. "Okay, seriously? Is there some ancient Tevinter curse on this mine or something?"

"Maybe I should drag Anders and Fenris up here to take a look around. There's enough Tevinter history between the two of them. I'm sure there were some nasty enchantments up here, at one point, given the evidence. Dragons, slaves, actual pit full of bones. There has to be something else up here." Cormac shook his head and looked back at Jansen. "You didn't burn the body?"

"Well, it's early, yet. You know, thought we could just bring him down when the cart came up in the morning with the next shift!" Jansen looked offended. "It's on his wife to burn him, isn't it? I couldn't bring the poor lady a bucket of ashes!"

"Unfortunately, you're going to have to bring the poor lady a bucket of ashes," Varric said fishing out a tiny tool and tightening one of Bianca's bolts. He checked the tautness on the string again and nodded to himself.

"Possessed dead. I should have brought Bethy," Cormac sighed, heading back toward the mine entrance.

Aveline brought up the rear, distinctly unamused. "I am a captain of the guard, not a mercenary. How do I keep ending up in the middle of nowhere, fighting spiders and the undead, when I could be taking down smugglers?"

"Hubert," Anton reminded her. "Aren't you after Hubert for something?"

"As soon as I find something I don't have to smack Cormac for, as well..." Aveline muttered.

"I'm telling you, the books are bad, and he's ripping me off," Cormac insisted, setting fire to anything that fluttered suspiciously, as they passed. There would be far fewer spiderwebs, if nothing else.

"Except he's an Orlesian noble, and something stupid about the tax code makes that not actually illegal. It's a loophole." Aveline drew her sword at the sight of the very different lighting coming through from one of the tunnels, ahead. "Is that..."

Cormac groaned. "An ancient part of the Deep Roads, with demon-possessed corpses in it? Why yes. Yes, it is."

"You!" Anton seethed. "You brought this on us! You had to say the thing about the dwarves and the demons, and here we are, again, with the dwarves and the demons! What is it with Kirkwall!?"

"Behind you," Cormac sighed, slapping a wall of ice across several skeletons. "You mind pummelling things, Aveline?"

"Mind?" Aveline scoffed, adjusting her grip on her shield. "I think I'm rather in a pummelling sort of mood today." She punctuated each word with a smack of her shield, and the clang of bone on metal rang through the mines. Skeletons. If she'd known there'd be skeletons, she'd have brought a mace or a cudgel. Swords were less helpful when there was no flesh to be stabbed. Then again, if she'd known there'd be skeletons, she likely would have stayed in Kirkwall.

Anton was having similar issues, opting to punch the skeletons with the haft and hilt of his daggers. The skeletons were old enough that their skulls caved in easily. Varric finished off the rest with a few bolts between eye sockets.

"Honestly," Varric sighed, checking to see if any of his fired bolts were salvageable, "I don't know if it's me who's cursed or if it's you Hawkes. But either way, we should probably stop investing in ventures that involve going underground.

"That's the most sense I've ever heard Varric speak," Aveline muttered as she took point, walking shield-first into the next string of rooms.

Cormac just kept laying down ice. If he could keep the skeletons brittle, they'd be easier to break into bits. Freeze, smash, freeze, smash. Things were going well, but he still had no idea what the problem actually was. Why were there suddenly undead rising here? It wasn't like they just staggered to their feet of their own accord and started pounding on people. Of course, they'd punched through into the Deep Roads, and Andraste only knew what had been down here. Probably worth sealing up that passage, and marking it, just to keep the darkspawn from burbling up into his mine. On the other hand, if there were dwarven mines, down here, there was a chance they'd be profoundly more profitable than the Tevinter mines above. Still, darkspawn. It was a terrible idea, at least until he'd found some dwarves to come with him and map it out -- figure out what they'd stumbled into.

More ice, more smashing.

And then something lifted off the ground, behind the giant brazier in the centre of the room they were in.

"Mage!" Cormac yelled a warning, pointing and then clenching his fist. "I got this. Keep hitting things."

It wasn't really a mage -- not like the word was usually meant -- but it had been, once. Tevinter, from the look of what was left of its robes. The arcane horror was probably the source of the rest of the undead. All it took was one demon powerful enough to reach through on its own, and the others would follow as it raised corpses with them. If he took it down, they'd stop coming. He hoped.

"Good thing Broody isn't here," Varric said, backing up to put Aveline between him and the arcane horror. "A dead Tevinter mage? He'd be hissing and spitting." He picked off the other skeletons, shooting through skulls before they could shamble too close. It was a bit more tedious than the spiders, but he supposed bone was less flammable.

Varric was in the middle of nocking his next bolt when the room shifted, floor whirling by until he smacked into an armoured skeleton face-first. Nose-first, specifically. He was still swearing and seeing stars when Aveline grabbed him by the back of the collar and hauled him back. She avenged his nose by shield-slamming the revenant in the face where its nose would have been.

"You're a true friend," Varric said, pinching his bleeding nose.

"I try," Aveline replied distractedly, fending the monster back. "Cormac! Can you throw some ice over here?" Sword slammed into shield, again and again, Aveline's arm going numb.

Cormac whipped a hand in that direction and was sadly disappointed. A light sprinkle of snow fluttered over Aveline and the revenant, and Cormac staggered as the arcane horror finally landed a shot. "Anders!" he shouted, before realising Anders wasn't there. "Well, shit."

"I knew this was going to happen," Anton sighed, pressing a bottle into Cormac's hand as he darted by, in pursuit of something that looked like it might get back up.

Fending off the arcane horror with his staff, Cormac knocked back the potion and winged the bottle and a bolt of frost at the revenant, before turning the ice on the arcane horror, as well. The arcane horror crumpled, finally, and Anton leapt in from wherever he'd been lurking to jump up and down on the bones.

"It's not getting back up, if there aren't enough parts that go together!" Anton said, cheerily, grinding a piece of skull under his heel.

"Two Hawkes," Cormac said, turning back to the revenant. "One of us had to be thinking."

Ice caught in the revenant's joints, slowing it just enough for Aveline to muscle past its defences, and she brought her shield down hard against its collarbone, striking between plates of armour. Brittle bone crunched and crumbled, and Aveline kept whacking away until she'd separated first one arm, then its head from its body. It crumpled as well in a heap of bones and rusted armour, but Aveline put a boot through its skull just in case.

Catching her breath, Aveline looked around to see the battle was over. "Was that all of them?" she asked, wiping the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. "They're not going to get back up, are they?"

"And this is why we're torching Crankovich," Varric said, shouldering Bianca.

After they'd dragged everything dead into one room, Cormac lit the pile on fire. It might be fairer to say he lit the room on fire, and after a bit of shoving and bending things, they managed to seal it off.

"Let's not do that again," Anton said, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, as he took in the magically-fused pile of busted dwarfy stuff that was heaped in front of the door.

"All in favour, say aye," Cormac droned, raising his hand. "Aye."


	119. Chapter 119

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of one problem loops back to the beginning of another.

As they headed out, again, Anton picked through piles of rocks and broken armour that had likely been there since the First Blight. "Hey, Aveline, elf-helmet?" he tossed it to her.

"It's green. Very elfy. I don't think it would fit on my head, though, and it looks like it's got spiders in it." Aveline squinted into the helm, holding it at arm's length.

Cormac flicked a hand, and the cobwebs burst into flame. Aveline dropped the helmet in surprise.

"Nope. No spiders. Had enough spiders, for one day," Cormac muttered.

"Mallet of I hope to Andraste there used to be a statue that was attached to?" Anton asked, not even trying to pick the thing up.

"Nah, that's just a good warhammer. Best you don't try to pick it up, though. Your skinny pickpocket arms would pop right off." Varric laughed and slapped Anton on the back, as he passed.

Anton gave the hammer an appraising look. "Care to make it interesting? Ten silver says I can lift it."

Varric turned, walking backward as he considered.

"No," Aveline cut in, calling over her shoulder and not breaking stride. "No bets. No skeletons. No lifting of ancient warhammers. And definitely no staying in these cursed tunnels. Now come on!"

Anton followed, exchanging a look with Varric.

"Too bad," said the dwarf as he turned to walk forward again. "Would have been easy money, noodle-arms."

Back out in the recently-spider-infested part of the mines, the miners waited anxiously, cleaning up the last of the spider remnants.

"You're not dead!" Jansen greeted them, throwing his arms wide. "And you're not trying to eat Earl, so you're not undead either!"

"Nope, not dead!" Anton agreed cheerfully. "But those skeletons back there are." He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. "Well, deader, anyway. Properly dead, this time, complete with fire."

"Did you happen to see Crankovich in there?" Jansen asked, glancing nervously over his shoulder. "No. Don't tell me. Don't need more nightmares."

"Don't worry. I think we set fire to all the nightmare fuel," Varric reassured him. "Pretty good fuel for the flames, too."

"That's good, that's good..." Jansen looked over his shoulder again. "Listen, boss, while you're still up here and all, you think you can do something about these shoddy pickaxes? They break their handles more often than they break rock."

"Ah, Hubert, too stupid to invest in proper equipment." Cormac rubbed his face and groaned.

"I asked Hubert for new ones, ages ago, and he just ignored me! I even found a smith in Lowtown that sells 'em cheap. If you could go buy them for us, maybe we could actually get some work done." Jansen shrugged and gestured to a pile of busted axehandles.

"What's your man's name?" Cormac asked. "I'll go down there and see what I can do."

"I don't actually recall," Jansen admitted, looking at his feet and tugging at his ear, as he tried to remember. "He's a smith, though. Can't be too many of those in Lowtown."

Anton coughed. "Foundry district," he muttered, and Aveline cuffed him up the back of the head.

"I'll ask around. Send them up when I get a man to make them." Cormac nodded and shook Jansen's hand.

"Thanks, boss." Jansen turned around and yelled to the milling miners. "Back to work, boys! Last one in burns the corpses!"

"Pickaxes," Aveline said as they took off for Kirkwall. "Now _that_ is the sort of problem a mine should have."

"Unless they're cursed pickaxes," Anton said cheerfully. "Always a possibility with this mine."

"Maybe if you pee on them," Varric muttered. Anton made a face, and Varric threw up his hands. "Hey, that seems to be a theme! You pee on something you shouldn't, and it comes to life and attacks you!" He paused to squint at Anton. "Is that why there were undead? Anton, what did you do?"

Anton gestured wildly, apoplectic. " _What_? Oh, for the love of--!"

"I do not know any of you," Aveline muttered to herself, eyes rolling skyward.  


* * *

They headed for the Foundry District, agreeing on the walk over that they would stop at the Hanged Man after the pickaxe problem was settled. They also agreed that Cormac would pay. Or at least Varric, Aveline, and Anton agreed. Not that it mattered to Anton, since he'd planned to just lift the coin from his brother anyway.

"Hey, Varric, you're with the Merchants' Guild. Who does good business, down here?" Cormac asked, as they headed down the stairs.

"Well, the obvious choice is Smith." Varric nodded and pointed in the direction of an armourer's stand.

"...Smith? That's... less than descriptive." Aveline pointed out.

"Just wait."

The man in the leather apron appeared to be the one they were looking for.

"You're the smith?" Cormac asked.

"I'm a smith," the man said.

"Smith your name or your profession?" Cormac asked, catching on.

"Yep." Smith the smith's eyes sparkled with amusement.

"I'm looking for someone who can do supply quality pickaxes for the miners at the Bone Pit. And that's the Captain of the Guard with me, so don't yank my chain. We've had a very bad run of pickaxes, lately, and I'm not looking for a repeat." Cormac looked more tired than anything else, and he realised he'd gone since breakfast on nothing but a lyrium potion.

"It'll cost you." Smith shrugged, apparently unoffended by Cormac's blunt approach.

"I'd tell you to bill the house, but we haven't done business before." Cormac picked through his pouches, thick fingered, until he finally gave up and just dropped a fistful of sovereigns into the man's hand. "What'll this buy me?"

"Enough. I'll send 'em." Smith nodded.

"If a man called Jansen comes back with an order for more, bill the house and I'll take care of it," Cormac said, nodding slowly. "Anton? You lead the way." He clapped his brother on the back and then held on to his shoulder for balance. "Sandwiches and beer. We need sandwiches and beer."

"You know, Anton, I haven't heard anything from you about the Arishok, yet," Aveline said, squinting pointedly at the rogue in question.

"Oh, crap, I knew there was something." Anton shook his head. "Get me in the morning. Some time after I've gotten a sandwich into Cormac." He jabbed his brother in the ribs with one elbow, but Cormac didn't even flinch. The shields really were eternal.

"Varric heard you say it. I'll be there in the morning. And that's my definition of morning," Aveline warned.  


* * *

  


* * *

Still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Anton followed Aveline as she marched through Hightown and towards the Docks. Her definition of morning was his definition of night, and the sun was only just peeking over the horizon, pale light filling the otherwise empty streets. Empty because most sane people were still sleeping, as Anton muttered more than once.

"You whine more than Mintaka," Aveline told him without a trace of pity.

"Of course I do. Mintaka's still tucked up in bed."

They approached the Qunari Compound to find the gate closed and a Qunari guard stationed outside. A few men and women of the Kirkwall guard waited on the steps, standing at attention when they caught sight of Aveline. Anton struggled to keep his expression neutral. Were this many guards necessary? Just how bad had this gotten?

The Qunari glanced at Anton but didn't bow his head and open the door as Anton had come to expect.

Aveline walked up to the Qunari guard, shoulders back and chin held high. "I request an audience with the Arishok," she said. "Along with my companion, Anton Hawke."

Anton smiled politely before smothering a yawn.

The Qunari considered them both and the guards at their shoulders, his face impassive. "He will allow it," he said.

"Shanedan," the Arishok said, slowly, hefting his axe to rest it on his shoulder. He stood before them, at the base of a tall set of stairs, which was unusual, Anton thought. Normally, the Arishok sat, posed so his dispassion and certainty would be clear. Today he looked as if he might be going to war, and Anton sincerely hoped it wouldn't be with him.

Aveline stepped forward to speak first, craning her neck to look up at the Arishok's face. "Greetings, Arishok. We come regarding the elven fugitives that took refuge here."

"Irrelevant. I would speak to Hawke about the relic stolen from my grasp." The Arishok's eyes bored into Anton.

"If it's a book, I'm afraid one of my former companions has it." Anton shrugged and looked up just as calmly. "But, she's gone."

"Her part was clear. Your admission ... is welcome." The Arishok looked somewhat surprised, the axe coming down from his shoulder, to rest on the ground.

"An issue for another time," Aveline insisted. "We're here for the fugitives."

Anton shot her a stern look, but she didn't see him.

"The elves are now viddathari," the Arishok explained,as if speaking to a small child. "They have chosen to submit to the Qun.They will be protected." This last was both a statement and a threat.

"Have they truly converted?" Anton asked. "Or are they simply using you as a shield?"

"They have chosen," the Arishok said, his voice steel, "and so have I." And didn't that just sound wonderfully ominous. Aveline and Anton exchanged a furtive glance. "You have not hidden the abuses of your zealots, or the corruption of this city. You will understand why I must do this." The Arishok signalled to one of his soldiers. "Let us look at your 'dangerous' criminals."

Anton looked back to see a pair of elves being escorted in. They were scrawny even by elf standards, or at least looked it next to their Qunari guards.

"Speak, viddathari," the Arishok told the elves. "Who did you murder and why?"

One of the elves stepped forward, eyeing Aveline's armour with contempt. "A city guard forced himself on our sister," he said. "We reported him... or tried to. But they did nothing about it, no matter what we said. So my brothers and I paid him a visit."

Aveline bristled, jaw clenching. "That doesn't excuse murder!"

"Yes, it does." Anton blinked at Aveline. "Are these elves telling the truth?"

"There have been rumours," Aveline admitted. "I will investigate. But, these two still took the law into their own hands!"

"Will investigate? _Will_?" Anton was beside himself. "You say that like you're not already investigating it. I went to Cullen about the problems in the Order, because I was sure he didn't know. And he didn't. But, you? I didn't think I'd have to check up on you, Aveline! That could have been you, and the only reason it wasn't is because you're a soldier, and nobody's stupid enough to try."

"Sometimes, it is necessary," the Arishok agreed, "to take the law into one's own hands."

"Like you avenged the Viscount's son? It was not right then, and it is not right now," Aveline declared.

"I could argue that one either way," Anton muttered. "Petrice was a public nuisance, and she almost started a war. Nevermind the Viscount or his son."

"Anton, this is the opposite of helping," Aveline snapped, hands clenching like she might punch him if he didn't shut up.

"Their actions are mere symptoms. Your society is the disease." The Arishok hefted his axe, looking as if he'd made a decision.

"I keep saying that, but nobody listens to _me_ ," Anton said leaning toward Aveline and gesturing at the Arishok. "Not that I think the Qun is always the correct answer, but the Viscount's toothless, the guards are raping people, the templars are killing people, and everyone thinks it's weird that I invite elves to my parties as guests rather than servants. I invite Qunari, too, but you guys never show up."

The Arishok stepped closer, looming over Aveline. She craned her neck back to meet his stare. "They have chosen," he said. "The viddathari will submit to the Qun and find a path your way has denied them."

"You can't just decide that," Aveline said, fighting to keep her voice level. Fists clenched at her sides. "You _must_ hand them over."

The Arishok stared down at her, his expression going somehow colder, stonier than usual. Anton looked at Aveline, then around them for the nearest exit.

"Tell me, Hawke," said the Arishok, his stare falling to Anton, "what would you do in my place?"

Aveline looked at him too, the tilt of her brow somehow both pleading and threatening as Anton struggled to answer. He was going to disappoint her, he knew. But then she'd already disappointed him.

"I wouldn't give them up," Anton said bluntly, honestly, because that was a language the Arishok understood. "They deserve another chance."

" _Anton_ ," Aveline breathed.

"Exactly so," said the Arishok, nodding. "I cannot leave without the relic, and I cannot stay and remain blind to this dysfunction." His words were clipped, years of frustration and rage finally splintering his stony mask. "There is only one solution."

"Arishok," Aveline held up her hands, placatingly. "There is no need for--"

The Arishok stopped her with a finger on her lips, and then turned around to take a few steps up the stairs. "Vinek kathas," he said, as he left.

The Qunari along the walls waited until the Arishok had gotten out of range, before showering the group in the courtyard with their spears. Guards fell, platemail no match for the heavy spears, and Aveline glanced around in a panic. Anton reappeared at her other side, slipping out from between a banner and a crumpling Qunari who never even saw him.

"Go, go! Not here, it's too open!" Aveline shouted, notching a spear, as she batted it aside with her sword, and stabbing the Qunari wielding it.

Anton punched another Qunari in the nose and slit his throat as he staggered. "I'll give you that," he said, making for the exit and doing as much damage as possible, on the way.

"Hawke!" the Arishok called after Anton, as he made it to the gate.

Anton turned, hesitating, something could have been done. This wasn't supposed to end like this. He looked regretful as he shrugged expressively, in the Arishok's direction, but the Arishok's spear cut off any further conversation, as Anton ducked behind a gatepost to avoid it. He followed Aveline out onto the docks, without another look back.

Aveline and Anton continued running until they made it to Lowtown. Slowing, Anton dared a look around and found the street deserted. Their pursuers must have broken away a few blocks back.

"Can you hear it?" Aveline asked. Her voice was calm, collected, but her face was ashen under her freckles. "The Qunari must be spreading out. They're attacking the city!"

The sounds of battle were all around them, the clang of weapons and the screams of the dying. "Not again," Anton murmured. For a moment, he was back in Lothering, dogged by darkspawn instead of Qunari.

"What could they possibly hope to accomplish?" Aveline said.

"I don't think the Arishok is looking to 'accomplish' anything," Anton replied. "I don't think he cares what happens after this." He shook himself, wiping a hand over his face. "We need to find the others. Bethany, my brothers..."

"What we need to do is find a way to stop this," Aveline insisted. "The Qunari are assaulting the city -- and fast." Too fast, like the Arishok had planned this. "We should head to the Keep to rally the guardsmen."

" _After_ we find my family," Anton said. And Cullen, he thought but didn't say. At least he knew Cullen could handle himself. "We'll have to check the Hanged Man. I bet Varric's there. And... isn't the Alienage up this way? Someone needs to tell them what's happened, if the Qunari haven't already killed them all. I hope Merrill's all right. But, my family should all be in Hightown. As long as we keep heading up the bridges, we'll get to them. Cormac thinks with his ass, half the time, but this is what our dad raised him to do, so you need him. And that's a terrifying thought. They have the Arishok. We have my brother."

He turned down the Alienage stairs to find a nearly-empty courtyard around the vhenadahl. Bodies littered the ground, but surprisingly few.

"Who goes there?" came a shout from an alley between two houses, and Anton nudged Aveline into the light, as he stepped back.

"Guard Captain," Aveline called. "Are there any survivors?"

Carver stepped out of the alley, sword hanging from one hand. "Aveline? Thank the Maker! The Qunari--"

"We know." Anton stepped out of a shadow and squeezed his brother's arm. "It's why we're here. The Arishok's gotten tired of this shit and tired of this town, and I'm thinking he's going to kill everyone and go out in a blaze of glory -- or at least he's going to try. Survivors?"

"Anders got almost everyone out, down the sewer. Sent them to rouse the Coterie -- and I'm not sure about the wisdom in that -- and to get to his clinic. Darktown's probably safer than up here, right now." Carver shook his head and looked around at the dead and the damage done. "We have to stop them."

Merrill and Anders stepped out of another alley, spells half-cast at their fingertips.

"Oh! Anton!" Merrill waved and darted across the courtyard. "The Qunari--"

"We were there when it started," Aveline assured her.

"We need to get everyone out of here," Anders insisted, glancing around the empty Alienage. "Lowtown, I mean. This place is shit. Someone lights a fire, and the whole thing's going up."

"Darktown's already full of people. You saw. They'll be fine, Anders." Merrill tried her best to be reassuring. "These people have lived here for years. They know when to run."

"We're heading to Hightown," Anton said. "The estate -- well, estates -- and then the Keep. We think that's where the Arishok is heading."

"Right," Carver said, nodding and hefting his sword. "Let's go, then."

He and Aveline took point as they raced through the city's streets, past rubble and corpses and burning buildings. People fled by in the opposite direction, making for Darktown, and Anders spared what healing he could as they passed.

The sounds of battle grew louder as they rounded the corner of the Hanged Man, and they found what looked like a bar brawl gone horribly wrong. Patrons fended off Qunari with broken bottles, though a few Qunari fell with a bolt between the eyes.

"Varric!" Anders called, waving his hand and sticking the Qunari to the ground. Justice sat at attention when more magic stirred the air, magic that wasn't Anders's.

"Down!" Cormac shouted, from where he stood on a table, in the back of the room, lashing out with a wave of frost, in one direction, and a wave of electricity, as he brought his hand back the other way.

The locals staggered back to their feet, finding the remaining Qunari much easier to handle, once they were frozen.

Scanning the bar, Cormac's eyes caught a flicker of blue, near the door. "Anders? That you, over there?" he called across the room. "We've almost got this settled."

Carver cut down a frozen Qunari, iced bits of flesh scattering across the floor. "Sure, say hello to the mage lover you see every day and not to the brother you haven't seen in months."

Anton rolled his eyes and stabbed another Qunari between the ribs. Aveline smashed the last one into bits with her shield.

"You don't glow in the dark, Carver. You're a little harder to spot." Cormac jumped down from the table and crossed the room to see who they'd gathered. "You and Merrill doing all right?" he asked, clanking a hand against Carver's platemail.

"We're headed for the Keep, right?" he asked Aveline. "If the Arishok takes the city, it's going to look amazing in the history books. But, we need Bethany. I'm not going in there without the Duchess of Delusions. Not if we don't know how many Qunari are on the other side of those doors."

Aveline nodded. "We're stopping by the estate anyway. Maker willing, that's where she is. But we need to hurry."

Varric appeared from behind the bar, Bianca strapped to his back. "Well," he sighed, "looks like the city's gone to shit. Anton, what did you pee on?"

"This again?" Anton scoffed. "I'll have you know that I've inflicted my Fereldan horseradish on no Qunari."

"I can vouch that he didn't pee on anything," Aveline said as she led them back out onto Lowtown's streets, "not unless you mean metaphorically."

Anton glared at the back of Aveline's head. "You can be pissed at me later, Aveline. We are not doing this now."

"You're right," Aveline said, words clipped. "We are not."


	120. Chapter 120

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uh, yeah, we know it's the event of the year and all, but who invited the Knight-Commander?

The streets opened up onto the Lowtown market, or on what once had been a market and was now a battlefield. Qunari clashed with armoured figures, and when Anton turned, he saw Bethy's favourite Nevarran restaurant ablaze. Almost without thinking, Cormac laid a blizzard on it. He couldn't get a clear enough angle to hit more than one Qunari, though, with the... that wasn't armour from around here -- those were Wardens. There were Wardens in his way.

Cormac and Anders looked at each other in confusion, for a moment, before Cormac clenched his fist, and a Qunari started to bleed from the eyes. Beside him, Anders started throwing bolts of lightning into the crowd. At least his aim was better than Artie's, Cormac thought. Merrill joined them, after a moment, a Qunari erupting in boils and blisters as the blood tried to bubble out through his skin.

Aveline and Carver joined the clash, from a closer vantage, swords biting into the walls of towering Qunari before them. "Ice!" Carver yelled, and three Qunari froze, one after another. He didn't know which mage that was, and he didn't care. Around them, Qunari continued to implode and explode as Cormac and Merrill kept casting. Anders seemed to have gotten pulled away to keep them all alive.

No one had seen Anton for several minutes, when a fountain of blood erupted from the throat of a Qunari warrior, and Anton shoved the bleeding corpse aside. Crossbow bolts appeared from nowhere, as the battle dragged on, almost always shots in the eye.

Carver spun, sword clattering against a shield, behind him. "Oh. Sorry. Don't sneak up on me." He laughed and looked around, waiting for more Qunari to come pouring out of the alleys.

"On the list of things I thought might happen today," said the Warden leader, a blond man with a lopsided smile, "a Qunari attack would have been near the bottom."

"Only near the bottom?" Anton asked, his usually charming smile just a little strained. He plucked one of his throwing daggers from a Qunari's throat. "Must be an interesting list."

"Wardens. You'd be surprised what makes it on there."

Anders huffed a wry laugh before clearing his throat and looking away, taking a step to the side to hide behind Cormac's impressive shoulders. He was too tall to hide well, however, and the Warden spotted him, his stare lingering.

"Hey," he said, drawing out the one syllable and scratching at the scruff on his chin. "You... look familiar."

"Do I? No, I don't." Anders shook his head, laughing nervously.

"You do. Wait. Hold on. Anders. You're that Anders fellow, aren't you? Solona was tearing her hair out trying to find you! And you know how she is about her hair. Terribly vain, that woman."

"I sent her a letter, earlier in the year, and I just saw Sigrun, last month!" Anders protested. "I just... had to take care of some things, after that ... If you know she was looking for me, then you know some very bad things went down in Amaranthine. She's got me working up here, now, keeping an eye on the refugees." Anders paused squinting at the Warden. "So, that's me. You found me. You can tell her I'm fine, if I don't tell her myself, first. Doesn't answer who you are, that Solona's telling you wild stories about me."

"My name's Alistair," the Warden introduced himself. "I worked with her during--"

"You. You're that used-to-be-a-Templar that Zevran used to talk about! With the licking of lamp-posts and making cow-eyes at that rogue lady," Anders laughed.

Alistair groaned and buried his face in his hand. "Oh, Maker. You've been talking to Zev. Don't believe any of it."

"As lovely as this is," Anton interrupted, "if we don't get my sister and get to the keep, Kirkwall's coming down. You two can catch up over drinks after we stop the Qunari from taking the city."

"Well, I'd like nothing better than to stay and help, but the mission we're on can't be delayed." Alistair shrugged and waved for his men to follow him.

"There's something more important than an invasion?" Cormac asked, but Anders put a hand on his shoulder.

"He can't get involved unless he gets attacked," Anders said, quietly, shaking his head.

"I can't say any more. I wish I could, but I swore on my pinky to keep the Wardens' secrets." Alistair turned his palms out, regretfully. He started walking back towards the Docks. "Maker watch over you, my friend," he paused to say. "And over us all."

"Well," Carver mumbled as the Wardens disappeared from sight, "that was less than useful."

"Rather like you," Anton said with a teasing smile and a pat on Carver's shoulder.

With the market clear, so was the bridge into Hightown, the market deserted but in better condition than Lowtown's. Stone buildings were considerably less flammable, and, judging by the lack of corpses, most of Hightown's nobles had gotten wind of the attack in time to take shelter. At least that's what Anton assumed and hoped. He spared a thought for the Blooming Rose and Serendipity but had to trust that they would be all right.

A woman's screams drew their attention, and they turned to see a pair of Qunari dragging a noblewoman behind them. She shrieked and scrabbled at the cobblestones, and her captor yanked hard on her ankle.

"Parshaara!" spat one Qunari. "Quit your struggling, woman!"

Anton had already slipped into the shadows, ducking behind pillars, and Varric. Aveline and Carver circled to cut off the Qunari, facing them head on.

"Teth a!" shouted the other Qunari, eyes widening as he spotted them. "Bas!" This last word ended in a choked gurgle and a bolt through his throat. The first Qunari turned in time to get a knife in his.

"Saarebas," Cormac corrected, laughing, as he bent down to help the noblewoman off the ground. "Dangerous things, indeed. You should get inside, lady. This is going to take a while."

The noblewoman staggered to her feet, with Cormac's help, and then screamed, as she looked up.

"So the Arishok failed to take you captive. Unfortunate," said a voice from across the plaza.

"Seriously? Aveline? Carver? Nobody was looking behind me?" Cormac eyed the distance between himself and the approaching Qunari, before laying down a tempest in the gap.

As the Qunari made their way through the lightning, vines wound up their legs, holding them inside the storm. Merrill winked at Varric, and the Qunari struggled to free themselves.

"I knew I liked you, Daisy! Making it easy for me. It's like shooting spiders in an inferno!" Varric grinned and started picking them off.

"Fish. Fish in a barrel, Varric," Carver said, weakly, not sure he wanted to know. He kept an eye on the nearest set of stairs, all the same, just in case.

"No, spiders in an inferno," Aveline chuckled. "You had to be there."

"I'm rather glad I wasn't," Carver replied.

Anton turned to say something when an explosion rocked the ground beneath them, knocking them to the ground. His cheek met stone, and white sparks filled his vision. "Oh. Ow." Clutching his head, Anton pushed himself up onto his elbows, finding Varric's ass in his face and the dwarf similarly struggling to stand.

"What was that you said about saarebas?" Anders asked, holding a blue-glowing hand to his head.

Anton followed his line of sight to see a Qunari stalking towards them, clawed hands crackling with electric-blue energy. The ground was rocking, but that probably had to do more with the pounding in his skull than the saarebas's magic. Anton fumbled for one of his daggers.

The saarebas raised his hands, gesturing for a new spell, when the energy gathered in his hands flickered out. He stopped, hands stilling, a sound of confusion giving way to one of surprise and pain as a sword point erupted from his chest.

The Qunari crumpled to reveal their rescuer, and Anders swore under his breath. Meredith spared him a glance but walked over to Anton and hauled him to his feet. "You," she said. "Hawke, is it? The one with the goat?"

"Anton Hawke, yes." Anton swayed a bit as he was set on his feet. "I apologise again for your floors."

"It's good that we found you, Knight-Commander." Aveline cut in, pulling herself up on the decorative fence around a tree. "The Qunari are--"

"It's obvious what they're doing." Meredith looked even more displeased than usual. "They're taking people into the keep, and they may already be in control. We will need to deal with them."

"Why would they be gathering hostages?" Anton wondered aloud. "It's not a terribly Qunari thing to do, last I checked."

"To get everyone important in one place, where they can be controlled... or killed." Meredith's eyes were hard as she looked up at the Qunari at the top of another flight of stairs, surrounding a man.

"I suppose that's one way of phrasing it," Anton said, after a moment's thought. "Controlled. As in forcibly converted to the Qun and used for labour."

"Charming," Aveline muttered. "I think I liked the darkspawn better."

Behind the rest of them, Anders held Merrill's hand, and neither of them spoke.

"Well, we're always happy to help, in a life-threatening crisis," Cormac said, a little too brightly. "I was expecting this, and I planned ahead. I just need my sister, before we go charging in there like fools."

"Good! Then I'll overlook your family's continuing history of magic, for the moment. Particularly the magic you used, back there." Meredith smiled unpleasantly.

"Taking credit for me again, Cormac?" Anders joked, letting go of Merrill and stepping through the group. "Mage-Warden Anders. I don't think we've met. It's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Knight-Commander."

Meredith's eyes narrowed as he approached. "Anders. Yes. I know who you are." The tone of her voice said she was displeased with this fact. Anders kept up his pleasant smile even as Justice clamoured to be let loose. "And you do not fool me. I know a mage when I see one." She looked at Cormac pointedly, and Carver took a surreptitious step in front of Merrill. "But that is a matter for another time. Head to the keep, and I will see if I can find more of my men. These creatures will pay for this outrage."

Meredith didn't wait for a response. She pushed past them into the streets of Hightown.

Anders sagged, letting out a shaky breath, eyes flashing blue for the barest moment. "Charming woman," he said. Merrill squeezed his arm consolingly.

"You should see what she's like after a goat's crapped on her floors," Anton said wryly.

"Yes, thanks for that, by the way," Carver muttered. Anton offered him a shrug and his least apologetic smile. "Now come on, and let's get the other mageflowers before they wilt."

They padded up the stairs into Hightown proper, and Anton cursed when he found a portcullis cutting them off. He examined it for locks, for a mechanism, but there was nothing for him to poke at to pull it back up. "Dammit. We're going to have to cut through the Merchants' Guild. Come on."

The dwarves, it seemed, had been wise enough to bar the doors of the guildhouse, but the courtyard was still filled with Qunari -- and seemingly only Qunari. Anders and Cormac knocked fists, and then Anders reached out his other hand to Merrill, for a high five.

"Stand back," Cormac warned, quietly, as Anders and Merrill started pinning the Qunari down. A green glow radiated beneath the vines that pushed up the flagstones. Anders followed with a blizzard and Cormac dropped a tempest on top of it. Merrill added chain lightning, which skipped between the horns of the Qunari.

"Okay, but have you considered bees?" Anders asked, parting his hands, absently, as he grinned at Merrill. The air inside the storm grew thick and yellow. "I knew an elf, once, who taught me the importance and the danger of properly applied bees."

"Oh, shit. Those are actual bees." Carver stepped behind Aveline, ducking down to peer over the top of her head. "We're in the middle of a fight against the Qunari that want to take over all of Kirkwall, and you summon _bees_?"

"Actually, they're corrupted wasps." Anders shrugged. "It seemed like an appropriate thing to do at the time."

"I'm not sure that's an improvement!" Carver complained, as Aveline stepped to the side. He tried to hide behind Anton, next, but Anton was never standing quite where Carver had expected him to be.

Varric just kept firing into the storm, and after a few minutes, there were far fewer Qunari, although the wasps still buzzed angrily around the corpses, as the storm cleared. "You might want to do something about your infestation of death wasps, Blondie. I don't think the Guild's going to take it nicely if they start building nests."

"Oh, they'll go away eventually," Anders said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Usually. Hopefully."

"That is the _opposite_ of reassuring," Carver said, to which Anders shrugged.

"We have bigger problems," Aveline reminded them, ushering them onward.

"Literally bigger," Anton agreed. "Qunari-sized problems. Qunari- _shaped_ problems." He trailed off distractedly as they passed the Red Lantern District, or at least the barricaded road that led into it. Barricaded. Likely not worth the trouble to the Qunari storming the Keep. Good.

"Looks like we can get to the Estate this way," Carver pointed out ahead of Anton. That rather defeated the purpose of the portcullis out front, but Carver wasn't about to complain.

They met more Qunari in the courtyard in front of the Estate, but there was only a handful, and the mages made short work of them. Carver kicked one dying Qunari just because he could.


	121. Chapter 121

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hawkes find each other and go forth to take the keep.

"My house," Anton seethed, turning a throwing knife over in his hand. "Our _mum's_ house. They better not have touched anything in there. Or trampled my gardens." He marched up the steps and pulled on the door to find it locked, nodding approvingly. "Bodhan!" he shouted. "It's Anton! Are you in there? Bodhan!" He could always pick the lock, but it was best to give anyone inside some warning. The last time he'd let himself in after accidentally locking himself out, Anton had taken a frying pan to the head. Bodhan hadn't stopped apologising for a week, but the dog had been in hysterics.

The door clicked open just wide enough to reveal a frightened pair of eyes. "Messere Anton?" came Bodhan's voice. "Oh, Ancestors be praised!" The door opened fully and revealed the rest of Bodhan in all his frying-pan-wielding glory. "My boy and I were worried about you and yours. Weren't we, Sandal?"

"Enchantment," Sandal agreed, holding a spatula in front of him like a sword.

Mintaka woofed and all but ran into Anton's arms.

"I'm glad you two are safe," Anton said, kneeling to pet his dog. "Is Bethy here?"

Bodhan's face fell. "Ah, no, messere. I was rather hoping she was with you. Maybe she's with Messere Artemis or Prince Vael?"

Anton exchanged a look with Cormac, as he stood.

"Chantry," Cormac said. "I can hope they've locked themselves inside in exactly the way it seems the Viscount's men didn't. If I'm wrong, we'll see if she's with Artie. I don't want him out in this. I don't want to give him an idea this is happening, if he's still in bed. If he knows it's happening, maybe Fenris and Orana can keep him from rushing out to do something about it, but if we show up at the door looking for Bethy, he's going to come out."

"You'll drag our sister into this, but not Artie?" Carver snapped, shoving Cormac. "You really are, aren't you -- the two of you--"

Anton grabbed Carver's shoulders and shook him. "Think very hard about the next words that are about to come out of your mouth."

"One, I need someone who's not going to miss and hit the Viscount. Two, look at the streets out there. How long do you think he's going to keep his shit together in that? Not just because it's a disaster, but because it's a disaster that doesn't _belong there_. Deep Roads are the Deep Roads, ancient crap-filled caves are crap-filled. But, this is Hightown. There's an order to this place, and now it's trashed and burning. Three, Knight-Commander Meredith. I'm not putting him in the way of the templars, if I can help it. Bethany has enough --" Cormac cleared his throat. "--leverage to protect herself, I expect. If not, I'm sorry, Anton, but I'm going to kill your boyfriend's boss and blame the Qunari. Something else Artemis would not be quite as well-disposed toward."

"Cullen's going to know she went after the Qunari. As long as you don't crush her into a muffin, the situation should be recoverable." Anton shrugged. Meredith was an unpleasant individual, and he didn't much like the way she treated Cullen's -- and by extension, his own -- concerns about the order. A little too much 'how dare you say such things' and not enough 'how dare someone do those things'.

"Hello, guard captain?" Aveline raised her hand, looking entirely exasperated. "Can you not plot murders in front of the guard captain?"

"Murder? What murder?" Anton asked, eyes round and innocent. "There's no murder plotting here!" As Aveline rolled her eyes, Anton turned back to Bodhan. "All right, Bodhan. Lock the door after us. The cellar leads into Darktown if you and Sandal need to escape. Don't worry about the house. Just focus on keeping yourself safe."

Bodhan nodded. "Right. Of course, messere. You be safe as well."

* * *

 

They ventured across the courtyard, past the steps that led up to the keep's gate. Down the familiar road that branched left towards Artie's and led straight towards the Chantry. They heard the screams first, the blood-curdling, dying-in-agony kind of screams, and Carver and Aveline slowed to a stop at the Chantry steps, the others following suit.

There were Qunari on those steps, writhing and shrieking, clawed hands clutching their heads.

Merrill looked askance at Anders. "I think we found Bethany," she said in a stage whisper.

"I think so too."

And there she was, at the doors of the Chantry, the eye of the storm. The fingers of one hand were the only thing that moved, her face a mask of calm. Next to her, Sebastian was a flurry of motion, nocking and shooting arrows at a mad pace, cheeks red with exertion and hair flopping about his face. He paused halfway through aiming his next arrow, spotting the Hawkes and their companions up ahead. He smiled with relief and picked off another Qunari.

"Looks like your family's here," Sebastian told Bethany, who smiled and waved.

Merrill waved back and unleashed chain lightning with the same hand, which crackled through the remaining few Qunari. "You looked like you wanted a little help!" she called to Sebastian.

" _More_ mages?" Sebastian sighed, quietly, before he shouldered his bow and waved to Merrill. "Thank you! Maker's blessings on you!"

Merrill opened her mouth to protest that she wasn't Andrastian, but Varric laid a hand on her arm. "One thing at a time, Daisy. Don't upset the Chantry boy, over there."

Cormac stepped forward, into the bloody mess. "I came looking for you, Bethy. We need you at the Keep. It's fallen."

"Merciful Andraste, it's a keep! How could it have fallen so quickly?" Bethany scoffed, hiking up her skirts in one hand and picking her way down the stairs, spear in her other hand.

"I'm assuming someone forgot to lock the door," Anton deadpanned. "The Viscount's guards never struck me as the brightest."

"Well," Bethany huffed, reaching out and taking Carver's hand before she stepped over the body of one of the fallen Qunari, "I suppose we'll just have to clean that up, won't we? Does the Viscount still live?"

"We don't know, yet," Aveline said, taking in the damage done as compared to Bethany's spotless gown.

Sebastian almost forgot to come down the stairs, just watching Bethany precede him. She was different. She was like no one he'd ever met, he thought. When Elthina had called for the Chantry to be sealed against the invaders, Bethany had pulled him toward the doors, insisting it was their duty to keep order, if no one else would. And when the Qunari charged, she'd defended him, without even batting an eye, turning the Qunari against each other, in that completely disturbing way she had. Yes, she was a mage, but he'd made a good choice. He couldn't think of anyone he'd rather have at his side, if he was to pull Starkhaven back from the brink of destruction. And when had he decided that? He wasn't sure that was what he meant to do at all, but Bethany gave him faith he _could_ do it, if he chose that path. He could do it, with her.

At the edge of the courtyard, there was movement amidst a pile of bodies. Anders's fingers twitched, crackling with lightning, until he saw that the person moving wasn't a Qunari. Lightning switched to healing, and he ran to the elf struggling to his feet. Anders kicked aside the corpse crushing his legs.

"Many thanks, my friend," said the elf once he'd wobbled to his feet. Anders saw the robes, then the face under the smear of blood.

"First Enchanter?" he blurted, earning a surprised blink and a smile from Orsino.

Anton followed Anders, looking about. Only then did he realise that the mess of corpses were Qunari mixed with robed humans and elves. "Looks like you fared better than the other mages," he said, glancing back at Bethany.

"The others," Orsino breathed. "Surely, they cannot all be..." He trailed off, looking around him at the devastation.

"I'm sorry," Bethany said. "By the time we made it out here..." She trailed off as well, shrugging helplessly.

Orsino's face twisted with grief. As he fell to his knees in front of one of his students, another set of footsteps clomped into the courtyard. Or one set clomped while a second set padded.

"Maker," said Artemis, eyes wild and face pale. "There you are! All of you. Convenient. Ha. Did you know there were Qunari here? There are Qunari here. Qunari, on our lawn. Trampling the flowers and carrying off the neighbours. This is... this..." He scratched at one arm agitatedly, threatening to break the skin, until Fenris took his hand and hushed him gently.

"Oh, Artie, no..." Cormac groaned. "Go home. If you don't want to go home, go back to the estate and keep Bodhan from worrying himself to bits. You don't need to be out in this. We'll take care of it. I'll fix it for you." Cormac stepped closer, over a fallen mage, to cradle Artemis's face in his hands, looking up into his brother's eyes. "This is what they've done. Do you see? Bethany and I will go make it right," he said quietly, eyes pleading.

Artemis's stare hardened, and he pulled free of Cormac's hands. "Don't baby me, Cormac," he snapped. "The city's under attack, and you need all the help you can get. And besides, I-- it's-- I need to _do_ something. I can't just sit and not _do_ something. Can't you see that's worse? I'll just get tangled up in my head, and everything's... it's..." He sucked in a long, shaky breath. "Just don't worry about me, you idiot."

"I'll always worry about you. It's what I'm for," Cormac reminded his brother, with a sad smile. "We're headed to the keep. The Knight-Commander's waiting for us. Do you understand what I'm saying? I'm begging you, Artie, get out while the getting's good. Don't put yourself in front of her."

Carver punched Cormac in the back of the head and bruised his knuckles as they slid off the shield. "Our brother's a grown-ass man, Cormac. Just because you've got some--"

Anton stomped on Carver's foot.

"-- _damn fixation_ \--" Carver glared at Anton. "--doesn't mean he can't make up his own mind, like the rest of us."

Cormac shook his head. "How's our leverage? Do we have anything we can unseat her with, if it comes to that? We will have exactly no time, with the number of templars waiting for us up there."

"She said she'd overlook the family's history of magic," Anton pointed out. "For now, at least. Hopefully, that means we have time to get leverage, before it gets serious."

"Who did she see?" Bethany demanded, looking at the other four mages.

Cormac raised his hand. "We didn't know she was there. She wasn't there, until the Qunari brought out a saarebas. Took the edge right off me, when she hit it."

Artemis's eyes went wide again. "She...? _Shit_ , Cormac." He poked Cormac in the chest with one finger. "Now you have less of a reason to talk. I'm going. And if she's taking you, she's taking me too."

"She can try," Fenris growled, and Anders hummed in agreement.

"To the keep then?" Artemis asked, pushing forward without waiting for a reply. "To the keep. Oh. Hello, First Enchanter."

"Hello, other Serah Hawke," Orsino said, bemused.

"You know, I was you in a dream once," Artie went on, rambling as they walked. "Funny story, that. Well. Not 'ha, ha' funny. The other sort of funny. The... 'plucked quail left out overnight' funny. You understand."

Orsino nodded slowly, his expression saying he didn't.

Varric chuckled softly. "I should be writing all this down."

* * *

 

Meredith and a small army of templars waited for them outside the keep. Anton searched their faces or what he could see of them under their helmets, but there was no trace of Cullen. And that was fine. Cullen was fine. Of course he was. He had to be.

"First Enchanter Orsino," Meredith called out as they approached. "You survive."

"Your relief overwhelms me, Knight-Commander," Orsino replied dryly.

"There is no time for talk," Meredith said, firmly, striding toward them. "We must strike back before it's too late."

"And who will lead us into this battle?" Orsino asked, derision as plain on his face as it was in his voice. "You?"

"I will fight to defend this city, as I have always done," Meredith proclaimed, turning to look down her shoulder at him, the stance of a hero's statue.

"To control it, you mean!" Orsino retorted, squaring his shoulders. "I won't have our lives tossed to the flames to feed your vanity!"

"Neither of you," Anton said, stepping through the cluster around him. "I know the Arishok. I know how he thinks and what he wants. I will lead us."

" _You_?" Meredith scoffed. "Some apostate's son who's been buttering up my Knight-Captain to keep his brother out of the Gallows?"

"I like him already," Orsino muttered.

"Me, the man who is very much in love with your Knight-Captain, and who is also aware of the nuances of the situation. I also have a translator who speaks Qunlat, in case we can still negotiate." Anton smiled, eyes glittering. "The Arishok wants only one thing. I don't know how to get it, but I know what it is, and who likely has it, by now. I failed to retrieve it for him, once before. Had I done so, he and all his men would be gone. But, alas, thieves, more thieves, and Tevinter mages."

"And your failure is a reason to trust ourselves to your command?" Meredith shot back.

"No, but my inside knowledge is. I knew. You did not. I know what he wants. I know how he thinks. And if we go charging in through that door, everyone in there dies." Anton folded his arms and shrugged. "Do you want to save as many people as we can, or are you just looking for an excuse to purge the political structure and blame the Qunari. You won't be the first to have tried that approach."

"It's better than the two of us bickering about it," Orsino said, trying not to look smug.

Meredith grit her teeth. "Very well, then," she said. "But whatever you plan, be quick about it."

Anders ducked his head to hide a smirk. Anton Hawke, giving orders to the Knight-Commander? This was priceless.

"Tell us then," said Orsino, turning to Anton, "what is our course of action?"

And then it occurred to Anton just what he had volunteered for. He would be leading and not from the shadows. Oh damn. "I take it running for the hills isn't an option?" he quipped. Meredith's scowl deepened, her stare casting more of a chill than any of Cormac's spells. "No? Then let's find out what they're up to."

"An excellent choice," Meredith said with only a trace of derision. "Let's move quickly."

They gathered outside the gate, out of sight of the mob of Qunari at the keep's door.

"There seem to be a great many Qunari at the keep's entrance," Orsino murmured, peering around the corner.

"Then they've already take it over," Meredith said. "Clearly they've been planning this for some time."

Aveline politely nudged Orsino aside to peer at the door as well. "I don't see any of my guardsmen," she said. They had to be inside. Donnic. Donnic had to be inside.

"This is the only way in," Meredith told Anton. "We must assault them now before their numbers grow."

"Are you mad?" Orsino hissed. "They have hostages! We need a distraction."

Anton and Cormac whispered to each other, for a moment, until Cormac nodded, turning his head to catch Bethany's eye and subtly suggest she move closer to Orsino. As she moved, Anton whispered to Orsino. "I need you to block the view of my sister from Meredith. Do whatever else you think isn't going to get you killed. Dance a spicy shimmy for all I care, but get in front of Bethy. She'll take care of the Qunari problem on the steps. We'll be right behind you."

"Have confidence, young Hawke." Orsino smiled and unshouldered his staff, walking straight down the middle of the courtyard, toward the Qunari on the stairs. "You will not conquer this city without a fight!" he called out, and the eyes of the Qunari were on him, as he threw an inferno toward them, fire raining from the heavens.

Anders made a small, panicked sound and swallowed hard, eyes looking a bit glazed. Cormac rubbed his back and gestured for Meredith and the templars to follow him. They went up one side of the courtyard, behind the pillars that supported the paths that ran to the battlements. The rest of the group, led by Bethany, went the other way.

As the Qunari charged down the stairs toward Orsino, he spread his hands, calling down some larger spell. And then the Qunari fell upon each other, slaying each other with the same force they'd meant to turn on the First Enchanter. He strolled past them, staff hanging loosely from one hand, a smile on his face. That, he decided, was the best use of Entropy he'd seen this year. Talented girl, no doubt, but her father had been talented, too. Maybe a little too talented.

While the Qunari chased Orsino and writhed on the ground, Anton gestured the others onward. They slipped past, ducking from one shadowed pillar to another, and then darted out behind the Qunari. His brothers weren't the stealthiest bunch, but they didn't need be with all that screaming going on behind them. They slipped through the door and into the keep.

Aveline's breath caught in her throat. Two bodies just inside the door wore guards' armour, but she couldn't make out who they were without taking off their helmets. And that would take time they did not have. Varric squeezed her elbow, and she steeled herself. Compartmentalise. Later. She would grieve later. Right now they had died doing their duty. "The Arishok must be further in," she said.

"Probably the throne room," Anton said, "if the Qunari have rounded up the nobles. Only place big enough."

Fenris nodded, ear pricking. "Screams in that direction," he said. "Let's go."


	122. Chapter 122

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A duel to the death, with an unexpected twist. ~~I'M SPARTACUS.~~

Aside from the dead guards, the destruction inside was minimal. Artemis had stopped scratching at his arms for the moment, grip tight on his staff as he walked next to Cormac.

Carver threw open the doors into the throne room in time for the Viscount's head to roll to a stop on his feet. Anton screwed his eyes shut and _swore_.

"You dare!" a nobleman shouted from among the crowd. "You are starting a war!" He looked like he might go on, but a Qunari warrior stepped up behind him and broke his neck, without a word.

"Look at you. Like fat dathrasi you feed and feed and complain only when your meal is interrupted." The Arishok's voice rolled through the room like subtle thunder, low and dangerous. "You do not look up. You do not see that the grass is bare. All you leave in your wake is misery. You are blind. I will make you see."

Anton led his own people into the room, leaving Meredith and Orsino to deal with the problem outside. The few bodies didn't appear to be anyone he knew -- or at least not anyone he knew well. Probably from out of town, bidding on an estate that had just come up, when a family had decided to trade it in for a house in Val Royeax. The Arishok stood before the throne, looking dispassionately down at all of them, as they entered.

"But we have guests," the Arishok said, and all eyes turned to the back of the room. "Shanedan, Hawke. I expected you." He descended the stairs, axe still held at his hip. "But, for all your might, you are no different than these bas. You do not see."

"We see the same things," Anton reminded him. "Where we differ is the matter of the solution. You seem content to start a war on principle, rather than addressing the actual needs of the people. You'll see them die miserable, just as they would otherwise, but more quickly, which is some bleak mercy, I suppose."

"And what would the Qunari be without principle?" the Arishok asked, eyes narrowing. "You, I suspect." He said it as if it were the greatest of insults. He shook his head and waved his hand dismissively, climbing back up the stairs. "Prove yourself, basra, or kneel with your brethren."

Anton didn't need to ask what he meant, not when he and his friends and family found themselves surrounded by Qunari, Qunari who ushered back their noble captives at spear-point. "We don't need to do this, Arishok," Anton said, even as he slipped a knife into his palm. "Haven't I proved myself already?"

The Arishok looked on dispassionately, doing and saying nothing. He waved his hand, and the spear-bearing Qunari tightened their circle. Anton nudged Bethany with his elbow, and the three Qunari directly in front of him fell, writhing and screaming. Two more went slamming into the wall, and then the room erupted in a mess of magic and blades.

Cormac crushed the pair of Qunari guarding the door, and while they imploded, he waved the nobles out into the hall. "Viscount's office," he whispered, pointing down the way, before he paid any mind to the fight behind him. "Wait there. Don't try to get out. I'm not sure what's in the courtyard, but it was a battle when I left it."

The nobles looked terrified, which was good, Cormac thought. It made it less likely that any of them had intentionally let the Qunari into the keep. It was more likely none of them realised what was happening, until it was too late. He still wondered if any of the guards had survived. Behind him, his brother and sister were destroying the Arishok's best warriors, and he turned in time to watch the last one fall away from his brother's dagger.

"Parshaara," the Arishok said, looking mildly impressed, as he came down the stairs again. "You are basalit-an after all. Few in this city command such respect. So, tell me, Hawke. You know I am denied Par Vollen until the Tome of Koslun is found. How would you see this conflict resolved, without it?"

With a heavy thud, a Qunari warrior slid up the carpet, face first, and both the Arishok and Anton looked toward the door, where Isabela walked in, carrying the tome and followed by someone in heavy plate. "Hey, Anton! Look what I found in the hall!" She cocked her thumb back and the templar behind her removed his helmet.

" _Cullen_?" Anton squeaked. "What are you-- Never mind. Thanks for the save, Izzy. Your trap work as expected?"

"Not as well as I'd hoped." Isabela shrugged and stepped on the freshest corpse as she made her way to the Arishok, handing him the book. "I'm sure you'll find it's mostly undamaged."

The Arishok turned the tome over in his hands. "The Tome of Koslun," he said, his tone reverent.

Cullen stepped up to Anton's side, one gauntleted hand squeezing Anton's shoulder, relief plain on his face.

"It took me a while to get back, what with all the fighting everywhere," Isabela said, nudging Anton on his other side. "You know how it is."

"Heroic acts of sacrifice?" Anton said, nudging her back. "What will people say?"

"This is your damned influence," Isabela huffed. "You and your unfairly gorgeous family!" Behind them, Sebastian, Fenris, and Anders exchanged looks and nods of agreement. "I was halfway to Ostwick before I knew I had to turn back." She shook her head and muttered, "It's pathetic."

Anton grinned. "Poor you," he teased. "Keep it up, and you'll be the hero of Varric's next book!"

The Arishok was more concerned with the book in his hands, which he passed off to one of his soldiers, every gesture, every touch delicate in a way no one thought the Arishok capable. "The relic is reclaimed," he said. "I am now free to return to Par Vollen." Anton let out a breath. Thank the Maker. This nightmare was over! "With the thief."

The cocky grin slid from Isabela's lips. "What?"

"Oh, no, no, no," Aveline growled, pushing her way forward. "If anyone kicks her ass, it's me."

"She stole the Tome of Koslun," the Arishok replied, once more hefting his axe. "She must return with us."

"You have your relic," Bethany said. "She stays with us." She sneaked a lyrium potion out of Anders's pouch and readied a spell at her fingertips.

"I'm sure he'll take that well," Varric muttered. "Rivaini? You might want to move a bit this way."

Isabela stepped back, and Cormac moved into a spot where he had a clear shot at the Arishok, before realising Varric wasn't talking to him.

"Then you leave me no choice," the Arishok said, regret plain on his face. "I challenge you, Hawke. You and I will battle to the death, with her as the prize."

"No! If you're going to duel anyone, duel me!" Isabela insisted, moving forward again.

"You are not basalit-an. You are unworthy," the Arishok explained.

"He needs to protect his image, in case of defeat," Fenris muttered, from somewhere behind the group. "What would be said about the Qunari, or the Qun, if the Arishok were defeated by some half-competent pirate?"

"I'll have you know I'm a wholly-competent pirate, Broody!" Isabela shot back, with a glance over her shoulder.

"Pirates aside, let's dance this tango," Anton suggested, knives already drawn and laying back against his forearms. "Of course, you issued the challenge to 'Hawke', which I am, but..."

Cormac started nudging people off the rug, until he came up behind Isabela, and patted her hip. "As his brother, so am I."

Isabela doubled over in laughter, and Fenris reached out to pull her aside. What was Cormac _doing_? Fenris was sure this wasn't a good idea.

"Me too. I'm Hawke," Carver said, resting the point of his sword on the rug, next to Anton.

"So am I," said Artemis, stepping forward and throwing a wink at Fenris, who looked even less thrilled with this development.

"And I as well," said Bethany primly as she came to stand next to her brothers. "Can't let you boys have all the fun."

The Arishok blinked at all of them, looking as close to surprised as his stony face had ever been. The five Hawkes stood in front of him, staring at him with the same defiant blue eyes, and a laugh rumbled in the Arishok's chest. "Perhaps I should have chosen my words more carefully," he said, nodding at Anton. "Very well, then. I challenge the Hawke family, if you think that will give you an edge. You will die either way, and if you wish to sacrifice your brothers and sister as well, that is your choice."

"Said the Arishok, with great humility," Artemis muttered.

"All right then," said Anton, with a smile. "Shall we dance?"

"Meravas!" exclaimed the Arishok as he descended the last few steps, drawing a sword with his free hand, a sword taller than Anton. "So shall it be!"

Hawkes scattered as the Arishok charged, leading with his horns and that massive sword. Twisting behind a pillar, Bethany reached for the spell she'd used earlier, but the Arishok's mind slid from her grasp like oil through her fingers. "Damn," she murmured, reaching for another spell.

Anton slid under the sword and the Arishok, opening up a pair of shallow cuts on the Arishok's thighs, as he passed. Raising his sword, Carver stepped in to block the blow, but was driven to his knees under the force of it. That had not gone as intended.

"A warrior!" The Arishok looked amused. "A pity you won't live to improve your skills."

"Will he not?" Cormac asked, clenching his fist. "I rather thought there might be another forty years in him, at least. My brother's still young, yet."

The Arishok buckled in the grip of Cormac's magic, but he had the strength of will and body to resist much of the force of it. Cullen looked on in horror, as he recognised what Cormac had been trying to do. Still, this was the first time he'd actually witnessed Cormac casting a spell. It didn't seem to be the sort of thing he reached for, outside of situations in which Cullen might reach for his sword. That was not unreasonable, he decided.

Shaking off the magic, the Arishok stepped in and slammed his fist into Cormac's face -- only to hit a shield. This didn't slow him in the least, and he pounded his fist against the shield around Cormac's head, as the mage staggered under the force of the blows. Anders leapt forward, only for Fenris to haul him back.

"No. Leave it. If you step in, the rest of them will attack." Fenris was trying to reassure himself, as much as Anders. "Look at how the Hawkes have circled around behind him. He's too much focused on Cormac."

"Cormac did get punched by an ogre," Anders reminded himself.

Finally, Cormac lost his footing and fell. He still breathed, but he didn't move any more than that.

"No!" Artemis roared, curling his fingers and pulling the Arishok towards him. The air around him shimmered and popped the way it did when Cormac's shields dropped, but Artie didn't notice. "Get away from him, you glorified cow!" The Arishok's feet scrabbled at the floor, carpet bunching under him, and Anton dived in just out of range of the spell to get in a few more slashes. Carver struggled to his feet.

Cullen watched Artemis pull the Arishok face-first into a pillar. He stared at Artie, then at Cormac, then at Artie again. "What."

Bethany darted out from behind her pillar, magic sizzling at her fingertips and making the Arishok glow a sickly green. " _What_ ," Cullen said again.

"Mages," Fenris informed him, reaching up to shut Cullen's mouth with one finger under his jaw.

And speaking of mages, the Arishok was much too close to his for his liking. Blood gushed from the Qunari's broken nose from where he'd slammed into the pillar, but he snarled through it, batting aside Carver with the flat of his axe when the templar charged at him again. Anton swore and ducked under the Arishok's sword, dancing back out of its reach. Feet scrabbled for the floor again as Artie smacked the Arishok back into the same pillar, butt-first this time.

The Arishok shook off the blow, tightened his grip on each weapon, and charged at Artemis with a roar of frustration. Artie let him come, staring the Qunari down as he reached for another spell, waiting for the right moment. Just when the Arishok was close enough, Artie clenched his fist, meaning to drag him down into the floor while his siblings were out of range. But the Arishok stumbled without going down, retaliating with a broad sweep of his axe.

"Shit," Artemis breathed as the axe cut through air where his shield should have been. The pain came a moment later in a blinding rush, blood spilling through the fingers he clutched to his stomach. Metal screeched against metal as Carver dived in, blocking the Arishok's next blow. Behind him, Artemis slipped to the floor.

"Shit," Anders echoed, healing rising to his fingers. "No." He batted Fenris's hands away from him. "No!" He flicked a spell in Cormac's direction, as he bolted across the floor, heading for Artemis. "No, please, I'm a healer. He won't get involved in the fight again. I just don't want him to die," he argued with the Qunari who moved to keep him away from Artemis. He didn't need to be that close, though. Not to start. A wave of healing washed over Artie, still strong, since Anders hadn't been working all day. The bleeding slowed and the lesser scrapes vanished.

"It is a fight to the death," the Qunari reminded him.

"You will let me past," Anders responded, a flicker of blue light dancing down his arms. "It's not optional." The two Qunari before him burst into flame, and several of the banners hanging on the walls went, too.

"Bas saarebas!" one shouted, batting at the fire. They dropped to the ground, rolling to put themselves out, and Anders simply kept walking. Perhaps he'd heal them, when this was all over. It wasn't their fault. They had jobs to do, and so did he.

Nothing else moved to stop him, and he sank to his knees, beside Artemis, beginning the long process of re-attaching all the important parts. First stop the blood, then worry about the rest. Justice would help him make this right.

Across the room, Cormac dragged himself to his feet, taking in the scene before him. Anton and Carver were baiting the Arishok like bullfighters, but they didn't seem to be holding up so well. Neither did the Arishok, honestly, and Cormac could guess which of Bethy's hexes had finally taken hold. Where was--

He saw the blood, first, and then Anders kneeling beside Artemis. Artie looked strangely pale, and Anders was emitting a pretty steady glow. No. That was not how this worked. That was not acceptable. He didn't even know the scream was coming, until it burbled out of his chest. Cormac's entire body glowed indigo, as the Arishok turned, shocked that he'd gotten back up.

"Basalit-an," the Arishok admitted, watching the blood run down Cormac's face from his broken nose.

"Saarebas," Cormac reminded him, eyes wide and glimmering, even as he became indistinct. "I am a very dangerous thing."

The Arishok had never seen anything like it. The bas saarebas was only half-there, as if he had simply ceased to be. The hand holding the axe lashed out, and another Hawke dropped to the ground, clutching a broken face.

"You stay away from my brother," Cormac hissed, charging forward. The Arishok's sword passed through him, and he plunged a hand into the Arishok's chest.

Fenris sucked in a sharp breath. Cormac had been practising, since that time in the old fortress. "That is what you watched me do," he told Cullen. "I am still not a mage."

Electricity sparkled from the Arishok's skin, and his sword and axe fell to the ground. Ripples of energy flickered between his horns, danced between his fingers. He fell, at last, when Cormac could no longer hold him up, the hand sliding out of his chest, just as bloodlessly as it went in. Cormac looked grey, as he nudged the body with his foot, checking for life.

"That I cannot do." Fenris's eyes were wide.

"And thank the Maker," Sebastian muttered from behind him. "A dangerous thing."

"Who wants to die, today?" Cormac roared, his voice echoing through a chamber designed to amplify sound.


	123. Chapter 123

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secrets, dirty secrets, and the Champion of Kirkwall.

The Qunari sheathed and shouldered their weapons, moving silently past where Cormac stood over the Arishok. Bethany moved to Anders's side, picking his pockets for a healing potion that she tossed to Carver. Cormac finally moved, when the last Qunari had passed him, kneeling in the pool of blood at Artie's side.

"I need more hands," Anders said, and Cormac understood, reaching into the wound beside Anders, closing up what damage he could. At least the scars would be on the inside.

Once the Qunari had left, Fenris approached the blood-smeared trio of mages, feet stopping just short of the puddle of his mage's blood. And that was _a lot_ of blood. He'd spilled enough in his lifetime to know it. Bethany laid a hand on his arm, her touch light but still stinging along his tattoos.

"He'll be all right," she told him. "Anders knows what he's doing, and Cormac... well, Cormac knows enough to listen to Anders."

"I know," Fenris said, and he did. He took his cues from the look on Anders's face. And Anders was calm now, if pale, focused on the task at hand and murmuring instructions to Cormac. Fenris would be calm as long as he was.

Anton watched the group of mages and Fenris but shoved his worry aside. There was nothing _he_ could do for Artemis, and those who could help him already were. He looked over the fallen Arishok instead, then at Cullen, who still looked a little dazed. It occurred to Anton that his templar would have seen everything, from Bethany's hexes to Artie's force to Cormac's hand through the Arishok's chest. There was no hiding it now and no point in trying.

"Meredith and Orsino were fighting the Qunari outside when we left," Anton told Cullen, drawing the templar's attention. "With the Arishok dead, the battle is over, and they're going to be here any minute. Meredith... Meredith knows about Cormac but not about Bethany and Artie. We need to get our stories straight about how this happened." He was still looking at Cullen, but he said this last bit to the room at large.

"We all heard the Arishok," Isabela said blithely, shrugging one shoulder. "He challenged you to a duel. And you won, didn't you?"

Carver nodded, still prodding his cheek, which wasn't broken any more, but it was still bruised. "That's my brother. Slicker than greased shit. He just took that old bull down, while we all watched."

"You should slit his throat, Anton. Otherwise there are going to be questions." Bethany looked up from the pool of blood and magic. "It needs to look like you killed him."

Merrill stepped out from between Sebastian and a pillar. "I don't understand why we can't say Cormac did it," she said, looking confused. "If Meredith already knows he's a mage, why does it matter?"

"He's a lot more dangerous than she knows. If she finds out he killed the Arishok -- if she finds out _how_ he killed the Arishok, he's going to the Gallows, hero or not." Sebastian got it very quickly. "It's politics and public safety. Whether or not it's actually public safety, that's what she'll make it. I've heard the arguments she and the First Enchanter have been having with the Grand Cleric, and I think she goes too far. I think he goes too far, too, but I also don't think he's the issue, here."

"Anton..." Cullen finally looked clearly at Anton. "Anton, why didn't you tell me?" His voice was small, in the strangely-quiet room.

"You have a job, Cullen. It's a good job, and you're good at it." Anton put his hands on Cullen's shoulders. "I have a job, too. I have to protect my family. I ask you again, would you have turned in your own sister, in a place like this, in times like these? I want to marry you, Cullen. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Please don't make me protect my family from you, because I will. It'll break my heart, but I'll do it."

"But, _mages_..." Cullen sighed, his face troubled.

"And now, you sound like me," Fenris joked, still watching his own mage. The bleeding had stopped, and Anders was closing the muscles. Fenris reflected that he'd never taken the time to really study muscle -- not like he could see it, now. He'd seen so many bodies come apart, and so very few go back together. "Come here, Cullen. You need to see this. You need to watch this."

Cormac's fingers darted around Anders's hands, adjusting things that didn't look quite right, holding the skin back, healing the little tears that happened as the muscles pulled back together. He couldn't hear any of it. All that mattered was right here, in front of him. Artemis and Anders. How had he failed so badly? How had he let this happen to his brother? At least the healer had been watching -- at least Artemis hadn't died, and at this point, he wouldn't die. They were almost done, and then it would be a matter of potions and sleep.

Artemis's eyelids fluttered open, a confused sound catching in the back of his throat. He hissed through his teeth, face twisting with pain, and Anders touched one bloodied hand to his shoulder to keep him horizontal. 

"You're all right," Anders told him, his voice calm with an undercurrent of warmth. "Your brother and I have got you. Just lie back."

Artie looked up at Cormac, wondering when he'd gotten there, when _Anders_ had gotten there. They'd been on the other side of the room, Anders on the other side of the Qunari, and the Arishok had been... the Arishok...

"He's dead," Fenris informed him over Cormac's shoulder, and Artemis realised he was rambling, saying some of this aloud.

"Extra dead," Anton said, crouching over the Arishok's corpse to slash a knife across his throat. "Sorry about the mess, Artie."

Cullen was still looking on, a bystander more than a participant, as he tried to figure out what to do. He jumped as the doors burst open. Meredith and Orsino came charging in, side by side, wearing matching blood spatters. A team of templars followed in their wake.

"Is it over?" Meredith demanded, sword still in hand as she looked around. She saw Cormac and Anders first, where they knelt over one of the other Hawkes. Her eyes narrowed at the glow of magic, but she turned to Anton and the knife in his hand that still dripped Qunari blood.

"It's over," Anton announced, gesturing at the Arishok's body.

Meredith looked back and forth between Anton and the Arishok's corpse, face twisting in disbelief. Orsino crouched beside the mages to see if they needed any help.

"It is," Cullen said, first in a small voice. Then he cleared his throat and said again, voice firm and carrying, "It is. Anton Hawke fought the Arishok in single combat and won. You would have passed the other Qunari as they left."

Meredith turned her disbelieving stare on Cullen, who stared back, unwavering. Her face twisted, lip curling as she sheathed her sword. "Well done," she told Anton. Her tone didn't match her praising words. "It appears Kirkwall has a new champion."

"You probably want to rescue the nobles. They're in the Viscount's office," Cormac said, as he and Anders finished up with Artie. Artie who was very much still alive, thank any of the gods still listening. He wanted to just pick up his brother, out of this enormous pool of blood, and carry him home -- but they weren't done, here, and he could feel it. He rested a hand on Artie's cheek. "Hey," he said, softly, eyes damp. "Thanks for not dying. I'm so sorry, Artie. I don't know what happened. One minute we were all fine, and the next -- the next you were on the floor with Anders over you."

"He punched you in the head, Cormac. Not Artie." Anders wouldn't say too much with Meredith still in the room. "He punched you in the head until you stopped moving."

Cormac licked his lips and tasted blood. "My nose is bleeding, isn't it." It wasn't a question.

"You didn't seem to be feeling it," Anders teased, cupping Cormac's cheek and straightening his nose with one thumb.

"Aw, you son of a--" Cormac choked to a stop as the healing washed over him. "It's not crooked, is it?"

"No more than it was." Anders shrugged and winked. "I like it a little bent. Just like you."

Anton continued his conversation with Meredith. "Champion? What do I do with that? Is it a title? Is it a desk job? Not to say I don't like the sound of it, but I'd rather step in knowing what I've put my foot in, if you catch my drift, Commander."

Two templars led the nobles back into the room. "We're sorry, Commander, but they insisted on seeing that he was really dead -- the Arishok, not... They were here, for the Viscount."

The nobles murmured amongst themselves, gasps and harsh whispers filling the room as they caught sight of the Arishok's body. 

"It's a title," Varric explained to Anton, offering Meredith a winsome smile. "Mostly, you rest on your laurels and get free drinks, as I understand it."

"Oh, that's my kind of title," Anton said, grinning, while Meredith's face twisted into ugly shapes. 

Word spread of what had happened, and the nobles started to cheer, their applause echoing through the chamber, and it took Anton a moment to realise this was directed at him. Cheers. For him. For something he didn't actually do. He caught Isabela's eye, and she shrugged, grinning and applauding too. Anton plastered on his most charming smile and dipped into a bow, to the nobles' amusement and Meredith's displeasure. He had a feeling most things were to her displeasure.

Artemis struggled to sit upright and then to stand, legs shaky and weak under him, and Fenris rushed forward to help him up, an arm around his waist, while Anders supported him from the other side. "Bastard ruined my favourite shirt," Artie mumbled, words slurring a little. "I liked this shirt. And now there's blood all over the carpet."

"The shirt is irreparable," Fenris said, "but luckily the man underneath it was not. I think we'll survive this particular loss." He pressed a kiss to Artemis's temple, which was damp with sweat, and considered thanking him for not dying as well.

Cormac finally stood. "You got this, Anton?" he asked. "I gotta... you know."

"I'm the Champion of Kirkwall!" Anton laughed and wrapped an arm around Cullen's waist. "If you've got Artie, I'll take care of the paperwork. Bethany, you want to help me out?"

"No, but I'll do it anyway." Bethy winked at her brother, and took up a position behind his other shoulder. "You do need someone to make sure you don't do anything regrettable."

"So little faith!" Anton clapped a hand over his heart. "Oh, you wound me!"

"If I go back to Starkhaven, you'll be doing your own paperwork," Sebastian said, finally crossing the room to shake Anton's hand. "Because I'm taking your sister with me, to do mine. She has an incredible eye for politics. If I didn't know better, I'd think she grew up deep in the Game."

Bethany shook her head. "But, then I'd be Orlesian, and there's no coming back from _that_."

Merrill and Isabela cooed over Carver, Merrill stroking his un-bruised cheek, and Isabela making lewd comments about the amount of 'swording' he'd be doing when word got out about how he fought the Qunari and _won_.

Cormac took Anders's place, holding up Artemis. "Let's go home. It's over. It's over and nobody's dead or in the Gallows."

Artemis smiled tiredly and leaned his forehead against Cormac's. "Yes," he sighed. "But it's going to be a bitch to clean up."

* * *

* * *

Anton still had an arm around Cullen when they left the keep amidst a wave of adulation. Adulation that was going straight to Anton's head if the cocky grin on his face were anything to go by. Cullen tried to plaster on a smile to match, but his cheeks ached with the effort.

"So," Cullen said, still smiling, his grip on Anton's shoulders just this side of too tight as they made for the estate, "now we know who the mages in your family are. So it _was_ Artemis I saw that day in Honnleath? And at the corset party, when the floor shook...?"

That wrung a strained laugh out of Anton. "Yes, that was... that was Artie too," he admitted. "He used to rattle the dishware when he was doing Anders."

Cullen's eyes crossed as he realised what that meant. "So when he...?"

"Yep."

"He makes the...?"

"Yep."

" _Maker_ ." 

"Now you see why I didn't want him in the Gallows?" Anton asked, slipping out from under Cullen's arm to knock for Bodhan. "With the way my brother is? I don't think the foundations are strong enough to handle it."

Cullen watched Anton's crooked smile and felt his heart twist. "I still can't believe you didn't tell me," he murmured, words slipping out before he could stop them.

Anton kept on smiling, but something shifted there behind his eyes. "I did what I had to," he said. "I'm sorry that it was necessary, but I'm not sorry that I did it. If _I_ were a mage, I would have told you." Maybe. He honestly didn't know, but he'd like to believe that. "But their secrets aren't mine to tell."

Cullen smiled sadly, kissing Anton's cheek as the door finally opened. "If you don't tell me things, I can't protect you. I can't help you, if I don't know what's going on."

Bodhan appeared, still clutching a pan. "Messere Anton! I heard the news. Congratulations!"

"Thanks, Bodhan. We'll celebrate once it's not... that... out there. A lot of work to do, before we get to the good part. The good party." Anton patted him on the shoulder, as he and Cullen made their way past the dwarf. "Lock up behind us. I don't know what's still out there."

They made their way down the hall, and as they got to the stairs, Cullen spun Anton around to face him. "I'm going to marry you, you fool. You're my family now, too. It's not your family and my family. It's _our_ family. Although, Maker, what did I ever do to deserve your brothers..."

"I ask myself that every day," Anton laughed, wrapping his arms around Cullen and pulling him into a lingering kiss.

Cullen sank into the kiss and considered staying there, like that. Maker knew it had been a nerve-wracking day, and his heart had been in his throat watching Anton and his siblings fight the Arishok, but... "Anton," he murmured against Anton's lips. "Anton." He held Anton gently by the shoulders and held him at arm's length. "If I'm going to marry you... Maker, if you're going to marry _me_ , I need you to be able to trust me."

"I do trust you," Anton insisted, and that was mostly true. Truer than it had ever been for anyone outside of his family, anyway, and becoming truer by the moment.

Cullen cupped Anton's cheeks, his smile tender. "I hope so," he murmured. "I do. But we can't have any more of these... these horrendous secrets hanging over our heads."

Anton nodded, though Cullen was asking for more than he realised. "No more secrets in the future. You're right. Of course."

Cullen gave him a knowing look. "No more secrets in the future," he agreed. "But are there any secrets right now?"

And Anton wanted to say 'no', but he couldn't when Cullen was looking at him like that. "Let's finish getting up the stairs. I don't want to have this conversation in the middle of the house."

That was a yes, and Cullen knew it. There were any number of things he suspected about Anton, things he'd heard, and he wondered which one would come out. He nodded and followed Anton back to his room, closing the door as Anton pulled off his boots and threw himself on the bed.

"Well, you know what I do for a living. I expected that would drive you away, but here you are. I consort with thieves and smugglers. I steal from people worse than me, and I buy drinks for people worse off than me. You know I had a long on-again, off-again thing with Isabela, right? Speaking of smugglers and thieves... But that... All of that is Aveline's problem, not yours, and when we finally came to it, it wasn't about any of that. It was the politics of this place. The Arishok and I agreed about a lot of very important things, but in the end, we disagreed about a solution." Anton sighed and patted the mattress beside him.

Cullen finally sat down, still clanking. "He started a war, where you wouldn't have?"

"He couldn't see that he was already helping, and there was more he could do to bring people around to a more useful and less destructive perspective, but that wasn't what he'd come for. He'd come for the book. Couldn't see past the book, in the end. Went to war out of frustration. You need to know that Isabela and I went after that book, together, and I meant to help her solve her problem, and then come back and solve the Arishok's. She just..." Anton laughed. "We trust each other like thieves, and she couldn't have me there, in case she screwed up. I don't hold it against her. But, Cullen, there is something wrong with this city. There is something very, deeply wrong with this city, and some of the secrets that I will tell you, but not right now, have something to do with that. But, those are my father's secrets, and he kept them from all of us, and I don't want to get into too much of that, until I'm sure of what I'm saying to you. Not because I think you'll get angry, but because I'm afraid we'll try to act on it, and we'll be wrong. I need to be sure of what I know, before I share that. Like when I brought you the records about your men, remember?"

"I remember." Cullen nodded. "That's fine. Anton, if you find it, if you can tell me any part of what this is, even if I wasn't going to marry you, I'd probably owe you my life. It's ... It's still not right. I tried, and it's still not right."

"We'll try, together -- assuming you can put up with working with a liar and a cheat like me." Anton grinned and picked at the buckles on the platemail.

"If I'm going to spend the rest of my life with you, I'd better be able to work with you!" Cullen smiled and unbuckled his chest plate. "You still look troubled. What is it?"

"There's one thing that's not just about me-- actually it's not about me at all." Anton sighed and rubbed at his face. "Do you remember that party, with the statue?"

"Not much of it, after the fourth glass of cordial. Didn't we... get up to some things, in the garden?" Cullen looked a little confused, a little concerned.

"That..." Anton sighed. "I don't even know where to start. You, as you're aware, were very, very drunk. And the garden is really pretty big. So, when I lost you, and I couldn't find you in the house, I went to look outside."

"That wasn't you, was it," Cullen looked horrified. "What-- What did I do?"

"Don't worry. It's fine. Cormac and I found you, with my other brother. Cormac was looking for him." Anton sighed. "It was... That was ... The statue... We were too late, and I'm just glad it didn't fall on you. Or him, really. You were both so drunk, you were barely conscious, when we got to you. Barely conscious but pantsless."

Cullen was glad he was already sitting. As it was, he felt like the weight of his armour would bowl him over onto the floor. "Your... other brother." That left two possibilities, and he wasn't sure which one was more horrifying. "Not Carver...?" Maker, had it been Carver? How was the boy able to look him in the eye, let alone work under him? Ha, oh, terrible phrasing. Work beneath... no, that was just as bad. Work in the order. There. How was Carver able to work in order after that? 

"No, not Carver," Anton said, looking like he wasn't sure whether to laugh or cringe at the idea. "My other _other_ brother. The one whose insides were outside for a minute back there." There was an uncouth joke in there about Artie and Cullen's insides, but Anton bit his tongue against it. Not the time. There probably wouldn't ever _be_ a time.

"Art... Artemis?" Cullen shook his head, pressed gauntleted fingers to his temples. "Artemis, the force mage who makes the ground shake when he... Maker. I _knew_ I felt magic that night!" He guessed that explained what happened to the statue, but he still felt ill, more ill -- or as ill -- as he'd felt the following morning. "That was the first time I..." Cullen choked on the rest of that sentence, cheeks and ears feeling hot. "And I thought it was with you. And all this time you let me keep on thinking it was you."

"Don't look at me like that," Anton sighed. Cullen was giving him that wounded, kicked puppy look. "I just... didn't know how to tell you. How exactly was I supposed to bring that up?"

"There are plenty of ways. One is, 'good morning, Cullen. Oh, by the way, that was my brother's... _manhood_ you were shrieking for last night, not mine'."

Anton sucked his lips between his teeth. "That is the angriest way I've ever heard someone say the word 'manhood'." At Cullen's glare, he sighed and said, "Missing the point, yes I know. Look, I probably should have told you. But I was afraid that if you remembered it was Artie, you'd remember the magic part and know that he was a mage. Again, not my secret to tell." He offered Cullen a helpless shrug.

"Did you... who carried me back to the house? I remember being carried. I called someone pretty. Was that you?" Cullen squinted at Anton, as flickers of memory danced through his head. "Maker, that better have been you."

"Actually, some of that was me. You were dressed, by then, and I was ... Well, I'd like to say I had you gathered in my arms and I boldly carried you up the stairs like a hero, but you're kind of heavy, even without all the plate. I was ... staggering back toward the house, when Fenris came out looking for Artemis. He offered to take you in, if I'd open the doors. So, we got you back into the house, together." Anton laughed regretfully, reaching out to take Cullen's hand. "I didn't tell him what happened. I told him you were really drunk and passed out. You and Artie weren't the only passed out drunks after that party. It was going around. That cordial was murder."

"I am never getting that drunk again, especially not around your brothers." Cullen pulled his hand back, but just pulled off his gauntlets and dropped them on the floor. He wasn't sure what he was going to do about all this, but he wasn't leaving, tonight. Not with the city on fire. And as pissed as he was, what would he have said to Anton, if it had been the other way? If he'd found Anton with his brother, or his sister? Actually, he'd probably have left them there and broken up with Anton via messenger, the next day. "You... I woke up in bed with you, the next morning. You got into bed with me after that."

"I did," Anton agreed.

"And it didn't... bother you that I'd slept with your brother?" Cullen wasn't sure if he wanted Anton to be bothered or not.

"Please. At this point, half of Kirkwall has slept with one of my brothers." Anton shrugged, while Cullen tried to decide if that made it better or worse. "Besides, it's Artie. He gets drunk and sits on the closest dick. It happens. Why do you think Fenris had him on a leash at the corset party?"

Cullen opened and closed his mouth a few times, cheeks colouring again. "Honestly? I thought he and Fenris were just into..." He trailed off and coughed into his fist.

"If they are, I don't want to know," Anton said, cheerfully in denial. "I prefer to think of it as a fine tactical move on Fenris's part." Tactical and not tactile. Nope.

"Although..." Cullen tilted his head. "Fenris was a slave, wasn't he? From Tevinter? If Artemis is a mage--" And that was something Cullen was still processing. Artemis, the mage. Artemis, the mage, _who'd screwed him in the garden_. "--then maybe it was more of a political statement?"

"I think you're giving my brother too much credit. And me too many nightmares by reminding me of that."

"Apologies." Maker. Well. At least it hadn't been Cormac with him in the garden. Oh, that thought was going to give _him_ nightmares.

"So, that's all the dirty secrets I can think of, right this second." Anton started picking at Cullen's buckles again. "Why don't you come to bed, and we'll make some more. And nobody's brothers will be involved in them."

Cullen laughed. " _Maker_." He smiled down at Anton. "I'm marrying the Champion of Kirkwall, who cheats at cards for a living. The Champion of Kirkwall is going to marry me, even after I slept with his brother."

"Right now, the Champion of Kirkwall wants to get you naked and ride you like a pony. What do you think of that, Knight-Captain?" Anton had worked his way through all the buckles he could reach, and he was working on tossing his own daggers out of bed.

Blushing, Cullen stood up to finish taking off his platemail. Pieces clattered to the ground, around him. He should take better care of it, and he knew it, but today, it didn't matter. They'd gone to war and won, and he meant to enjoy the spoils. But, Anton had won the war, really, so maybe he _was_ the spoils. "Oh, Champion! Do you want me to shriek for your -- for your -- _manhood_ ," he choked out the last word, and started to laugh, one hand over his eyes and the other clutching the bedpost.  



	124. Chapter 124

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Artemis, and the art of being not dead.

Cormac woke first, wrapped around Artemis, still. This was his room, his bed, his brother and Fenris and Anders in his bed? What-- _Oh_. The Arishok. Images of Artie's insides on the outside flashed through his head, and he pulled his brother closer under the pile of blankets. No scars on the outside, he remembered, because Anders had done that part, himself. On the inside... it would be a couple of days before they knew if Cormac had fucked up. But, he'd tried so hard, just like when they were young, and it was all skinned knees and broken fingers.

He pressed his lips against the top of Artie's head and felt himself start to shake. This had been his fault -- He hadn't expected the Arishok to be able to use the shield against him, like that. It had done a lot less damage than would have been done without the shield, but it hadn't been like in Lothering. It hadn't been like the ogre, and he should have used the barrier instead of the shield. He didn't need to move, and he just hadn't realised it. And that was where it fell apart. He moved, the shield moved, and the moving shield provided less protection than the immovable barrier. That and it was also very occasionally possible to hit him with his own shield, as the magic tried to focus on the last hit. Some subtle deflection thing that sometimes misfired -- backfired -- and that was how he'd gotten his nose broken again. He should have healed himself, but he was just too damn stupid to worry about himself. And that had almost gotten Artie killed. He'd failed, again. Horribly. Almost fatally.

Artemis shifted against him, pressing his nose into Cormac's chest, a groggy, inquisitive sound starting in his throat. "Mrrph. Cormac?" He tilted his head up and got a faceful of beard. Definitely Cormac. His brother's grip was unusually tight, and Artie felt him shaking. "Cormac. Hey." Artemis pushed back to look at him, rubbing one eye with the heel of his hand.

It took Artie a moment to remember too, tracing backwards from effect to cause. Cormac's room. Cormac pressed against his front, Fenris curled against his back. Arishok. Maker, Hightown would still be a mess, wouldn't it?

"Are you all right?" Artie asked his brother, voice low in deference to their other bedmates. "Usually I'm the one who shakes the bed." He smiled, face still a little pale, and tugged teasingly at Cormac's beard.

Cormac smiled as warmly as he could, which was still guilty and sad. He tipped Artie's face up and leaned back just enough to get a look at him. "Hey," he whispered, "thanks for not dying."

There was something else, but his throat closed against it, and he kissed Artie in that way one didn't kiss one's brothers, unless... but they were just like that. They'd always been a little different. A little strange, and now they were even stranger, but Cormac could live with that, as long as Artemis survived.

"I'm sorry," Cormac breathed against Artemis's lips. "I should have known better. There was a better way to do that, and I was too slow to notice it. I almost got you killed. I touched parts of you only Fenris should have had his hands on. You're beautiful, but I never want to see those parts of you again. I'm so sorry, and I know that's not enough. I just don't know what else to say. I almost lost you. You're my everything, Artie, just like you've always been. I don't know what I would have done..." He could feel the damp starting in the corners of his eyes. "And now, I'll fail you again. I can't just keep smiling like it never happened. I just... ten minutes, and I'll be me again. I'm so sorry. For everything."

Artemis watched his brother fall apart, unsure what to do. He stroked Cormac's cheek, brushed back his hair, and pressed another kiss to his lips to silence him. "Stop," he murmured, cupping Cormac's face. "Stop apologising. If I almost died, it was because the Arishok was swinging an axe bigger than I was." It was an axe, wasn't it? Artie didn't remember the blow. He remembered reaching for a spell, remembered pain like he'd never felt... remembered waking up on the floor with his brother's hands inside him, in the unfun way. "Or... well. It was my fault for assuming _my_ spell would work and not getting out of the way. Yes, if we're going to be blaming a Hawke -- which I'm not saying we should be -- it should be me for that dazzling moment of stupidity. Not you. I've only lived long enough to be this stupid because you're my brother."

And honestly, Artemis should have known his brother would blame himself for that, the fool. He smoothed a hand over his own stomach automatically, trying to find the seams of his wound and finding nothing, not even a scar. There was still a phantom sort of pain there, but it was more a memory than an actual sensation.

"You and Anders do good work," Artie said. "And I'm not dead, so you can stop fretting. I'm not going anywhere."

Fenris curled tighter against him, face buried in Artie's hair. "Good," he rumbled, eyes still closed. "I'm not done with you yet." Artemis smiled softly at his brother and reached back to pat what he could reach of Fenris.

"I do good work," Anders muttered, winding himself tighter around Cormac. "Your brother might as well be using bookbinders' tape."

Cormac laughed, quietly, against Artie's forehead. "He's right. So, if anything doesn't feel right, you need to let Anders know, so he can fix it properly. We just had to make sure you didn't..." He swallowed hard. "There was so much blood. I just had to keep the rest of it in you."

"Maybe you and Fenris should test our work," Anders suggested. "I'm staying over here. I don't care how good our work is, Artemis does not need the flagpole after that."

"I have witnessed your insides, Amatus," Fenris mumbled, "and I am now even less certain how you ... fit... any number of things." Anders. Himself and Cormac at the same time. The jade wand of ass-destruction.

"Insides are stretchy, Fenris. You think his are amazing, you should see what'll fit in mine." Cormac kissed his brother, again, this time much more intently.

"No, you shouldn't. Even I was traumatised," Anders said to Fenris, as the kiss went on, between them.

Artemis chuckled into the kiss, pulled back to bite Cormac's lip playfully. "I'm not sure if I'm more curious or concerned," he murmured, without breaking contact.

"Concerned," Fenris answered dryly.

Anders nodded. "You should be."

Artemis huffed, pulling away from the kiss and twisting until he could look at Fenris over his shoulder, one hand still toying with Cormac's hair. "Regardless, that's my brother's... plumbing. But the good healer says you're welcome to test out mine." His eyebrows gave an exaggerated wiggle, making Fenris raise his.

"Really?" Fenris drawled. "After losing all that blood? Are you certain you have enough left in you for such... activities?"

Fenris was probably right. Artie was feeling more tired than sexy, but it was the principle of the matter. "One way to find out?" he suggested with a shrug.

"We'll keep an eye on you," Cormac promised. "Make sure you don't get rattled too hard, if you pass out."

"And once his eyes roll back in his head, I'll keep an eye on you," Anders joked against the back of Cormac's neck, hands wandering over the warm body in front of him. He moved up the bed, so his feet weren't sticking off the end, any more, and he was a bit more correctly aligned with Cormac's body. Anders had a habit of hiding behind whoever else was in bed with him, but as tall as he was, that rarely went quite according to plan.

"Might take a little more effort than you're used to," Cormac teased, but he meant it. Artie still being alive and well enough to tell him not to worry about it just wasn't quite enough to put the throb back in his knob, maybe even with help from Anders.

"Artie, when you're done getting pounded through the mattress, I've got something I want to show you. I think it'll make your brother a little less mopey," Anders said, gnawing at the back of Cormac's head, affectionately.

"I am not mopey." Cormac's eyes crossed.

"You are too mopey," Artemis protested, tugging lightly at a bit of his hair.

"And this from the man who lives with Fenris," Anders said. "He must be an expert on moping by now!"

"I do not mope!" Fenris huffed.

"He doesn't mope," Artemis agreed. "He broods."

"I do not _brood_!"

Anders and Artie exchanged wry looks around Cormac's head. "And his ears don't twitch," said Anders wryly.

"They don't!"

Artie shook with soft laughter, which made Fenris huff.

"Mages," the elf muttered, but the word sounded fond. His mage, who had almost died. That was only just now sinking in.

Artemis rolled onto his back so he wouldn't have to twist to see Fenris. One hand kept touching Cormac, twisting long hair around his fingers, while the other curled under and around Fenris. "If it will make my brother less mopey," Artemis said, looking over Cormac's head to what he could see of Anders, "you're welcome to tell me before the pounding. Or during." He didn't like seeing that look on Cormac's face, didn't like knowing that he was the one who put it there, especially after Cormac had told him to stay home yesterday.

"I, ah... I don't know if that's the best idea. I'd have to get out of bed," Anders groaned. "And I just woke up."

"I can tell exactly what up you woke. It's jabbing me in the ass," Cormac laughed, reaching behind him to squeeze Anders's thigh. "Besides, you're almost wearing clothes."

That was true, Anders realised. He'd gone to bed in his shirt, like he hadn't in so long, because Fenris was with them. He sighed. "Fine, fine. I'm moving."

Anders rolled heavily off the bed, staggering as his feet hit the ground. He'd never been good at mornings, but being a mage usually meant he didn't have to get out of bed to help. He could start something and then worry about standing up and wearing pants. But, this wasn't the kind of thing he wanted to do lying down. It would trash the sheets and probably Cormac's back. He staggered around the bed and leaned on the vanity. "So, you're pretty good at doing exciting things with stone," he pointed out, fairly obviously. "But, I think there's something you might be missing."

Plates of stone clattered into being, as Anders leaned away from the furniture, and in seconds, he was wearing an assortment of them, mostly in places no one wanted to be stabbed.

Artemis pushed himself up onto his elbows, staring at Anders's stone-covered body. Stone. As a shield. As _armour_. "That's... I never thought to do that." Why hadn't he thought to do that? He could already create stone, could already move it. He'd just always been more focused on finding more offensive uses for that skill. And fun uses, really, but Anders had taught him most of those.

Artemis climbed out of bed, a little ungracefully as he had to climb over Cormac first, and then had to steady himself against the wall as he stood, feeling light-headed from the sudden movement. He rapped his knuckles against a stone plate. Yep, definitely stone.

"It's something I learned in the Circle," Anders said. Plates of stone moved as he shrugged. "It's a bit cumbersome when I'm healing, but it has its uses."

"Is it heavy?" Artemis asked, looking to see the way the pieces fit.

Another shrug. "Not really. The stone hovers over you so none of the weight is actually resting on you."

"You'll show me how to do it?"

"Of course."

Fenris listened to the pair of them, curling against Artie's pillow. Then he looked up and realised that he and Cormac were the only ones in bed.

"Mages," Cormac said, with a shrug.

Fenris reached behind himself and then walloped Cormac with a pillow. "Why is it always mages?" he sighed, pulling the blanket up over his head, to go back to sleep. In Cormac's bed. Fenris lay there, mortified, for a long few minutes.


	125. PART XXVI: TOO MUCH ELVEN 'CULTURE'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A surprise visit from an old friend.

Orana opened the door to find two well-dressed elves standing on the other side, one bearing what appeared to be gifts. They were Dalish, from the look of things.

"We're here to see Earthq--" the man started, but the woman stepped on his foot, and talked over him.

"Artemis and Fenris." The woman looked curiously at her companion. "The pretty one was Fenris, right?"

"No, the pretty one was Artemis," he replied.

"Ah! Yes, of course. And you are...?" Orana looked at them, expectantly.

"I'm Kalli, and this great buffoon is my husband, Theron. And you?" the woman asked.

"I am Orana. I keep house for the messeres." She held open the door for the two of them. "Come in. You can wait in the game room, while I fetch them."

They followed her through what seemed to be an extremely expensive and well-kept house, to a room with a long table and shelves full of bottles, boards, and cards. It seemed they entertained, and really, Theron shouldn't be surprised, with the rest of the house. And Earthquake Boy had always been friendly enough, if a little shy and awkward, sometimes. Orana left them with a promise to return shortly.

Orana found messeres Fenris and Artemis in the middle of a lesson, Fenris reading aloud from a book while Artemis looked on. The reading stopped as she entered the room, and they looked up at her.

"Was that the door?" Artemis asked. "Please tell me it wasn't flowers."

"Not today, messere," Orana replied.

"Maker be praised," Fenris muttered under his breath.

"You have visitors, actually," she went on. "A lovely couple, named... Kalli and Theron? They're waiting for you in the game room."

Artemis stared at her, eyes unusually round, and Orana wondered if she had said something wrong. Fenris glanced at his fiancé, before he sighed and thanked her. Orana nodded and bowed her head before leaving the study, returning to the kitchen to finish dinner.

Fenris and Artemis exchanged a look. "I'm going to kill your brother," Fenris said, shutting the book.

"There might be a line."

* * *

In the game room, Theron poked at a few bottles while Kalli hissed at him to stop touching things. Artemis noticed the bottles had been moved the moment he walked into the room, and he sucked in a calming breath.

"Hello!" he greeted them, and Theron stepped back from the shelf. "Fancy seeing you two here. In Hightown. In Kirkwall. Uh, that is, welcome to Hightown. And Kirkwall. It's good to see you."

"It's always good to see you, _Artemis_." Theron stumbled over the name, as if he might say something else, but thought better of it. He gestured to the packages on the card table. "Kalli and I come bearing gifts! And I've just realised I have no idea what you like other than--"

Kalli stepped on her husband's foot, firmly, and gave Fenris an exasperated look. "Please excuse him. He's been chasing this legend since long before we met."

Theron pointed at Kalli and eyed Artemis frustratedly. "Will you tell her it's not a legend?"

"If you are referring to the, ah, earthquakes," Fenris said, toes curling against the floor as he looked at neither of them, "they are quite legendary, but anything but mythic." He finally looked up at Kalli, with a wry smile. "There have been structural adjustments to our home."

"A shem who moves the earth with the power of his mi'nehn, huh? Still sounds like drunken campfire stories to me." Kalli shook her head and gestured to the gifts, again, changing the subject. "We were in town to buy and sell some things. He said we shouldn't drop in without bringing something, so there's a bottle of yellow demon-water -- er, peach liqueur -- and those horrendous pickled acorns he eats."

"They are not horrendous!" Theron protested. "Look, I just wanted to see you. Not just a few stolen minutes in the background of whatever crazy thing your brother's doing, this time. That's how it's always been."

A self-deprecating smile twisted Artie's lips as he looked down at the table, fingers twisting in his hair. "Ah. Yes. Cormac's insanity does tend to overshadow everything else." At least it was usually an amusing kind of insanity, the kind Artie didn't mind getting swept up in. "And it _is_ good to see you after all this time. And to properly meet your wife who is, I suspect, far out of your league."

Kalli grinned, nudging Theron with her elbow. "I suspect you're right," Theron said.

"'Suspect'?" Kalli teased.

"Well, I have to leave you room for improvement."

Fenris snorted as he poked at the jar of acorns, turning it over in his hands curiously. His eyes met Kalli's, and they shared a commiserating look. "Orana is preparing dinner," he said, still toying with the jar of acorns. "She always makes too much. Would you... like to join us?"

Artemis fought to keep the surprise off his face. Fenris, asking Theron to stay? And Kalli too, of course, but... after how growly he'd been about Theron back at the Dalish camp?

"I... yes," he stuttered. "That's... food. Food is a good thing." He coughed into his fist and tried again. "That is to say, please join us for dinner?" Though Artie might need to break into that liqueur early if Theron kept eyeing him like that.

"We'd love to stay for dinner. That's very kind of you to offer," Theron said, with a somewhat relieved smile at Fenris. He took another look around the room. "In all my years, I never thought I'd be standing in a house like this, and certainly not one owned by people I know..."

"And until recently, I never thought I'd own a house like this. Funny how that works, isn't it?" Fenris handed the jar to Artie, with a completely baffled look. Pickled acorns? _Pickled_?

"It's yours, then?" Kalli asked. "I had no idea they'd let an elf own a house anywhere outside the alienage. Especially not a place like this."

"It's ours," Fenris clarified, picking up the bottle and heading for the dining room. "And they really don't have much of a choice in the matter. I didn't ask for approval, when I moved in."

Kalli laughed and followed. "I _like_ you! Can I keep him, Theron?"

"Sorry, I'm not done with him," Artemis said, a smirk pulling at his lips. "Though I might let you borrow him, if you ask nicely."

"You are not lending me out, mage!" Fenris called back without looking over his shoulder.

"Too bad," Theron said, eyeing Fenris appreciatively. "I wouldn't mind borrowing him myself." He looked at Kalli, she looked back, and the two of them seemed to have an entire conversation with just a few twists of their eyebrows.

Fenris was starting to rethink this idea. Artemis ducked into the kitchen to tell Orana their guests would be staying for dinner -- and to hand her the pickled acorns he had no idea what to do with. He grabbed a bottle of wine and four glasses on his way out.

"Wine?" he offered as he came back into the dining room. "I'm having wine."

Fenris was definitely rethinking this idea.

"That sounds lovely," Theron said, holding out a hand for a glass.

"Adding alcohol to Theron may make him even more of a daft git, just so you're warned. I don't know how much drinking the two of you may have done, before, but I'll guarantee it makes him stupid, now." Kalli laughed and plucked a glass out of Artie's hand, passing it to Fenris, before swiping the other spare for herself.

"It does not make me stupid. It makes me more fun." Theron smirked at his wife.

"Slapstick, I presume," Fenris muttered, setting the other bottle on the table. He debated violating all good sense and helping himself to a couple of glasses, before the evening got any more interesting. Whatever else he might be, 'drunk enough for this' was not on the list.

"He was drunk, when we met," Kalli sighed, swatting her husband's bottom. "Hadn't gotten the hang of demon-water, yet, and was just hanging upside down from a branch of the vhenadahl, with a bottle in his hand, trying to figure out how to drink more without pouring it into his eye. What can I say? It was cute."

Artemis pointedly didn't look at Fenris as he took a sip of his wine.

"Hmm, drunken shenanigans," Fenris said, eyeing Artemis. "I wonder what that's like."

"In my defence," Artemis said, pointing at Fenris with the hand holding his glass, "we were at least sober when we met."

"And how long did that last?"

"Hush, you."

Theron chuckled around a mouthful of wine. "We'll have to break out the demon-water later," he said. "See if either of you end up hanging upside-down from a tree."

"No trees," said Artie. "A chandelier, maybe."

Fenris eyed his fiancé. "Why do I have a feeling that has happened before?"

"It has, but not to me. Anton. You know the chandelier at the Blooming Rose? To this day, I have no idea how he got up there, but Cormac and I had to get him down after. Well. Mostly Cormac. You remember that... thing we did with the pear tree?"

Fenris remembered. It was right after their last stint in the Deep Roads, after Corypheus. A rather... creative use of force magic and shields to shake the pears from a tree. "You... shook down your brother like a fruit?"

"My brother _is_ a fruit."

"Is this another brother?" Kalli asked around a laugh. "He wasn't the one with the sword...?"

"No, no, that was Carver," Artie explained. He paused for another sip of wine. "Equally crazy but less likely to climb things."

Orana came out to set the extra places at the table, hands full of dishes and silverware. "Dinner will be served very soon," she said, with a quick nod, before she ducked back into the kitchen.

"So, how do you do it?" Kalli asked Fenris. "Keeping elf servants like every other nobleman."

"I pay her very well, and she lives with us," Fenris replied, coolly. "Do not presume you understand our circumstance. Neither of us came from an alienage."

"I _was_ wondering about your face," Kalli admitted, taking a closer look. "I don't think I've seen that one before. Where's your clan from?"

"Kalli," Theron interrupted, before she could get further. "I don't think he's Dalish."

"Not from an alienage and not Dalish? How are you an elf?" Kalli looked completely confused at the idea, never having given much thought to the idea of elves beyond the alienages or the Dalish clans. What other kinds of elves were there?

Artemis stilled, wine glass halfway to his lips as he eyed the elves in front of him. The smile Fenris gave Kalli was more a baring of teeth. "'How am I an elf'?" he asked. "I trust I don't need to tell you the logistics of how elves are made. If you're wondering where I'm from, it's the Imperium."

Kalli's expression sobered at that. Elves and Tevinter? _That_ was a combination she knew, one she'd almost known too well. "I see," she said, turning the wine glass in her hand. At Fenris's dubious look, she said, "We had a few... visitors from Tevinter at the Denerim alienage. Luckily, the Hero of Ferelden stepped in or they might have left with a few souvenirs." Like her father. Not her fondest memory, even if she'd gotten a chance to gut a few of the 'Vints.

Fenris nodded, expression clearing. "I see," he said in turn. Maybe he would have those glasses of wine after all.

"The Hero of Ferelden?" Artemis asked. "Solona Amell?"

Kalli shrugged. "Was that her name? She seemed nice enough. Certainly fried the bastards pretty well."

Artie laughed weakly. "Yeah, that's... my cousin."

Kalli's eyebrows shot up. "Your family certainly gets around, doesn't it?"

"You have no idea," Fenris muttered, earning a mock scowl from Artemis.

"How did you escape?" Kalli asked, turning back to Fenris.

"Perseverance." Fenris felt his ear twitch. This wasn't something he enjoyed discussing.

"That how you two--" Kalli started.

"No." Fenris pulled out a chair, for Artemis, as Orana started bringing out the food. "We met in Kirkwall, after I paid him a few silver to pick up a package for me." That brought a hint of amusement back to his face, as he thought of it. A trap for one mage, and he'd caught a completely other one.

"After?" Theron asked, taking a seat on the other side of the table. "Don't you usually meet someone _before_ you pay them?"

"It was a complicated situation that involved a dwarf," Fenris explained, while explaining nothing at all. He took some bread for himself, and then served thesegmentuli ad modum Carastei. That was the thing about Orana, he'd noticed, she was very attached to a handful of recipes from back home. Not that she wouldn't cook other things, but there would always be something on the table that reminded him that he could have been standing behind the chair at the head of the table, not sitting in it. He found it kept things in perspective.

"A dwarf? Oh, no. Now this just sounds dirty," Kalli laughed, sitting next to her husband and eyeing Artemis for confirmation.

Artemis nodded around a bite of soup. He waited to chew and swallow before he said, "A dwarf. And some smugglers. Though it was all rather more 'cloak and dagger' than dirty. And it was technically Anton's job. I was just there to keep him out of trouble. Well. For certain values of trouble. Keeping him out of trouble is like trying to corral cats."

Fenris had a sudden image of Anders and his pair of fluff-demons. Just trying to get Lord Assbiter to stop climbing his shoulders had been difficult enough.

"Anyway," Artemis went on, poking at his soup with his spoon, "we helped him with some pest-control in the form of Tevinter slavers, then went out for drinks, and... here we are." He glossed over the messier details. Like how Artie had accidentally smacked Fenris into the floor, and how Fenris had reciprocated by purposefully slamming him into a wall. By the throat. Artie caught Fenris's eye and could tell his elf was thinking along the same lines. "It's not the, uh... most romantic tale." And then he was thinking of the Deep Roads and tents and his hand squeezing Fenris's pillowy ass. Artemis cleared his throat and took another drink of wine. Maker knew how they'd gotten here from... that.

"So, the crazy little farm mage with the earthquakes grew up to be the crazy and much taller noble mage, still with the earthquakes, and now with the attractive Tevinter fiancé. I don't know, I think that would sell books all by itself," Theron said, with a smile, before attempting to eat the soup. He looked a little green as he swallowed it. "So, not to be rude, but what did I just put in my mouth?"

"Isn't that always the question with you?" Kalli laughed some more, and dipped bread in her soup. "It's good," she assured Fenris. "He's just bad at food. I think it's a Dalish thing. _Pickled acorns_..."

Fenris looked amused, but struggled not to look smug. It would be terribly rude, he decided, to take nearly that much pride in having accidentally made Theron uncomfortable. "It's whipped egg soup with quail broth, a popular dish from Carastes. One of the few Tevinter things I've come to like."

"The bread is amazing," Theron said, around a mouthful of it. "Is that onion and thyme? Very talented cook."

"Yes, I've been very happy with her, and she's been ... little displeased with us." Fenris hid a smile behind his wine. "He did not rescue me from the dreaded clutches of the Imperium, but we did rescue _her_ , which was an excellent decision on our part." Never mind that it had been Cormac's decision, and he almost took the mage's face off over it.

"Haven't regretted it for a second," Artemis agreed. He tore off a piece of bread and nibbled at it as he considered. "Though I wonder sometimes if she has, especially after that, uh, incident with the flowers."

Stirring his soup, Fenris quirked an eyebrow at his mage. "On the contrary," he said, "I think she benefited more from that than we did." At Artemis's quizzical look, Fenris added, "Evie? The florist? She and Orana?"

"That's-- _What_? That's a thing?"

"That's a thing," Fenris assured him, though he wondered how Artie hadn't noticed. His fool mage. Terribly observant when it came to order and cleanliness but sometimes terribly obtuse when it came to people. Not that he was any better, when he thought about it.

Artemis sat back, peering at the kitchen and looking like he was re-evaluating the past few months of his life.

Theron and Kalli exchanged sidelong glances. "Do we want to know about the 'incident with the flowers'?" Theron asked.

"No," Artemis and Fenris said at once.


	126. Chapter 126

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upside-down and stupid is a sign of affection among the Dalish. Or, you know, that's just Mahariel.

After supper and a great deal of wine, they retired to yet another room, with far more bottles and comfortable seating. Kalli opened the bottle of what she'd described as 'yellow demon-water', and poured for all of them. "I like red better, but Theron started on yellow and never moved on," she said, holding her glass out to examine the contents.

"Why move away from the best?" Theron asked. "I like peaches and peaches like me!"

"Which is why you keep ending up upside down and stupid, is it?"

A profoundly lecherous grin crept across Theron's face. "You should know by now that upside down and stupid is a sign of affection among the Dalish."

"No, I'm pretty sure that's just you." Kalli turned a long-suffering look on Fenris.

"Stupid drunkenness is most certainly a sign of affection in his family." Fenris pointed to Artemis. "Or at least it's the predecessor to signs of affection."

"Carver would resent that statement," Artemis pointed out, words starting to run together. He leaned heavily against Fenris on the couch, cheek rubbing his elf's shoulder. "I, on the other hand, resemble that statement."

This time it was Fenris turning a long-suffering look on Kalli. "Stupid drunkenness," he said, pointing again at Artie, who tried to bite his finger.

Theron smirked into his drink. "Enjoying the demon-water, Earthquake Boy?" His words weren't faring much better, tripping over one another. Kalli shook her head with a fond sigh.

"Better than cordial," Artie decided, licking his lips. "At least the kind Anton likes. What kind is that? Orange? This drink is peachy." He snickered. "Peachy. See what I did there?"

"Yes, we're all very impressed with your wit," Fenris sighed, patting Artie's head indulgently.

"Shh, I'm hilarious," Artemis insisted, sitting forward to neaten the bottle on the table.

Kalli stood up to reach the bottle, leaning over the little table to pour more for all of them. Sure, Theron and Artie should probably stop drinking, before either of them got any dumber, but at least they were inside rather than in public, so the dumb could be contained and exploited for amusement. She turned to pour for Theron and caught her belt on Fenris's arm, dropping into his lap, unexpectedly. She could work with that, she decided, leaning back against the arm of the couch, and tucking her feet under Artie's thigh, before Fenris had recovered his breath.

"Well, hello, sailor!" Kalli laughed, the bottle still hanging from her hand. She'd left her glass on the table, but it wouldn't be hard to reach. She was, after all, much less drunk than Theron.

"I do not like boats very much. They smell of fish. I do not like fish, either." Fenris held his arms bent out of the way of the woman suddenly draped across him, hiding his confusion and mild panic behind disgust and derision, as usual. "You seem to have confused me for some part of the furniture."

"You look a little thin to be a comfortable seat," Theron joked, "but she likes sitting on hard things."

"His ass is quite pillowy," Artemis helpfully informed Kalli, grinning at her from Fenris's shoulder. "You should try sitting on that instead."

Kalli hummed, twisting to look at Fenris's ass, what little of it she could see from this angle, hidden amidst the couch cushions.

"Mage, you are not helping," Fenris told Artemis, giving him a flat look.

"I beg to differ."

"I mean you are not helping _me_." Fenris sat stiffly pressed against the back of the couch, unsure where to put his arms, unsure whether to push Kalli off or wait for her to move on her own. "No one is sitting on my ass, which is _not_ pillowy, by the way."

"No one?" Kalli asked, tilting her head. "Not even Artemis?"

"He usually sits on _my_ ass," Artie replied. "Which is definitely pillowy."

Theron cackled, head lolling back against his chair. "Can we compare them? Please?"

"I would hardly characterise what I do with your ass as 'sitting', mage," Fenris pointed out, and then finished what remained in his glass. Definitely not drunk enough. "And no. There will be no comparing of asses. My ass has spent enough time on display, thank you."

Kalli watched the glass empty above her head, and brought up the bottle. "Here, have some more. You look like you could use another three."

Despite his better judgement, Fenris allowed her to pour for him, again. He looked down at Artie's face on his shoulder. This was not how he'd meant this to go, at all. He'd thought Kalli would keep Theron in line, but... apparently he'd misjudged that, given the way she wriggled in his lap and traded sly smiles with Artemis.

"So, I can't help but notice the lack of bruises." Theron gestured at his neck and sloppily cocked his chin at Artie. "Not as into getting picked up by your neck, as you used to be? Pity, I always liked how fast that turned you on."

A nervous laugh punched out of Artemis, ending in an awkward cough. "No, that's... I still... um." Artemis sat up off of Fenris to take another long drink.

Fenris stared at his mage, at the flush that rose up his neck to the tip of his ears. That wasn't surprising, he supposed, considering how much Artemis had liked that collar, but... with Theron, Artemis had been a teenager. Even then? Either way, it wasn't the sort of thing Fenris should be thinking about with Kalli a warm weight in his lap. At least now he knew what to do with his hands: hold the glass to his lips while he tried to figure out what to do with this.

Kalli sat up in Fenris's lap, twisting to dig out a throw pillow that had gotten trapped between her and the cushions. She tossed it at Theron and watched it bounce off his face, knocking the glass against his teeth. He squeaked in protest but somehow managed not to spill any demon-water. "What was that for?" he whined.

"You're embarrassing our hosts!" Kalli huffed.

"You're _sitting_ on our hosts! Which is making me feel a little left out, you know, sitting here all alone in this chair, with the three of you so cosy on that couch." Theron looked at Artie's lap speculatively, a grin curling his lips.

Fenris's mind would not stop providing him with utterly inappropriate images. Perhaps his control was not all it had once been. Or perhaps his memory was just better, now, and with so many more pleasing things in it. That was more likely. Still, he'd have to work on that. There was a time and a place, and he was relatively certain this was not it, regardless of what the woman in his lap might think. But, the memory of Artemis straining against that leather collar, choking at the end of every savage thrust, would not leave him. He shifted uncomfortably, almost wishing he'd worn something else.

Kalli's eyes lit up, as Fenris squirmed, and she grinned at Artie. "Ooh! What _is_ he thinking? Was I wrong? Was 'embarrassed' not the word I wanted? I'm pretty sure that's not embarrassment jabbing me in the ass."

Theron laughed and lurched to his feet, making it around the table to sit on the arm of the couch next to Artie. "See, he knows, Kalli. He knows exactly what I'm talking about." He ran a finger down the side of Artemis's neck. "Does he do it better than I did it?" he purred. "He must. We were just kids, then."

Now Artemis was the one squirming against the couch, wedged between Fenris and Theron, remembering Theron's hand on his throat, then Fenris tugging on his collar. "I... uh." A question. Theron had asked one, hadn't he? Maker knew what it was.

Theron's eyes met Kalli's, and they traded knowing smirks over Artie and Fenris. "That's definitely not embarrassment," Theron said.

"It's a little bit embarrassment," Artemis protested. He looked up at Theron, at the older version of the face he once knew. It was as though someone had taken a chisel to Theron's teenaged face, sharpening the edges and hollowing the cheeks. But the vallaslin was still new to Artie, and he traced one bold line down Theron's cheek, not realising he was touching finger to skin until he felt the muscles of that cheek move in a smile.

"They're for Andruil," Theron murmured. "I've gotten so used to them, it didn't occur to me that I didn't have them last time you saw me. Well. The last time you saw me, back _then_. And it actually is for Andruil, not a disclaimer about my ass or any other part of my person."

"Your ass doesn't need a disclaimer," Kalli said. "It's your mouth that does."

"Considering all the wicked things I can do with it? Oh, I agree." The sly grin on his face was aimed firmly at Artie. "I know you've only seen a few of those. I got creative, after you were gone. Couldn't figure out why I wasn't getting earthquakes, so I just kept trying harder. Learned a few things along the way. Of course, I'm sure you did, too. Maybe we should share what we've learnt."

"Of all the things he learned," Kalli muttered, leaning back against Fenris's arm, "good pickup lines were not among them. Do you hear this cheese?"

"I am more impressed that he expects it to work," Fenris murmured, looking at Theron and Artemis with confused amusement. "Of course, with Artemis this drunk, it's probably actually overkill," he sighed.

"You want to keep jabbing me in the ass with that, while we watch them make drunken fools of themselves?" Kalli asked. "Probably the best entertainment I've had since that time on the boat, when he got drunk and tangled in the rigging, and kept hitting on the sailors trying to get him down. He was so sad there weren't any earthquakes, but I reminded him we were on a boat, and earthquakes would be a very bad thing."

"But we're not on a boat now," Theron reminded her, holding up one finger as though making a sage point. "Earthquakes are less of a bad thing here. In fact, earthquakes are a good thing here."

"Earthquakes are a good thing," Fenris said with a sly smile of his own, nudging Artemis with his elbow. "Generally speaking. Though not with glasses around. We learned that the hard way and had to redecorate the bedroom."

Kalli eyed the glasses in everyone's hands.

"She still doesn't believe me about the earthquakes," Theron said in a stage whisper, leaning in to talk in Artie's ear. He reached up, one hand lightly tracing Artemis's jaw, the slope of his neck. "I think we should show her."

"You weren't wrong about this working," Kalli said to Fenris, eyeing the way Artie's breathing picked up. "Wow."

Fenris hummed, watching his mage's face. Artemis's head lolled along the back of the couch to face him. With Theron's hand still on his throat, he pressed a kiss to Fenris's lips, and Fenris parted his legs a little further, dropping Kalli to the couch, between his thighs, as he kissed Artemis heatedly.

"Is this what you want, Amatus?" he breathed into Artie's mouth. "Tell me what you want, and I'll do what you need."

It wasn't at all how this was supposed to have gone, but he was learning that Artie liked to show off for him, and that he'd always come back, after. It was never a taunt, or a comment on him in any way. It was a performance. It was meant to be enticing, and he was learning how to take it that way. Learning to enjoy the sight of his mage being held down and used by other men, always with that rapturous smile on his face. And that was it, really -- Artie seemed to enjoy it so much, even and maybe especially the part where he was watching. So, yes, maybe he and Kalli could sit back and watch as her husband got earthquakes out of his fiancé.

Somewhere in all this tangle of limbs, Artie reached up to cup Fenris's face, pouring all his adoration into their next kiss. Maker, what had he done in life to deserve this elf? He needed to know so he could keep on doing it. "I do want it," Artemis murmured back between kisses. He wanted Theron inside him, Theron's hand around his neck, but mostly he wanted Fenris to be there with him.

"Then you should have it," Fenris growled.

"Te amo." Artemis smiled against Fenris's lips and gave him one last kiss before turning back to Theron. And then Theron's mouth picked up where Fenris's had left off. He hadn't been wrong about the wicked things he could do with it. The grip on Artie's neck tightened, squeezed, and a moan shivered out of Artemis's mouth to be swallowed by Theron.

Artie clutched at Theron, pulling him down onto the couch. The angle was awkward, their knees knocked, and a throw pillow was wedged uncomfortably against the small of Artie's back, but they barely paused for breath -- and Artie paused for less breath than Theron.

"Oh, this is fun," Kalli said, grabbing the bottle to top off her drink. That reminded Fenris that Artemis was still holding his, and he plucked the glass out of his fiancé's grip, handing it to Kalli to set on the table. He didn't know when Theron had set down his, but the Dalish had both hands on his mage already.


	127. Chapter 127

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A particular enjoyment of elven culture, part the first.

Theron lifted his leg and set his foot on the edge of the table, turning it and forcing it out of the way, before he pulled the pillow out from behind Artemis and tossed it onto the floor. The kiss broke and Theron's eyes lingered on Artie's for a long, amazed moment. He'd waited so long for this. Gave up hope of it happening again, after the last time they'd seen each other -- Fenris had seemed so unwilling to share, then.

"Show me how much you missed me," he purred, slinging Artemis off the couch, to land with his neck on the pillow. Almost right. Close enough. His reflexes were a little less fantastic, the more he had to drink. He leaned down to pull off his boots, setting them next to the couch. "Show me, Artemis."

"Is this what you like, too?" Fenris asked Kalli, honestly curious.

"Not really. He's not like this with me. He's got a good sense of what he wants and what his lovers want. But, I think he only gets really rough with shem men." Kalli cuddled closer and took a long drink. "You _can_ touch me, you know. This isn't just about them." She paused. "Unless you're... Oh, the wolf take my boots, I should have asked. You're not only interested in men, are you?"

Fenris's ears twitched. Before Artemis, there had been no interest in anyone. And after -- during -- Artemis, there had been Tallis, but he so rarely thought of her. "I find... women just as interesting," he said, and Kalli certainly was an attractive woman, all dark hair and fair skin, lithe body pressed to his. Hesitantly, he wrapped an arm around her waist, which was more comfortable than keeping it twisted away from her. Over her shoulder, he continued to watch Artemis, who was by then shirtless and in the process of shimmying out of his trousers.

"I guess you did miss me," Theron purred, eyeing the state of his knob,

"Well, you wanted me to show you," Artemis said, gesturing at his crotch with a crooked smile.

"I did," Theron agreed, running a hand up one lean thigh, up Artie's stomach, his chest, before grabbing him, flipping him onto his stomach. "And now I want you to tell me," he growled in Artemis's ear, pausing to nip at its strange, round little shell.

"Theron," Artemis breathed. "I want you. Please."

"You're so pretty when you beg me for more," Theron growled, untying his belt with one hand. "I must have fucked half the shem in Ferelden looking for one who could shake the earth, like you, for one who looked so hot and sweet begging to be choked out." He folded the belt and dragged the leather over Artemis's skin, before finally rubbing it against the side of his neck. "But, I learned so much. You set me seeking, and I'm bringing back what I found."

"He really has been waiting all this time, hasn't he?" Fenris's eyebrow arced up in surprise.

"You have no idea," Kalli muttered, finishing her drink and setting the glass on the table.

Theron slipped the belt around Artemis's neck, tying it carefully, with enough room that he could easily wrap his hand around the knot without meeting skin. "Do you remember when I met you in the woods, so we wouldn't distract the circle, and I pinned you to the wall of that ruin, so your feet didn't touch the ground, and just took you until I couldn't stand? I still dream about that," he murmured, slowly peeling his clothes off. "I was so sure we were both going to get killed, you for being a shem and me for being inside you."

"Maker, Theron," Artemis groaned, watching Theron strip over his shoulder, taking in this new body, its new shape, as each bit of skin was revealed. "I do remember that. I..." That had inspired a few dreams of his own and a few other earthquakes, deep in the woods. He'd been able to feel Theron for days, not just inside him but around his throat. He'd had to wear high collars in the heat of summer to hide the marks, but he hadn't minded.

Theron bent to tug on Artie's makeshift collar, pulling him up onto his hands and knees, holding him there with the collar just digging into his throat. "Is this how you want it?" he purred. "On your knees for me?"

"Maker, yes," Artie breathed.

"You know," said Kalli, squirming back against Fenris and eyeing Artemis's nude form appreciatively, "he's right. His ass does look pillowy."

Fenris chuffed. "It is," he acknowledged. He glanced at the table and frowned. "Though I think we might want to put the glassware away before any earthquakes happen."

Kalli's eyebrows arced. She wondered if there might be some truth to this earthquake nonsense, if Artie's fiancé wanted to take such precautions.

Fenris cocked his head, towards the cabinet behind the couch. "Cabinet, over there," he said. "It should keep them from rattling too much."

She couldn't figure out if he was quite serious, or just pulling her leg, but Kalli got up to put the glassware away. She was sure Fenris would have done it himself, if he hadn't been under her.

"You know," Kalli said, returning to the couch. "There's no one else on the couch any more. We could just take up all of it."

"It is a very large couch, and neither of us is very tall," Fenris teased, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"We'll just have to try harder," Kalli declared, vaulting the back of the couch and landing shoulders and heels first, dropping her head into Fenris's lap. "Hm. No. Other way. View's better from that end."

As the elves on the couch struggled to occupy it correctly, Theron's hands wandered over Artemis's body, tracing the subtle lines of muscle.

"We're not who we were," Theron said, remembering how Artemis had looked beneath him, almost twenty years earlier. "We're older, now. We're better, now."

Two fingers went into his mouth with a wet sound that let Artemis know exactly what was happening, even if he couldn't turn his head. Soon, those fingers slipped between the cheeks of that pillowy ass, and Theron tapped one against the hole. "So, mage, since that's what you are, do you have any other magical pleasures to offer? Not to say the earthquakes aren't amazing, but..." He shoved both fingers in, twisted his wrist, and curled the tips down.

A harsh breath shivered out of Artemis, fingers curling into the rug. All this time, and Theron still knew what he liked, and the way those fingers moved made it impossible to focus on the question. "I have... a few tricks," he breathed, a sly smile curling his lips.

"He does," Fenris agreed. "His electricity is a favourite of mine."

Artemis looked back at him on the couch, throwing him a knowing smirk.

"Electricity, hm?" Theron's fingers continued to tease him almost mercilessly. Artemis nodded and hummed, not bothering with words. Reaching behind him, he gathered some sparks to the tips of his fingers and pressed them to Theron's wrist. The jolt trembled back through him along Theron's fingers, and Artemis sucked in a gasp.

"Oh," Theron breathed, back straightening. "Well, now that is interesting."

" _Mages_ ," Fenris purred, smug satisfaction on his face. "I never understood, until I got one of my very own."

"I'd have thought you--" Kalli started, but Fenris cut her off.

"Don't finish that sentence," he warned, wrapping an arm around Kalli's waist again, as he stretched out behind her. "My mage is without trousers. It is not the time for politics."

Letting go of the belt, for a moment, Theron picked through the pouch that had been on his belt, coming up with a small metal tin of salve. He drummed his fingers against Artemis's insides, before drawing them out, only to push them right back in, this time with an enormous amount of salve on them. His fingers curled and stroked, working it in.

"Here, turn with me," Theron said, putting the salve aside and taking Artemis by the collar again, pulling gently to the side. "Let's give them a good view of just how much you love it, when I take you."

Artemis looked up at the couch as he turned, cheeks burning at the scrutiny even as his knob enjoyed the attention. He offered the pair on the couch a jaunty smile.

"Your shem really is very pretty," Kalli said, shimmying back against Fenris until her back was flush with his chest and she could feel every hard line of his body. Especially one hard line in particular.

"He is," Fenris agreed, watching as Theron knelt behind his mage, lining himself up.

Theron entered Artie in one hard thrust, rocking him forward and wringing a strangled sound from his throat. An appreciative sound hummed in the back of Theron's throat as Artemis adjusted around him. "After all this time," he sighed, "I can't believe I'm back inside you." He ground in hard as though to reassure them both that he was.

Theron took hold of the collar again, tugging just enough for Artie to feel the pressure, tugging just a little harder each time his hips ground forward. "You love that they're watching us, don't you," he breathed, remembering how much Artie had liked dirty talk, and remembering a little something else, as well. "That time when you moaned like you meant it, and I hushed you. Told you if you weren't quiet, your brother was going to hear us. Must've been the first time, because we were in the aravel. Close enough that someone probably _would_ hear us, if we didn't keep it down. And you arched under me, when I said it, biting at your lip. I didn't get it then, but you wanted someone watching, didn't you? Wanted someone to watch my hand tighten around your neck while you writhed under me, desperate to be fucked."

He took a tighter hold on the collar and shifted his knees out a bit, rolling his hips one last time before he slid out and slammed in again. "Do you still like it hard and fast?" Theron slammed in, a few more times, letting his thrusts jar Artemis against the collar. "Like you used to beg for it, when I'd slow down and tease you?"

And then he did slow down, just rocking his hips in tiny, quick, powerless thrusts, just barely enough to serve as a reminder that he was buried deep inside Artemis.

Fenris listened, matching the words and the tone to the look on Artie's face. Eventually, he'd learn how to talk to his mage, in bed, and right now there was someone doing a very good job of it, close enough that he could hear every word, and he meant to take a lesson from that. His hand squeezed distractedly at Kalli's hip, the flesh in his hand reminding him how it felt to take Artemis as Theron had him, now.

“You’re still a tease,” Artemis breathed, hips canting back into Theron, encouraging him to pick up the pace again. “You know how I want it. You know I can take it.”

“Oh, I remember,” Theron said, fingers flexing against Artie’s collar. “But I want you to ask for it. Though I love the little noises you make when you’re trying to hide how badly you want it.”


	128. Chapter 128

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Artemis enjoys his favourite Dalish delight, and Theron is thrilled to be causing earthquakes again.

Theron twitched his hips, one hard thrust to remind Artemis how it felt, to jar another shivery breath from the mage’s lips, and then went back to the shallow rocking. Artie swore under his breath, leaning more of his weight against the collar. Theron wanted him to beg? So be it.

“More.” It was half a plea, half a growl. “Harder. Pound me into the floor. Take me. Use me. Please.”

Fenris squirmed behind Kalli, remembering how Artie had looked, kneeling at his feet and begging for the same thing. But Theron didn’t hesitate the way he did, didn’t stop, didn’t panic. He secured his grip on Artemis’s collar and pulled out only to slam back in again. Once, twice, setting up a rhythm that knocked the breath out of Artie’s lungs.

Theron bent to speak closer to Artemis’s ear. “We may not be the same men,” he purred. “But some things don’t change, do they?”

Artemis was certain there were words somewhere for this, in the same way he was certain there was a world outside this room and sensations other than just how _good_ Theron felt.

"He's pretty when he begs," Kalli purred, eyes lingering on Artie's face, as she pressed herself back against Fenris. "I can see the appeal."

Fenris made a small sound of amusement as he clutched Kalli closer, grinding against her. "No, you see _some_ of the appeal. Keep watching." He could admit that Theron wasn't bad-looking, either, if not quite his preference. Still much better looking than Cormac, at least to him. Better looking than the-- than Anders, too, but the healer always looked ragged. Magical bears, the both of them. Not like his mage, who was just a little bit fluffy, like a human should be, and so heartbreakingly beautiful. He wished, for a moment that he were down on the floor, with his mage, but then he wouldn't be able to watch every little flicker of excitement that bloomed on that pretty face and then ran down those taut sides.

Theron pounded into Artemis, mercilessly, his own body starting to show the strain of holding out until he'd wrung every last bit of pleasure from his pretty little -- well, not so little any more -- shemlen of earthquakes. His muscles trembled, as he listened to those sweet and desperate sounds stuttering out of Artemis, each one cut off by a collision with the collar. His free hand slipped under Artemis, caressing that lean body, pinching a nipple, before he let his hand wander down, cupping his palm so the tip of Artie's knob would grind into it with every thrust.

The sounds slipping out of Artie changed in pitch, filling the room, and Theron watched the fine shiver that started down his shem's spine. He remembered those sounds, remembered the way Artemis would shake just before the world did, and Theron panted through a smile. Almost there.

"Maker," Artemis breathed, collar choking off the words. "Theron!" He caught Fenris's gaze, watched the desire in his elf's eyes until his own rolled back. The way Theron ploughed into him, he didn't feel the ground start to shake, but he did hear the glasses rattle in the cabinet, heard the cabinet rattle against the wall.

"Well, piss my panties," Kalli murmured, eyes round. "He wasn't lying." There was something pleasing about the way the couch trembled beneath her, and she was beginning to understand her husband's addiction to this shem. Fenris grinned against the back of her neck, hips moving more insistently against her as he watched his mage unravel.

"Oh, I've missed you," Theron panted, as the shaking in the floor echoed up through his bones. "Missed the way you make the whole world shiver and shake when I'm inside you." This was everything he'd hoped it would be, everything he'd remembered it being. The way Artemis shivered beneath him and the whole room rattled in sympathy, he remembered the first time he'd held that incredible power in his hands, impaled on his knob -- it was terrifying, but the thrill ran through him like fire, and he'd just wanted to do it again and again.

The image of this other elf obsessing over his mage was just making Fenris more and more smug, and more and more hard. He had something truly wonderful -- this mage wanted to spend the rest of their lives together -- and here was Artemis, down on his knees, proving how beautiful and lusty he was. Something inside Fenris flickered and burned with the shaking of the couch, something savage and prideful. He would wait, he thought, until Theron was satisfied, and then he would have Artemis, himself, right on the floor, while his mage was still sweating and dripping.

Kalli ground back into Fenris as she watched, hardly daring to blink. A part of her wanted to be envious, feeling the earth shiver and seeing that look on her husband's face, but he was a beautiful sight like this, almost wild, and she drank in every anguished twist of his features. The sounds Theron and Artemis made vibrated through her in time to the couch's shaking, and she stroked a hand down her thigh, aching to touch and be touched.

Theron continued to speak, feverish words of praise falling from his lips as he thrust hard enough to make the ground shake on his own. His rhythm stuttered, hips shaking, and his hand slid to Artie's hip, clutching that jut of bone. He slammed in once, twice, and buried himself as deep as he could go, spilling inside his shem, who still quivered and trembled around him. Theron sifted through the names of his gods as the spots cleared from his eyes, wondering which of them he should be thanking for this. Best to offer prayers and thanks to all of them, he supposed, and he made a note to do so when he could remember where he'd left his extremities.

Theron continued to circle his hips just to feel Artie shudder. He finally let go of the collar to bury his hand in Artie's hair, fingers kneading the scalp and tangling with locks curling with sweat. The mage rewarded him with a sound like a purr, and Theron could picture the pleased little face he was making.

"Artemis," Fenris barely recognised his own voice. "May I... Do you want more?" Even now, he couldn't just take. Always the question, before he moved. Of course, if Artie said no, there was still this lovely woman writhing against him. He supposed he should have seen to her pleasure, but he'd been a bit distracted, and he still had no idea what to do with... anything but his mage, really. Even Anders had called them kinky.

Theron laughed weakly against Artemis's shoulder. "Sounds like it's your lucky night," he managed, still trying to catch his breath.

A loopy, tired smile curled Artie's lips. "Every night with him is lucky," he said over his shoulder. "In both senses of the word." His smile turned a bit wicked. "You know me," he told Fenris. "I'd never say no to a second helping." Just the thought made him shiver: Fenris rutting into him while he was still slick with Theron's spend.

Bringing his other hand up to his mouth, Theron licked his fingers clean, slowly, teasingly, eyeing his wife the whole time. He let go of Artie's hair, leaning down to press a kiss between the shem's sharp shoulderblades, as he eased himself out. "We should do this again, sometime," he murmured, before falling dramatically sideways onto the rug, holding out a hand to Kalli. "Can't move!" He declared. "Too tired and well used! Come sit on my face, ma vhenan, so you can keep watching them."


	129. Chapter 129

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yet more applied elven culture.

Fenris gave Kalli an encouraging squeeze, and waited until she got up, before he poured himself off the couch, painfully hard in his tight leather trousers. He leaned down and ran a finger along Artemis's spine. "Tip your hips up, mage," he growled. "You don't want to drip on the floor." It was a shame, Fenris thought, that there was a rug in this room. He might have threatened to make Artie lick up anything he spilled, otherwise, just to see how that would go over. It wasn't like their floors were ever dirty enough for it to matter.

Artemis purred at the sound of Fenris's voice, low with want. Theron knew how to talk, knew what words he needed to wind Artemis up, but Artemis couldn't feel Theron's voice in his bones. He tilted his hips up obligingly and leaned forward onto his elbows, his limbs still shaky from Theron's attentions. Attentions that Fenris had watched. Artie rested his chin on his forearms and looked coyly at Fenris over his shoulder.

One hand trailed down to Artie's rump, squeezing one cheek appreciatively. Fenris pressed a thumb to Artemis's stretched entrance, gathering the wetness that had started to drip and pushing it back in. Artemis shivered, muscles fluttering around Fenris as his elf stroked his well-used insides. "Te ardeo," Fenris murmured, marvelling again at the beauty of his mage. _His_ mage, his because Artemis had given himself to Fenris.

"I'm not sure what you just said," Artemis replied, "but... same."

Fenris chuckled, bending forward to kiss the small of his back. "It means I adore you," he said to the skin there. He slid his thumb free and pressed another kiss between Artemis's shoulderblades, where Theron had kissed him moments before. "It means I burn for you."

"Oh," Artemis breathed, fighting not to squirm. "Then yes, same. Definitely." Which was really much less eloquent than speaking Tevene, but after that much alcohol and this much fucking, eloquence wasn't going to be Artemis's strongest suit.

Fenris's hand slid up along the curve of Artemis's bottom, two fingers settling into those little divets Anders had pointed out, and while they didn't fit as well as his thumbs, he had little doubt they'd do some good. He leaned against those points in Artemis's hips, as his other hand picked open the knots on his trousers, which he struggled, for a moment, to free himself from. He had to remember to stop wearing leather, around the house -- it always seemed to end like this.

Finally, Fenris held his knob in one hand, and he phased out the other, fingers sinking into the skin, pressing down into the bone on either side of Artemis's spine, as he lined himself up. He was sure there was something he should be saying, here, but he had no idea what it should be. His eyes darted hopefully toward Theron, whose tongue was, unfortunately, otherwise occupied. Kalli seemed to catch on, though.

"You just want to be used, don't you, shem? You want to get fucked full by real men and left panting on the floor in a pool of your own spend, don't you?" she teased, sharply, winking at Fenris, who suddenly looked relieved.

"Do you want me to fill you, mage? Do you want me to pour myself into you and then give you back to Theron? We could probably pass you back and forth a few more times." Fenris pushed in, slow and deep, more to give himself the room to keep breathing than because he didn't think Artemis could take it.

Artemis stifled a groan against his arm, feeling every inch of Fenris as he pressed in, so achingly slowly. Elves. Three elves, all with wicked tongues. Artemis wasn't sure how he would survive the night, and he didn't care. If he died from this, Artie hoped Cormac would erect a fitting memorial, though Maker knew what that would look like.

"Maker, yes," Artie breathed. "I love the way you feel inside me." He didn't know if he meant Fenris's knob or his fingers. Possibly both, the way pleasure shivered up his spine. "I want you to fuck me until my legs give out. And then I want you to keep going."

A muffled purr of approval came from Kalli's crotch, where Theron's face was buried, and she sucked in a breath, back arching as he did something especially wicked with his tongue. Wicked tongue. That was the disclaimer he should have had tattooed across his face. "Too bad I'm blocking your view, Theron," she said, voice breathy but not sounding the least bit remorseful. "It's a nice one. And you should see what Fenris is doing with his fingers." Which was a question Kalli wasn't going to ask, at least not until she was done with Theron's mouth. She just assumed magic, assumed he was a mage as well, if regrettably earthquake-free. As far as she knew, anyhow.

Theron made an inquisitive sound, muffled by her muff. Kalli laughed, hips twitching over Theron's face. "Do you want me to narrate?" she asked. Theron answered with another sound of approval.

Fenris chuckled, breathlessly, as he reached up to tug at the straps of leather that hung from Artemis's neck. "Amatus, if that's what you want, I'm going to _need_ to pass you back to Theron. Do you know how much I love to watch you smile? Can you feel how much I like to watch you lose control?" He rammed in harder, this time, shivering at the sensation, not just slick but _wet_. "I won't last..."

Still, Fenris tried to pick up the pace Theron had set, tried not to worry too much about hurting his mage, though that still clattered in the back of his mind. His fingers spread, hand sinking just below the skin as he slid it up Artemis's back, wrapping his fingers around the curve of his mage's ribs. He stroked the spaces between, letting the thrusts affect the motion of his hand. He could feel Artemis straining against the collar, forward and down, and he pulled a little bit harder.

This was his mage, he reminded himself. _His_. The mage belonging to him. The mage who had desired him and surrendered to him -- dangerously so -- kneeling before him, demanding to be taken. And Fenris complied, letting his body serve itself, driving himself into the hot, wet body beneath him. His hand clutched at Artemis's bones, as Kalli's voice wound through his mind, sound without meaning.

Artemis all but whimpered, overwhelmed with sensation, between the lovely pressure on his throat, the prickle of lyrium under his skin, and the harsh shove of Fenris's hips. The collar was just tight enough to make his breathing ragged, and Artemis saved his words for later, when he could get the proper air and thought behind them. For now, he just _felt_.

"You should see the shem's face," Kalli said with another breathless chuckle to both Theron and Fenris, "the way his eyes keep rolling back, mouth open around sounds he can't quite get the breath to make." Theron wrung a sound of his own from Kalli. "So what do you think, shem? Is it too soon for another earthquake? I rather liked the way that felt."

Artemis looked up at her, a lazy smile curling at the edge of his lips. His knob certainly _wanted_ to be interested, with everything that Fenris was doing, and it was going to end up extremely interested if he kept at it. He doubted Fenris would, though, from the way Fenris was moving, from the way the elf's breathing turned ragged.

"Fen," Artie said, barely a breath of sound. He wanted to tell Fenris how much he wanted him, how much he loved being filled by him, but he wasn't going to give up the lovely pressure on his windpipe just yet.

Fenris's eyes squeezed shut, sparks flickering against the blackness, as a raw sound forced itself out of his throat. He wanted -- he wanted so much, and some of it, he'd get, later. But right now, all he could have was this. Not that this was a disappointment, in the least. Just a taste of what still waited for him, once he recovered from this first round.

He tried so hard to hold back, thinking of other things, as he pistoned into his mage. Cormac and Anders together -- that should have been enough to put him off, at least a little, but that led him back to the thought of Cormac throbbing against him, the two of them squeezed so tight inside Artemis. And whatever he might think of Cormac, that had felt amazing.

Jagged little whimpers dribbled out of Fenris, as he struggled with himself, losing the awareness that he was being watched, that there was anything in the world beyond Artemis, beyond his mage's lascivious desires and gorgeous body, beyond the choked sounds and fluttering muscles... Pleasure and pain slid together in a blurry haze as Fenris spurted so hard he thought he'd passed a testicle. For a long moment, he was sure his internal organs were sliding out of his knob, and he couldn't bring himself to be concerned with that at all.

Some uncountable amount of time later, he came back to his wits draped across Artemis's back, one hand still loosely clutching the collar, and the other frozen as it had to be to press against Artemis's heart, without squeezing. "Theron," he slurred. "Trade me." He caressed Artemis's heart as he pulled his hand free, feeling its rhythm pick up and a breath stutter out of his mage. He pressed a kiss to Artie's nape, tasting the salt of sweat, as he slid free. "Te ardeo," he reminded Artemis, who smiled. Fenris thought it best not to point out that now he was definitely dripping onto the rug. He'd suggest they get rid of the rug altogether, if he didn't suspect Artemis would punish him with mage-floors.

Kalli sat up off of her haunches and Theron's face, scooting backward on her knees across the rug. She and Artie both had red marks on their knees for kneeling for so long, their skin stippled by the rug. Kalli offered Fenris a devilish smile. "Does your tongue need a disclaimer, too?" she asked. "Or is that wishful thinking?"

Fenris honestly wasn't sure. The one time he'd been with a woman, faces had lined up with faces and genitals with genitals.

"His tongue is not bad," Artemis said, sitting up on his knees to give his back a break. "But it's his hands that need the disclaimer." His grin said it all.

Kalli's eyebrows shot up. Sure, she'd been watching and saw what Fenris was doing, but to watch it and to feel it were two separate things. "That... feels good? What he was doing?" She waggled her fingers to illustrate, in case Artie wasn't sure what she meant.

Artemis nodded emphatically.

"What?" Theron asked, sitting up and scooting over as well. "What did I miss? What was Fenris doing with his hands?"

Fenris smiled serenely, raising one hand and fading it out, before he reached around Artemis and plunged it into his chest, ever-so-gently caressing the heart that quickened against his fingers.

Horror flashed across Theron's face, but Artemis did not look unhappy with the situation, at all, and the concern subsided quickly, followed by an intense curiosity. "Dirthamen's name, what are you even..." he breathed, trailing off as he leaned closer. He wasn't imagining it. Fenris's fingers were inside Artemis's chest, at an angle that suggested he held the mage's heart in his hand. Looking up, Theron offered Artemis a dizzying smile. "I don't think that's usually what people mean about giving someone your heart."

"That's disgusting..." Kalli sounded fascinated. "And amazing... You're a mage, then?"

"Why does everyone always think I'm a _mage_?" Fenris huffed, sliding his hand slowly out of Artemis's chest, again. "Amatus, the rug..." he murmured. "Lie back and put your hips in my lap, until these two finish making up their minds."

Artemis looked down at the rug and the mess he was making and swore under his breath. "Oh, that... that will be fun to clean," he sighed, shifting back and wriggling onto Fenris's lap. Later. That was a problem for later, and there was enough skin against his to keep him from obsessing about it now.

"I don't understand," Kalli said, looking over the entwined pair. "If you're not a mage, then--?" But she caught the look on Artemis's face, the subtle head shake he gave her. That just made her want to ask more questions, but she kept them tucked behind her teeth.

"Well, however you do it," Theron said, his smile still this side of uneasy even as he crawled closer, "I'm afraid that's one trick I cannot do." And that was one of his greatest regrets, if touching Artie that way put that look on his face every time. "But I still have some tricks of my own." Theron grabbed the strap of leather hanging from Artemis's neck and tugged, pulling the mage off of Fenris's lap and into his. Artemis squeaked, legs sprawling to either side of Theron, who wrapped an arm around his waist. "How many earthquakes do you think we can make?" Theron purred against Artemis's ear, sucking the lobe between his teeth. "Enough to rattle the neighbours' windows? Maybe shake the floor of the Chantry across the way?" He ground up into Artie as he spoke, knob rubbing along the wetness still leaking from his hole. The leather in his hand pulled taut, and Artemis's neck arched back, a soft, pleading sound caught in his throat.

Kalli winked at Fenris before climbing into his lap, the heat of his chest seeping into her back as she watched her husband and his shem. She took one of Fenris's hands, pressed those long fingers between her legs. "No glowing for now," she said.


	130. Chapter 130

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of too much elven c...ulture.

"So," Kalli panted, sprawled across the floor, hours later. "Glowing. Okay. I like glowing."

Theron lay beside her, draped heavily across Artemis, as he sucked Fenris's fingers clean. "Not kidding about the earthquakes," he mumbled, dazedly, around the fingers pressed against his tongue. "Definitely worth all the years I spent looking for you." He flicked his tongue between Fenris's fingers and got a choked groan.

"I have never felt this good about pain," Fenris choked out, amusedly, considering the ache in his muscles, the burn along his tattoos, and the rug-burn on a variety of body parts. "I think the rug may be a loss, however. Do you think your brother's laundress would know what to do with it?"

"Knowing my brother, I suspect his laundress has had to clean similar messes," Artemis said, too fucked stupid and sore in places he forgot he had to mind the mess too much. "If not, we'll get a new one. One more stain-resistant." He wondered what Anders would say about healing the rug burn on his ass. Probably nothing, at this point. Artie stretched his legs and spread his toes, trying to ease a cramp in his thigh. Theron shifted, moulding against him like jelly. "Tell Cormac to put 'Death by Elves' on my memorial."

Fenris hummed, petting Theron's tongue with the fingers still in his mouth. "And I'll tell Anton not to pee on it."

Kalli's face scrunched at that, and Fenris laughed tiredly. "Don't ask," he rumbled. "Anton is one of the saner Hawkes."

Theron finally pulled his mouth off of Fenris's fingers, resting his cheek on Artemis's shoulder. "I think I prefer the crazier ones."

"If you did, that would be Cormac under you, not Artemis," Fenris pointed out. "Possibly Bethany."

"Is Cormac really that crazed? He just seemed a little... intense. Scholarly. Good humoured and a little loud, maybe, but not that crazy." Theron murmured against Artemis's spine.

"You haven't spent much time with him, recently. He's quite mad." Fenris chuckled at the ceiling. "We were in a rather delicate situation, involving demons and worse, and rather than harming a possessed companion, he decided a better option was to have sex with a Fade spirit. In the Deep Roads. While his beard was still smouldering. Something I bore unfortunate witness to, as with so many other mad acts by mages. Comparatively, Artemis is far less distressing."

"I'm sorry, I thought you said 'sex with a Fade spirit'. That's... That shouldn't be possible. I don't know that much about the Fade, but the stories tell us spirits are rare, and they don't..." Theron still didn't lift his head. It was much too heavy. He did mumble some barely-coherent, affectionate-sounding words against Artemis's skin, though.

"I thought so very many things were impossible, until I met the Hawkes." Fenris lifted his hand to rub his face, but it just dropped back to the floor, before he got there. "Earthquakes? I think earthquakes are an excellent example."

"Heart-fondling," Artemis countered, words half spoken into the rug. "You're one to talk." From where he was lying, the only thing impossible was the thought of getting up. "We have a bed," he mumbled. "Why didn't we do this in the bed?"

"Because the drinks were here?" answered Theron, nuzzling at sweaty skin.

Artemis hummed, the sound rumbling in his chest and echoing in Theron's. "We should move there," he said. But his eyes slipped closed, and he made no move to get up. Later. But hopefully before Orana found them.

"I would if I could feel my legs," Fenris replied.

* * *

Hours later, a messenger arrived at the Hawke estate, with a folded page addressed to Cormac. Opening it, Cormac found only the words 'get Anders', in his brother's precise script. Of course, Anders was still averse to receiving messages directly -- still had a bit of a chest-clenching terror of anyone really knowing where he lived -- so Cormac often ended up with his mail. This, though...

He went down through the cellar, to find Anders in his clinic, mostly empty, this early. "It's my brother," he said, holding up the note. "And I don't know."

Anders didn't even ask. "Family needs me, Sheila," he said to the woman pulling a splinter out of an elven boy's knee, grabbing his coat and throwing a handful of things into his pouches and pockets. "If anything serious happens... Let's just assume nothing serious is going to happen. I should be back in a couple of hours."

"Nothing I can't handle, until you get back," Sheila assured him.

"She's been rolling your bandages, this week?" Cormac asked, on their way out.

Anders nodded. "It amazes me that so many people still come down to help, after all these years. I could still use another mage, though. Too many long nights, but the healers aren't runners, most of the time, so it's just me."

"Can't win every time. Just most of them." Cormac grinned, bumping his face affectionately against Anders's shoulder, like one of the cats.

Soon, they arrived at Fenris and Artie's, and Orana let them in.

"The messeres..." she said, obviously trying not to laugh. "They are in the lounge. Without pants."

Cormac whooped in amusement, clapping a hand over his mouth. "Andraste's flaming knickers, what have they done, this time?"

"It would not be my place to say," Orana said, slyly, with a knowing look at Cormac.

Well. At least Anders knew now that it wasn't anything serious. "Somehow, I don't think this has to do with Artie waxing the floors, this time," he said, trying to rein in a smirk as he headed for the lounge. He paused in the doorway, eyebrows shooting up. "I see. It looks like it's less a matter of what they did and more a matter of whom." Laughter shook his shoulders as he cut a glance to Cormac.

Artemis groaned from the floor, still tangled with the elven lump of noodles that called itself Theron. Sprawled next to him, Fenris spared Anders a weak glare while Kalli continued to sleep beside him.

"Did we have a party last night?" Anders asked, stepping into the room. The furniture was at odd angles, as though it had been pushed aside. Or jostled. "And without inviting me?" His fingers glowed blue as he crouched next to Artie.

"Too much... elf... culture." Artemis made a face, spitting out a bit of lint from the rug.

"Clearly..." Cormac squinted at the heap of elf atop his brother. " _Theron_? I guess you decided to come down and see us, hmm? Decided to get the earthquakes out of the way, first? And how many earthquakes did you have to start, to get a mess like this?"

"Vir nadas. Tel'abelas," Theron muttered, still half-asleep.

"Good. If you were sorry, I'd take you out back and kick your ass." Cormac laughed. "Is that your wife, too? You managed to get my brother out of his pants in the same room with a naked woman?"

"The naked woman never touched your brother," Fenris clarified, "however tempted she might have been, as the evening went on. She seemed much more interested in what I could do, than what he could do, after a few demonstrations." He glowed, briefly, and then sputtered out.

Anders had to wrestle down his own glowiness at that spark of blue. _Not now, Justice. It is still not the time to be licking the elf._ "Really? Wow." Anders turned his healing on Theron, who groaned appreciatively, somehow sinking into even more of a puddle. "Here I thought that was just an Artie thing."

"I didn't try it," Theron felt the need to point out, finally peeling himself from Artemis's back. "There are some places fingers should not go." He hissed as he straightened, rolling his shoulders.

"Your loss," Artemis hummed. He sighed in relief as the ache left his muscles but only sank deeper into the carpet, eyes sliding closed.

"Speaking of loss," Anders said, turning his healing on Fenris and the amusing patches of rug burn that marked his skin, "might I suggest keeping a few healing potions handy the next time you decide to engage in such... vigorous activities."

"Or we could just invite the healer," Artemis suggested, grinning but keeping his eyes closed.

"Looking at you, I'm not sure you'd have _survived_ the healer..." Cormac snorted into his hand, trying not to cackle like a loon. It might be impolite.

"Oh, ye of little faith," Anders scoffed. "Did you forget who put his intestines back in? He'd live. He'd definitely live long enough to kick my ass."

"Kick you in the culture, you mean," Cormac joked, trying to keep his eyes from tracing the line of Artie's spine, under Theron.

"That an appreciation of elven culture I'm seeing from you, Cormac?" Anders teased, knowing exactly where Cormac was actually looking.

Cormac elbowed Anders like he might have nudged one of his brothers. "You git. You know I keep my appreciation above the waistline, when it comes to elves. All the same, looking good, Theron. You look like you could twist my brother into a pretzel, which I'm sure he'd appreciate."

Fenris's eyes lit on Cormac, warningly. Cormac just winked.

Theron finally managed to sit up, looking around for his clothes. "I take it his habit of appreciating elven culture in inappropriate places is still going strong, then?"

"You have no idea," Cormac said, chuckling up at the corner of the wall, to keep his eyes off Artie.

"There is no inappropriate place to appreciate elven culture," Artemis insisted through a yawn. He flopped his hand in a generally pantsward direction. "Cormac, be a good brother and fetch me my pants? I think Orana has seen enough 'culture' for the day."

"Mm, pants are optional," Fenris said. "Especially for you." He reached over to give Artie's rump an appreciative pat and then just let his hand flop there.

"Careful, now, I only just healed that." Anders toed a piece of fabric out from under the couch. "These yours, Fenris?" he asked, considering the lacy panties.

"They're not my colour." Fenris picked up the panties and threw them at Theron. They landed on his head.

"Ah! There they are!" Theron exclaimed through the fabric as it slid down his face. He caught the panties before they could fall to the floor and pulled them on.

On the floor, Kalli finally stirred, throwing an arm over Fenris and curling close against him. Fenris pointedly cleared his throat, and she opened her eyes, spotting the pair of shem in the doorway. "Oh. Hello."

Anders wiggled his fingers. "Healing? While I'm standing here..."

"I assume you already got rug-burn and the rag pile over there." Kalli waved in the general direction of Theron and Artemis.

"My brother was the first thing he got his glowy hands on. Promise." Cormac continued to look at anything that wasn't the four bodies on the floor, because he knew where his eyes would end up, if he looked down.

"Your brother makes some very interesting sounds," Kalli noted, untangling herself from Fenris. "Maybe I should take that healing."

"You made it through the earthquakes, and all you've got to say is that he makes interesting sounds?" Cormac laughed.

Anders lifted a hand in Kalli's direction, and a faint green glow picked up around her. "I still think Cormac wins for 'interesting sounds'."

"No, Cormac wins for loud sounds," Fenris grumbled, tying his shirt around his waist as he continued the search for his pants. "There's a difference. Cormac's sounds are rarely all that interesting."

"I beg to differ," Anders purred, eyes catching Fenris's.

"What I mean to say, of course, is that Artemis sounds adorable when he's getting hammered through the floor. So cute I thought my teeth might rot out," Kalli clarified, getting up and leaning over the couch to see how many articles of clothing could be found.

"'Cute'. Lovely." Artemis sighed, folding his arms and propping his chin on top of them. He glowered up at Cormac, who made no move to fetch his pants. "Fenris, care to hand me my trousers?" he asked, turning to his fiancé. "My brother seems more intent on watching the ceiling." Artie could guess why, and he didn't bother to hide the smug look on his face. Said trousers landed on his face a moment later. "Thank you."

"Is that how he hands people things?" Theron asked, knotting the laces for his own pants, lacy panties disappearing from sight. "Just throws them at their heads? It's a good thing I didn't ask him to pass the salt at dinner."

"Would you like me to pass you your boots?" Fenris asked with a threatening smile.

"I don't wear boots."

The boots landed on Artie's head instead.

Within a few minutes, everyone was dressed or as dressed as they were going to be. Fenris still had his shirt around his waist, and Artemis couldn't find his smalls. From the smug look on her face, he suspected Kalli was wearing them.


	131. Chapter 131

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An assortment of family moments.

"Now, what's with that look? Is Meredith promoting another questionable case?"

Cullen looked up to see Anton leaning in the doorway of his office, cool, collected, typical Anton. He sighed and looked back down at the paper in front of him, tilting his hands off it, as he opened and closed his mouth, shaking his head. Another sigh, and then he spoke. "I don't know what to do. Come in. Close the door." He paused. "And don't talk about the Knight-Commander like that, when you're half in the hall."

Anton's eyes widened as he leaned away from the door frame, tossing the door closed behind him, as he stepped into the room. "With the door closed? Must be serious. What's wrong?"

"We're getting married, Anton." Cullen looked up, pleadingly. "No, that's what's right. I... My family. I want my family to be there."

Anton looked completely confused, as he leaned over Cullen's desk, hands on either side of what he could now see was a blank page. "Of course you do."

"I haven't talked to them since before the blight. Anton, I don't know if I have a family any more. If I go looking, I'll know." Cullen stared into Anton's eyes, with the expectation he'd understand. He had to understand.

And Anton did. He'd left Lothering and never looked back, but that meant not knowing, not knowing what had happened to his friends, to his home, to the brothel where he used to play cards or to the serving girl he used to flirt with. The difference was that he assumed they were gone; Cullen hoped his family was alive.

Anton walked around the desk, laid a hand on the inside of Cullen's elbow, thumb stroking between plates of armour. A part of him wanted to tell Cullen to cut his losses, to not go looking, but he also couldn't imagine not knowing what had happened to his family. "You're already agonising over it," he said gently. "Better to know one way or another. And if your family is alive and you got married without inviting them, I have a feeling your sister would walk to Kirkwall just to punch you. That's what I'm assuming, anyway, based on what you've told me."

Cullen ducked his head, and his small smile said Anton was not far off. "She probably would, if she found out." Maker, but he missed Mia. She and Anton would be a deadly combination. The thought that she might have -- no, he had to stop thinking like this. "I just... I don't know where to start." He gestured helplessly at the blank paper, voice catching.

"Who would know where they are?" Anton asked, pushing a stack of paper out of the way to sit on the edge of the desk. "Where were they, the last time you knew where they were?"

"Honnleath. They were in Honnleath. It's so far south--" Cullen choked up, fingers digging into Anton's knee.

"We know someone who was in Honnleath, since the Blight, you know. She's not really happy with either of us, but I bet if Artie asked, she'd help." Anton grinned. "I'd ask, but ... I don't really need to make this situation any worse."

"Shale!?" Cullen squeaked, terror flashing across his face. "You want to ask the golem that you _peed on_ if my family's all right?"

"If anyone would know, she would, right? She was there. And, honestly, that probably means Solona was there, too." Anton rubbed his chin, contemplatively. "Maybe we should ask Solona, first. I think that would end in less death threats."

"S... Solona." Yes, he supposed that made sense. The thought of her being there at the time of the Blight made him feel better. If anyone could have saved his family, it was the Hero of Ferelden. Except... no, that was getting his hopes up. Hope for the best but assume the worst, that's what his mother always said. "She would know, wouldn't she? Well. She'd know more than I do, anyway. Worst case, she knows nothing and then we'll ask Shale." He nodded, scooting closer to the desk. He still wasn't sure what to say, but at least he knew whom to address it to.

"Do you have another piece of paper and a spare quill?" Anton asked, sliding off of the desk.

"I... sure." Cullen fished out another blank sheet and a second quill, his brows furrowed in a question.

"You write to Solona," Anton told him. "I'll write to Shale. By which I mean _Artie_ will write to Shale." He offered Cullen a wicked smile and dipped his quill in ink.

* * *

It was by chance that Fenris found the black dildo still sitting in the drawer of the nightstand. He pulled it out and turned it over in his hands, considering it. Probably meant to be human, by the size and balance of it. No elf he knew would be quite that thick. Human knobs had always struck him as being clumsy and ill-balanced. Still, he'd come to appreciate one.

"Didn't you borrow this?" he called across the room, to where Artemis was doing unspeakable things to the dressing room, again. Sorting by colour or length or whatever it was, this week. Fenris wore black. His clothes were easy. "Or did you just tell me that so I wouldn't know you'd bought something you weren't sure would work?"

Artemis twisted to look over his shoulder, hands folding a pair of socks. "Oh! That." His eyes widened. "I completely forgot about that. Maker. Cormac will never let me borrow anything again."

"Cormac?" Fenris said sharply, promptly dropping the dildo, letting it thud back into the drawer. Artie winced. He'd forgotten that was something he hadn't planned on mentioning. "This is from Cormac? This has been in... _fasta vass_!"

"Well, I said it was borrowed," Artemis said, shrugging. He set down the socks and approached the drawer and twitching elf. "Who did you think it was from?"

"Isabela?"

And, all right, that was a fair guess. Artie didn't know how her... toy collection compared to his brother's, but he was sure it was extensive. He fished the dildo out of the drawer. "Well, it wasn't. Don't worry, Cormac cleaned it. And I cleaned it. Thoroughly." He tried to boop Fenris in the nose with it again.

Fenris batted the thing away from his face with a growl. "I never needed to be quite that close to your brother." Which, really, was a lie. He'd been much closer than that, and with much better results. It bothered him how much he'd enjoyed that. Perhaps it was just the act, which would be just as good, with someone else in Cormac's place. Theron, perhaps. He didn't mind Theron, he'd decided, however much he might have disliked the man's obsession with _his mage_. He was good-humoured, elven, and not a mage, perhaps most importantly.

Pulling his mage down into his lap, he growled again, this time against Artemis's ear. "Send that _thing_ back to your brother, and come back to bed. You've reminded me of what else we discovered that night, other than that I don't appreciate your brother's toys."

Artemis purred, trailing a sparking finger down the inside of Fenris's wrist, a promise of things to come. "Two minutes," Artemis promised, pressing a kiss to Fenris's lips and sliding off of Fenris's lap.

* * *

In the library doorway, Bodhan politely cleared his throat. "A package for you, messere," he told the eldest Hawke, handing over a box with a note attached. "From Messere Artemis, I think."

Cormac took the box and opened the attached note. His eyes widened, and then he grimaced. "Fenris...?" A strained sound forced itself out, between his teeth. "I'll be in the back. With a kettle. I need to boil something, and it shouldn't be in the kitchen." He'd assumed Artie had wanted to borrow it for himself! Not to use on Fenris! And really, he wasn't sure if he was relieved or offended that Fenris hadn't liked it. Relieved, he decided, after a moment. The lyrium was nice, but no.

Bodhan absorbed the horrified disgust on Cormac's face, as the eldest Hawke stepped past him, into the hall, likely in search of that kettle.


	132. PART XXVII: ADVENTURES IN TEVINTER HISTORY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected celebration to which no one was invited. Cullen still sucks at Wicked Grace.

This time, Cullen came armed with a sack of coins and a full suit of armour. He sat down next to Anton, and Isabela's grin was predatory as her hands moved over the cards. "Why, good evening, Captain," she purred. "Do I need to make room for another trophy on my wall?"

"Not tonight," Cullen said with a confidence that almost sounded genuine. "Anton has been giving me pointers, and if anyone is going to leave home with a trophy tonight, it's me." At Izzy and Varric's twin smirks, Cullen backtracked. "Not... the kind of trophy you got last time. I don't... that is... your smalls..."

"I'm trophy enough for him, is what I think Cullen is trying to say," Anton cut in, patting his templar's arm and watching red mottle his cheeks.

"Yes," Cullen said, coughing into his fist. "That. Exactly."

Aveline and Merrill swept into the room, each carrying a pitcher of beer. "Seriously?" Aveline clucked, setting down her pitcher. "We're letting the pirate deal?"

"What?" Isabela huffed. "If I'm going to cheat, at least I'll be more subtle about it than Ser Templar over there."

"What?" Cullen squeaked. "Cheating? I would never--! A-As a member of the order...!"

Fenris plucked the card sticking out of Cullen's bracer and tossed it onto the table. Mottled cheeks turned a uniform shade of red.

"...It was Anton's idea."

"It's always Anton's idea," Cormac laughed. "And don't take ideas from Anton. Take them from Isabela. She's much better at cards and at cheating."

"If she's so good, why did I not end up as a cabin boy?" Anton leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms across his chest and his ankles under the table.

"Obviously, because she thought if you were that bad at cheating, you'd be so much worse at other things." Cormac grinned up, as Anders came in with a cup of tea and a questionable sandwich.

"I happen to think he's very good at those things," Cullen muttered, still vibrantly red.

Isabela leaned over the table and snatched a bit of tomato from the edge of Anders's sandwich. "As it turns out, cheating is the only thing you're truly terrible at, Anton. I rather liked the rest of what you could do, when you'd still do those things with me. What about both of you, hmm? No need for jealousy, if we're all there..."

"That sounds entirely too delicious for my continued survival," Anton purred, following it with a wink and a chuckle, and under the table, a hand on Cullen's thigh. Just a reminder that his decision was the important one.

"That's... ah..." Cullen cleared his throat. He couldn't feel Anton's hand through the armour, but his leg twitched anyway. "Thank you, Isabela, but I don't think a ship can have two captains."

Isabela chuckled. "Your loss," she said as she finished dealing, setting the rest of the deck on the table. Without a word, Artemis reached over to neaten the edges of the deck, fussing with it until Isabela distracted him by trying to pinch his rump.

Aveline sat to the other side of Isabela, across from Anton. She barely spared him a glance, but the look she gave him was the chilly kind. Anton's smile stayed firmly in place, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. Varric watched them over the lip of his tankard.

"Smart of you to wear all those extra layers this time, Curly," Varric said, "though betting templar-issue armour might not be the best idea."

"I'm not betting my armour!" Cullen said, sounding offended. "It's to protect me from her wandering fingers." He pointed at Izzy. "And his." He batted aside Anton's with a fake scowl.

"And his, once you get a few drinks in him," Cormac joked, cocking his thumb at Artemis as he picked up his cards. "But, don't worry. Fenris is here to absorb most of the drunken groping, before it gets to you."

Cullen looked profoundly offended that anyone would bring that night up, but before he could protest, Anton spoke.

"Artie gropes everything in reach, after a few drinks, including Cormac on one notable occasion. It's why I've got you and Fenris between us. I don't need my brother drunkenly grabbing my fabulous ass."

"Hey, I was just buffering for the Orlesians," Cormac protested. "And that wasn't a few drinks, that was probably half a dwarven brewery. I'm pretty sure he thought I was Anders."

"Why is it never my fabulous ass?" Isabela complained, making sad faces across the table at Artie. "My Hawke tally is still short."

"It's because none of your dicks are attached to your body," Varric pointed out, tossing a few coins into the middle of the table.

Artemis covered his burning face with one hand. Looking through his fingers, he gestured at Varric and nodded. "That's... yes. Essentially."

Isabela harrumphed, folding her arms across her chest. "Not even once? For my nameday?"

Artie fiddled with his cards. "Is it your nameday?"

"What would you do if I said 'yes'?"

"I still wouldn't grope you. But I'm sure someone else at the table would be willing to give you a nameday spanking." Artemis smirked at Cormac, who looked more than ready to volunteer.

Around the table, they placed bets, refreshed drinks, and pretended not to cheat. Merrill had just drawn the Angel of Death card when a man in armour appeared in the doorway, platemail clinking. He cleared his throat politely and offered the table a wave.

"Donnic!" Varric greeted him, inviting him into the suite with broad sweeps of his hand. "Come on in! Want us to deal you in?"

"Here to lose more coin to me, Donnic? Was Marketday not enough?" Fenris joked, spreading his cards on the table, with a terribly certain smile.

"No, I... I'm just here to visit my wife, before I go home and stop clanking." Donnic edged around the table to drop a kiss on the top of Aveline's head, as she threw down her cards with a huff, after seeing Fenris's hand.

"That's funny!" Isabela chuckled and spread an equal number of points on the table, with a sly look at Fenris. "Your wife. Because you're always together. Actually, that's kind of sweet."

"No, my wife because she's my wife..." Donnic blinked at Isabela. "We ... got married? Did she not tell you?"

"What." Anton did not look amused. He didn't even look at his cards as he slapped them onto the table. "You didn't invite me to your wedding? Aveline! How could you!? That was your _wedding_!"

"It's not like it was my first!" Aveline said, stridently. "We just wanted something quiet. Nobody was invited."

"I'm your best damn friend!" Anton protested. "And you didn't even _tell_ me!"

"Are you?" Aveline snapped. "And I'm telling you now, aren't I?"

Anton's face went blank, devoid of emotion, and Aveline found that more unsettling than if he'd been shouting. She kept her chin up, stare defiant as Donnic's hand squeezed her shoulder. "If this is about the Arishok--"

"It's not about the damned Arishok!" Aveline threw down her own cards, letting them scatter across the table, mixing with the rest of the deck in a way that had Artemis's fingers twitching. "It's not even about my 'best friend' not backing me up when I needed him to! It's about what Donnic and I wanted, which was to be married before any other shit hit the fan."

Donnic fidgeted by the table, free hand rubbing the back of his neck. Slowly, Cullen set down a winning hand but said nothing. The sound of cards flexing and rubbing together was loud in the silence.

"Well, congratulations, Aveline," Merrill said softly, sweetly. "And you too, Donnic. That is marvellous news!"

"Thank you." Donnic smiled gratefully at Merrill.

"No bachelor party?" Cormac asked rifling the table for an unused glass. "We'll just have to get you drunk after the fact, then!"

"Really?" Fenris looked around the table. " _None_ of you knew?"

"You say that like you did," Anders pointed out, mouth stuffed full of sandwich.

"Because I did." Fenris shrugged. "I beat him at cards, every Marketday night. It came up. Aveline's not the only one with friends, you know."

Donnic nodded. "Fenris got me very drunk. I suspect I lost a lot of coin, that week, but I stopped counting at some point, and my pockets weren't empty when I got up in the morning."

"That's because you were getting married. I figured you'd need the money for the goat. I won it, of course, but you were too drunk to notice when I put it back in your pocket." Fenris smiled slightly, behind his tankard.

"I think maybe you're going to have to start calling him 'Sweetie', Varric." Cormac laughed and offered a full glass of beer to Donnic. "Sit! Drink! Don't mind my brother... That's not your problem or mine."

"Which brother?" Isabela asked, determinedly cheerful. "Because Artemis could be his problem after a few more drinks. I'm envious."

"What? No! I'm not...!" Artemis's words sputtered out into disjointed, offended syllables. Fenris patted his hand, and Artie slumped onto the table, giving up.

Donnic laughed weakly, pulling up a chair next to Aveline. "I will sit over here just to be safe," he teased Artie.

Anton didn't laugh. He merely sipped at his drink while Cullen collected his winnings and Aveline started to deal. Married. And he hadn't had a clue.

"So," Anders said, pulling out a bit of lettuce that was falling out of his sandwich, "did you get her a goat? Did she get _you_ a goat? Inquiring minds want to know."

"And was it a recycled goat?" Fenris asked, drawing a scowl from Anton. "Don't give me that look. I worked hard to pay for that goat!"

"I still can't believe you bought my brother a goat. Well, my mother, I suppose, but still. You bought us a goat. It's a collective goat. We've gotten a lot of use out of that goat." Cormac rambled, trying to fend off a laugh by keeping his mouth in motion.

"I don't care how many goats your family ends up with, Cormac, I'm still not marrying you," Anders said, before cramming more sandwich into his mouth.

"Thank you, sweetness. Please don't. It would be a great mess, and we'd have to go into the Chantry, and then one of us would end up punching someone..." Cormac shrugged dramatically and picked up his hand, flicking through the cards.

"One of us? Both of us," Anders mumbled with his mouth full. He didn't play until he finished his sandwiches. Claimed he lost less terribly after he'd eaten.

"And you wonder why I didn't invite you to my wedding..." Aveline grumbled, slapping the deck onto the table and picking up her cards.

Anton tsked, rearranging his cards and sneaking a glance at Cullen's. " _I_ wouldn't have punched anyone in the Chantry," he said, but the words came out less teasing than he'd meant them to. Aveline's glare ratcheted up in intensity, and Anton smiled back.

"No, you would have been much more subtle about it," Aveline replied. "But it was a quick ceremony. No one was punched."

"Glad to hear it," Cullen said, trying not to look uncomfortable in the wake of all the glares being tossed across the table. He counted up his coins and placed his bet, pausing to exchange a commiserating glance with Donnic.

"Though Aveline punching Elthina would have been hilarious," Artemis muttered. Cullen gave him a scandalised look, and Artie shrugged. "What?"

"Please do not encourage people to punch the Granny Cleric, Amatus," Fenris sighed, throwing down a card and drawing another. "It isn't politic." Not that he thought her approach was correct, but it would look bad. He was getting used to having a house, and he'd hate to lose it over Artemis encouraging people to punch the Grand Cleric.

"Punching the people who run the city is usually bad form," Anders muttered, washing the last of his sandwich down with a gulp of tea. "Which isn't to say some of them don't deserve it, but it's not generally accepted practise. Deal me in, next hand?"

"Going to empty my pockets across the table, again, sweet thing?" Cormac teased, pushing a few copper into the pot. There was no venom in it. Neither of them were particularly good players, and Cormac had more money than he knew what to do with. He just kept giving it away, when it struck him to do so.

"You know it." Anders was entirely unapologetic about it. They both knew how this would turn out. "Like a wedding present you have to work for," he teased Aveline. "Assuming Donnic doesn't lose it all to Fenris."

"Oh, he will," Fenris assured the table.

"Someone has to make up for the amount I've already lost," Artemis sighed. He winked at Fenris.

All bets were placed, and the game began with Donnic drawing a card.

"How my brothers turned out to be so hopeless at cards is beyond me," Anton said with a melodramatic shake of his head.

"You say that like it doesn't always turn out in your favour," Cullen replied. He set down his drink and blinked at his cards, wondering when they'd all changed. Anton's smile was far too innocent when Cullen cast him a sidelong glance. He kept an eye on Anton when it was his turn to pick a card.

"Carver isn't so bad at it," Merrill chimed in. "Or at least, he doesn't seem to lose as often." She glanced around the table and at the door as though expecting him to be there and didn't quite manage to keep the disappointment from her face. "You really should let him out to play with us next time, Cullen."

"Has he not been visiting?" Cullen asked, shooting Merrill a slightly surprised glance that faded quickly into an eye roll. "Oh, because he's probably washing chamber pots again. Aveline, one captain to another, I should never have doubted your decision. Anton, what is _wrong_ with your brother?"

"That depends on which brother. Carver? He never quite got used to being the youngest." Anton laughed, as if it weren't serious at all. "He only takes orders when his sword's involved." He paused for a moment, staring into the space between Merrill and Anders. "Well, the metal one, anyway. How about the other, Merrill? No, wait, don't tell me about his swording. I don't want to know."

"Tell him anyway," Anders suggested, tipping his chair back, as he stretched his legs under the table. "He asked!"

"If you're not going to tell him, tell me!" Isabela called down the table.

"No," Artemis said, drawing out the one syllable until it became three. "What have I said about my little brother's swording? I don't want to know. I don't need to know. Please do not inflict such knowledge upon me." Fenris snorted next to him. He said nothing but didn't need to. Artemis wondered what it said about him that his older brother's 'swording' didn't disgust him in the same way.

Merrill giggled into her cards. "Don't worry, Artie," she said. "I don't really 'order' him around enough to know anyway."

Artemis groaned. "That? Still more information than I needed. Fenris, block my ears."

"My hands are full of cards and drink, Amatus. I'm afraid you'll have to block your own ears."

"Unless he was implying you should use something other than your hands," Anders teased, before his eyes glazed over. "On second thought, no, that just sounds painful."

"Glowing," Artemis countered. "He could... glow..." At Fenris's odd look, he added, "No, I'm not saying I want you to do that. Please don't do that. I'm just pointing out that it's... technically possible."

"Can someone please block _my_ ears?" Anton groaned.

"Artie?" Cormac looked down the table. "Little much. Even for me."

"Two!" Isabela crowed. "Two things that are too much for Cormac! ... I still got there first." She looked unconscionably smug.

"Do I want to know?" Donnic asked, tossing in a couple of copper and drawing another card.

Aveline covered her eyes with her free hand and leaned forward. "I don't know, and I'm sure you don't want to. It's... they're... _Hawkes_."

Anton poured himself another beer and sniffed haughtily. "Well, it's a good thing you're sitting by the reasonable one of us, isn't it?"

"In what world, Anton, are you reasonable?" Aveline groused, lifting her head and looking Anton right in the eye.

"In this one. The one that's being torn apart by classist fancies -- I'm a product of the system! I do what I must, and that's perfectly reasonable," Anton smiled widely and batted his eyes at Aveline, before taking a swig of his drink and playing through the round.

"You hang on to that one, Cullen," Anders said, a hint of a smile tugging at one side of his mouth. "If he keeps talking like that, I might think about trading up."

"You'd never give me up, entirely," Cormac said, rearranging his hand. "You like it too much when I--" he leaned closer to Anders and purred something into his ear, that had Anders squirming in his seat.

"Something else neither of us wants to know," Aveline said.

"And something else I do," Isabela purred, making a show of cupping her ear and angling herself towards the pair.

"Angel of Death!" Fenris announced, holding that card aloft before throwing it down.

Artemis peeked at the next card in the deck, the one that would have been his, and groaned, laying down a hand that only boasted one pair. "You couldn't have picked that card the next round? I would have had three Songs!"

"My apologies, Amatus," Fenris said wryly, his smirk saying he was anything but sorry. "And I apologise on behalf of the cards. They do not seem to be favouring you today."

"They never do," Artie muttered.

"So what you do you think?" Isabela asked Cormac, grinning as she laid out a promising hand. "Who's going to go home in nothing but a sheet this time?"

"Just leave my sheets out of it!" Varric said. "They better be yours this time, Rivaini."

Aveline shook her head again at Donnic's questioning look.

"Well, it's like they say, 'Noli deponere tuas vestes si fraudare audies,'" Anders said, squinting at Cormac's cards.

"That is not, in fact, what they say," Fenris grumbled. "It is a sign that you should not be speaking Tevene. Where did you learn those words, from a Nevarran? Isabela's pronunciation is better, and she could make magisters weep."

"So, that makes me your secret weapon, right, Broody?" Isabela laughed and looked down the table. "Oh! All mine, this time!"

Merrill shook her head and pushed the pile of coins toward Isabela. "I'm not even going to bother. This hand was not kind."

"Well," Anders started, gathering the cards, to hand them to Isabela, "if I'm so bad at it, maybe someone should teach me how to be better at it, hmm? I can read Old Tevene just fine, but I never knew a native speaker of Old or Modern. That's the trouble with the Circle. Only half an education."

"At least you _had_ an education," Fenris growled, half-heartedly, inspiring an odd look from Donnic.

Cullen looked like he might say something, but Cormac caught his eye and squarely turned his hand palm down. Cullen blinked inquisitively, and Cormac traced a quick swirl on the table. 'Later,' Cullen knew, from time spent watching Anton. The Hawkes had entire conversations without ever speaking a word.

"I'll trade you," Anders offered, as Isabela dealt the next hand. "I'll teach you to read it, if you'll teach me to speak it."

Artemis raised an eyebrow at Fenris. "There's a thought," he said. "I can't read the Tevene alphabet, but Anders can." Anders, who had been teaching them all sorts of things. Artemis thought of the rock armour spell first, but then his mind wandered to the electricity trick and to the sounds Fenris made whenever he used it. Yes. Anders was a helpful friend.

"The two of them spending that much time together?" Aveline huffed. "That's a recipe for disaster. Or murder."

"I will not murder the a... the _Warden_ unless he gives me reason to," Fenris replied neutrally, gathering up his cards as Isabela dealt them out, looking them over to avoid looking at Anders as he considered this. Being able to read Common was already an addicting power, one he'd been abusing, devouring what he could of Artemis's library. To be able to read Tevene, his mother-tongue (or as close to one as he had, with his memory as it was) was a tempting thought. And Fenris found Anders less... irksome than he had in the past. "Very well, mage. _Quid pro quo_. I will teach you, and you will teach me."

Then he could read to his mage in Tevene. His mage loved being read to. In fact, his mage just seemed to like listening to him talk no matter what he was saying.

Fenris looked up at Artemis to see his mage having another silent conversation with his older brother across the table.

Cormac raised his eyebrows over narrowed eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, before he looked down at the next hand, and his face returned to a neutral state. "You know, Anders, I'm going to be extremely upset if I find your entrails all over my cellar. I don't think the cats would be happy, either."

"Seventeen years in the tower, and you don't think I can keep from pissing him off?" Anders sounded offended as he tossed a few coins into the centre of the table. "Well, maybe. I'm sure I can keep from getting the clinic redecorated with my intestines, though. How many years has he not killed me? I even gave him a reason!"

"Do not remind me how good I have been to you, Warden." Fenris glared over the top of his cards.

"Should I remind you how good I've been to you, instead?" Anders deadpanned, head tipping to the side, as he considered both Fenris and his cards at the same time. Yet another tower-born talent.

"Not in front of Aveline and Anton, sweet thing. The building will implode from the force of their combined horror. I don't think there's enough 'lalala I can't hear you' in existence for that story." Cormac, in typical Cormac fashion, was not helping. "Besides, it would be rude."

Cullen's eyes were huge and round as he kept them on his cards. Even the Order wasn't _this bad_! And he was marrying into this family. Playing cards with all their friends... He darted a desperate look at Aveline, who seemed entirely unimpressed with all of this. Donnic, however, looked like he might drop his cards in his lap, and Cullen felt a bit better about his own reaction. Perhaps he'd buy Donnic a drink, later, and they could commiserate about Hawkes.


	133. Chapter 133

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of an educational experience.

Anders's hand paused, quill stilling mid-word, at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Footsteps that weren't Cormac's but were still familiar, familiar enough that he stopped reaching for his staff.

"Hello, hello!" called out Artemis as he appeared in the doorway, spiky elf in tow. "Hard at work, Sparklefingers?"

Anders raised an eyebrow at the sight of a basket in Artie's hand. "You didn't bring me another cat, did you?"

Artemis blinked, folding back the basket's lid as though he needed to check. "What? Oh. No. Just food this time, courtesy of Orana. Sandwiches, cabbage salad. Tarts. Have you had her tarts? Her tarts are amazing."

"It's a distinctly Hawke thing, I suspect," Fenris said, "showing up at the door with food."

"Better than showing up with flowers," Anders pointed out, grinning when Fenris's ear twitched at the reminder.

"Flowers," Fenris grumbled. "Yet another language I neither speak nor read, except a few words, and the back garden contains all of them."

"And you've already experienced the reason for that, as I recall!" Anders noted, cheerfully, wiping off his hands before he got up to accept the basket.

Fenris's spine stiffened as he looked away. "I am not here for a repeat."

"Of course not! You're here to bribe me with cabbage and tarts!" Anders grinned broadly and started unpacking the basket onto a shelf. "Why are you bribing me? And Artie, I know you know this, but don't let your brother eat pickled cabbage. We all regret it."

Artemis's face screwed up in a grimace. "I lived with him for how long?" he said. "This is not news to me. Though now he's less likely to get away with blaming it on the dog."

Fenris was grateful there was only one Hawke in his house. "And we are not... bribing you. I do not need to bribe you, as we have already agreed to a reasonable exchange."

"Really?" Anders asked through a mouthful of sandwich already. "Because this?" He gestured at the sandwich and the rest of the basket's former contents. "This looks like bribery to me."

"And to me, it looks like food," Fenris huffed, snatching up another sandwich before the mages ate them all. He picked at bits of lettuce and ham that stuck out past the edge of the bread. "But... I am here about what we discussed the other night. About Tevene."

Artemis nodded through his own bite of food, pausing to chew and swallow before adding, "Cormac has a more extensive collection of books in Tevene, so I thought it best you two do it here? The teaching, that is. Though you're welcome to do other things too." He smiled at the withering look Fenris gave him, shoving a bit of ham into his mouth. "What?"

"But, Cormac can't read Tevene..." Anders looked confused for a few moments, before it sank in. "Oh. Of course. They're Tevinter guides to elven life and culture, aren't they? That would make more sense. He's had me translate some things for him, from time to time, but I didn't realise his collection was quite that extensive."

"I recognised the writing on some books in the library, as well. I do not know if those are the books you mean, but I do know they exist," Fenris added. "And I strongly doubt there will be 'other things' going on. He is just not as beautiful as you are, Amatus. As well as several other things I have no intention of mentioning unless I am able to pay off saying them with this... bribe we have nothing to request for."

"He fears the flagpole," Anders said to Artemis, with a wink, while Fenris had his mouth full of sandwich.

A few stifled coughs later, Fenris managed a reply. "The _flagpole_? I do not fear the flagpole. It disgusts me. There's a difference, you know."

"Strangely, I'm less of a fan of it than you might imagine," Anders sighed. Nothing but trouble, really. There were so very few people it actually fit in, and even fewer who enjoyed it.

Artemis fought not to choke on his own sandwich, face red with the effort. There were so many things he could say that Fenris would kill him for. Like that he was a fan of the flagpole or that Fenris _did_ fear the 'jade wand of ass-destruction'. "Well, we all know that Cormac is a fan," Artie said instead. "Or so he has proclaimed to the world on many occasions."

"I do not need the reminder," Fenris muttered, grimacing. A distinctly feline squeak came from the vicinity of Fenris's feet, and he looked down to find Lord Assbiter trying to use his leg as a playground again. "Cat, no. Mage, detach your cat from my leg."

Anders snorted and shoved the rest of his sandwich in his mouth, cheeks bulging like a chipmunk's, as he bent to extract the cat in question.

"Looks like Assbiter's put on some weight," Artemis said, tilting his head to look at the squeaking cat still clinging to Fenris's leg. "Been biting too many asses?"

"Less 'too many' and more 'the same one too many times'. Go ask your brother how his pants fit," Anders joked, cheeks still stuffed full of sandwich, extracting a sliver of ham from another sandwich and dangling it over the cat.

"Books. Perhaps one of you should retrieve some books. I am not here to admire Hawke asses, nor your revolting flagpole." Fenris brought the conversation back around to safer ground. Of course, given that these were Cormac's books, it was possible that no ground would be safe.

"I'll just... Maybe we should do this in the library?" Anders suggested. "The lighting's better upstairs. I just have to feed the cats." He put Assbiter back on the floor and reached for a bag of dried fish. "Purrcy! Supper!"

* * *

Upstairs, the lighting _was_ better, and Fenris was distracted from talk of flagpoles by walls of books. There was a time not so long ago where they would have daunted him, each book and tome and slip of parchment like a lockbox with secrets he couldn't get to. But now the shapes along each binding had meaning, and those secrets were his for the taking. He recognised a few Tevene characters and pulled these books off their shelves, piling them on the nearest couch.

Anders watched him, reining in his amusement, and picked up the book at the top of the pile. "Well," he said, looking it over. "At the very least, you will be well-versed in elven history by the end of this. Or at least elven history according to the Imperium."

Artemis rolled his eyes. "Of course," he said. "Good to see Serah Ass-face's interest in elven culture hasn't waned." Anders threw him a wry look, and Artie held up one finger. "Don't say it. I'm one to talk about 'elven culture', I know." He paused to cough. "But... where is my brother anyway?"

"Oh, he's out wreaking havoc on the docks, with Izzy, I think. Something about cargo that shouldn't be coming in to the port, which I honestly suspect is one of two things, and neither of them is going to end well without assistance. It's definitely not Antivan party favours, this time." Anders laughed and flipped through a couple of books, before settling on an illustrated volume about tattooing. Maybe it would give them both some insight.

"Ritual tattooing?" he said, offering the book to Fenris. "Might be a good place to start. We've both got a vested interest in the subject, even if mine's a little less direct."

Fenris growled and glared, before it sunk in what Anders probably meant. "You mean to figure out what he did to me, don't you. I don't know if I trust another mage with that knowledge. I don't even have that knowledge."

"Which is why it's a perfect thing to learn about. You should know. Whether or not you want any of us to do anything about it, you should still know." Anders shrugged and sat next to the pile on the couch, tapping the low table in front of them.

"You know this won't have the answers." Fenris said, sitting far to the other side of the couch and spreading the book on the table, between them.

"Begin at the beginning, then figure out the advanced stuff." Anders grinned. Even Justice couldn't object to this pursuit, however much the spirit wanted to continue working for mage freedom, this was also freedom.

"Shame," Artemis sighed, plucking a book from the shelf for himself. "I was hoping to bother Cormac while you two were otherwise occupied."

"'Bother'," Fenris said, thumbing the book open to the first page and peering at Artemis out of the corner of his eye. "Right."

"That's one verb for it," Anders agreed. "Though I could think of a few others closer to the mark. Some in Tevene--"

"Yes, yes, you two are hilarious," Artemis drawled, ears reddening. He flapped one hand at them and headed for the doorway. "All right, boys, have fun. I'll be down the hall, within shouting distance in case anyone ends up disembowelled."

"And by 'down the hall', you mean 'cleaning Cormac's room again', don't you," Anders said, skimming over the first page. He knew from experience that Cormac's room _was_ shouting distance from here.

"Don't judge me, Sparklefingers!" Artemis called over his shoulders before disappearing around the corner.

"He's only going to be tidying until he gets to that drawer, and then we're going to be hearing him," Anders muttered, laying a finger on the page. "First word is 'denotare'."

Fenris flinched at the pronunciation, and immediately said the word correctly. "You are close, with that one."


	134. Chapter 134

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More explorations of Tevinter history and commentary on some more personal history.

Hours later, Cormac returned, throwing the door shut behind him, and calling out, "Ale and wenches is what I need!"

"Ale's downstairs, but we're all out of wenches," Anders called back, from the library. "Unless you want Bethy, and I think she's getting Nevarran in the drawing room again. Skulls and crystals everywhere, the last time I was through."

"What are you--" Cormac started, leaning around the doorframe, into the library. He stopped when he spotted Anders and Fenris shoulder to shoulder, over a book. He could see the dim glow in the hand that rested on Fenris's shoulder.

"We're reading some of your books. The Tevinter ones about elves." Anders looked up like this was a perfectly reasonable way to spend a Maidsday afternoon, with someone who mostly couldn't stand him. "I'm telling you, Fenris, it's not at all related to 'wer'. In what world would 'way' become 'man'? 'Wer' is Avvar."

"Your brother's upstairs, cleaning your room," Fenris pointed out, instead of answering Anders.

"Well, since nobody's dying in here, and thank you for keeping the blood off the furniture, Fenris, I'm going to go check on Artie. If he's rearranging that drawer again, I swear to Andraste..." Cormac blew a kiss to Anders and headed up the stairs to his room.

"Of course I'm keeping the blood off the furniture," Fenris huffed. "Artemis may no longer live here, but he still insists on cleaning."

"Thank you, Fenris," Anders said, his eye-roll almost audible in its intensity. "Very reassuring." Though really, if Fenris hadn't punched a hole through his chest yet, Anders suspected he wouldn't, especially after that ridiculous moment where Fenris had tried to show him how to roll his r's. In the end, Anders had given up and blown him a raspberry. Fenris had been less than amused.

Fenris ignored the mage and tried to focus on the page they'd left off on before they'd gotten sidetracked. He stared at a few letters before giving up and asking, "That's the second time that drawer has come up. What is in that drawer? Or... no, I don't want to know, do I?"

Anders opened and closed his mouth a few times, fighting not to smirk. "Well, that depends. If Artie is the one making use of its... contents, then you might."

Fenris looked like he might be verging on delirium, eyes a little wild, face tense, as he remembered, "Cormac has a--"

"Not 'a'. Many. An entire collection. A veritable library of fascinating objects for various orifices, several of which I know Artemis enjoys just as much as Cormac." Anders smiled slyly, gesturing to the word Fenris's finger was on. "Secunda."

"Yes, but... Several? What is the point in more than one?" Fenris just looked confused, although he supposed if one was the jade wand of ass-destruction, a second, smaller one might be worth having.

"They're all different. There's the knobby one, the one with the loose silverite balls in it, the one that looks like a tentacle -- I will not go near that one. Did I ever tell you how I almost lost half my intestines to a tentacle? No? Let me not tell that story. It's not sexy. The one that's cast after me, the one that's cast after Cormac -- he's very proud of having fucked himself, you know -- the spiral-carved one... All different shapes and sizes, and that's just the ones you'd recognise the uses of. He's got some less obvious ones in there, too." Anders shrugged and ran a sparking finger down the back of Fenris's neck. "Me, I just have one. Gift from Sigrun, when I was still a Warden."

Fenris looked a bit ill. It took him a moment to get past the word 'tentacle', and then he was tripping over the next set of words. "Cast... after?" His stare dropped to Anders's crotch before he could catch himself, shaking his head and looking around the room at anything that wasn't a mage. He didn't realise that was a thing that was possible, let alone a thing that was desirable... let alone a thing that was _done_. "Isn't that... redundant if he already has the original? Having one of... those... cast after you, that is."

Anders laughed. "I don't think there's such a thing as 'redundancy' in Cormac's mind. Only 'more options'."

Fenris couldn't stop his ears from twitching, the left one canted higher than the right. Two flagpoles. Two, as if one weren't enough. He wondered what it was about Hawkes and their appreciation for wands of ass-destruction, which -- huh.

Oh.

Fenris pointedly _did not_ glance at Anders's crotch as something occurred to him. Through grit teeth, he said, "Please tell me Cormac's is the only one of... those... cast after your -- cast after _you_."

As if on cue, the floor under his feet rumbled, and he growled.

"Nope! I left the pattern with the stoneworks. There's not many that I know about, though. Isabela has one. I think she uses it for other things, though. Threatening people, I suspect." Anders smiled slyly, watching Fenris out of the corner of his eye, as he ran another light spark down the back of Fenris's neck. "You could get him one after you, you know. Lyrium engraved, even. Maybe some runes at the base for extra fun. You know how much he likes pushing the limits. You could have him twice, at once, and you wouldn't have to touch Cormac to get there."

Eyes sliding shut, Fenris tried to look like he wasn't considering it, wasn't thinking about his mage stuffed achingly full of him, panting and squeaking. The gentle current Anders had been maintaining wasn't much helping, either, although it had been helping him concentrate. There was so much more space in his mind, without the constant itching in his skin. "Speaking of runes, do you think adding an electrical rune to my armour might serve as a more permanent solution to another problem?" He was starting to appreciate Anders's hands, and that unsettled him badly.

Hand still moving, still sparking, Anders paused to consider that. "There's a thought," he said. "We could try it. Remind me to ask Messere 'Enchantment' downstairs. You should see the wonders that boy works with runes. Oh, though I suppose you already have." He tapped his lip with his free hand, gaze turning inward. "We'd just have to make sure to use the right kind of charge. It rather defeats the purpose if we end up with a fried elf, doesn't it?"

Fenris didn't return his grin. "I imagine it does," he said. "Though that's why we have a healer." Gruffly, he added, "You do have some uses, after all." Another spark racing down his spine had him sucking in a breath, his show of nonchalance ruined.

"'Uses'," Anders replied with a wry twist of his lips. "You're not the first person to tell me that." Still, he imagined an electricity rune would go a long way towards relieving Fenris's chronic crankiness.

"I have little interest in the usual uses I imagine you're put to," Fenris choked out, words something of a dazed growl.

"Really? I always thought you rather enjoyed my more recent common uses. Healing, more healing, sticking people to the floor so you can stab them, teaching Artemis to keep himself safe..." Anders trailed off, pressing a somewhat stronger jolt against Fenris's skin. "But, maybe you would have liked me better when I was chained to the wall, a pincushion and a toilet."

There was a bitterness that Fenris recognised in those words, however casually Anders tried to say them, and bile rose up in his throat as the image of Anders, like that, flickered through his mind. He'd gotten a hint of some of the scars, now and again, and he'd always sort of wondered what could do that to a healer -- even more now that he'd seen Anders put Artie's intestines back in, without a mark. The last jolt crackled through his fingers, still, uncomfortable not in the sensation, but in the implications. "That's not what I meant," he said, finally, pushing his hair back from his face.

"No?" Anders's smile didn't reach his eyes.

"No," Fenris said, more firmly. He thought of chains of his own, of scars his 'master' had healed, scars that glowed blue, rippling with energy at each touch of Anders's sparking fingers. "And you know that." Anders's disjointed smile slipped, his gaze turning inward. "You _do_ know that, don't you?"

Anders's hand didn't pause. "I suppose I do. Considering the number of times you _have_ threatened to use me as a pincushion but never followed through. Is that what you are then, Fenris? All bark and no bite?" And this was dangerous, he knew. No, this was _stupid_. He shouldn't be baiting the elf, but here he was, fingertips still tracing skin as he taunted the elf and smiled.

"And if I bit you? What good would come of it?" Fenris asked, mildly, reminding himself that Artemis would be extremely upset if he broke the healer.

"I might come of it, but you knew that," Anders joked, tapping a finger against a tiny gap between Fenris's belt and the rest of the split in the back of his tunic.

Fenris squirmed, this time. That had poured right into the space between his hips, and it was at once intoxicating and revolting. "You're like Cormac, then? Confused about the line between violence and pleasure?" Even as he said it, he thought almost the same about Artemis. And somehow, with Artemis, it was both more and less vile, in very different ways.

"No." Anders studied the page before them, intently. "Not at all. I've had enough of that." It was mostly true. It was true while he was sober. It was usually true while he was drunk. But, there was that level of drunkenness where his memory of the night before consisted of the aches in his body. "Still not going to turn down a firm bite, as long as it's not the left nipple."

"Not the...?" Fenris started to ask before trailing off, crinkled brow smoothing over. He'd had precious few glimpses of Anders's torso in the years he'd known the mage, but he'd seen the scars, most notably the giant, gnarled one in the middle of his chest. "That is... implying you wouldn't mind being bitten elsewhere, when I've heard you complain of a certain cat you like to call 'Lord Assbiter'."

A laugh choked out of Anders, his face twisting. "And that is not what _I_ meant." He retaliated with another jolt down Fenris's back, a hair sharper than the last, and grinned at the way Fenris's toes curled. "Bites from cats are decidedly less sexy."

Which implied that a bite from Fenris would be. It was something Fenris told himself he wasn't considering, but the sparking touch that had been grounding was becoming distracting instead. He thought of his mage, of Artemis in shouting -- and shaking -- distance, but decided that Artemis would only egg the two of them on.

Fenris swallowed, mouth dry, and tried to focus on the page in front of him.

"You're actually thinking about it, aren't you?" Anders asked, without looking up from the page. He tapped another word.

"Dracones," Fenris said, avoiding the obvious question, in favour of the implied one. "Datur per dracones. That... can't be right." He batted Anders's hand out of the way of the rest of the line. Except that was exactly what it said.

Anders, of course, had already absorbed most of the page, in passing. "Designed by the Old Gods to be written into the elves sent to serve them. Runes, almost, really. It's... surprisingly similar, even if I haven't seen that design or any mention of lyrium."

"Serendipity said she'd seen it once before, in a book. Obviously, not this one. Just the design, I expect," Fenris mumbled, still dazed both by the concept and by Anders's hands.

"We should see if we can borrow it from her. At least someone in this house should be able to read it, no matter what it's written in." Anders took his hand back, to stretch his fingers and rub some feeling back into his palm.

The difference was immediate, and Fenris made a strangled sound. Anders's other hand was on him, in a second, cupping his cheek, as the easiest bit of skin to reach, fingers lighting with electricity, again.

"I'm sorry. I didn't think. My hand was just getting stiff..."

Fenris sagged under the touch of electricity, the gentle current soothing away his aches. "No, it's..." Fenris cleared his throat, forced himself to straighten, to school his expression. It took all his willpower not to lean into the hand on his cheek. "I am used to it." Or at least, he had been. Now that he knew what it was like to not be pain, he wanted to cling to that.

Anders hummed. "Still. We should really talk to Sandal about that rune. It's not like I can keep my hands on you all the time." The grin he gave Fenris said he mightn't mind it.

"I suspect not," Fenris replied. "Nor Artemis, though not for lack of trying."

Anders felt Fenris's cheek muscles twitch in the barest of smiles.


	135. Chapter 135

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go from Bethany to worse.

They didn't hear footsteps. They merely saw a shadow in the doorway, then heard a woman clear her throat. They looked up at Bethany, Anders's hand still on Fenris's cheek, as the youngest resident Hawke slipped into the room, replaced a book on its shelf, and grabbed another. "Oh, don't mind me," she said, waving her hand at their stares. "I'll be out in a minute. Carry on!"

"It's... not what it looks like," Anders sputtered, still not taking his hand off Fenris's face. "We were studying Tevene, and he's got this pain..."

"Oh, I'm sure he's got a pain. Just like the pain my brothers get when you touch them like that," Bethany teased, still examining the shelves for another book. "Did you move any of my books?"

"Were they in Tevene?" Fenris asked, turning his head to look at Bethany, which pressed the corner of his mouth against Anders's palm. His lips crackled deliciously, and he tried to ignore that.

"Nevarran," Bethy replied, sliding one out of the top of a shelf.

"Then we haven't touched them," Anders assured her. "If it's not Tevinter, I haven't had my hands on it today."

Fenris kicked him sharply in the ankle.

"And what is Cormac making noise about, if you're down here, Anders?" Bethany asked, finally realising something wasn't right.

"Dunno. I think he was out with Isabela, this morning. He was yelling about ale and wenches when he came in." Anders shrugged like he was completely unconcerned with anything Cormac might be doing, which, by and large, he was. He was much more concerned that Bethy was asking about it.

"Was that an earthquake, earlier? Is Artemis here?" Bethany pulled over one of the ladders and climbed up to look at a higher shelf.

"My fault," both Fenris and Anders volunteered at the same time.

"Our fault," Anders corrected. "Mostly mine. I was teaching him a new spell, and it got away from him. Fenris was worried about him, so we... I have some neat tricks from the Circle."

"You are so amazingly full of shit, Anders," Bethany cooed, climbing back down with her books.

"Strangely, as much as I would like to agree with you, most of the time, you should ask Artemis about the spell Anders taught him. I'm sure he'll be happy to show it off, once he's back on his feet," Fenris muttered into Anders's palm. "I think he went to lie down and read. He's either asleep or he's cleaning in some unfathomable corner of this labyrinth."

Bethany nodded, her expression pleasantly neutral. Fenris could read Artemis like a book -- and that was an analogy he could use now -- but Bethany was a cipher. "Cleaning, knowing him," she said, adjusting her grip on the pile of books. "If you _do_ see him, tell him to stay out of my room. It may be a mess to him, but it's an organised mess and I'll not have him messing up my notes again." She sauntered out of the room, humming under her breath.

"Venhedis," Fenris swore against Anders's palm. "Credere se putas?" he asked in Tevene, in case she was close enough to hear: _do you think she believed that_?

Anders's eyes crossed. " _What did you just call-_ -? Oh. Tevene. Sorry, my brain went Antivan for a moment. 'Putas' means... something very different in Antivan. Ha. _Anyway_." Anders let out a nervous laugh. "Yes, I hope so. Or... 'si, spero' if we're practising my pronunciation."

"Not terrible," Fenris muttered, and that was the highest praise Anders had gotten all day. He considered asking Anders to touch something other than his cheek in case anyone else came in to borrow a book, but then Anders might take that the wrong way. And there was really nowhere else Anders could touch him that wouldn't raise a few eyebrows.

"Just pray there are no more earthquakes in the next few minutes."

"Maker's aching balls, there better not be." Anders looked dreadfully distressed, for a moment, at that thought. "How fast does he recover, with you? I think we have another few minutes before it's even possible."

"Faster than with you, clearly." Fenris looked a little smug. "But, the real question is how fast he'll recover with Cormac, and we've both seen that."

"Shit. We're going to die. Bethany's going to kill us both. Painfully." Anders looked just about as thrilled as he'd been the last time one of the cats had vomited in his boot.

"It's Bethany. The 'painfully' is implied," Fenris muttered.

"I should probably be on the other side of you, if I'm going to keep touching you. It's a little awkward for me to reach or for you to see the book, like this." Anders stood up into the narrow space between the couch and the table, hand still on Fenris's face.

Putting his hand on Anders's, Fenris moved over on the couch, taking Anders's seat, which was still deeply indented. He forgot, sometimes, just how large Anders actually was, since, as an elf, pretty much any human was taller than him, so he just stopped paying attention. Looking up from Anders's knees, just put him eye to crotch with the man. That didn't really help. What helped less was that he was now surrounded by the faint scent of Anders -- much less offensive than he wanted it to be.

After a moment, Anders sat back down in the space Fenris had vacated, his hand sliding back to cup the back of Fenris's neck again. "Better?" he asked, following the words with a syrupy trickle of electricity down Fenris's spine.

Fenris's eyes slid closed, a moan escaping him before he could bite it off. Venhedis, that felt incredible.

"I'll take that as a yes," Anders said, chuckling softly. Fenris's glare lacked heat.

Anders slid the book closer so that it was between them again, the hush of leather against wood filling the quiet. Tilting his head, he paused to listen for a moment, fingers still sparking along Fenris's skin. "Hm."

"Hmm?" Fenris echoed.

"It's quiet."

Fenris blinked at him a moment before Anders's meaning sank in. Cormac and quiet rarely went together. "Is there a gag in that drawer of..." Fenris grappled for a word."...objects?"

"No. Neither of us are -- no."

"Then I suspect Artemis has found more creative means of silencing his brother," Fenris said, slanting a look at Anders. And there was an image, one that went a little too well with the trickle of electricity down his back. "Which doesn't solve the problem of earthquakes but at least avoids the suspicion of earthquakes with Cormac's shouting."

"Oh, I'm sure he's got all sorts of creative ways of shutting Cormac up. It's kind of a pity that it's necessary, though. I love listening to him. You know the weirdest things come out of his mouth. It's amazing." Anders smiled fondly, and his fingers crackled a little more intently.

Fenris struggled to control his breathing as the trickle turned into a crawling torrent under his skin. How had he come to this? To the most annoying mage in all of Thedas pouring the most wonderful sensations through the aching lines etched in his skin. The pain had stopped. The itching had stopped. All that remained was this crisp tingle that went straight to his knob. "I do not want to know about what goes into or comes out of Cormac's mouth," Fenris choked out.

"Sounds like you're having enough trouble with what comes out of your mouth," Anders observed. "You all right?"

"I... I'm..." Fenris settled for a nod when he couldn't quite get the words to line up right.

"You're...?" Anders watched him dubiously, eyes narrowed to slits until Fenris made another sound in the back of his throat, arching back into Anders's hand. "Oh."

"Quiet," Fenris growled, fighting not to squirm. His ears were moving enough for the rest of him, twitching in time to the sparks running down his spine. His hands were white-knuckled around the edge of the couch.

Teasing jabs danced on the tip of Anders's tongue, but for once he knew enough to rein them in. "Do you want me to stop?" he asked because Fenris didn't look like he could pull away if he wanted to.

Fenris choked on his reply, knowing he should say yes but, "No."

Anders's surprise was subtle, eyebrows raised, eyes closed, a nod tipped just a bit to the side. He didn't trust himself to speak, for a little while, but just let his hand continue as it had been, stroking current against the lines on the back of Fenris's neck, listening to the sounds Fenris made. Finally, he backed down a bit and asked. "Are you sure this is what you want? Those don't sound like happy noises."

Panting, as he tried to recover what was left of his wits, Fenris just let words leave his mouth, ragged and breathy. "You upset me. Constantly. You annoy me just because you can. You're human. You're a mage. You learned to read Tevene so you could run away and become a magister -- which wouldn't have worked, anyway. You -- you fucked my mage, and he _liked_ it. Your ugly human knob is revolting. You irritate me endlessly."

"You know, I _can_ stop..." Anders eased back a little on the force of the current and Fenris grabbed his wrist.

" _No_!" The frustration was obvious in Fenris's tone. "You heal me. You tell me secrets. You teach me. You help me. You make the pain stop, even as you continue to be a lasting pain in my ass."

"You don't want this from me, Fenris. You want this from Artie." Anders shook his head, but didn't move his hand. He wouldn't take that away from Fenris, until he was completely sure the elf could handle it.

"Why are you so _difficult_?" Fenris demanded, leaning back against Anders's hand.

And then Anders's mouth got away from him. "It's just because you haven't made me hard. Yet." The 'yet' was an afterthought. As much as he teased, this really hadn't been his intent. Still, the thought had crossed his mind a few times, and he wasn't going to turn down an offer, but it would have to be an honest offer, not some half-thought gibbering after a spell gone wrong.

"Yet." Fenris choked out a laugh and covered his eyes. "What are we doing?"

"What do you _want_ to be doing?" Anders asked.

“I… I don’t…” Fingers of one hand dug into couch cushions, worrying at the fabric. His other hand still clutched Anders’s wrist. “I don’t know.” He didn’t know what he wanted, just knew _that_ he wanted. He knew he didn’t want Anders to stop, didn’t want to lose that soothing charge just under his skin. He looked at the mage, close enough to count each bit of stubble, but blinked and missed the way amber eyes flashed blue.

Justice was constant chatter in the back of Anders’s mind, all but vibrating at the feel of lyrium against his fingertips, wanting to taste that lyrium against his tongue. Anders tamped down on the spirit’s desires. Fenris was already glowing enough for the two of them.

“What do you want, Fenris?” Anders asked again. He didn’t want to pull away, but he would if he didn’t get an answer this time, a clear answer. Fenris squeezed his wrist harder, hard enough to hurt, and Anders retaliated with a sharper jolt down his spine, making the elf’s back bow.

A growl was Anders’s only warning before he found himself pinned to the back of the couch, the hand on his throat more a warning than a weight, in an echo of his hand still cupping the back of Fenris’s neck. Fenris’s eyes were more black than green, and Anders wondered if this was how he was going to die.

"More," Fenris demanded, eyes losing that wild gleam, for a moment, as he realised what he was doing.

"I'm not Artie," Anders warned him. "You squeeze any harder and we're done."

Fenris's eyes slid shut, and he rested his forehead against Anders's cheek. "Please..." His fingers spread and his hand moved down, settling in the centre of Anders's chest.

Anders's fingers twitched as he stopped himself from batting the hand away, when it landed on that scar. Fenris didn't know. Anders didn't want to talk about it. And the last thing he wanted was to piss Fenris off, right now. "You really don't know, do you?" It finally occurred to him that perhaps Fenris wasn't just confused from the current under his skin.

"It doesn't feel the same," Fenris said, like that should explain everything. After a few moments of confused silence from Anders, he realised it probably didn't. "His magic demands, and I am strangely happy to give. Yours coaxes and teases. I don't know how to do this, but I don't want you to stop."

"I'm a horrible tease. Gets me into just as much trouble as it gets me out of," Anders joked, still trying to figure out what to do with that information. "Are you going to regret this? If you're going to regret this, I don't want to do it. I'm not going to stop being a pain in the ass. That's ... I've always been a pain in the ass, sometimes more literally than others, but I'm really not interested in giving you the literal ass-pain."

"Anders." Fenris's voice was as firm as it could be, under the circumstances. "Just touch me."

And that wasn't an answer, not really, but Anders took it for what it was: a request to stop talking. His free hand came around to touch Fenris at the small of his back, where it had rested before. Electricity ran in rippling currents up and down Fenris's spine, and Fenris's breathing was harsh and heavy against Anders's neck. Feeling that breath against his skin, Anders wondered for a moment if Fenris was going to make good on that threat to bite him after all. But Fenris's touch was soft, tentative, a press of nose and lips against the column of his throat.

"Like this?" Anders asked, words poured into one pointed ear.

A rumbling sound caught in Fenris's throat, echoed in his chest like a purr. The image of Fenris as a great big cat, half in his lap, made Anders smile. The hand at Fenris's back trailed up under his tunic, pressing palm and fingers to skin in a way that had the elf's hips squirming. He pulled a little, and Fenris moved, sliding across his thighs to straddle his lap.


	136. Chapter 136

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This wasn't what they'd meant to do at all, but it seemed foolish to stop, when they were already halfway through.

There was a certain warm contentment in the way Fenris pressed against him, Anders decided. It was obviously a sex thing, but it wasn't a sexy sex thing, at least not for him. "It doesn't matter if you don't know what you want, but I need to know what you don't want. You have to tell me if I do something wrong. I'd like it if you'd tell me if I do something right, too, but that's a little less critical."

" _Mage_ ," the word was strangled, choked out between ragged breaths, "you talk too much."

"Cormac likes it," Anders huffed.

"I am not a magical bear," Fenris growled, grinding against Anders, as a teasing flutter of stronger current danced along his nerves.

"You going to kill me if I tell you how it was, with Artemis? Do you want to hear it, or would you rather not know?" Anders whispered, against one twitching ear. " _Some people_ like to hear things like that, at times like these." Like Artemis and Cormac both. He could get either one of them wound up by talking about fucking the other one.

The next sound that rumbled in Fenris's chest was less a purr and more a growl, but not the most threatening one Anders had heard from the elf. Artie was Fenris's, and they both knew it. But that didn't stop Fenris from wondering... from wanting...

"Do you mean to taunt me?" Fenris asked, tone still just this side of dangerous.

"Not taunt," Anders murmured, the hand on Fenris's back pulling him closer. "Tempt, perhaps." Fingers traced sparking patterns across Fenris's skin. "You say I talk too much. Might as well talk about our... shared interests."

Another growl, but Fenris's hips didn't stop moving. "Tell me," he said, though he'd probably regret it.

Anders licked his lips, tongue brushing Fenris's ear, and Fenris's hips jerked forward. "You know how big I am. I don't know if you know what that means, but it means I don't fuck, I get fucked. Cormac aside. So, when he said he wanted me, that's what I thought he wanted. I tried so hard to talk him out of my knob, but you know how he is. You know, but I didn't. I hadn't been inside anyone but Cormac, in years. But, I let him take me like that."

"Let him?" Fenris panted. "Sounds more like took him."

"Oh, I worshipped him, first. Put my tongue into him. You know all the sweet little noises he makes when he's getting his ass eaten, don't you? All those little whimpers and whines. But, oh, Fenris, the way he pushed back against me, when I put my fingers in him, when I stroked and kneaded his insides. That raw lust that just started to seep out of him, while I slicked him up and stretched out his tight little hole. And he just kept begging for more. Fucking him with four fingers, and he begged for it." Anders finally started to thicken, at the memory, and he rolled his hips under Fenris.

Fenris felt the mage move under him and ground back more insistently, and Anders settled into the rhythm he set. "And then?" Fenris asked against Anders's throat, just under his ear. He could picture it, his mage on all fours and making those sweet sounds, biting his lip as he tried to keep quiet.

"And then I laid back," Anders continued, voice little more than a breath in Fenris's ear, "and he straddled my hips. And then he sank down onto me, so achingly slowly. And, Maker, you should have felt him, Fenris, how tightly he squeezed me. We could feel each other's heartbeats, but he just kept taking and taking."

Fenris closed his eyes. He knew how Artemis felt inside, how he felt when Artemis was riding him, how desperate, how greedy he always was. Fenris's hands clutched at Anders's arms, at his shoulders, at his hips, never quite landing but needing to pull the mage closer.

"And the face he made, Fenris," Anders went on. "The way his eyes rolled back, lips parted around more of those sounds. Then that blissful little smile he gave me."

A raw, frustrated noise tore out of Fenris. This was good. Different, but good. It just wasn't _enough_. Even with visions of Artemis writhing, this wasn't nearly enough. Anders was strangely gentle, for as loud and obnoxious as he was -- slow and soft and easy. But, Fenris had become so accustomed to Artemis's fast, hard desperation, that this was enough to turn him on, but not nearly enough to get him off.

"This isn't--" Fenris panted. "I can't--"

"Tell me," Anders breathed. "Tell me what you need."

"More," Fenris gritted out, hands finally clenching just under Anders's feathered shoulders. "Harder. More."

A strong jolt shot down Fenris's spine, repeating until it was a ripple between Anders's hands. "Like this?"

"Put-- Just-- _Fuck_!"

The last word caught Anders's ear. That was an Avvar word. Fenris only _swore_ in Tevene, which made that a verb. "Yeah?" he purred. "You want me to spread my legs so you can fuck me? I'll tell you a secret. It's not just my fingers that sparkle..."

A groan tumbled out of Fenris's throat, low and rich. Not just his fingers? He could have that lightning not just under his skin but surrounding him...? Venhedis, these mages would be the death of him.

"Yes," Fenris said, word hissed through his teeth. "I need -- _now._ "

"Whatever serah wishes," Anders teased, another sharp jolt making Fenris shudder before he nudged the elf back off his lap. Fenris knelt beside him on the couch, still leaning into Anders's touch. And that was a dilemma, Anders realised. "I believe there is some clothing in the way," he panted, "clothing that requires two hands to work around. My hands are already busy, though I... imagine you could just phase through the clothing if you needed to." Anders tried not to picture that and failed. "Please don't do that."

Fenris huffed, a puff of air at the hollow of Anders's throat. "I have two hands," he replied, putting them to work undoing the laces of Anders's trousers. And that was something he forced himself not to think about, that this was Anders, the abomination, whose clothing he was sticking his hands into. It was impossible to avoid, though, with those feathers ticking his cheek.

Hadn't he once told himself that freedom meant being able to fuck gorgeous mages in the ass? It was about those words, too, if he thought about it. Well, he wasn't so sure about 'gorgeous' but Anders was definitely a mage. A mage he wasn't entirely fond of, really. A mage who wasn't all that fond of him, either, but was willing to bend over for him, all the same.

"Up," Fenris commanded, hands yanking Anders's trousers down, as the mage rose. All the way down to his ... boots. Oh. "Fasta vass," he snarled.

"I'll pick up my foot. There's a buckle at the side, and then just pull." Anders had gotten these boots because they looked a lot more complicated than they actually were, and he could put them on in a hurry, without having to worry about them sliding down in a fight. That and they matched his coat. Even living in the sewer, he was vain. It never really went away. He didn't really want it to.

Fenris wrestled the boots off Anders, and then finished yanking his trousers down. He found himself about eye-level with the flagpole, and quickly looked away. It looked even more... intimidating up close, and Fenris wondered what magic made it possible for Artemis to fit that. From either end.

"It doesn't bite, I promise," Anders said, just to earn another glare from Fenris. He sat back down before Fenris could either pull him down or leave in a huff, one hand keeping contact with Fenris's skin as he moved.

"You said the same about me not too long ago," Fenris said, pushing Anders back against the couch. He settled between the mage's legs as he plucked at the laces to his own trousers. Fasta vass. He needed to stop tying such complicated knots.

"And here I am, still bitemark-free," Anders taunted him. His hands slid to Fenris's arms instead for the moment. The current was less strong, but he didn't need to bend at such an awkward angle.

Fenris lunged across Anders and caught just under the mage's chin in his teeth. "You also said you don't like it rough," Fenris reminded him, before backing off and squirming out of his own tight pants. He didn't take them all the way off, but pushed them far enough down not to get in his way. For a moment, he wondered what Artemis would think of all this.

"Grease?" he asked, and Anders just laughed.

"Don't worry about it." Anders said, after a moment. "It's magic."

"But--" Fenris looked at both of Anders's hands which were on him, and neither one was greasy.

"My ass is a different kind of magic. It's not the Hawke ass, but I've still got a few good tricks." Anders grinned and raised one of his legs hooking his knee over the back of the couch.

Fenris wasn't sure how to feel about that, especially with how ... complicated the issue of lubricant could get, with Artemis. Artie who didn't like mess. Didn't like the slick on his fingers and everything he touched. And very definitely didn't have a spell that did _that_. He wondered why Anders hadn't taught Artie to do this thing, but then, Fenris didn't much understand how magic worked, once it got away from the really obvious things like fire and earthquakes.

He pressed a finger into Anders, and was rewarded with warm slickness and a tingle that seized on the lyrium along his finger and ran up into his hand. A warm, round moan followed the surprised gasp at this unexpected combination of sensations.

"And that's just a finger," Anders reminded him, looking altogether far too smug, even as he canted his hips to take that finger deeper.

"Mages," Fenris breathed, as much in awe as exasperation. He took a moment to savour that sensation, adjusting to that prickling tingle while Anders's insides adjusted to him. He dipped a second finger in, and electricity lit up that finger as well. The currents running under his skin and lighting his tattoos made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

Anders smirked at the look on Fenris's face, his round eyes. Lyrium lines sent a tingle of their own up Anders's spine, and he suddenly couldn't fault Artemis for finding the elf so addicting. It took Anders a moment to notice the silence, not just in the room but in his head, the constant chatter he associated with Justice fading to a background hum, almost a purr that he could feel in his bones.

Oh. Now _that_ was interesting.

A hint of blue danced along Anders's thighs, and though Anders didn't notice, Fenris did. "You are glowing."

"It's the lyrium," Anders breathed, the foot not over the back of the couch sliding to the floor.

"Artemis does not glow," Fenris protested, wanting to hear the rest of this explanation, even as he knew he really didn't want to know.

"Artemis isn't inhabited by a Fade spirit who wants to go _home_." Anders tipped his hips up, again, tunic sliding up to reveal the ugly end of the scar that started on his ankle.

Fenris laid a hand across the ridge of damaged muscle and the bowl of stretched skin between that and Anders's hip. "Is that why you're still alive?"

"Not that time," Anders replied, and Fenris realised that meant there were other times, other brushes with death bad enough to leave scars on the healer. He'd seen hints of some of the scars, but hadn't thought any of them would have been quite that bad.

"What--?" Fenris asked, gesturing down Anders's leg with one hand as his other hand eased in another finger, stealing the breath from them both.

"Later. Fuck now, talk later." The flagpole twitched in agreement.

More striations of blue crossed Anders's skin, and Fenris paused, reminded again that Anders wasn't the only one inhabiting this body. That was a thought that should have repulsed him, that should have been enough to make him change his mind, but he couldn't pull away even if he wanted to, not with the way the tingle of Anders's skin beckoned to his.

"Talk later," Fenris echoed, sounding dazed. He pulled his fingers free slowly, reluctantly, but hurried to replace them with the tip of his knob.

And Fenris saw _stars_ , burning blue and white and yellow at the edge of his vision, mouth open in a sound that wanted to be a curse but turned into a groan. He clutched at Anders's hips, forced his fingers to uncurl from a bruising grip, to stay gentle, as his head fell forward onto Anders's chest.

"Told you," said Anders, just as breathless, eyes just as wide. "Magic ass."

"Nngh," Fenris agreed, pushing the rest of the way in, as slowly as he dared.

Anders wrapped his arms around Fenris, pulling him a little closer to reach, just enough to get a finger on his tailbone and another at the base of his skull. Current leapt between Anders's hands, meeting with the buzzing warmth that ran up Fenris's knob, to settle between the elf's hips. And that was it. _That_. Finally.

Fenris lost control of his body, every unpleasant word he'd said about mages vindicated in that moment, but he couldn't manage to care, as his hips slammed forward again and again, desperate sounds of surprise spilling out of his mouth one after another. It was everything he feared and everything he desired, at once.

Anders fell silent, breathing deep and slow, his focus on the magic, as Fenris ravished him. He knew he wouldn't lose control -- the number of times he'd fried his own balls in the tower meant he reflexively stopped casting when he started to waver. He didn't have accidents like that, any more. It was something he didn't worry about so much, with Artie and Cormac, if only because a twitch the wrong way wouldn't be fatal, there. He wasn't usually running slightly stupid amounts of electricity down either of their _spines_. But, he was a healer. He knew what the body would take, elf or human.

His hips rocked in time with Fenris's thrusts, twisting down just before Fenris started to pull out. The lyrium felt like nothing else, and if this was what Fenris felt, all the time, it was no wonder he wanted to quiet it. Which wasn't to say it wasn't rather nice, limitedly, but... Anders could definitely make out the shape of the problem, there. Justice, on the other hand, wanted more -- to taste, to touch, to clutch Fenris's naked body against them. Admittedly, the two of them together had only been with Cormac and Artie, but Anders had never heard anything like this out of Justice, and he wondered if he should have taken that ring off of Kristoff, before he'd set fire to the clearing and run, which was a terribly odd thought to be having with the lyrium-engraved knob of a former Tevinter slave firmly embedded in his ass.

"You're glowing," Fenris pointed out between gasps.

"So are you." And it occurred to Anders only then that maybe they should have closed and locked the door, in case Bethany returned for more books. He doubted 'it's not what it looks like' would be half as convincing this time around.

In the end, however, he couldn't bring himself to care, not with Fenris's hips slamming into his, not with the desperate sounds panted against his neck. He doubted Fenris would last long anyway at the pace he was going, with all that magic crackling under his skin. At least Cormac was down the hall and could help relieve the ache this was sure to leave, even if Justice grumbled in his mind at the thought of not getting to keep all this lyrium to himself. Maybe Anders could ask Cormac to do the glowy thing. Better yet, maybe he could convince Fenris and Artie to join them.

Fenris swore over him in Tevene, whimpers catching in his throat as his hips started to shiver, thrusts growing more erratic, more desperate as he tried to bury himself in that lightning and heat.


	137. Chapter 137

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps a little more awesome and a little less murder than Cormac and Artemis anticipated.

Cormac had finished enjoying his brother's discovery of some of the more interesting objects he kept in the bedside drawer, and they'd decided that, in the absence of any murderous screaming from the library, they probably ought to check on glowy and glowier. Still arguing over which was which, they stopped cold, at the doorway of the library.

That was an awful lot of glowing. And it didn't look like murder. Surely didn't _sound_ like murder.

Cormac swallowed hard, pulling Artie into the room, so he could close the door, behind them. "I guess they got to the dirty words," he whispered, quietly edging toward a corner with a better view, as he watched Fenris pound into Anders so hard that Cormac had some concerns for the couch.

Artemis stared for a long moment, mouth agape. Without taking his eyes off the pair on the couch, he said to Cormac, "Varric owes me ten silver." He followed Cormac's example, sidling over to a stop with a better vantage point.

Fenris continued pounding away, oblivious to the pair of Hawkes or to the door that was now closed. He continued growling swears against Anders's throat, teeth worrying at a bit of skin just above a collarbone.

"Pedica me," Anders said in one pointed ear, earning another growl from Fenris, this one of frustration.

"It's 'meh' not 'mee'," Fenris corrected, punctuating each word with a sharp thrust.

"Ooh, I know what that means!" Artemis whispered to Cormac. "Naughty, Anders."

"Pedica _me_ ," Anders repeated, emphasising the second word and its still-incorrect pronunciation, "si tibi placeat."

Fenris faded out a single finger, in irritation, and jabbed it into the middle of Anders's chest, missing most of the things that would actually hurt, but leaving the distinctly uncomfortable sensation of being poked in the heart. But, that didn't feel like heart. That felt like scar. And Anders arched under him, magic flickering out, as he spurted across the front of his own tunic.

The ache slammed back down onto Fenris in that instant, and he wondered exactly how bad of an idea that had been. But, just as quickly as the current had stopped, it started again, a delicious wave through his confused nerves, and Fenris failed to close his mouth in time to avoid drooling on Anders's chest.

Cormac stood frozen, two steps from where he'd started. When Fenris's hand faded out, he'd meant to put a stop to this -- he had no idea what Anders had said, but he knew that tone. And then... Was that an actual thing, then? Somehow he'd been much more comfortable with the idea that Artemis was just weird. And Anders, he knew, had that scar, right there, that he hated to have touched. "What the actual fuck?" he hissed, completely confused, if more than a little turned on, which took some doing, considering how he'd spent the afternoon.

Artemis shushed him, watching raptly as Fenris lost control, hand pulling back out of Anders's chest and becoming solid enough to grasp Anders's hip. Fenris's swears and desperate, bitten-off shouts filled the room in complement to the slap of skin against skin. And then the elf stilled, tattoos flickering and muscles bunching and tensing as he spilled deep inside Anders. He shuddered, hips giving a few more lazy thrusts as he held himself up over the mage.

Panting, Fenris looked up at Anders, the reality of what they'd just done slamming into him full force. "Your pronunciation is still terrible," he said, at a loss for other, worthier words.

Fenris stiffened at the sound of applause and looked, wide-eyed, over his shoulder in time to see Artemis give a wolf-whistle. "I... Amatus--"

'''I strongly doubt there'll be other things going on'," Artemis quoted, mimicking Fenris's gruff voice. He clucked his tongue. "I didn't realise your knob was a necessary tool for learning Tevene. I should be fluent by now!"

Cormac laughed as he crossed the room. "And now is the part where you move, and I finish what you started, Fenris."

"What-- where-- why?" Fenris sputtered, still stunned both at what he'd done and that they'd had an audience for at least some of it.

"As long as you leave Howe out of it," Anders groaned, pulling his trousers over his face. "Bethany isn't watching, is she?"

"Ah... no? I didn't see her when we came in, and we closed the door, so..." Cormac's eyebrow lifted. "Is there something I should know?"

"I didn't mean this to happen. Neither of us did. It just... did." Anders paused. "That's not regret, I don't think, but it's definitely confusion. Your sister came in before any of this and assumed we'd get here. I just want to know she's not responsible. And if she's not watching, she's probably not."

"If it helps, I've never seen her do that unless someone was going to die," Cormac reassured him. "But, really, Fenris, unless you intend to finish this, and I don't think you do, you should probably move, so I can. I wish someone had told me I'd be spending the entire day having marathon sex, so I could have eaten more before I started..."

Fenris blinked at the three mages in the room, then down at where he was still attached to one of them. Carefully, Fenris pulled out, trying to make as little of a mess as possible, in deference to Artie. He stilled, halfway off the couch, remembering Anders's hands on him and the soothing current he didn't want to lose. At a glance from Anders, Artemis stepped forward, taking Fenris's hand and sending his own sparks up lyrium lines.

Pulling up his trousers with his free hand, Fenris let Artemis lead him away from the couch. "All right?" Artie asked. "You look a little dazed." He reached up to brush Fenris's hair back from sweaty temples.

Fenris looked up at his mage, at blue eyes soft with amusement and concern. "You are... not upset," he clarified. He hadn't thought Artemis would be, had _hoped_ he wouldn't be, but...

"Only that I didn't get to see how it started. Maker. I would have stayed in here if I knew it was going to be _that_ kind of lesson." His eyes were still soft, still loving as he pressed a kiss to Fenris's lips. "I love you. You know that."

"They're going to kill me with this sap," Anders groaned, pulling Cormac onto the couch with him.

"So kill me with wood, first?" Cormac suggested, untying the belt on the dressing gown that was the only thing he'd bothered to put on.

Anders groaned and dragged his hands down Cormac's chest, appreciatively. "In a minute," he promised. "Artie? Get a rune from the stonecarver's shop. Specifically there, because I know how they gauge them, there, for which you can thank your brother. You want a replacement number two electrical. Maybe a number three, but I wouldn't start that high, if you don't want what I just got. Get it bound into a cuff or a collar -- something that doesn't have to be taken off, and is always touching the skin. I'm sure we can get Sandal to adjust it, later, but that should ... help, at least."

"You address him, and not me?" Fenris looked a little miffed.

"He knows what I'm talking about. I'd have to explain it to you. Now he can explain it to you, and Cormac can finish solving my problems." Anders grinned unapologetically, moving his legs back onto the couch, which forced him to shift position, so his shoulders were on the arm. His legs still jutted over the other arm of the couch, but he was a little less likely to dislocate a knee.

Artemis's eyebrows arched. "A rune," he said. "That's clever." And a relief, if it worked. Artemis hated seeing Fenris in pain, but he could only keep an electrical current going so long. Artie eyed Fenris up and down, moving his hand to run the current up Fenris's arm. "Though you might want to close your pants before talking to any dwarves. We don't need them to enchant _those_ stones."

Fenris fumbled with his laces now that he had both hands free, making a noise somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. Anders was already well on his way towards molesting Cormac by the time he was done.

They passed Bethany in the hall as she munched on an apple and turned the pages of a book. She waved at them with the hand holding the apple.


	138. PART XXVIII: DECISIONS OF QUESTIONABLE MERIT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The art of being Knight-Captain. A Cullen-centric interlude.

"Ser Cullen?" The recruit hovered in the doorway, as if setting foot past the change in the tile, without permission, would be dangerous. Which, had it been Meredith's office, it might have been.

Cullen looked up from the slowly-shrinking piles of paperwork on his desk. "Please tell me it's not more paperwork," he groaned, curling forward to pound his head on the edge of the desk.

"It's a letter, Captain, from the Warden-Commander in Amaranthine." The recruit -- what was his name? Cullen couldn't remember, the kid was too new -- continued to stand in the doorway.

"Give it to me," Cullen said, without lifting his head, reaching a hand over the stacks. At least they were shorter than they had been. He was sure this was terribly unprofessional of him, but it was the middle of the afternoon, and he'd been in this chair since before dawn.

The recruit handed over the letter and lingered in front of the desk, standing stiffly as he willed himself not to fidget. Cullen dismissed him with a wave of his hand and waited for the recruit to disappear through the door before opening the letter. Or before staring at the letter, really, which he did for a solid minute first. The fate of his family could be in there, condolences or reassurances. Or Solona could have been another dead end, and he could be sitting here, sweating, for nothing.

When Cullen finally did open the letter, the sight of Solona's neat handwriting brought a smile to his face. He skimmed through the pleasantries at the beginning and skipped to the meat of the letter, where his eyes landed on the name 'Honnleath'. The words 'I'm sorry' jumped out at him as though written in red, and his breath caught, fingers crinkling the edges of parchment, until he forced himself to read the rest of that sentence:

' _I'm sorry, but I don't know where they are now_.'

And Cullen backtracked, reading from the beginning. Solona _had_ seen the Rutherfords while in Honnleath, during the Blight, and remembered because she and Mia had gotten along famously. ' _We didn't have a chance to exchange embarrassing stories about you_ ,' the letter read, ' _so I have a vested interest in finding your family as well, to make up for lost tim_ e'.

Solona had contacted an acquaintance in the area, but could only tell Cullen that his family had fled at some point during the Blight. ' _I'll keep an ear open_ ,' she wrote.

Cullen folded up the letter and sagged against the desk. It wasn't the worst news he could have gotten. In fact, Cullen planned to take it as great news until proven otherwise.

* * *

* * *

Cullen sighed and re-shelved a book, still watching the door out of the corner of his eye. He'd been meaning to talk to Carver, for a while, now, since Merrill had complained, the other week. It wasn't his business, he supposed, except for the part where Carver was a recruit and the fact that he spent every weekend scrubbing chamber pots was absolutely the Captain's business.

He'd pulled the file from Meredith's office, while it was still dark. She wouldn't ask, if she didn't know. Of course, Cullen thought it said more about him that he was up at that hour, regularly, these days, and he wondered if he looked half as tired as he'd been. But, Carver's file showed some disturbing trends -- the ones Aveline had warned him about, actually. The kid always thought he knew better than everyone. Any argument dragged on longer than he wanted it to, and he'd start punching people, just to get them out of his way. On the other hand, most of the times he wound up punching people, the arguments had been about mages. A common theme seemed to be his insistence that mages were fucked up people, but you couldn't go around treating them like trash, even if punching them in the face for being assholes seemed to be an acceptable answer, although Cullen suspected both of these things had a great deal to do with Carver's family -- specifically Cormac, if he'd read that relationship properly. Very much a 'that is my brother and only I can punch him in the face' sort of affair.

The door creaked open, and Cullen turned to find Carver standing in it, arms crossed.

"What?" Carver asked, and then, after a moment. "What, _Captain_?"

Cullen squared his shoulders, chin held high, wearing his title in his bearing as he stepped closer. "Hello, Carver," he said. The greeting was pleasant enough, but there was a warning in the look he gave the recruit, a warning that said he'd let that lapse in manners slip by only once. "Cleaning the toilets again, I see? I don't think I've ever seen them quite so spotless until you joined us."

Cullen raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly down at Carver's crossed arms. Carver sighed and dropped his arms, affecting a position that could loosely be described as 'standing at attention'.

"Was that a statement or a question, Ser?" Carver asked, the little shit. And, really, Cullen supposed it didn't help that they were so close in age. Maker help the boy if he behaved like this in front of Meredith.

"An observation," Cullen replied. "Merrill misses you, you know. Wouldn't you rather be with her than scrubbing toilets?"

That had Carver's eyes darting away, for a moment. "Does it matter what I want?" he asked. "I mean, that's really what this is about, isn't it? I'm not good enough at taking shitty commands from people, just because they've been here longer? Isn't that exactly why you let me in? So you wouldn't end up with some groveller who wouldn't report the next Alrik?"

"Carver, if you were _reporting_ my men, we wouldn't have a problem. But, you're not. You're punching them in the face." Cullen sighed, shoulders finally loosening a bit. He couldn't talk to the kid as his superior, if he expected Carver to listen. Not after that. "And acting like this makes people wonder if you're going to be the next Alrik, yourself. You can't just ignore orders. You can't punch your Lieutenant, because he said 'robe trash', which if he does it again, he will be in my office in a great deal more trouble than even you are in, right now, provided you can be bothered to tell me about it."

"Don't punch people. Yes, Captain." Carver rolled his eyes.

"No, Carver, not just don't punch people. That's important, but it's not the point. I brought you in here to help me keep the Order under control, because I know that you and I have some very similar views on what this Order is for. But, you can't just go around --" _being a dick_ , Cullen wanted to say, but that wasn't professional at all. "-- picking fights! There is order to the Order, and I expect you to find your place in it. But, I am also giving you a great deal of leeway in that I expect you to bring your complaints to _me_. Personally. Because I am willing to trust that if you see a problem, it's an actual problem. The Knight Commander is not going to give you that much except as rope to hang yourself, so please stop hanging yourself, recruit."

Carver stared down at his feet, and Cullen could practically see him biting his tongue. "The way my brother brought some complaints to you?" Carver asked. "I haven't seen much good come of that, yet."

There was a headache growing, starting in the centre of Cullen's forehead, and he fought the urge to press his fingers there. He was starting to see the appeal of punching people if this was where talking got him. "And you've seen more results from breaking noses and cleaning latrines, have you?" He watched Carver's jaw muscles work as he grit his teeth. "Right. Carver, I'm on your side. And not just because I'm marrying into that tempest you call a family."

"A tempest?" Cullen glanced back to see Anton walking in from the hallway. "Better than an earthquake, I imagine."

Cullen and Carver groaned in unison, for different but related reasons.

"Why are you here?" Carver asked.

"Hello, brother-dear," Anton replied, leaning against the wall and folding his arms. "Good to see you too, brother-dear. And I think it's fairly obvious why I'm here." He tilted his head at Cullen, who now had three fingers rubbing at his forehead. "By the way, pumpkin, Artie is borrowing one of your books. I hope you don't mind."

Cullen found himself caught between the word 'pumpkin' and wondering which book Artie could possibly be borrowing. "Not in front of the recruits, Anton." The words sounded more than a little strangled.

"Recruits? It's just my little brother." Anton laughed easily. "My little brother who should go see his girlfriend before she runs off with Izzy. They've been spending an awful lot of time together, according to Bethy."

It was the mention of his sister that coloured the tops of Carver's cheeks. "Don't you dare suggest anything about Beth, Anton, or I will kick you down all the stairs in the keep."

"I didn't suggest a thing about our sister and your girlfriend," Anton pointed out. "You're the one who took it there. Bethy spends enough time with Izzy, and she says Izzy's spending a lot of time with Merrill. But, if you've got so little faith in our sister..."

"Practise!" Cullen said, suddenly, clanking a gauntlet against Carver's shoulder.

Carver blinked, confused, and then caught the meaning. "Captain, I have a complaint. My brother is an asshole. Make him stop."

"Your complaint has been noted," Cullen replied, nodding his head approvingly. "And this is the part where I would normally write that complaint down and file it away for future reference, but I think I can deal with this issue right away instead. Anton." He took his fiancé's arm and steered him back towards the hallway. "Let's grab some lunch, and leave your brother to finish dealing with the latrines."

"That's only a temporary fix, you know," Carver called after them. "I have a whole folder's worth of complaints for him!"

"Duly noted, recruit," Cullen replied over his shoulder. "I will make sure he's thoroughly reprimanded."

"Ooh," purred Anton. "I love a good reprimanding."

* * *

* * *

Cullen was early. He knew he was early. He was almost always early, because it was in his nature not to be late. After a brief chat with Bodhan, he decided to wait in the library for Anton, which was what he tended to do. Anton would still be getting dressed, if he was even that far into his day, yet. 'Lunch', Cullen had called it, but he suspected it was breakfast, with the hours Anton kept. But, Anton had always said he wasn't much for breakfast food -- or rather, he'd made an extremely explicit point about what he considered to be breakfast, the very thought of which still brought a hint of pink to Cullen's cheeks.

As he went to take the chair beside the fire, Cullen's eye caught on a stack of paper wedged between the couch cushions. Probably Anders and his manifesto, again. Cullen actually enjoyed reading that, as much as he disagreed, at times, with quite how far it went. He and Anders were of similar mind, in some ways, though on opposite sides of that one, central disagreement.

He pulled out the papers and sat down, smoothing them out, beside the pile of Tevinter texts stacked on the table. The first thing he noticed was that the handwriting wasn't Anders's. He was familiar enough with that, by now. The next thing he caught was Anton's name -- it seemed to be an outright pornographic text, featuring Anton and... He blinked at the line several times. No. Maybe. Oh, Maker...

' _The Arishok rammed his enormous pole into the body beneath him, and Anton screamed in horror and delight. "The Qun demands it, Hawke."_ '

No, that... that couldn't possibly be... Maker, Cullen had been reading too many of those trashy Orlesian novels, hadn't he? Cullen stared at that sentence, squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head, and looked again. It was still there.

"Andraste preserve me," he breathed. Who had written this? He knew Anton's handwriting and, thank Maker, this wasn't it.

' _"Well, I'm always happy to submit to the Qun," Anton panted, writhing as the Arishok sheathed his rod in Anton's heat, again and again.'"Oh! Arishok!"_

Cullen shook himself and slapped his cheek. No. No, he shouldn't be reading this. This was terrible. He glanced at the fire, which was certainly within tossing distance. He could throw this filth into the flames without even getting up from his chair. But... what if there were important documents buried in there? He should really check that first. Just in case. Yes.

An hour later, he was quite certain there were no important documents between the pages, nor was it written in code. Well, it might still be written in code. Some of those misspellings had been fairly egregious. But, then there were footsteps on the stairs, and he was still holding the document. The incredibly incriminating document. Panicking, he stood up and jammed it into the back of his waistband, pulling his tunic down over it. As he wondered why he hadn't just stuck it back in the couch, Anton appeared in the doorway.

"Well, hello, Ser Templar. Did I keep you waiting long?" Anton purred, leaning in the doorway and cricking a finger.

Cullen took a moment to reassure himself that there was no way Anton could possibly know what he'd been doing, before he crossed the room and pressed a kiss to Anton's cheek. "For you? Not long at all," he teased. "Nevarran or Fereldan?"

"Ooh. Fereldan. Definitely." Anton's hand wandered over Cullen's rather nice clothing. "So nice seeing you out of your platemail."

"You see me without my platemail on a regular basis, Anton, if only because you keep removing it from my person." Cullen gasped as Anton's hand skated across his knob and darted between his legs for a quick squeeze, which was something he'd come to expect from Anton, really, but...

"Oh, what have you been reading today, that your sword's already prepared for battle, and I've only just got here? More wicked Orlesian trash?" Anton's smile was more wicked than any Orlesian text Cullen could remember having read. "Maybe you'll have to read it to me, after we eat."

Read it. To Anton. Cullen hoped the laugh his lungs squeezed out didn't sound as high and nervous to Anton as it did to him. He caught Anton's hands as they snaked around his waist, intercepting them before they could feel the wad of paper under his tunic. He pressed a kiss to each set of knuckles as though that had been his intention all along.

"I... I haven't been reading anything," Cullen said, smiling innocently for Anton's narrowed eyes. "Just been thinking of you. Daydreaming. In front of the fire."

"Daydreaming, hmm?" Anton purred, pulling a hand free to trace a finger through the stubble along Cullen's jaw. "What about? Thinking about that time in the closet?"

"Which time?" Cullen sputtered. "That is -- no. No closets were involved." The hand on his stubble brushed his cheek, and he could tell from Anton's smirk that he was blushing. Maker dammit.

"Were we in your office? Was I on my knees under your desk, worshipping your 'manhood'?" Anton pressed the length of his body against Cullen.

"N... no. Not my office. Though there was a... chair involved, at one point." Cullen tried desperately not to think about the Arishok's throne with the low, wooden arms, wide enough to lounge against. And -- no. The Arishok was dead. The Qun had to be against reading smut involving a deceased Qunari.

"Should we skip lunch? We could skip lunch and just do dinner, instead. I'm sure you could show me all sorts of creative uses for chairs." Anton nipped at the point of Cullen's chin.

"Lunch first!" Cullen yelped, a little too quickly. "That is... I'm very hungry. We should eat. And then, maybe we can discuss chairs. After eating. Eating first. Eating _food_ , Anton."

Anton fluttered his eyelids, in faux innocence. "I have to say, I'll be looking forward to your insight into the furniture, all through lunch."


	139. Chapter 139

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Particular Hawkes might wish to become more particular about their choices of closets.

Anton stole into Cullen's office a few days later, hoping to surprise his tempting templar with a mid-afternoon break. Instead Anton was the one surprised, finding Cullen's office empty and his chair cold. Probably another meeting, he suspected. Or out training the recruits. Anton pictured Cullen barking orders at Carver, and the image brought a smile to his face.

Ah well. Cullen was never away from his office for long, so if his chair was cold, he was likely due back any moment. Anton would just keep it warm for him. The chair was cushioned, the kind that gave a noisy exhale whenever someone sat in it, and Anton wriggled against it until he was comfortable.

Anton had only been keeping the chair warm for a few minutes when he grew bored, toying with a quill Cullen had left, rolling rolls of parchment back forth along the length of the desk... and eventually over the side. He made a note to pick those up later.

A few minutes later, and Anton was poking through Cullen's desk drawers, rooting through contents he'd already poked through months before. Taking a pick to those locks was second nature, and he had them open in a matter of seconds. He ought to tell Cullen to change those locks, just so he could have more of a challenge.

But, what was this, at the top of the drawer on the left? It looked like Isabela's handwriting... And, Maker, she was at it again, wasn't she. He wondered, flipping through the soft-edged pages, how Cullen had come into possession of one of Izzy's stories. Doubly so one about... No. What. No. It wasn't just about him -- that would have just been funny. It was about him and _the Arishok_ , which was really decidedly less humorous. If she was going to write something like that, why couldn't it have been Cormac, instead of him. Qunari just... No. He felt like Aveline would be in some way responsible for this.

Unless, of course, Cullen had... That was absurd. Cullen could barely carry on a conversation with Izzy, and more than that, he could barely mention a knob without getting red in the face. There was no way he'd _asked_... was there? And if he had, what would that even mean? He'd always expected the templar had some kinky depths, but _Qunari_? And with how possessive Cullen was...

Maybe he'd taken it away from Izzy. That almost made sense, with how uptight he was about what was written about him, and by extension, about Anton.

Anton propped his feet on the desk and laid the pages across his thighs as he read them. The first few pages were distressing -- he remembered the Arishok. He didn't want to remember the Arishok. The betrayal, the blood, his brothers lying broken on the ground -- he couldn't be thinking about those things. So, he took a deep breath and tried again, replacing the Arishok with Cullen, in his mind, and after a few more pages, he was idly palming himself through his tight, Orlesian trousers. The idea of Cullen wrestling him to the ground and ravishing him was ... oddly enticing. So much so that he didn't hear the door swing open.

Cullen stilled in the doorway, hand still on the doorknob. Anton in his office, in his chair, was hardly a surprise. Anton in his office, in his chair, and reading _that_ , however, was. No. It couldn't be. Anton was only thumbing through the loose papers on his desk. Right?

Except that... well. It looked like he wasn't the only one with one hand on a knob. He shut the door, and only then did Anton look up, startled, eyes round in a way Cullen hardly ever saw them. That startled look smoothed over into a smirk, and Anton sat back, neatening the edges of the papers against the desk.

"That's... um," Cullen struggled to explain. "That's, ah. Andraste have mercy." He rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks flaming red, and wondered if it was too late to slink back out the door and act like he hadn't come in here.

"You have some interesting reading in your desk, Knight-Captain," Anton said. "Is this required reading? Did Meredith assign this to you?"

Cullen's face felt painfully hot. "I... no. No, I found that."

"Have you been examining Izzy's rack of secrets, again?" Anton teased.

"It-- it was stuffed between your couch cushions! I mistook it for another of Anders's manifestos!" Cullen sputtered, crossing the room to make a grab for the pages. "And then I thought it might be some kind of code!"

"If Izzy's writing coded messages into her smut, I'll be very surprised." Anton laughed and continued to keep the pages just out of Cullen's reach. "Just trying to crack the code, hmm? Not sitting here in your grand office with one hand under your desk, imagining me getting reamed by a Qunari? I'm almost disappointed."

"Anton--" Cullen made another lunge at the document, but the platemail slowed him just enough. "Anton, if there are any stains under my desk, I promise they're your fault. Directly your fault. You were there when they happened." Which wasn't to say he hadn't thought about it, and it terrified him how much the thought _did_ turn him on, but he suspected that was largely because anything that involved Anton in the nude could get him hard enough to pound nails with his knob.

"You want this back?" Anton teased, fluttering the pages, as he leapt up onto the chair, with both feet. "Take it from me!" His eyes gleamed with the challenge, as he shoved the document into some hidden pocket in his shirt, and in two strides, hit the desk and Cullen's shoulder, before launching himself toward the door. "Catch me if you can, and maybe I'll let you strip-search me for it!"

"That's--! Anton!" Cullen sputtered for a moment before taking off after his fleeing fiancé. "This is hardly dignified!" His armour clanked as he ran, making a racket that drew more than a few stares as they raced down the hall.

Anton's cackles drifted back to him. Anton spun, running backwards for a few seconds to smirk at Cullen, slowing enough for Cullen to almost catch up before spinning to run forwards again, taking off around the next corner. Cullen swore, reaching for him and missing.

Another twist, and Cullen nearly slammed headlong into a recruit. He steadied her with his hands on her shoulders. "Sorry!" he stammered out before sprinting after Anton again.

And then -- oh. Oh no. "Anton!" he called out, seeing the room Anton darted into. "Not in--! _Maker_."

Not in _Meredith's office_. Cullen skidded to a stop inside the doorway, relieved when he found the office empty except for Anton and that wicked smirk of his.

"What do you think, Captain? Can you get it away from me, before she notices?" Anton shimmied and flicked his tongue teasingly at Cullen. "Going to fight me for this very important document, before I can hide it in her desk?"

"You wouldn't dare," Cullen purred, his stark terror melting away, as he started to realise he might finally have the upper hand. "It's not about me, it's about you. Do you really want to give her any more ideas about what you do in your spare time? The ideas she has are bad enough."

"It's not my fault you're loud." Anton grinned. "Well, that's a lie, I suppose. It's at least my doing."

They danced around the desk, first one way, and then the other, Cullen never letting Anton quite out from behind it. A feint to the left, and Anton lunged right, as expected, but Cullen was there to meet him. He'd watched Anton enough times to know what would come next, and grabbed the hand that tried to slip into his armour. They cracked into the edge of the wardrobe, on one wall, and as the door swung open, Anton shoved Cullen into it, but Cullen turned, pulling Anton in, as well.

"Well, well," Cullen purred into Anton's ear, "looks like I've caught you." The door swung mostly shut behind them, leaving only a sliver of light for Cullen to see by. But he knew the shapes of Anton's body by heart, his hands tracing the shapes of his waist and shoulders, touching far more than he needed to in his quest for the papers.

"Looks like you have," Anton replied in kind. "And what are you going to do with me, hmm?"

Cullen chuckled against Anton's cheek, hands finding skin instead of paper. "Been reading my books again?" he asked. "Are you going to quote them back to me, now?"

"I might," Anton murmured, nipping at the corner of Cullen's jaw, fingers already fiddling with buckles, plates falling to their feet. "I especially liked that one with the masquerade ball. Extra Orlesian. I believe there was a wardrobe involved in that one too--"

Cullen quieted him with a kiss. "See, this is why your brother is filing complaints against you," he teased.

"I protest," Anton breathed, nipping at Cullen's lip. "I have never done anything of the sort with any of my brothers. And usually not even where they'll notice. Andraste's ass, I'm not _Cormac_."

For a split second, Cullen thought Anton meant something very else, by that last remark, but remembered having heard exactly how loud and shameless Cormac was. "I meant that you're molesting his superior officer in a wardrobe. We do have a closet fixation, don't we?"

"Is that a complaint?" Anton asked, quietly, fingers slipping down into Cullen's trousers. "I rather enjoy the reminder of how we met."

"As pleased as I am to have met you, my love, perhaps it should not have been quite like that. I suspect we'll have to make something up, if my mother should ask. I will not have you telling her you dragged me into a closet in the middle of a ball, to have your way with me." And really, when he put it like that, Cullen was rather ashamed of himself. He was a Knight-Captain, for the love of the Maker, and he'd let himself be swayed so easily by Anton's ... everything, really. Everything about Anton. He thrust against Anton's palm, revelling in the idea that he was going to marry this mad and glorious man -- that he would have something to look forward to, every day of his life.

"We don't have to go into specifics," Anton replied, palming Cullen and revelling in the way his breath quickened. "We met at a ball, a ball my mother threw to celebrate our return to Hightown. What happened at the ball? Well, those are boring specifics. We had a few drinks and got to know each other. She doesn't need to know how... intimately."

Cullen huffed, remembering the absurdity of it all, his armour tangling with Orlesian coats. "I'll leave the telling to you, then," he breathed against Anton's throat before nipping at the skin he found there. He had his own hands in Anton's trousers by then, kneading that glorious ass, one even the fictional Arishok couldn't resist. Cullen's plate began to pile up at their feet, and they were tangled in each other's limbs and clothing when the office door slammed open.

Meredith barked orders to some poor recruit Cullen could practically hear shaking in her doorway, and Cullen froze, teeth still pressed to Anton's skin. Oh Maker. He was going to lose his job. No, worse, he was going to _die_. His thoughts chased themselves in a panic, while Anton stifled a laugh behind his palm. His other palm continued to tease Cullen, who was caught between terrified and aroused and unsure where to land.

"Anton," he squeaked, knowing the man couldn't see how round his eyes were in the dark.

The hand Anton had been using to cover his own mouth slapped quietly over Cullen's. Anton shook his head against Cullen's cheek, waiting for a nod, before he let go and reached for the door, which still hung ever-so-slightly open. He listened carefully to the pattern of boots against the floor, as the Knight-Commander paced and ripped into the recruit. Clank, clank, clank -- Anton eased the door closed and engaged the latch. Not that the latch was much promise of safety, given that it was meant to be opened and closed from outside the wardrobe, but it was clearly intended to keep the door from blowing open in a draughty room, which would prevent them being seen by chance.

The thrill of having almost been caught raced through Anton's veins, and his hand stroked and squeezed Cullen far more firmly. He could feel Cullen biting his own lips, not to make a sound, and Anton slowly, cautiously, sank to his knees.

It took Cullen a moment to realise what was happening, and he tugged at Anton's shoulder, shaking his head, in the darkness, before he realised that Anton probably couldn't see any better than he could. And then Anton's lips were on him, and his entire body quivered with the strain of not... anything. Of staying still, staying silent, as Anton's wicked mouth worked over his knob.

It was unfair how good Anton was at this, at how easily he played Cullen's body. Even here, feet away from his commander and trapped in her wardrobe, Anton's pull was stronger than his fear, maybe even bolstered by it. Anton did something particularly wicked with his tongue, and Cullen's hips twitched, subtly, barely enough to make it worth it but just enough to make a few plates scrape together. Cullen held his breath, going absolutely rigid, as Meredith's voice stopped. She'd heard, hadn't she? Oh Maker. She knew. She would find them and --

But Meredith had only paused for effect, it seemed, and she was back to tearing into the recruit a moment later.

Anton merely held Cullen's hips tighter, and Cullen imagined he could feel that damnable man smile around him. Cullen grit his teeth, jaw aching with the effort not to say anything, not to swear at or praise Anton and that sinful mouth that wrapped so perfectly around him. He exhaled shakily through his nose, fingers bunching in Anton's tunic as lips and tongue teased at his knob's head.

Cullen thought he might go mad. In fact, he was quite sure that it wouldn't matter at all, if the Knight-Commander murdered him on the spot, because he'd be too far out of his mind to notice. Anton's tongue continued to dart against his skin, and he could feel his knees starting to shake, the occasional whisper of metal on metal stopping his heart, each time.

And then the hand not desperately twisting at Anton's tunic leapt up to cover his mouth, with a brief squeak and clatter that was hidden under Meredith's pacing and gesturing, on the other side of the doors. At least Cullen hoped it had been, as he sank his teeth into the base of his thumb, and Anton's spit-slick fingers pressed into him. He was going to die. That was it. He was just going to die. Anton was going to suck the sense right out of him, and he was going to start begging, and then Meredith was going to kill them both.

Fighting to control himself, Cullen struggled to breathe more quietly, even as his breathing became raw and ragged. Anton knew just how to turn him on, which was amazing and wonderful, until it was about to get him killed. Get them killed. Some part of his brain continued to argue quite convincingly that Anton's mouth was worth even death.

Anton's breath moved around him in a nearly soundless chuckle, and then his tongue was teasing just so. Anton's grip on his hips tightened further, holding Cullen as still as he could even as he started to shake, shivering platemail sounding damningly loud to Cullen's ears. But not loud enough for him to stop, not loud enough for him to want to stop, as he throbbed, spilling into that waiting throat. Even in the dark, Cullen's vision flared white, and he was certain there would be teethmarks on his palm for days.

By the time he came back to himself, remembering where his legs were and which direction the floor was, Meredith had stopped talking. Cullen struggled to keep his breathing shallow even as his lungs screamed for deep breaths, and he prayed that Meredith had simply left. The creak of the floor and the sound of footsteps the next moment told him that prayer had not been answered. The office door closed, but those footsteps only returned to Meredith's desk.

The hand twisting in Anton's tunic came up to pet his hair instead, and Cullen wished he could see his face, even as he knew he'd just find another of those wonderfully infuriating smirks there.

Hours passed, and Anton made an effort to keep Cullen from getting bored, as they waited for Meredith to leave. Cullen wasn't entirely sure how much of that effort he really appreciated, under the circumstances, but his body thrummed with pleasure and exhaustion, by the time they heard Meredith get up from her desk.

Anton started pressing pieces of plate into Cullen's hands, and they fastened the buckles as quickly and quietly as they could, as the Knight-Commander reshelved some books, from the sound of it. If she was leaving, was there anything in here, with them, that she would need? Anton nudged Cullen into the back corner on the denser side of the wardrobe. If she came looking for something, hopefully it would be on the other side, and all she'd see were the cloaks and coats that hung almost to the bottom of the wardrobe.

Meredith's footsteps paused at the doors, as if she meant to open them. "Don't be a fool, Merry," she muttered to herself. "It's still warm."

Anton finally breathed again when he heard the door of the office open and close. "Wait," he whispered, one hand on Cullen's leg, holding on, until the footsteps continued down the hall.

"Andraste's grace," Cullen breathed, his whole body sagging with the exhale. He fumbled for the wardrobe's latch and turned it as best he could from this side, pushing the door open and breathing in relatively fresh air. "That was close," he said, squinting into the sunlight streaming from the windows. He stretched his arms to the side and over his head, trying to get the crick out of his back from standing still for so long.

Anton chuckled, looking altogether far too smug, his hair askew and tunic rumpled from where Cullen had clutched at him in the dark. He tightened a buckle at Cullen's shoulder, righting a plate that fell at an odd angle. "That was fun," he corrected, pressing a kiss to Cullen's lips that, for all its brevity, involved too much tongue to be considered 'chaste'. "We should do it again some--"

"No."

Taking Anton by the elbow, Cullen steered him towards the door, pausing to stick his head out into the hallway before stepping out. "Back to your office?" Anton suggested, snaking an arm around Cullen's waist. "Or perhaps back to my place? It's about time for supper, after all, if my empty stomach is anything to go by, and I have roomier closets."

Cullen made a sound somewhere between a groan and a laugh. "How about something more horizontal this time?" he asked.


	140. Chapter 140

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This eluvian is pining for the fjords!

Merrill opened her door to find Anders and Artemis standing on the other side of it, Anders balancing a box on his head. She'd been expecting them, of course, but it was always so odd to have visitors in her tiny home. "I'm so glad you're here!" she smiled and stepped back, letting them both in. "It's just the same as it's been. I wrote down everything I've tried, but it still doesn't work! I don't know what else to do!"

Anders set down the box and took her by the shoulders. "Hey, that's why we're here. I brought lyrium."

"Lyrium isn't the answer to everything," Merrill sighed, eyeing the box suspiciously.

"No, but if the Imperium was using it to power elven-made stuff, it's got to at least help. Maybe it's just run out of power. Maybe whatever was keeping it on got removed. It's thousands of years old, and we've got to start somewhere, so I'm voting for amplifying whatever magic it has, to start with." Anders shrugged and ruffled Merrill's hair. "Look, there's three of us, right? We'll figure it out, together."

Merrill nodded, still smiling, but Anders could tell her cheerfulness was forced. She was frustrated, and after all these years working at the damned thing, he didn't blame her. She led them into her bedroom where the mirror stood, picking up her rumpled nightshirt with her toes before Artie could see it. "I thought the arulin'holm would work, but... maybe you're right. Maybe it just needs a boost."

Artemis fidgeted with a sleeve of his tunic, reminding himself that it was rude to clean someone else's place without their permission, a fact he needed to remind himself every time he visited Merrill. And her home was neat by Merrill-standards, which meant she'd likely tried to clean the place for his benefit, bless her soul.

While Anders brought the box over, Artie stepped in front of the mirror and squinted at its lack of reflection. "Have you tried polishing it?" he asked, itching to rub away the layers of dust it had accumulated. "It's looking a bit... foggy."

"I don't think cleaning is going to change that," Merrill said around a chuckle.

Anders investigated the frame of the mirror. "This isn't the original frame, is it?" he asked after a few moments.

"No, I... the only thing left was a shard. I took the shard and started again. But, I followed the lore exactly. The mirror behaves the same as the shard. I don't understand why it won't work!" The air around Merrill congealed, briefly, and Anders understood exactly how frustrated she really was.

"The lore is probably wrong. Not wrong, wrong, but there's something missing. Think of how little is left of Arlathan. The books are Tevinter or Dalish from before the fall of the Dales. They're not written by people who made these things. They might not even be written, in a lot of cases, by people who used them." Anders shrugged and crouched next to the mirror, pulling on heavy drake-skin gloves. "And that's where we're lost, I think. There's some secret that we're missing."

"It's useless, then." Merrill sat down, hard, in the middle of the floor. "It's just useless."

"Not yet. I watched Solona Amell power up an ancient Tevinter defensive array, in a dragon-infested pit, with nothing more than some crystals and the intentionally half-bullshit instructions of the father of intelligent darkspawn. If all else fails, we send a letter to Solona. It's weird enough for her to take an interest." Anders carefully worked the lyrium into the frame of the mirror. "But, it's not going to come to that, because you're amazing, and you've already gotten this far. We can do this. _You_ can do this."

The smile Merrill gave him then was smaller but more genuine. "Thank you, Anders." She watched him work, rubbing lyrium into the eluvian's frame until it glittered in the sunlight. It amazed her still that these shemlen mages were more interested in preserving a piece of Dalish history than her own clan seemed to be. Though she suspected they were doing it more for her than anything else, except, perhaps, for Cormac with his... unusual interest in all things elvhen.

While Anders worked, Artemis poked at a few of the tomes Merrill had left open on her bed, noting the faded print, the weathered pages. He wondered how old they were and how Merrill had come across them.

"All right," Anders said at last, stepping back to admire his handiwork. "Let's hope that will help. If nothing else, it sparkles rather nicely. Like Fenris, if he were a mirror frame."

"Not broody enough," Merrill laughed, rising to her feet. She stretched her back, shook out her fingers. "Might want to step back, in case it... well. I'm not sure what might happen, exactly."

She meant Anders, but Artemis stepped further back anyway, just in case. He was wondering if maybe they should have brought Cormac, with his shields.

"Artie? Rocks." Anders suggested. "Your brother will be very displeased if I let you get killed again." He made no move to protect himself, though, as if he either weren't important or didn't care.

The air grew thick, crackling as Merrill brought her will to bear on the eluvian, elvish words pouring from her mouth. At one point, the mirror almost cleared, flickers of silver showing through the clouds and fog, but nothing happened. No clap of thunder, no portal to another world, no confused elves staring back through the talking mirror. The lyrium sparkled brightly, and Anders glowed faintly, watching it, but... the air thinned out again, and they were left with a smeary mirror and an electrical taste.

Words came flying out of Merrill -- at least Anders assumed they were words, and rather foul ones, given the force and volume of them. "Why doesn't it work!? It has to work!"

Artemis let the sheets of rock slide away from his skin and drop into nothing -- that had been the hardest part of learning that spell, dispelling the rock once he'd summoned it. " _Something_ seemed to happen," he said. "Did the mirror flicker like that the last time you tried?"

"It did, though not as much," Merrill sighed, tugging at a knot in her hair. "The lyrium... maybe it helped but. Elgar'nan, I don't know. I've tried everything. I am at my wit's end!"

"Not everything, surely," Anders consoled her, resting a hand on her feathered shoulders. "Just... lots of things. A great lot of things."

Artemis hummed as he went back to thumbing through pages, all written in a language he couldn't read. "Maybe the problem isn't with the mirror itself," he said. "Or with the materials. You're welcome to try throwing more lyrium at it, but... that's just opening up a Fade-touched can of worms. Maybe the problem is with the words? The spell itself?" He shrugged. "Did you learn the spell from one of these books? As Anders said, most of what we know is... going to be murky at best."

"The words are probably wrong," Merrill admitted, sitting on the edge of the table next to the book. "The language... We like to say there's still a language, but there's really not. There's not enough of a language to live in. There are ritual words and magic words, but the words for talking about hunting or crafting are almost all gone. The elves of the Dales mostly spoke Tevene. The Keeper doesn't teach the words we have left to the clan. She teaches them to the First -- that's me. How many words didn't get taught? How many words did her Keeper know, that I don't know? The clan doesn't even have another language. They all speak Common, but nobody actually speaks Elvish, except Mahariel and Paivel. If these aren't the words, I don't know where to get the words."

"I might." Anders untied his hair and ran his hands through it. "I remember some things, from when I used to spend half my days curled up with Tevinter histories. When they'd write foreign words, they would either write what the word sounded like, or try to translate it into Tevene. So, the question is whether those words are --" he counted on his fingers "-- right, but you're saying them wrong; written like they're supposed to sound; or the closest translations to the meaning of the words that were supposed to go there, because they were elvish words that got translated into Tevene and back. For the first two, I think we want Fenris to take a look. For the last one, you're right. We might be totally screwed."

"Maybe not totally screwed," Artemis said, still itching with the urge to clean. The mirror's dirtiness gnawed at his mind even when he wasn't looking at it. "A second opinion on the Elvish might not hurt."

"Marethari won't help," Merrill said, voice bitter. "She was reluctant to even give me the arulin'holm. Even if she did know something, she wouldn't tell me. Or... or worse, she'd make something up that would make it worse."

Artie picked at the edge of his sleeve, trying to smooth out a wrinkle. "I'm not suggesting Marethari," he said. "You mentioned Mahariel, and he was... well. He might be able to offer another perspective. We could have our own research team of elves and mages!"

Merrill blinked, head tilting. "Mahariel? I haven't spoken to him since I left the clan. I could ask, but I don't think he'd..." She trailed off when she noticed the way Anders's shoulders shook with barely-suppressed laughter. "What? What's so funny? Have I missed something?"

"Oh, no," Anders replied, grin wide enough to split his face. "I just think he'd be more than happy to help us if _Artie_ asked."

Merrill turned her quizzical look Artie's way, and Artemis looked at everything in the room except for Merrill. He fiddled with the book he couldn't read some more as an excuse to duck his head. "He's... not wrong," Artemis muttered, awkwardly clearing his throat.

"Oh," Merrill said. She stifled a giggle behind her palm. "I did _not_ realise that you two kept in contact."

"Oh, there was plenty of contact," Anders chirped. The look Artemis sent him said a force push was coming his way if he kept it up.


	141. Chapter 141

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An end to some difficulties.

Cullen hadn't slept more than a few hours at a time, in almost a month. In his office before dawn, back in bed long after dark, and so little to show for it, but the way his cheeks looked a little hollower and his eyes looked almost like he'd been punched in both. Anton had been worried, trying to take him back to the estate, every night, but he knew the trouble he'd wind up in if his bed was never slept in. He'd let the recruits catch him passed out on his desk, in the mornings, a few times, in the hopes the time he did spend in Anton's bed would just be written off as him sleeping in his office, again. But, he still wasn't sleeping. It had gotten worse and worse, since he'd sent the letter to Solona. The fact that his family had made it out of Honnleath, alive, was a good sign, but that had been so early -- what was to say they'd actually made it anywhere else, or that where they'd made it to had survived?

He leaned over the latest pile of paper on his desk, ink-stained fingers clutching at his hair, and tried to decide what to do with the news, when it came. Either way he'd have to do something. Just... nothing ever went the way it was meant to, for him.

The door creaked open, and one of the guards from downstairs appeared. "Captain, there's a woman--"

"Maker's balls, Cullen! You never write!" He knew that voice... "Get out of my way, you oaf!"

A small, blond woman in a plain, blue dress, ducked under the guard's elbow and stormed into the room, slamming her hands down on the large, wooden desk. "They told us every templar in that tower died. No survivors. And here you are, almost six years later, in some fancy office, just now sending someone to find us?"

"I didn't know there were any survivors, either, Mia." Cullen heaved himself out of his chair, platemail clanking, still leaning forward over the desk. "I had to find out from a _golem_!"

" _Six years_!" Mia was still yelling, hands still flailing in anger, when Cullen walked around the desk to wrap his arms around her, crushing her against his chest.

She was smaller than he remembered but a real, solid weight. _Real_. He was not dreaming this. A sharp pinch between plates told him that he was _definitely_ not dreaming this.

"Ow!" he whined like he had when they were little. "Mia!"

"Your armour is poking into my cheek."

Cullen loosened his grip to hold her by the shoulders, smiling when he saw the glimmer of tears she was obviously holding back. Mia huffed and made a show of rubbing her cheek where a ridge of armour had dug in. "So you're alive," she said.

"So you're alive," Cullen repeated, his words as choked as hers. His smile slipped as he asked, "The others... Mum. Are they...?"

"Yes, also alive," Mia said, and Cullen felt like he could breathe for the first time in years. "And also assuming you were dead. Andraste's bosom, you're lucky I was the one who found you. Mum would have strung you up by the ears!"

"How are you all? _Where_ are you all?" Cullen asked, still completely dazed. "And why didn't you send a letter, when Solona caught up with you?"

"Why send a letter?" Mia asked, eyes narrowing as she squinted up at her brother. "It's not like you ever answer them! No, no, when we were summoned to the Teryn's offices, and told you were alive? I bought passage on the next ship heading to Kirkwall." She paused. "We're living in Gwaren, you know. The Teryn is some Antivan elf. What's an Antivan even doing holding a Fereldan terynir? And an elf! I don't know what our nation is coming to, in the wake of that Blight."

Recognition flickered in the back of Cullen's mind, as he remembered the letters where Solona talked about her husband. "An... Antivan elf? Little, blond, and makes you want to punch him in the face every time he opens his mouth?"

"That sounds like him. Do you know him?" Mia squinted suspiciously. "Do you know the Teryn of Gwaren, where we have been living, and it has still taken you this long to--"

"No! No. It's... I know his wife. She's the Warden-Commander of Amaranthine. Actually, _she's_ the Teryn of Gwaren. But, Warden politics, she says. Left him to look after the place for her. And I _still_ didn't know, Mia. _She_ didn't know." Cullen tipped his head down and bumped his forehead against his sister's. "So, do you want to keep standing here and yelling at me, or would you like to shout at me over lunch? We can stop and get my fiancé, if you like, who I'm sure will agree with all the yelling."

"You're getting _married_!?" Mia shouted, headbutting Cullen. "Why was that not the first thing out of your mouth? Who is she? Does she have a nice family? You didn't get her pregnant, did you? Is she a _mage_?"

The guard still lingered in the doorway, snickering. He offered Cullen a helpless shrug.

"That's, ah..." Cullen glared at the guard over Mia's shoulder. "That will be all, thank you," he said, which was, he supposed, politer than saying 'get lost'. The guard bowed his head, still smirking, and took his leave.

"Anyway." Cullen pressed a thumb and forefinger into his eyelids. "Not a mage, no, and not pregnant. _Definitely_ not pregnant." Not unless the mages in or around his family had something they wanted to tell him.

Mia arced an eyebrow. "'Definitely' not? Oh dear. That doesn't sound promising."

"No!" Cullen sputtered. "It's not like--! _Maker_. _He_ is not pregnant."

Mia's other eyebrow rose to the same height as its twin. "Oh! _He_! That's... wow! I didn't know you... huh. Definitely not pregnant then." And she laughed, cackled really, and patted Cullen's arm. "All right. Tell me about him, then."

"He's..." Cullen struggled to find an adjective good enough. "Well, he comes from a large family. Nobles. All of them charming in their way, if a bit... eccentric." Another inadequate adjective. Cullen cleared his throat. "But... that was part of why I started looking for you now. I wanted our family to meet him, to be at our wedding. I know it's... I should have looked sooner, but. I was afraid of what I'd find."

"Oh, nooo, we've all been swallowed by the Archdemon," Mia huffed, shoving Cullen's shoulder. "Come on, then. Introduce me to Prince Charming. And there had better be decent restaurants in this grimy hole of a city, because I want something that's not hardtack and dried meat. I ended up on a postal ship."

"So, even if you'd written, you'd have gotten here first." Cullen shook his head and laughed, finally letting go of his sister, to get his sword.

"Still take your sword everywhere?" Mia sounded almost surprised.

"It's Kirkwall. It's Kirkwall, and it's Marketday," Cullen sighed, wrapping an arm around Mia's waist and leading her toward the door.

* * *

* * *

One of the things Bodhan had always appreciated about the Hawkes was that they'd given Sandal his own workshop -- not just a room with a table, but whatever tools or materials the boy could convey that he needed would be arranged for him. In return, Sandal had made some truly incredible enchantments, that Bodhan would never have even considered. It was the best they could have done, on the surface, he thought, even if he did miss travelling through the Blight-ruined villages and rescuing the artefacts of people's lives and histories. But, Messere Anton had similar tastes, he'd noticed, and he was sure there would be another venture into ruined lands, eventually.

But, right now, Sandal's workshop contained three other people, all hard at work, on the same thing. He didn't quite understand, aside from the fact that Messere Fenris needed some very specialised runes made, which was strange, given how little Messere Fenris cared for magic.

Anders held up the first rune once Sandal had finished with it. A rune of electricity, set into a simple leather band that could be worn like a bracelet. He prodded the rune, testing the voltage, and marvelled at the craftsmanship. He glanced at Sandal, the dwarf hard at work, bent over the next rune.

“I still think a collar would have been better,” Anders said, shaking his head. “It’d be closer to your spine and less likely to—“

“No.” Fenris was adamant about that. His hand went to the neck of his tunic, pulling it away from his throat as though, just by saying the word, Anders had summoned a collar onto his neck. “We’ve been over this, mage.”

“This will work, too,” Artemis soothed. “We’ll make it work.” He smiled at Fenris and hoped they had better luck with this than they had the eluvian.

“The charge might still be on the low end,” Anders said, holding the bracelet out to Fenris. “But it’s meant to complement another bracelet, and we can always up the charge later.”

“Better not to fry the elf, yes,” Artemis agreed, taking the bracelet instead. Fenris held out his arm, and Artie clasped it around his wrist. The markings on that arm lit, rippling upward from wrist to shoulder, and Fenris’s breath hitched. “All right?” Artie asked, eyes intent on Fenris.

“Yes,” Fenris said, flexing the fingers of his glowing hand. The current was still weak, nothing compared to what he was used to from Anders, let alone Artemis, but it soothed some of the ache in that arm.

"So, while we're sitting here, getting you some runes, have you considered your armour?" Anders asked. "Leather's nice, but you've only got a few plates, and after the number of times I've had to put your elbow back together..."

"Mage, you go into combat in a damned leather dress. How is my armour any less effective?" Fenris glared at Anders.

"Well, my 'leather dress', as you put it, is enchanted."

"Enchantment!" Sandal agreed.

"I'm also not usually throwing myself in front of swords," Anders pointed out.

Fenris rolled his eyes and nodded, tipping his head to the side as he conceded the point. "If this works, I will consider it. I will not become dependent on magic."

"What? No. Never depend on magic. You never know when you'll walk into a Templar. But, if you can get a little boost, it's just a bonus. Damage control, really," Anders explained, before muttering a string of incomprehensible half-words and numbers to Sandal, who clapped his hands and nodded.

"Never depend on magic? That's a strange sentiment, coming from you," Fenris noted, squinting up at Anders.

"Not really. I use it for a lot of things, but I can mostly get by without it. Mostly. Without my magic, people die, but that's not a lack of skill on my part. In combat, I can very effectively punch things. I punched a hurlock, after some idiot templar panicked and wiped out thirty feet of magic, in every direction. Won that fight, too. It's nice. I like it. I'll always reach for it first. But, it's not essential, unless I'm trying to save lives." Anders shrugged, and then turned back to Sandal.

"You... punched a hurlock?" Artemis asked, fighting not to laugh. "Now that is something I would have liked to see. But Anders is right. Magic is a tool, a nice tool... sometimes... but even mages need a Plan B."

Fenris quirked an eyebrow at Artemis. "Like your 'Plan B' is to beat people into submission with a broom handle?"

"Maker's balls, that was _one time_!" Artie groaned. "But I'll have you know I know how to handle a staff. A mage staff. A... polearm. Maker, there's no way for me to say that that doesn't sound dirty, is there?"

"Mage, I am more than familiar with your skill in... polearms."

Anders bit his lip to keep from laughing. Sandal distracted him with a tug on his sleeve, and Anders looked down at the dwarf's round eyes and at the second, faintly glowing strip of leather with a new rune in the middle. "Enchantment?" Sandal asked, offering Anders the second bracelet.

"Enchantment," Anders agreed. He went through the same diagnostic tests, turned the bracelet this way and that, checking the charge, before handing it off to Artie. Artie in turn strapped the second bracelet around Fenris's wrist.

Fenris made a sound like a purr, the lines in his face easing. The bracelets created a circuit, trading electricity back and forth, rippling through lyrium tattoos and replacing their ache with a tingling warmth.

Artemis watched him for a moment, a smile breaking over his face. "Well," he said. "No elves are on fire. Did it work?"

"Yes." Fenris slid down in his chair, resting his head against the back of it, staring up at the ceiling in vacant relief. "Mage problem. Magical solution. I should have seen that sooner."

"You hate magic. The solution sounded like it should have been less magic, not more." Anders shrugged and shook Sandal's hand.

"I am still not entirely enthused with magic," Fenris grumbled, adjusting the buckles on one wrist.

"I'd worry if you were." Anders laughed. "How far does that reach? Is it getting everything, or do we need to think about your ankles? I'd rather not run too much through you, just to reach your toes -- it's better to add a rune than to up the charge, for that."

"For now, this is an amazing improvement. Perhaps later, I will have complaints, when I have worn these for a time. But, right now, I can feel my mind, and that is more than I ever imagined until..." Fenris shrugged, instead of finishing the sentence. It wasn't something he wanted to talk about, especially in front of Sandal.

Artemis smiled, his gaze soft as he ran a hand through Fenris's hair. Fenris's eyes slid closed, and if he became any more boneless, he would become one with the chair.

"Thank you, Sandal," Artie said, and Sandal beamed.

"I like enchantment," the dwarf informed them, bobbing his head happily as Bodhan helped him put his tools away.


	142. PART XXIX: THE MERIT OF QUESTIONABLE DECISIONS (ANTON'S WEDDING)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night before the wedding, Anton throws a wild party.

Serendipity stood between two templars, stealing sips from both their drinks, from time to time, as they rambled on about the latest strange stories from the Gallows, which she'd already heard from almost every templar in the room. Still, she smiled and laughed at appropriate points, and managed to continue to look interested far beyond the point at which she'd mostly stopped hearing them.

And then, as if by magic, Cullen appeared before the three of them. "I don't think Anton would forgive me, if I left you to the mercies of my men, all night. May I have this dance?" He smiled slyly and held out his hand to Serendipity.

"Why, Knight-Captain! Shouldn't you be dancing with Tony? Where is he? I'll pinch him so hard..." Serendipity laughed and accepted Cullen's hand, stepping out to join him.

"Oh, I think he's trying to keep Artemis from... you know Artemis, don't you?" Cullen smiled awkwardly, and led her away, looking back over his shoulder. "Excuse us, Ser Alfric, Ser Godfrey."

"Keep him from...? I've watched Artemis. That's terribly ambiguous and you know it, Ser Cullen," Serendipity teased, as he swept her onto the floor, in time to some Orlesian music he didn't know how to dance to, but she did.

Cullen took a moment to answer, trying to find his footing. He watched Serendipity's feet, darted glances at the other dancing couples, and tried to keep up. "That's... I suppose that is, isn't it," he said with a strained laugh. "Ambiguous, that is. I'm not entirely sure if Anton's trying to keep Artemis from rearranging the furniture or if he's trying to keep Artemis from drinking, which is... usually what Artemis does when he's trying not to rearrange the furniture." He sighed, shook his head, and decidedly didn't think about that time with cordial. In the garden. With the wrong brother. Not now, not in the middle of his -- Anton's -- their bachelor party.

Serendipity chuckled and carried on dancing even when Cullen nearly stepped on her foot. "Rearranging the furniture might be the safer option," she said. "I tried to put him in charge of the cheese plate to give him something to focus on, but he just ended up organising the slices by size."

Anton steered his brother away from the bar. "I'm not drinking," Artemis insisted. "This is me, with a plate of cheese in my hand, not drinking. This is what me not drinking looks like, in case you are unfamiliar with the phenomenon."

"So I see," Anton obligingly replied. "And this is me, steering you and the plate of cheese away from the bar, just in case." He stole a slice off the plate and popped it into his mouth, grinning when Artie scowled and rearranged the plate until it was even.

Cormac danced with Merrill, while Anders watched from a table he shared with Jethann and Donnic.

"Okay, new rule. Take a shot every time Cullen steps on Serendipity's foot," Jethann announced, pouring another round for the three of them.

Donnic laughed and took two shots in rapid succession, stealing Anders's glass, to do it.

"Are you two trying to get me drunk?" Anders took a hefty swig straight from the bottle, after he plucked it out of Jethann's hands.

"Honey, I'm always trying to get you drunk," Jethann laughed. "I know for a fact Cormac's not going to mind if I borrow you for a little while."

Anders made a face like a freshly spritzed cat. "Aw, Jethann, don't... No. Yes, Cormac would probably even pay for it, but no. Don't. I've seen you in my clinic."

Jethann laughed harder. "So, heal me first, if you want to be sure!"

"You guys are behind like six shots," Donnic warned them. "And they're still dancing."

Jethann winced in sympathy as Cullen made another misstep. "Maker have mercy, we'll be sloshed in minutes," he sighed before taking a few swigs in rapid succession.

"How is she even still standing?" Anders asked, taking the bottle back. "Do those heels have steel toes?"

Loud laughter wafted over to them from a table farther down, a table populated by templars and an already-tipsy Isabela. She was sitting in the lap of a fresh-faced recruit and stealing drinks from the men around her. Anders suspected most of them would leave with their pockets a little lighter.

"Kitten!" Isabela called out as Merrill danced past. "Come join us!" She waved Merrill over with broad sweeps of her arm, and the men at the table cheered and beckoned for her to join them.

"Oh!" Merrill tittered, pausing, hands still around Cormac. "I don't think there are quite enough chairs for me."

"Don't worry, Kitten, there's plenty of seating!" Isabela punctuated this statement by wriggling her rump against her templar-cushion of choice.

"No, there isn't!" Carver intervened, practically leaping over chairs to pull Merrill away. "No seating there!"

"Oh, come on, Carver!" Cormac laughed. "I can free up some space for both of you. You can be her shiny, platemail seat!"

"You shouldn't be around brutes like these," Carver muttered, holding Merrill close to his chest.

Isabela laughed. "These brutes? But, she spends half her time with me, Junior! There's nothing they can say that'll even compare."

"You're one to talk, recruit," one of the templars teased. "I heard what you said about Gareth's mother and the dog, last week."

Cormac covered his eyes and spun around, before jabbing a finger at the table. "You! Templar. I have no idea who you are. Come dance with me so my brother's girlfriend can sit down and embarrass him with stories about his 'swording'."

"But-- I--" The templar sputtered, taking another swig of beer. "I can't dance."

"Yes, you can!" Another templar reminded him. "I saw you practising all week!"

"Yeah, get up, Johan. You wanted to learn so you could impress the ladies, but you've been sitting on your skinny ass all night!" yet another templar laughed.

"That is not a lady!" Johan jabbed a finger at Cormac.

"He's quick, isn't he?" Cormac joked, to Isabela.

"Well, the ladies aren't going to see you sitting on your ass in the corner, are they? Go dance with the man, and give Carver a seat to put that pretty girl in." The first templar held out a hand to Merrill. "He talks about you all the time. You're a Dalish scholar, right? Studying human culture?"

Cormac coughed into his hand, trying to hide the hysterical laugh that bubbled up in his chest. "Human culture and 'swording'. That's... yes. That's what she's here to study."

Isabela howled with laughter, making no attempt to conceal her amusement.

Merrill giggled into her hand. "Ooh I got that one!" she said, sounding pleased with herself. "Usually I miss the dirty jokes!"

Carver glared at Cormac, cracking the knuckles of his right hand. Before he could punch his brother, however, Johan rose reluctantly to his feet and stepped in front of Cormac, unwittingly blocking Carver's trajectory.

"All right," muttered Johan, sizing up Cormac. "I guess we're... um." He tried to figure out where to put his hands on Cormac's waist.

Cormac just grabbed the templar, as if he were dancing with Anders, and swept him out onto the floor, in a clatter of stumbling and platemail. "You lead, yes?" he asked, smiling at the young man. "I can follow. I can also lead backward, so you look like you know what you're doing, if that helps."

"He's going to find a way to traumatise all the recruits, isn't he," Carver muttered, slumping into the now-vacant seat. He pulled Merrill into his lap before one of the other templars could offer. She wriggled until she found a spot where his armour didn't poke at her rump. At least, she was assuming that was his armour.

A few tables over, Donnic stumbled back with two more bottles. Cullen was still dancing with Serendipity, and they'd already emptied their drinks.

"Is... is it me," Donnic slurred, plopping into his chair, "or are there two Cullens now? Do we have to drink when each of them steps on Serendipity's toes? That's... that's a --" They all paused to take a shot. "--that's a lot of drinking."

Jethann snickered into his drink. "Ooh, guardsman! I never would have taken you to be such a lightweight."

Back at the bar, Aveline watched her husband in dismay and ordered a drink for herself. "Is this what it's like for you?" she asked Fenris.

"Every party," the elf replied, "but picture Donnic sitting in Jethann's lap instead."

"I should be upset by that. I'm sure of it." Aveline eyed the table speculatively. "I'd be much more upset by Anders, I think. I find that's frequently the case."

Fenris tapped his glass against Aveline's. "That's not just you."

As they watched, Anders scooted his chair a little further toward Donnic. Or maybe it was away from Jethann. Either way, he seemed spectacularly drunk. Fenris reflected that he'd only actually seen Anders anywhere near this drunk twice, and both times had ended in semi-public sex. Of course, he'd also seen that from mostly-sober Anders, as well, so perhaps that wasn't really related.

Anders said something to Donnic, and Jethann laughed uproariously.

"And you wonder why people try to pay you, when you walk in, here!" Jethann teased.

"No, I don't. It's because I'm gorgeous." Anders grinned, lopsidedly. "Gorgeous, well-used, and very, very picky."

"And you complain about me..." Jethann rolled his eyes and snorted, picking up one of the bottles Donnic had brought back.

"I complain about you, because I've had to clean up the aftermath of your profession. From you." Anders tried to stretch his legs, and kicked the table. "Besides, you're an elf, and I'd break you in half. And you're not even that cute for an elf. Of course, I'm spoilt by the beauty of the Dead Wolf of Halamshiral, so..."

"The 'Dead Wolf'?" chuckled Jethann. "Is that a stage name? Not a very good one, unless he's catering to necrophiliacs. And, honey, you're welcome to try to break me in half anytime. Greater men than you have tried and failed."

"Doubt _that_ ," Anders muttered, with a smirk.

Donnic, meanwhile, was still recovering from the words Anders had whispered to him. He leaned back in his chair, eyes glazed, but the chair tipped too far, spilling him out onto the floor with a heavy crash.

"I think that's your cue," Fenris told a mortified Aveline.

She wiped a hand over her face. "Yes. Yes, I suppose it is," she sighed. Aveline allowed herself one last, long pull from her own drink before setting it down and marching over to her husband, who was flailing on his back like an upside-down turtle.

Fenris grunted at the barkeep for another drink as he watched Aveline hoist her husband off the ground, hands under his armpits. His own drunkard sidled over to him, but Fenris caught his wrist before Artie could take his drink.

"No," he told the mage.

"But," Artemis whined, eyes pleading. "Just one drink. Please?"

"No." Fenris slid the wine out of Artemis's reach. "Anders is drinking enough for the two of you, which is not usually how this works." He tipped his head in Anders's direction. "If this ends in him screwing your brother over a table, I'm leaving."

"Really?" Artie teased. "That's usually how you know you have a party." He looked longingly at the wine in Fenris's hand but stopped trying to take it. He frowned, eyeing Anders and Jethann and the way they were sloshing drinks everywhere. "Maker, how drunk _is_ he?"

"Artie, c'mere, you look sober!" Anders called out, waving to him, while Aveline glared and dragged her husband away from the table full of empty bottles and its drunken inhabitants.

"You should meet Artie," he said, turning back to Jethann. "He's adorable. Until he gets drunk, and then he's just..." Anders couldn't find the word that went there, but the dazed smile on his face said it all.

"Aren't you ... dating his brother?" Jethann asked, always amused at the peculiar foibles of noble families.

"We're not dating. It isn't serious." Anders shook his head, and immediately regretted it. "But, yes, I'm _doing_ his brother. And I'm pretty sure Cormac's a better fuck than I will ever deserve."

"No one ever really 'deserves' Cormac," Artemis cut in, righting Donnic's chair and sitting in it. "Er... hello, Jethann. Long time no... yes. Hello." He frowned at the array of bottles in front of him and started to organise them by height. He could feel Fenris watching them from the bar. "And how much have we had to drink, tonight, Anders?"

"You two know each other?" Anders looked momentarily scandalised. "Of course you do. You've got a thing about 'elven culture'. Did you--? Oh, tell me you didn't. Oh, please don't tell me you fucked Jethann. I mean, he's lovely, and I pay him just to hang out, sometimes, but... please don't. Tell me you didn't. Tell me I -- I must've healed you since then, right?"

"He can't afford me, Anders, you shit." Jethann kicked Anders's chair. "And I was looking forward to that one, so if it bothers you, maybe you should just heal me now, so you don't have to worry. Not that I have anything. If I did, you'd have seen me sooner." He rubbed his face drunkenly, and then grinned at Artemis. "Long time, indeed. Looks like you save your visits for the _special_ occasions -- when Tony's doing questionable things to himself and others."

Artemis choked out a laugh. "Those wouldn't exactly be special occasions," he said, "which I... suspect you know, considering how often Anton comes here. Er. Stays here. Hangs out here. Yes." Maker smite him, he was still a babbling mess in front of this elf, even years later, with a gorgeous fiancé and enough coin in his pocket to rent Jethann for a week. "And I'll have you know that I could afford you now, if I wanted to," he added in one great rush. "Change in fortunes. I even have boots without holes in them." He also had a house in Hightown, but for some reason that felt like the greater victory.

"Ooh, is that so?" Jethann purred. Anders jumped in his seat and giggled. "Care to make up for lost time?"

"I hope you know that's _my_ leg your foot is molesting," Anders told Jethann. He snickered and swayed, laying his cheek on Artie's shoulder.

"Er." Artemis looked back and forth between the drunks. Usually he was on the other side of this equation, and it was all very surreal. He patted Anders's shoulder and considered stealing his drink.

"My mistake," Jethann purred, and then Artie was the one jumping in his seat.

"That was not my leg," he squeaked.


	143. Chapter 143

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And this is why Anders doesn't drink so much, any more...

A tattooed hand pulled out the chair on the other side of Artemis, wooden legs scraping against the floor. Fenris cleared his throat and sat down. "Is this the drunk table?" he asked, holding up a fresh bottle of wine before taking a drink.

"We're so drunk, I had to get Artie over here to even us out into a general air of slightly buzzed." Anders grinned and seriously considered whether he ought to be pouring himself another drink. It wasn't even Justice protesting this time. Justice was too busy remembering how much he hated it when Anders had more than about three drinks. "Are you drunk too? Are you drunk enough for both of us?" the grin started to look calculating. "I know Artie missed out, last time."

"Every time there's a party, Artie misses out on something," Fenris shot back, intentionally missing the point. "But, this time, he's not getting drunk, and he's coming home with me."

"Ooooh. I'm feeling some tension here!" Jethann leaned his elbows on the table and rested his chin on the backs of his hands. "Do you two not share well?"

"He's got issues." Anders jabbed a finger at Fenris, entirely aware of his own hypocrisy, in that moment, and completely unwilling to care. He had a plan. A poorly thought out plan, but a plan. Fenris didn't like him very much, and would be much less opposed to doing truly terrible things to him, than to Artemis. Yes. It would be a demonstration.

Fenris harrumphed, narrowed eyes on Anders as he took a long pull from his wine bottle. "The only 'issue' I have is that you are a pain in my ass," he growled.

Anders's calculating smirk turned outright wicked. "In yours? Well, technically--"

"Lovely party, isn't it?" Artie asked loudly, hands flitting over the bottles he'd already arranged into oblivion. "Yes. Lovely party. Drinks and dancing and... Isabela groping half the templar order."

"Only half?" Jethann asked, even though his real attention was on Fenris and Anders. "I'm almost disappointed."

"The night is young," Artemis replied, eyeing the men on either side of him. Templars, Artie reminded himself when his fingers twitched for Anders's drink. No getting drunk around templars.

"But what's this about 'pains' and 'asses'?" Jethann asked, resting his chin on his palm. "Because it sounds to me like you two have some tension you need to work out, and that seems like a marvellous way to start." He winked at Artie.

"This is why I drink," Artemis mumbled.

"Fenris is a specialist in pains, I think. Ass pains, neck pains, chest pains." Anders levelled a sly smile across the table. "But, I don't think he's going to give me any of the good ones, because he doesn't like mages."

Fenris opened his mouth like he might say something, rethought it, and then started with something else. "You don't like it rough," he said, surprisingly calmly, taking another drink of wine. If Anders was going to be this drunk, he needed a few more just to be in the same room.

"Oh! Have the two of you already gotten started?" Jethann nudged a not-quite empty bottle of rum toward Fenris. "You know how he likes it, do you?"

"The Hawkes throw a lot of parties," Fenris huffed, eyes wide. "I have seen and heard a great deal more than strictly necessary."

"I know you heard me tell you I thought you'd have liked me better, when I was younger." This time the grin on Anders's face was almost savage. "Chained to the wall, with no magic, bloody and quiet and easy. And you've got something to say about how Cormac likes it? A _confusion_ , you called it?" He scoffed and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. "Because you've got room to talk."

Fenris's lip curled in a snarl, and Artemis put a hand on his wrist, the new runed bracelet sending a current up his fingers. "Okay," Artemis said, "as the one sober person at this table, I decree that you two have had enough to drink." He snatched the bottle out of Anders's hand and stowed it under his chair.

"I wasn't done with that," Anders protested.

"Yes, you were," Artemis said, voice pitched low so only Anders could hear, "and I don't think I'm the only one who thinks so. You're glowing." Anders blinked, eyes flickering between amber and blue, and Artie fought not to panic. A room full of templars. A room full of templars, and the Warden was glowing. Artemis turned to the drunker elf. "Jethann, do me a favour and get my brother. My older brother. Cormac. The one with the..." He gestured at his chin, where Cormac's beard would be, and Jethann nodded.

"I know who he is," Jethann said distractedly, eyes round. "But this was just getting good!"

" _Go_ , please."

Jethann clucked his tongue but did as he was told. Which left Artie alone at the table with glowy and glowier, who were doing a marvellous impression of drunk and drunker at the moment.

Fenris filtered through what Anders had said. Granted, the mage was wrong, the thought disgusted him, but something bothered him even more than that. Anders never talked about the tower, unless it was some ridiculous story that ended in a prank or sex. "How much younger?" he asked, quietly.

"How long have I been in Kirkwall? Younger than that. I don't actually remember, any more. I got bad at time, for a bit." Anders nuzzled Artie's neck, twisting himself awkwardly to get the angle. "Ask Cullen. Maybe he remembers." Anders paused. "No, don't ask Cullen. That was a bad year. I bet he can't remember either. Fuck that place. Didn't do anyone any good. Wish it burned to the ground."

Didn't remember. Didn't remember and neither would the templar? "You... knew Cullen? Before?" Fenris looked confused. He hadn't realised that the two of them being from Ferelden had meant they'd be in the same place. In the Marches, at least, most of the larger cities maintained their own circle towers, from what Fenris had heard. He'd just assumed Ferelden would be similar.

"Not much. I knew his face. He knew mine. Everyone knew mine." Anders groped Artie, under the table, trying to forget, even while he was still speaking.

"Anders." Fenris stretched a hand across the table, palm up, and said nothing more.

Anders looked outright ill, as he took it, fingers closing loosely around Fenris's slender hand. There were so many things he could say, some of them good ideas, some of them the worst ideas he'd had in years. He settled for, "I know." He was sitting across from the wrong elf, and he just kept staring at the table, so he wouldn't have to remember.

Jethann reappeared with Cormac. "You would not believe how hard it is to extract this man from his cooing hordes," Jethann said, picking up the bottle Fenris had been drinking from and taking a swig.

"Would you believe I was surrounded by templars who wanted to dance with me? I don't even mean that metaphorically." Cormac seemed to be relatively sober, at least compared to Anders and Jethann.

"Oh! Are you two holding hands, now?" Jethann pointed with the hand holding the bottle and covered his mouth with the other.

"They do that, sometimes." But, Cormac didn't see the glow on Anders's fingertips, so this wasn't because Fenris was having trouble with the runes, which was what he'd assumed. "So, what is this about me needing to come and rescue my Warden from my brother? Or the broody death elf? Or perhaps from you, you sly creature?" He tapped under Jethann's chin.

"I think the Warden might need rescuing from himself," Artemis said with a wry smile. At least he didn't have to worry about Anders and Fenris killing each other, which was a legitimate concern and one he often had. He wrapped an arm around Anders's shoulders and rubbed his cheek against the top of his head, letting his fellow mage continue to grope him under the table. "We've switched roles tonight. He's drunk, and I'm sober. And I'm not sure how to deal with this situation."

Artemis could see why Anders didn't drink much, if this was where his mind went.

"There's no situation," Anders insisted, still holding Fenris's hand. He could feel the lines of lyrium against his palm, could feel the prickle of electricity. It was grounding, a distraction from where his mind wanted to go, and Justice settled into the sensation. "You could go dance with your templars, non-metaphorically. Or you could dance with me, completely metaphorically." He grinned and snickered at his own wit, stifling the sound against Artie's neck.

Artemis threw his brother a helpless look and shrugged his unoccupied shoulder.

"Maybe we should make it a metaphorical dance party," Anders went on, nibbling at Artie's ear. "There's three of you. One of me. Still no, Jethann. And I'm so very pretty when I plead, or that's what I'm told. Don't ask Cullen about that. I don't think he knows, and if he does, I don't want to know. But, you know, Artie. You've seen me beg for you. Tell Fenris how pretty I am, when I'm desperate."

"You're always pretty, sweet thing," Cormac purred, trying not to look like all the hair on the back of his neck was standing on end. "Why don't you come here and mage-handle my ass, and stop traumatising my brother, hmm? Can you stand up?"

This was one of those things, Cormac had figured out. Part of why Justice disapproved so strongly of Anders drinking. When Anders got too drunk, so much of his humour and good sense left him, to be replaced with bright-eyed caustic loathing and self-destructive ideas. It happened so rarely, now, but Cormac had gotten a sense that before Kirkwall, Anders had spent a lot of time indecently drunk, and Sigrun's stories, from the corset party, seemed to back that up. But, Cormac had only seen hints of it. He'd never seen Anders anything like this wasted.

"You're not drunk," Anders accused, letting go of Artie to check the table for a bottle that might still have something in it. "You should have a drink."

"I'm not drunk because the room is full of templars," Cormac pointed out.

"And I'm concerned about the amount of blood in my alcohol stream, because the room is full of templars," Anders shot back, eyes clear and hollow, for a moment, as he looked up at Cormac. An ugly giggle started in the back of his throat. "What if we go metaphorically dance with the templars? You've already danced with one literally. I bet they could show you some secrets. Show you what I'm really good for. And I am good for it. Every time. They know."

Cormac's spine stiffened, and he considered writing that off to Anders forgetting where he was, but that was dangerous. "We're in Kirkwall, sweet thing. You've been out for so many years." He took Anders's hand and crouched next to the chair. "I thought all the templars who thought that about you were dead."

Fenris shifted uncomfortably in his seat, shooting a glance across the room to the table of templars, where Isabela and Merrill still sat. He knew what he was seeing. He'd suspected it, for a long time, but just pushed it aside as more exaggerations for the cause. This, though, wasn't an exaggeration. He'd seen this before, if only in slaves.

Artemis still had an arm wrapped loosely around Anders's shoulders, unsure what to do. He'd never seen Anders like this, had never heard him talk like this, and listening to him made his stomach twist. Templars, the Circle. That could have been him. That could have been his brother, his sister. It shouldn't have been anyone, let alone someone like Anders. Artemis fidgeted with the bottles again, righting them after Anders had rummaged through them.

"Are they?" Anders asked, voice and stare distant. He looked at the table of templars but only saw their armour, a table full of Swords of Mercy.

Artemis looked at his brother. "Maybe we should bring him to a less templary room?" he suggested. Squeezing Anders's shoulder, he asked, "What do you think, Anders? Some place quieter?"

"Some place more private for our metaphorical dance party?" Anders asked. There was still something off in his smile.

Cormac smiled grimly at Jethann. "Can we borrow a room, upstairs? I think I need to get him away from the booze and the templars. Preferably a room with a chamberpot, once that starts coming back up."

"You can use mine, but you're paying for the cleaning and anything he breaks." Jethann crossed his arms and stepped back.

"You doubt me? No, you doubt Anton. Of course." Cormac laughed and put four sovereigns in Jethann's hand, as he stood up. He studied Anders and considered the best way to handle this. "We're getting you out of here. Somewhere a little quieter, okay? You need me to carry you?"

Anders poured himself out of his chair, winding around Cormac, as he rose. "I can walk with you. I'll walk with you wherever you want me to go. Just keep me warm, Cormac. I don't want to be cold any more."

The cold had been one of the first things Cormac had ever heard Anders complain about. Templars, his own guilt, and the cold.

"It's warm upstairs. I'll get you a blanket and stay with you." Cormac wrapped an arm around Anders's waist. "Artie, you're taller than me. Get his other side? I think the stairs are wide enough."

Artemis nodded and all but jumped to his feet, eager to be useful. He wrapped an arm around Anders's waist above Cormac's and redistributed Anders's weight between them. "You always did like being between the two of us," Artemis teased gently. To Jethann, Artie said, "I'd... hate to impose on you some more, but could you let Anton know where we're going? And why," he hurried to add. He didn't need Anton jumping to conclusions about the four of them together in a room at the Rose. Just the thought turned his ears red.

Jethann sighed dramatically, as though greatly put-upon. "All right, but only because you're looking at me like a blue-eyed, kicked puppy. You can make it up to me later, handsome."

"I... yes," Artie stammered as they started to lead Anders away. "And I'll make sure the room is clean. Um. Yes."

Jethann wandered out onto the dance floor, where Anton was dancing with some templar or other.


	144. Chapter 144

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders is so far from okay, he couldn't find it with a chart and a telescope.

Fenris threw Artemis a wry look as he passed the three of them, clearing a path for the mage trio with a few strategically placed glares, gestures, and, in the case of one particularly drunk templar, a light shove.

The stairs were slow going, and Anders's head lolled, cheek resting on Cormac's head. At the top of the stairs, Fenris looked between doors, ear twitching. "Which one is Jethann's?" he asked.

"That one." Cormac pointed with his free hand. "I'm assuming nobody's supposed to be in there, but try to keep the blood and guts to a minimum, please."

Fenris chuffed, amused, as he opened the door. "There will be no need for any blood and guts, it seems. The room is unoccupied." He held the door as the brothers manhandled Anders through it and closed it behind them, as they deposited the healer on the edge of the bed.

"It's almost Orlesian in here," Anders laughed, sprawled across the enormous bed and squinting up at the tassels on the canopy. "But, I'm still cold. I'm cold and I'm empty, and it's just making me colder."

"You're so full of booze you're sweating," Cormac muttered, checking under the bed for a chamber pot.

Fenris handed him one from behind a screen on the other side of the room.

"Thanks." Cormac crouched next to the side of the bed closer to Anders's head. "Hey, Anders? Move this way. You're going to throw up, and I don't want you getting it on the sheets."

"I'm not throwing up." Anders looked confused, but he moved anyway, so he could reach to kiss Cormac's forehead. "I haven't had that much. I'm not sick."

"No, you're throwing up. You just haven't noticed yet." Cormac looked over the bed at Artie and raised his eyebrows.

Artemis caught that look, his own eyebrows knitting in counterpoint to Cormac's. It took him a moment, but then he realised what that look meant. "Oh. Oh! No. Not happening. You know how it ended last time."

Anders and Fenris shot the brothers twin looks of confusion. "You're doing that thing again," Anders said, pausing to lick lips he could barely feel. "That thing where the two of you have half a conversation without saying anything."

"Er, well," Artemis muttered, "I'm not sure you want to hear the other half of the conversation."

"Is this a mage thing?" Fenris asked. "Are you thinking of magey ways to make him vomit?" Artemis nodded, and Fenris narrowed his eyes. "Please tell me these magey ways don't involve force magic."

Anders turned round eyes on Artemis. "You're going to smack me into a wall until I puke?"

"What? No!" Artemis shook his head vehemently, hard enough that it made Anders's stomach lurch dizzily just watching him. "Less shoving and more, um... pulling?"

It took a moment and then another for Anders's saturated brain to process that.

"Except... well, you know my aim," Artie went on, fussing with a fold in the sheets. "I'd likely pull out more than just vomit." Which was more graphic than he wanted to be, but it had the desired effect when Anders's face turned a particular shade of green. "Teeth. Intestines. Maybe a spleen."

And Anders knew how it felt to have his insides on the outside. He pictured that a little too well, and he turned towards the chamberpot, his lunch abandoning ship. Anders, thankfully, could aim, even this drunk, and managed to empty his guts into the chamberpot, without hitting Cormac or the floor.

"That was revolting. Why would you--" He paused to throw up again.

"Because if you get much more drunk than you are, you're probably going to die," Cormac pointed out, with a warm smile, tugging on a bit of Anders's hair. "Look at how much of that is liquid. Did you even eat, before you got here?"

"I ate!" Anders protested, oddly coherent and rational, for a moment in the wake of that. "I think. That might have been yesterday. Your brother throws a wild party, but I was expecting something a little more solid than cheese and grapes for something like this."

"How much did you drink?" Cormac asked. "Do you remember?"

"Lost count when Cullen started stepping on Serendipity's toes. Haven't had that much at once, since Amaranthine." Anders's face twisted, like he was either going to throw up again or cry, and he clutched the front of Cormac's robe with one hand. "I liked being a Warden. I miss Nate and his father's fucking dungeons. I miss doing something that mattered, and seeing it matter."

"Dungeons? I thought you didn't like dungeons," Cormac joked, wondering if he was going to have to make a point of murdering a Warden.

"It was different. Wasn't really on purpose. We were drunk, and he didn't want to know, and I didn't want to see, and... It was ... We just did it. Laughing. A drinking tour of the dungeon." Anders smiled wistfully. "He believed us, after that -- well, Solona and Oghren. They ... Never mind. It doesn't matter. The only dungeon I ever enjoyed."

Anders's stomach clenched, and he curled back around the chamberpot, choking up more watery bile. Artemis grimaced and studied the bed's canopy, counting tassels. Vomit. Vomit was disgusting. Vomit was disgusting enough when it was his, and far more disgusting when it was someone else's. He rubbed soothing circles along Anders's back.

Fenris stood over the three of them, arms folded, unwittingly taking up a bodyguard's stance. His mind was still on the thought of dungeons. He'd never seen Kinloch Hold, but that was how he pictured it, a glorified dungeon. He wondered when that had changed, when he had stopped seeing the Circles outside Tevinter as a positive thing.

"You could still be a Warden, you know," Artemis said softly, waiting until the sounds of puking had died down before looking back at Anders. "Technically, you still _are_ a Warden. Solona would take you back or you could join another branch."

Anders made a face somewhere between a cringe and a smile. "I can't," he murmured. "Justice and I... have too much to do, here." He huffed a laugh, and it echoed in the chamberpot. "Though Maker knows what good we've actually _done_. Nothing has changed. If anything, the situation has gotten worse since I've gotten here, and I..." He ran a hand through his sweaty hair. "It's not enough. I'm not doing enough."

The hand Artie had on Anders's back moved up to squeeze his shoulder. "You've done plenty," Artemis assured him. "Alrik? Karras? And there's Cullen. And Carver! Two templars on our side we didn't have before. It just takes time."

"I'm cold," Anders complained, again. "Cold and empty. Getting emptier." A dazed laugh spilled out of him, and he pressed his fingers to his lips -- a quick spell to get that vile taste out of his mouth. "I just want to be warm. I just don't want to be empty any more. Makes my fingers hurt." He reached back, twisting until he could stroke Artemis's face. "Would you do that for me, Artie? Would you keep me warm? Fill me up until I ache with it? Fuck me so hard my belly sloshes?"

Fenris almost bolted for the chamber pot at that, his hands clenching until his knuckles turned white.

Cormac saw it, and put down the chamber pot, standing slowly. "Fenris, do me a favour? Water and something to eat. There's probably cake or sausage, by now. Whatever looks like you can grab a lot of it, without anyone thinking anything of it. I promise my brother will still be dressed, when you get back."

Fenris nodded, throat bobbing as he swallowed, and then he was out the door.

Artemis tried to smile for Anders, but his eyes were too wide, too round for it to be believable. "I... er." He didn't know how to respond to this. Was Anders asking--? No, he couldn't be. He gently squeezed the hand stroking his cheek even as he turned his round eyes on Cormac, eyes pleading for his brother to help.

Cormac eyed the bed, judging the space between Anders and the footboard, before he tossed himself onto the bed with a bounce. "All for my brother and none for me?" he teased, running a hand down Anders' side. "Come on, pretty thing. You know there's nothing we won't do for you. Blankets first." He tugged the bottom of the blanket up and draped it over himself and a bit of Anders, but there wasn't enough blanket at the bottom of the bed. "Artie? A little help? Warden sandwich?"

"My favourite kind," Artemis said with a relieved laugh. He cuddled closer on the other side of Anders, pulling the blanket as far as it would go and wrapping an arm around Anders. "Warmer?" he asked against a feathered shoulder.

"Better," Anders murmured, huddling under the blanket and trying to cling to them both at once.

Fenris found them like that when he returned with a platter of food. He set the tray on the end table, eyeing the cocoon of mages. Everyone was still clothed under the blanket as far as he could tell, and he perched at the edge of the bed, meeting his mage's eyes over Anders's shoulder. "I have... food," he informed them, gesturing awkwardly at the platter.

"Okay, this was poorly considered," Cormac admitted. "Less blankets, more sitting up. Artie? Help me with this." He tossed the blanket back, ignoring the disgruntled whine from Anders. "Need you to sit up, sweet thing. If you can't do it, we'll move you. I know it gets hard to find up, some nights, Maker knows I've been that drunk."

Anders looked preposterously sulky about the entire affair, but managed to drag himself more or less upright, and Cormac nudged him until he turned and backed up into the headboard. "Twice as cold. You're terrible."

"I am not terrible. I'm getting the blanket out from under you, so I can put it on you. We'll keep you warm while you eat." Cormac tugged at the blanket, trying to pull it out from under Anders, at least, and drape it over him.

Artemis helped his brother manoeuvre mage and blanket, and he tucked himself in against Anders's side again, back to the headboard, one hand rubbing warmth into Anders's sweaty back.

Fenris laid the platter on the bed in front of the mages and squeezed in next to Artemis, getting a tassel in the face for his effort. "Jethann saw me gathering food," he rumbled. "He was... tetchy about the thought of crumbs in his bed."

" _I'm_ tetchy about the thought of crumbs in his bed," Artemis sighed. "I need to work out a spell to force magic crumbs out of sheets, preferably without unmaking the bed."

"If this ends at all like your mage-floors," Fenris sighed, picking up a fairy cake from the platter, "then please at least wait until I'm out of the bed before you try it."

"Please," Anders muttered, face twisting. "Right now I'm associating Artie's force magic with puking, so could we not?"

Cormac reached for the glass of water, before Anders could get a hand on it, and warmed it. No sense in putting cold water into the mage who thought he was freezing. "Less things going out. More things going in."

Anders grinned. "Oh yeah?" He ran a hand up Cormac's thigh. "More things going in, hmm?"

"Eat something, and I'll think about it," Cormac grumbled, wondering how, exactly, this had even come to pass. Where was Justice for all this?

With a sigh, Anders snatched up a sausage wrap and began to eat it in the most ridiculous impression of eroticism Cormac had ever witnessed.

"Is that supposed to be hot?" Cormac asked.

"No, it's just supposed to remind you there's something else we could be doing, if you didn't insist I eat first. You know it's probably all coming back up, right?" Anders huffed, with a mouthful.

"Isn't. You got everything that's coming out out of you, already. I made sure of that before we tried putting anything back in. You're the healer. You really think I haven't learnt a few things, all these years in your bed?" Cormac kissed Anders behind the ear.

"That you didn't learn in my bed. My clinic, maybe, but not my bed." Anders stuffed the end of the sausage into his mouth and kept talking. "I'd remember if you'd gotten that drunk in my bed."

Artemis stole the rest of Fenris's fairy cake, stuffing it in his mouth.

"There are others, you know," Fenris pointed out, gesturing at the platter. "There are others, and the plate is closer to you."

"And yet, I wanted yours," Artemis replied sweetly. "Besides, we should save the rest for Messere Warden Stamina over here."

Fenris huffed and took another fairy cake anyway.

Anders reached for more water but couldn't figure out how to drink it in as suggestive a manner as he'd eaten the sausage wrap. He watched Cormac out of the corner of his eye anyway. "Speaking of Warden stamina," he said as he set the glass down, "I wonder if three of you could keep up with me." He glanced at Artie and Fenris in time to watch the elf nearly choke.

Artemis laughed weakly. "That would be a great deal hotter if I hadn't just watched you throw up in a chamberpot." He patted Fenris's back as his elf continued to wheeze around cake.

"I'd like to remind you that you peed on my hand, during our first night in the same bed." Anders huffed and picked up a cake, licking the frosting of the top. "Brought back some fond memories... And a whole lot more I wish I didn't remember."

"Fond memories of someone whizzing on your fingers? Messere Howe, again?" Cormac asked, with a laugh, trying to keep the conversation away from the other half of that sentence.

"Yes to Howe. Not my fingers." Anders raised his eyebrows suggestively and stuffed an entire cake in his mouth, very effectively shutting himself up.

Fenris looked up, surprised. He opened his mouth and then closed it, trying to look away, but his eyes kept darting back to Anders's face. Anders shot him an inquisitive look, and Fenris had no answer.

"This isn't a Warden thing, is it?" Artemis asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. He had jumbled memories of the first half of his first night with Anders, but he did remember the peeing part. Moreover, he remembered the comment Anders had made about getting pee in his ass but not on his floors. He hadn't been quite sure how to parse that statement, and years later, he still wasn't sure. "Because I know the Wardens supposedly have some sort of secret joining ritual, and I really hope that isn't it. I'll never be able to look my cousin in the eye."

Anders snorted. Around the cake, he asked, "Have you ever even met your cousin?"

"No, but my point still stands. And you haven't said no."

Anders simply smiled and plucked another cake off the platter, licking off more frosting and not saying a word.

"Anders, please tell my brother it's not a Warden thing. Andraste's tits aflame, tell _me_ it's not a Warden thing." Cormac shook his head and blinked at Anders. "Not that I'm objecting. Just... doesn't seem a reasonable basis for a secret society."

"Fucking Howe until he pisses himself? No, it probably isn't. Still funny." Anders laughed, still not quite answering the question, and finished the glass of water. "You know, Fenris, you could keep me warm, too. There's enough space in my lap. We could be a giant pile of glowy and magical. You're magical too, now, with your runes. I guess you were magical before, too, _being_ a rune."

"I'm not getting that close to you, healer. Not while you're this drunk." Fenris shook his head and held up a hand. "Mages are bad enough. Drunk mages are just dangerous." He pinched Artemis's hip. "Especially this one."

"Never stopped you before." Artemis smirked and nudged Fenris back with his elbow. "And I'm... glad to hear none of that is involved in the Warden Joining ritual thing. Because if pee is involved in that in any way, we should sign up Anton. He could have taken on the Archdemon single-handedly."

Fenris's eyes crossed as he thought about it.

"Peeing. On the Archdemon." Anders tilted his head. "Would that make the situation better or worse?"

"Depends on if it's Warden pee, I guess," Artie said, shrugging. He looked inward for a moment, brow furrowing. "Why are we talking about this?"

"We went from 'pee' to 'Anton'," Fenris informed him, licking a bit of frosting off his thumb that he'd missed. "It was a natural progression." He picked up the platter and set it back on the end table, still within reach if anyone wanted to poke at more food. "And stop giving me that look, mage. I'm not climbing into your lap."

"I'll climb into your lap if you want," Artie offered, resting his chin on Anders's shoulder. "I'm less prickly anyway."

"I'm not cuddling with him from this angle either," Fenris informed them. "I'd like to keep a sober mage between the drunk one and myself. That the sober one is Artemis is a novelty."


	145. Chapter 145

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not all the Rutherfords are as delightfully charming as Cullen and Mia.

"Cullen... this... really?"

"Always thought it'd be you, didn't you Bran?" Cullen laughed and rubbed his face, as the stripper in the middle of the table bent down to pluck a coin from Isabela's fingers. A wink passed between the ladies.

"This is outrageous. And you think you're getting married, in the morning? After this? You do know you're going to be staggering drunk for your own wedding, and mum's going to strangle you, right?" Branson seriously considered being horrified by his brother's entire lifestyle, from the title to the fiancé to the stripper with the griffon tattoos. On the other hand, it looked like Cullen was sufficiently traumatised for the whole family, with his pained laugh and the blush that covered most of his face.

"I'm not going to be drunk. I'm going to be hung over. And we have a healer for that." Cullen tried not to consider that the last time he'd seen the healer, Anders had been being helped up the stairs by two of Anton's brothers.

"You. You have a healer." Branson's stare was flat and utterly unimpressed. "Aren't you supposed to, I don't know, put mages away in safe places, as opposed to letting them out to consort with the populace?"

"Not my decision." Cullen shrugged and leaned back in his seat as the stripper leaned down over him and tapped him on the chin with one finger. "Unlike the exceedingly lovely lady with the, er... very... distracting, um... assets? The healer is an actual Grey Warden, out of Amaranthine."

On the other side of the table, Anton found himself dragged into Isabela's lap to clear a seat for another templar.

"Amaranthine?" Branson's eyebrows shot up. "You have gotten some... interesting friends after joining the Order, haven't you?"

That prompted another strained laugh from Cullen. "Oh, Bran. You don't know the half of it." He made a mental note not to let his family see his fiancé's gardens. He took a long drink, the alcohol like warm cotton around his brain. "Do you know how he proposed to me?" he asked, looking past the stripper for a moment at Anton, who was laughing and trying to balance on Isabela's lap. "With a goat. He brought a goat into my office, Bran, and because he didn't know where Mum was or if she was even alive, he gave the goat to _my boss_." The look on Meredith's face had struck fear into his heart at the time, but now he almost found himself drooling with laughter at the memory. "The goat tried to eat her skirts and kept shitting on her floors, and it was the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me."

Branson looked at his brother like he was crazy, shaking his head at the sheer adoration he saw in Cullen's eyes. He turned back towards the much more pleasing sight before him. "The goat thing? He did the goat thing? In your _office_?" Cullen nodded, grinning. "And you said yes?"

"Your brothers have been gone a while," Isabela said in Anton's ear, resting her chin on his shoulder. "What do you think they're up to with Sparklefingers and Broody, hmm?"

"There have been no earthquakes," Anton pointed out, "so I'm not worried. Or... hm." His brows knit as he considered, tilting his head. "Maybe that _should_ worry me."

"There's also no screaming and no blood running off the balcony, so I'm guessing whatever's going on can't be too exciting. A shame, really." Isabela gazed up at the second floor, thoughtfully. "No glowing, either. I was so looking forward to some glowing and screaming. The good kind of screaming. A bright blue tangle of 'yes, yes, more'. But, Anders is pretty quiet, so maybe we just can't see it from here. Too bad he's the healer or I'd just watch him walk down the stairs."

"You know, Izzy, none of that was on the list of things I wanted to think about, tonight." Anton switched his empty glass with the mostly full one of the templar beside him, and after a long swallow, turned Isabela's face, so she was looking at Cullen. "That, right there, is the entire list. And you've seen most of the good parts. Most of them."

"You're getting old and lazy, Anton. I can think of at least three other things that should be on that list, and that's before we get anywhere near me." Isabela laughed and bit Anton's thumb.

Cullen couldn't quite make out the conversation, over the music and the raucous cheering from the other people at the table, but he could guess, from the way Anton and Isabela were looking at him, like he was dessert. The blush crept higher up his cheeks, a darker shade than the pink already covering his face.

Branson saw the blush on his brother's face and followed his stare to the culprit and the buxom lady he was using as furniture. He rolled his eyes. "I think you might be in a bit over your head, Cullen," he said. He whacked his brother's arm to make sure he had his attention. "Hey, that woman your fiancé's sitting on. Is she going to dance later too?"

Cullen turned wide eyes on his brother. "No!" he stammered out. "That's Isabela. She's a friend, and -- well, all right. She probably _would_ dance on the table if you ask her to, but..." Branson was already halfway out of his chair, and Cullen grabbed him by the arm, pulling him back down. "But you're not going to ask her," Cullen hurried to finish. "You are going to sit here and enjoy these... other... sights." He indicated the dancer gyrating in front of him, turning the gesture into a wave when she smirked at him. "Good sights. Wonderful sights."

Branson nodded. "That they are," he said. "But you'll introduce me to Isabela later?" He caught Izzy's eye across the table and offered her what he considered a sultry smile.

"No. Absolutely not."

Isabela smirked, waggling her fingers at Branson.

" _Definitely_ not!" Cullen squeaked.

Isabela dipped her fingers in Anton's drink and licked them clean, eyeing Branson the whole while. "Bet me I can make him cry," she whispered to Anton.

"Why would I bet on a sure thing?" Anton asked, moving the glass before she could get her fingers into it again. For a few minutes, it turned into a sleight-of-hand duel, with Isabela reaching for the drink and Anton sliding it out of the way. The glass was spun, batted and slung across the table a few times, until Isabela quit trying and dragged Anton into a long and gooey kiss. The drink ended up in his lap.

"Just a friend, huh?" Branson asked, watching the scene unfold.

"It's an act." Cullen shrugged and reached behind him for more Orlesian fruit wine. "You will not repeat what I am about to tell you to our mother, or I will run your smalls up the flagpole on the docks with you still in them."

"You haven't been able to do that since you were eleven," Branson scoffed.

"I'm the Knight-Captain of Kirkwall. Imagine how much experience ten years in the templar barracks gave me." Cullen didn't even look at his brother.

Branson continued to watch Isabela toy with Anton, as if he were an expensive courtesan. "I didn't say I was telling mum. I just said you couldn't do it if you tried."

"My fiancé, the nobleman, hustles cards for a living, and she's his... mentor, I suspect, although partner might also work. That's business." Cullen drank more. It had taken him a while to get used to the idea that while Anton was utterly profligate in public, the rogue had actually stopped sleeping around, somewhere in the early months of their relationship.

"Looks like a pleasurable business to me," Branson remarked, still making eyes at Isabela, across the table.

Cullen rolled his eyes at Branson, wondering if he'd even really heard what Cullen had just told him. "No telling Mum," he reminded his brother.

"Yes, yes."

"Or Mia."

"Please." This time it was Branson rolling his eyes at Cullen. "You know I won't need to. She'll sniff it out if she hasn't already."

And Cullen wanted to argue that, he really did, but Branson had a point. He would just leave it to Anton to charm her pants off. Metaphorically. Literally charming off one Rutherford's pants was enough. Speaking of pantsless, Isabela was staring at his brother while doing something obscene to a sausage wrap. Cullen caught her gaze, signalled for her to look at him, and mouthed "NO" in capital letters. The look Izzy gave him as she tore into her sausage was the opposite of reassuring.

Cullen looked helplessly at Anton, hoping his fiancé would help. He knew what sort of trophies Isabela kept on her wall, after all.

Anton smiled coyly, leaning back against Isabela's shoulder. Above them, the lovely lady with the griffon tattoos collected her coins and stepped down from the table, to be replaced by an elf. For a moment, Cullen thought it was Jethann, but the man had lighter hair and darker skin.

It wasn't important. The important thing was keeping Isabela away from Branson, and Anton was not helping. Cullen had learnt to read Anton's hands -- at least a few gestures he used while he and Isabela were gaming the deck -- and that was 'stay' that Anton was giving him, with a wink. That he should just let this pass.

Cullen widened his eyes, staring expectantly at Anton. This would not do. That was his brother! _Maker_. But, Anton seemed intent on letting Bran make his own mistakes. With Isabela. Cullen struggled not to envision any of that, comforting himself with the fact that it hadn't happened yet, and was still potentially avoidable. Maybe. If he was very lucky. If he tripped his brother into the punchbowl.

Off to the other side of the room, Fenris came back down the stairs, holding Artemis's hand in his own, as the mage looked thoughtfully up the stairs, behind them. Fenris might have been described as 'grimly amused', had Varric been paying attention.

"This is why I don't like being the sober friend," Artemis was rambling. "It is much easier to deal with... non-sober people as another non-sober person."

Fenris gave him a wry look, thumb tracing Artemis's knuckles. "You're still not drinking tonight," he reminded his mage.

"I know. And I know why. I just..." Artie grimaced, looking about the room. "This place is a mess."

Fenris distracted his mage with a kiss and then grabbed his chin, pointing it towards Anton's table. "Then don't look at the mess," he told Artie. Artemis saw the dancing elf, and his eyebrows shot up. Yes. This was far more distracting than a few overturned chairs and spills and such. Fenris chuckled at his ear. "You're welcome."

"I love you," Artemis told his elf. "Let's grab some chairs."

Jethann noticed the pair trying to squeeze around the already crowded table and sauntered up behind them, a templar in tow. "Is my room still... occupied?" he asked, looking them over.

"Yes," Artemis answered, struggling not to fidget. "My brother and Anders are in bed. Napping! Yes. I hope."

"Don't worry," Fenris drawled. "We left the room cleaner than when we found it."

"Well, I hope so, but I doubt it. Very few people are up to my standards of cleanliness." Jethann sniffed and looked up at the dancer.

"And that after everything Anders had to say on the subject?" Fenris remarked, tartly. "I'm surprised. From his descriptions, one might think you wallowed."

"The healer lives in the sewer. I'd hardly take his word for it." Jethann seemed entirely undisturbed. It wasn't the first or even the fifteenth time he'd heard the like, working here. Possibly the first he'd heard it from another elf, though, but he'd never met an elven nobleman, before.

Fenris hummed, wrapping his arms around Artemis, rubbing his cheek against the mage's shoulder. "Yes, I can see where that might impair one's judgement."

Cullen nudged Branson and gestured in Artie's direction. "Anton's brother. The other brother. There's another other brother around here, somewhere, too."

"Maker, are there more of them than us?" Branson laughed. "Is he... being fondled by an _elf_? I-- Oh, well, we are in a brothel, I suppose."

Cullen had to glance back at Artemis to make sure he was being fondled by the right elf. "Oh, er." He rubbed the back of his neck, the chair creaking as he shifted his weight. "That's Fenris, Artie's fiancé. They have a place on the other side of Hightown. Fenris can be a bit prickly, but he's a good sort."

Taking a drink, Branson looked askance at the couple, at his brother. "An _elf_? He's marrying an elf?"

This came out a bit louder than he'd intended, and Cullen hurried to shush him. He looked over to see Fenris eyeing the pair of them balefully.

"You're growling," Artemis informed Fenris. "In my ear. Which is hot and all, but I don't think this is the place."

Jethann scoffed. "Honey," he said to Artemis, looking him over appreciatively, "if there was ever a place to growl in your ear, it's here."

"Bran, don't..." Cullen sighed, rubbing the heel of his palm into the corner of his eye.

"Oh, what, is proper thinking too provincial for you, _Knight-Captain_?" Branson snapped, disgust plain on his face. "Just because we could never afford any, you suddenly think elves have any business ... blatantly consorting with decent and proper men? I'm sure they're nice for a night -- brothels are certainly full of them -- but who would marry an elf, except another elf?"

Fenris kissed Artemis's cheek and pushed him into Jethann's arms. "Hold this for me," he muttered, circling the table to come up behind Branson.

The jovial air had left the table, and Anton was also on his feet. "It does make you provincial," he barked. "Provincial, wrong-headed, and an embarrassment to your family. I'm sorry for your sisters, already, never mind your poor brother, who's watching you act out like this, in front of his men." It sounded like something his mother would have said, Anton reflected. He supposed he'd been listening, after all, all those years.

"You nobles always think you're better than us, because we're farmers, and we work for a living. You and your disgusting perversions. What sort of grotesque filth have you been teaching my brother, all these years?" Branson was, frankly, drunk, like just about everyone else in the room. But, he'd never been a pleasant drunk, which Cullen had been gone too long to know.

Fenris tapped Branson on the shoulder, and the man turned to face him, muscular and tall, like his brother. Branson's mouth opened, but Fenris's fist was quicker.

"Do shut up," Fenris remarked, calmly, as Branson dropped to the floor between him and Cullen. "I'm sorry about your brother."

"So am I..." Cullen muttered, pouring the rest of his drink down his throat before he leaned down to see how bad the damage was. "He had that coming."


	146. Chapter 146

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Observations on brothers and brotherhood.

A pained groan drifted up from the floor, and Cullen told him to quit whining. Fenris didn't so much as give him a second glance as he walked back to collect his mage.

"My apologies," he said with a grim smile and a look that said he wasn't sorry in the least.

"You went easy on him," Artemis said, pulling Fenris to him while still half in Jethann's arms. "I would have... pushed him through a wall." He smiled tightly and glanced at the nearest collection of templars.

Anton finally settled back down in Isabela's lap. The dancer stood awkwardly on the table, watching the proceedings, the way blood dripped down Branson's chin as he sat up dazedly. Anton caught his eye and shrugged. "Well, now it's a party!" he said, earning a cheer from Isabela. The dancer smirked and went back to business.

"Yes, Amatus, but the room is full of templars." A small smile crept across Fenris's face. "I don't think all of them know, and you shouldn't be tempting them." Especially not after some of the things Anders had said, upstairs. If that was what it meant to be a mage, outside of the Imperium, perhaps there was something wrong with the system after all. Not with what the system _claimed_ to be, he was still sure, but with what it actually was. In a lot of ways, things hadn't been that different for him -- at least that he could remember -- but he'd been spared _that_.

There was still concern in the set of his shoulders, as he wrapped an arm around Artemis, cramming a hand between his waist and Jethann. "Enough elven culture for you?" he asked, tilting his chin up at the dancer.

On the balcony, Anders and Cormac reappeared, looking down over the party as if debating whether to return. Anders looked a bit chagrined, one arm around Cormac, the other hand picking at one of the studs on his coat -- a strangely sober-looking remorse, but he was the healer. Cormac, beside him, looked far too calm, less actually relaxed than loose, in the same way he held his glaive, in combat. He nuzzled Anders's neck, whispering in his ear, but Anders's eyes had already lit upon Branson, the healer's demeanour shifting instantly, as he gestured frustratedly in that direction.

"Five minutes," Anders huffed. "I'm away five minutes, and there's someone already bleeding on the floor!" And, all right, it had been more than five minutes and Cormac didn't need to point it out. His point remained.

Anders clomped down the stairs, still holding Cormac's waist with one hand and the railing with the other. Back down into a room full of templars. "Do I want to know what happened?" he asked Cullen when they drew near, fingers already glowing with magic. He felt the weight of stares on his back and wondered if every templar in the room was watching. They couldn't be, but...

"That elf happened," Branson spat, gesturing at Fenris.

"His loud mouth happened," Cullen corrected, and Branson shot him a withering look.

"Ah," said Anders. "Fenris and loud mouths tend not to mix well. As a loudmouth myself, I'm something of an expert." He bent to examine Branson's split lip. The skin knitted, healed over. "You'll live, I suspect."

"Unless he says something stupid again," Cullen muttered. "And then Anton has my permission to pee on his grave."

Cormac slapped Fenris on the back. "Brothers, right? Enough to make you glad you don't have one, I'm sure."

Fenris staggered forward from the unexpected impact. "Do it again, and your family will be short a brother." He reflected on the fact that Anders had once referred to him as a brother... but that was before things got... Still, it was only once. He had no intention of doing that again. On the other hand, he had no intention of doing that in the first place. "And I am about to have brothers. Your brothers, in fact. Or have I misunderstood some finer point of family and weddings?"

"No, that's pretty accurate. I am, in fact, about to be your brother." Cormac nodded, paying no attention at all to the dancer on the table. "Anton, too. He's the one you have to worry about."

"He cheats poorly at Wicked Grace. I have few concerns about Anton." Fenris chuckled and squeezed Artemis's hip. "As long as I don't end up related to the a--" He reconsidered that sentence, in light of the templars. "-- to _Anders_ , I'm sure we'll all survive the experience."

"Don't want to be related to a Warden?" Cormac teased.

"Not _that_ Warden, no."

"We're technically already related to a Warden," Artemis reminded him. "But not that Warden."

"And we're all very grateful," Fenris muttered.

Cullen half manhandled Branson to his feet and back into his chair. Branson glared and sulked but reached for his beer. He was still far more interested in eyeing Isabela than in watching the dancer.

And speaking of, Artemis wasn't sure how he'd ended up with an elf under each arm and another on the table, but he wasn't complaining. He nuzzled Fenris's cheek and nipped the shell of his ear. He'd assumed the hand on his ass was Fenris's, but the smirk on Jethann's face said otherwise.

Anders wound himself around Cormac again. "Taking notes for _their_ bachelor party?" he asked, chin on Cormac's shoulder.

"I might be." Cormac grinned. "You know how interested I am in my little brother's happiness. And you know how much he enjoys elven culture."

"Culture. Yes." Anders rested his chin on the top of Cormac's head. "You were always a bit more for the mythology, weren't you?"

"I'd make a joke about cultural expressions, but I'd like to keep all my teeth."

"So, it is possible to teach sense to a mage!" Fenris rocked back on his heels, hand clutched to his chest, in mock amazement, as he stared, wide-eyed, at Cormac.

"Some mages. Some of the time." Cormac winked and prodded Fenris just above the hip.

Cullen tried to get back the air of revelry he'd been feeling, before Branson had opened his mouth. Had he really been gone so many years, that his own brother had turned into this? He couldn't recall that kind of bigotry in their house, growing up, but there also hadn't been many elves around Honnleath -- at least not elves that lived in or near the town. And then he remembered what Mia had said about the Teryn, and wondered if that wasn't what had set Branson off. Gwaren hadn't been hit hard, by the Blight, so it would likely have been full of refugees, like the Marches. And from all of them, first a mage and then a foreign elf had taken power.

"So, Bran," he started, trying to take some of the edge off the night, "what about you? Still making the city girls swoon?"

Branson scoffed, the sound echoing oddly inside his tankard. "Very funny," he muttered.

Cullen arched an eyebrow. "Is swooning not the word? Fawning? Are they fawning over you instead?" Cullen grinned, nudged Bran with his elbow. "Mia told me you were a hit with the ladies in Redcliffe!"

"She -- what?" Branson sputtered. He swore, a blush making his face ruddy, splashing over his cheeks in the same pattern Cullen's did. "I mean... sure. Yeah. The ladies love me." He puffed out his chest and offered Isabela a wink, but Cullen didn't buy it for a second. "They can't get enough of me, actually!"

Cullen gave his brother a knowing look. "You're hopeless, aren't you?" he sighed.

Branson deflated, shoulders slumping. "No! Of course not! I'm..." He pretended to watch the dancer, finishing his beer. "I'm going to get another drink." He got up, half stumbling over his chair, and wobbled over to the bar.

Cullen caught Anton's eye across the table, between the dancer's legs, and shrugged. Anton shrugged back, twisted to whisper something to Isabela and vacated her lap, rounding the table to keep Bran's seat warm. He turned the chair sideways, propping his feet in Cullen's lap.

"Not too sure Bran will be thrilled you took his seat," Cullen said, one hand kneading Anton's thigh through his trousers.

Anton smirked. "Well, then he can have mine." He tilted his head at Isabela.

Cullen shook his head. "No."

"Well, maybe I'll just have to get myself a better seat, then." Anton smiled slyly. "Can't enjoy the show without a good seat." He moved like he might get up, but Cullen's hands were quicker, and Anton blinked with surprise as he landed in his templar's lap. "Or, yes, I could always just take the best seat in the house. The very best."

"Nothing but the best for you, Lord Dog. Just don't show your appreciation by lifting your leg on the fine furniture." Cullen pinched Anton's hip, smiling placidly up at the dancer, as the rogue squirmed in his lap.

"When have I ever--!?" Anton sounded thoroughly shocked.

"You haven't, yet, but given your history of ... appreciating things, I thought it best to warn against the idea," Cullen joked, laugh barely held back by a smile that tugged hard on one side of his face.

"I think you'll find that's more likely to convey my lack of appreciation," Anton countered. "Otherwise, Shale might have been less offended."

"No, I think Shale would still be offended," Cullen said, arms wrapped tight around Anton. "Pee is pee, even if you pee with good intentions."

"I only ever pee with the best of intentions."

Cullen stifled a chuckle against Anton's shoulder. "You know," he said, "I think Branson needs a girl. It might make him less surly. But apparently blond, stuttering, and verbal flailing are all Rutherford traits." Cullen still had no idea how he'd ended up with Anton. He could ask the Maker himself and likely get a shrug in response. "But that girl is not going to be Isabela," he was quick to add.

Anton barked a laugh. "She would eat him alive," he said, grinning. "Especially after that display earlier."

"Exactly. I promised Mia I'd send him back in one piece. Or at the very least two pieces glued together."

"You know, the best glue is said to be made of horse parts. So, she'd probably have that covered." Anton looked contemplative, tapping his chin and winking at Isabela from across the table.

Cullen turned a vibrant red. "You can't be serious. You -- that's still my brother!"

"I'm thinking we can just stand back and let him walk right into it. He'll be my brother, too, in the morning, and what kind of brother would I be, if I didn't let him go gallivanting, full-force, into Izzy? I did Carver the very same favour, and look how he turned out!" Anton laughed and pinched the tip of Cullen's nose.

"You're lucky I haven't drowned your little brother in a bucket of his own piss, at this point," Cullen muttered. "I'm not sure you want to be using him as an example."

"Yes, but it's an _improvement_ ," Anton pointed out. "At least he _pretends_ to listen to you."

Cullen opened his mouth to argue, only to think better of it. "So you're saying I should warn Bran off Isabela, while letting him go off with her, so that when she traumatises him later, he'll be more likely to listen to my advice in the future?"

Anton sipped at Cullen's drink, expression innocent. "Why you think I would imply something so devious is beyond me," Anton sniffed.

"Oh, maybe because you exude deviousness?" Cullen pressed a kiss behind Anton's ear. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but that's not a terrible idea."

Another dancer took the stage, a female elf, this time, as the last dancer descended amid cheers and applause.

Branson stumbled back into his seat, drink sloshing over the edge of his tankard, spilling over his hand. "Huh. Another knife-ear," he muttered.

Cullen grit his teeth. "Tell Isabela to unleash the horse," he whispered in Anton's ear.


	147. Chapter 147

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isabela wins again. Oh, and Anton and Cullen get married.

"You _what_!?" The shrill squawk could be heard all the way down the stairs. Wasn't one of the regulars, Corff knew, because none of them sounded like that when they were surprised. Maker knew, enough of them had been surprised in this place, enough times.

Branson stood in the doorway of Isabela's room, half-dressed, trousers unlaced, and clutching his shirt to his chest. "You want to do what, with _what_? That's -- that's--"

"You're just not as adventurous as your brother, are you?" Isabela teased. Not that Cullen had ever taken her up on it, but he hadn't run screaming from the room.

Branson's eyes went from large and round to huge and round. "That's-- no- that-- WHAT." He sputtered for a bit longer. "That is part of a horse. That doesn't-- You're a very beautiful woman, but that is part of a horse."

"Ah, as observant as your brother, though," Isabela purred, toying with the laces of her cinched top, drawing even more attention to her spectacular cleavage. Distracting as it was, Branson kept backing away. "You're not leaving, are you?" Isabela asked with an exaggerated pout. "The fun was just starting!" She gestured with the... toy, making it wiggle, and a full-body shudder wracked Branson.

"I'm... just..." Branson never finished that sentence. He stumbled backwards towards the stairs, then stumbled down them, holding his trousers closed. He darted past the bar, past Corff and Edwina, eyes wide and face pale.

Corff and Edwina exchanged a look, and Corff sighed, sliding a coin to her across the bar.

* * *

Branson had at least managed to do up his trousers' laces by the time he made it to Hightown, but he was no less wild-eyed as he threw open his brother's bedroom door. "HORSE!" he shouted in accusation.

Anton sat up, like a shot, daggers in both hands. He was crouched ready to launch himself across the room, when he finally registered who had walked in. "Andraste's tits, Branson, do you have a death wish?"

Cullen was already awake, and slightly more dressed than his brother. He put down his sword, with a dull thunk against the wall, and went back to checking the fit of his trousers. "Where?" he asked. "How drunk are you, that you're charging in here -- where, I might add, you could have walked into something I'd have had your eyes out for -- yelling about horses? They're not that exciting, as I recall, or have the years away from Honnleath scrambled my perceptions?"

"No," Branson groaned. "That-- _girl_. She-- You know exactly what I'm talking about, Cullen! She called you 'adventurous'!"

"That 'girl'," Anton corrected, still crouched nude, with his daggers, "is Captain Isabela, the Pirate Queen of the Eastern Seas. Also my business partner."

" _Well, your business partner has a horse penis_!" Branson all but shrieked.

Cullen shushed him. "Be quiet, will you?" he hissed, cutting a glare at his brother before turning back to the mirror. "Or do you want to wake our mother and sisters with the words 'horse penis'?"

Branson's mouth clicked closed, face flushing, and Anton snorted, finally easing out of his battle crouch. "You knew," Bran said, voice considerably softer. "You knew she had a horse penis and didn't warn me."

"I told you not to do it," Cullen said, a bit tetchily. "You went with her anyway. And now you're blaming _me_? You had an entire brothel to choose from! Most of which I'm sure was horse-penis-free!"

Anton slid back into bed, stifling his cackles against his pillow. "Welcome to Kirkwall!" he told Branson.

Branson turned tomato-red, like a snittier, half-dressed version of his brother, and threw up his hands. "This entire city is disgusting." He stormed back out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

"He's not wrong," Anton pointed out, pulling the blankets up over his head. "Is it that time? Do I have to get up? Is your brother going to be drunk for our wedding?"

"No drunker than your brothers," Cullen said, fretfully trying on another shirt. He'd decided weeks ago, but suddenly nothing looked right.

"My brothers aren't going to be drunk at all. One of them is ... something. There's a healer involved." Anton groaned and re-sheathed his daggers, pulling the pillow over his face. He still had no way to describe what was going on with Cormac and Anders, but as far as he was concerned, one of these days, one of them was going to slip, and it was going to degrade into a nauseating romance, complete with bursts of magical flower petals.

"You should probably get out of bed," Cullen suggested. "Unless you mean to show up naked to your own wedding." He paused. "Anton, no. Stop thinking it."

* * *

* * *

"Stan-- Stanton, what are you wearing?" Cullen's mother sighed, picking at the laces on his shirt.

He'd grown up 'Stan', because that had been what she wanted to name him, but his father won the coin toss for his first name. He'd have had both, either way, but the order might have been different. And speaking of the order, that was why he wasn't 'Stan' any more. They'd insisted on calling him 'Cullen', because it was his first name, and it took him a year to get the hang of responding to it. And now, it was what everyone but his mother called him, because _she_ didn't give her son that name, _Bran Rutherford_! Cullen could still hear the way she used to say that to his father.

"What am I supposed to be wearing?" he blustered, flapping his hands to shoo her away from his shirt. "It's a very nice shirt. It's a very nice outfit! Anton and his sister helped me pick it out! Bethany understands fashion!" He didn't even try to suggest that Anton did, because as well as Anton dressed, it was a very, _very_ different part of society he was trying to appeal to, and Cullen did not need to look like a dashing smuggler on his wedding day, however much Anton might have approved. Actually, he was willing to admit he'd looked quite good in that outfit. He'd gone back and bought it, later in the week, with every intention of surprising Anton, the day _after_ the wedding. Anton had gotten very much into acting out scenes from those appalling Orlesian books, and Cullen had one, somewhere about a pirate and a fisherman that sounded like a delightful start to their married life.

"You could have picked something more Orlesian. Orlesian fashions are all the rage, this year, even in Gwaren!"

His mother tried to brush imaginary dust off his embroidered cuffs, and Cullen flicked his hands again. "I look terrible in Orlesian fashion. I do know this. I have tried to wear it. Anton prefers me in Tevinter cuts, but I am a Knight-Captain of the Templar Order, and I am not going to be caught in Tevinter clothing! What kind of message would that send? No. The Marches have a style of their own. I'm wearing it. It looks good on me."

"It looks dirty! You look like a farmer!"

"Mother, my entire family are farmers. So what if I _do_ look like a farmer? Which Bethany assures me I don't. Light linen with green silk accents and gold and brown embroidery is not farm-friendly attire."

His mother tsked and looked ready to natter on, but Mia took pity on the groom and intervened. "I don't think you look like a farmer, Cullen," Mia said. "Even if the goat over there isn't helping you win this argument. But you make a very handsome farmer groom. "

Cullen groaned and glanced back at the lime tree and the pen with Goatilda. He'd almost forgotten about her in the flurry of activity, and he could just see the tips of her horns past the sea of chairs and the guests still milling about. "Never mind the goat," he said. "But just... don't get too close, if you value that dress. You remember. I've lost good trousers that way."

Mia chuckled and tugged on their mother's arm. "Come on, Mum. Let's go have a seat. I'm sure Cullen is nervous enough without you nagging him."

"I'm not nagging!"

"I'm not nervous!"

Mia smiled sweetly, a smile that said she didn't believe either of them. Another tug on Mum's arm, and they went to sit with Rosalie and Branson.

Under the lime tree, just out of range of the goat, Artie nudged Cormac. "Have you seen Anton at all today?" he asked. "I went to check on him an hour ago, and I couldn't find him for the life of me." He tugged at the sleeves of his tunic, trying to get the seams to sit right. "One of the sleeves turns more than the other one. Have you noticed that? Do your robes do that? It's very distracting."

Cormac wrapped an arm around Artie's shoulders. "My robes are so heavy, they have their own relationship with gravity. The seams pull down." He took one of Artie's hands and pressed it to the centre of his chest, and just breathed deeply a few times, waiting for it to catch. "As to Anton, I haven't seen him since Cullen carried him out of the Rose, last night. He'll be here. He's not going to ditch his own wedding."

Anders had leaned against the tree, beside them, feet so far out his head was even with Cormac's. "Are you sure? I might ditch my own wedding, if Sebastian was performing it."

"It's all about face," Cormac replied, shaking his head. "He's not going to do anything that would lower his standing, and walking out on his wedding to the Knight-Captain would get him run out of town."

He glanced over at where Serendipity and Isabela were resting their glasses on Varric's shoulders. The dwarf looked torn between offence and amusement. "See? Serendipity and Isabela aren't concerned. Look at them whispering. Anton's just being stupid or something."

Artemis glanced at them and hummed, looking less than convinced. "I suppose so," he said. "But still. Anton committing to someone, even if that someone is Cullen? That's a big step, and I'd be more surprised if he didn't get any last minute jitters. You know how long it took for him to even acknowledge that he and Cullen were together." He darted a look at Anders. Anton hadn't been in half as much denial as Cormac. "Anyway. Looks like most everyone's here. We should get to our seats before Fenris gets tired of saving them."

Fenris sat with Carver and Bethany, legs stretched lengthwise across four seats, or as much of four seats as he could stretch his toes across. He smiled pleasantly at every noble who eyed him distastefully. "Ah, good," he said as the mages filed in, curling his legs in and sitting up. "I was about to auction off Anders's seat."

"We still can, if you want," Artie said, taking the seat by his fiancé. "Front row. Might catch a fair price."

"Hey!"

"Don't worry," Artemis said, peering around his brother at Anders, "we'd share the winnings with you."

"We would?" Fenris muttered.

"Well, I didn't say how _much_ we'd share," Artemis whispered back.

Cullen finally started to look nervous, standing in front of Sebastian, by himself. Where was Anton? It was like him to be 'fashionably late', but never when he was the host! Sebastian looked pityingly at him, as if he should have seen this coming. He glanced around and spotted Serendipity, who just winked and nodded. Something was ... not wrong, but possibly regrettable. What was Anton doing? Cullen considered demanding to know what Serendipity knew, but that would be a useless endeavour that would end in him looking like twice the ass.

He heard the sound before he registered what it was, and Sebastian had already turned around. An arrow broke two tiles on the patio as it pierced the ground beside him, a rope leading back up to the roof of the mansion. Without thinking, he stepped back and drew the sword off the back of a seated templar. Not his own, but it would do. Maybe the Carta, or worse, the Coterie, had decided to take issue with the wedding of Anton Hawke. That seemed distressingly likely, actually.

Still, he didn't cut the rope. No point. Whoever that was wanted to make an entrance, and cutting the rope would just make them land out of range of his sword.

A figure all in black and red stepped to the edge of the roof, grabbed the rope in one gloved hand, and slid down, slinging itself off the rope at the perfect moment to land firmly beside Cullen. "I have come to claim my bride!" the figure declared, tossing aside an Orlesian mask, and pulling Cullen into a deep dip that nearly laid him on the ground.

" _Anton_!?" Cullen sounded surprised, but not entirely horrified.

"Were you expecting someone else?" Anton asked, winking at his 'bride'.

"I wasn't expecting _you_. Not from the balcony. _Anton_!" Cullen clutched at Anton's arm as they swung upright again. Anton kept an arm around Cullen's waist, that damnable smirk close to his face.

A smattering of laughter and applause filled the garden, though Cullen could feel his mother's horrified stare from here. Red. His face had to be red.

Sebastian, on the other hand, neither laughed nor clapped. He stared at them, lips pressed thin. "Are you going to treat this as a joke?" he asked, voice pitched low so as not to be heard by the crowd. "Because if you are, I want no part in it."

"On the contrary," Anton said, "I claim my bride with the utmost sincerity!"

"Please stop calling me your 'bride'," Cullen groaned.

"You accepted the goat dowry. You're the bride, by definition."

Sebastian closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering a prayer for patience. When he looked up again, it was to catch Bethany's eye. She smiled sweetly, almost imploringly, and he heaved in a sigh before he began the rite.

"Good thing they didn't have the ceremony in the Chantry, after all," Anders whispered to Cormac, still wiping away tears of laughter. "That has a balcony too!"

"Merciful Andraste's glorious ass," Cormac sighed. "I can't imagine the Grand Cleric would have been any more thrilled with that than Sebastian looks. And this also explains the rest of why we weren't invited to Aveline's wedding. She didn't want us giving Donnic bad ideas."

"You know, Sebastian's awfully judgemental for someone running around with Andraste's face tied to his crotch. I can't imagine the Maker approves of that use of his bride," Anders joked, a little louder than necessary.

Bethany leaned forward over the row of seats between them, and slapped Anders in the back of the head.

"Well, she did marry her own barbaric betrayer, and I'm pretty sure that wasn't a chaste political marriage. Andraste was totally a polygamist, and the Maker didn't seem to mind it then, so I'm not sure he'd mind the introduction of Sebastian's crotch, now." Cormac leaned forward to dodge Bethany's hand.


	148. Chapter 148

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sisters and bad ideas. Anders wishes Cullen wasn't so okay with this proposition.

After the ceremony, the true celebration began. With a glass of wine dangling from her fingertips, Serendipity threaded an arm through Anton's. "So how's it feel to be a married man?" she asked, head canted to the side.

Anton hummed and furrowed his brow, pretending to consider this. "Much the same, except there's suddenly an air of respectability around me. I'm not sure what to do with it!"

Serendipity chuckled into her wine. "Don't worry. I doubt that will last! And I think you countered that quite nicely with your... dashing entrance. Sebastian still looks like he sniffed something funny."

Anton glanced past Serendipity, where Sebastian and Bethany were arm in arm, discussing the flowers. Looking more closely at the flowers didn't help Sebastian's sour look. He almost felt bad for the man, surrounded as he was by Hawke revelry.

"Keeping my spot warm?" Cullen teased Serendipity, returning with drinks for him and Anton. "Here you are, husband," he said as he passed over the glass of wine, just to taste the word on his lips. Husband.

"It's my spot now!" Serendipity declared, with a laugh. "Take the other side. He still has an arm free."

Anton laughed and held out his arm to Cullen. "As long as you keep it above the elbow, I can still drink and walk both of you through the gardens."

Cullen tucked his hand around Anton's arm and then realised where they were. "Wha-- The gardens. The-- no. Anton, no."

Serendipity giggled and smiled across her wine at Cullen. "I see you've met the gardens, then! I couldn't imagine Anton keeping them a secret from you. But, oh, isn't that your mother?" She gestured with the glass to where Cullen's mother was walking with a nobleman. "Isn't that your mother and Seneschal Bran?"

Horror seized Cullen's features as he followed the line of Serendipity's arm with his eyes. "Anton! Do something! That is my mother! That is my mother walking into your... garden of perversions with the seneschal!"

"What are you worried about?" Anton asked. "It's all very subtle. It's some nice fountains and private seating. She'll never know the difference, certainly not if she's walking with Bran!"

"I'll know the difference!" Cullen squeaked. "That's my mum, and she'll be sitting on...! Maker." There were too many things she end up sitting on, and he wasn't sure which was worse. He was caught between wanting to follow to make sure his mother didn't find anything... untoward... and wanting to just pretend this wasn't happening.

"Have some wine," said Serendipity sweetly, gesturing at his glass with hers. "It will make you feel better."

Cullen didn't need to be told twice.

Back closer to the house, Merrill munched on some grapes and poked Isabela's arm, trying to get her attention.

"Yes, Kitten?"

"Why is Cullen's brother staring at you like that?" Merrill asked, covering her mouth with her hand.

'Like that', Isabela decided, meant 'like he was going to wet himself'. She grinned at him, waved, and watched his face pale. "Because, Kitten," she purred, "the Rutherfords don't like my coathanger."

"Well, it's quite large and not very attractive, as far as coathooks go. I don't see that it's a reason to look at someone quite like that, though. Do people really get that upset about coathooks? Is that a Fereldan thing?" Merrill knew perfectly well what Isabela was referring to, but she'd missed some of the finer points, like the uses it was put to when it wasn't holding coats. "I like it. It doesn't ding up the back of the neck on my coats."

"Not everyone's as forgiving as you are, Kitten, when it comes to the use of horses in décor." Isabela noticed she was holding an empty glass. "Looks like it's time to investigate the bar, again! Have you tried the strawberry cordial? It reminded me of you."

"Oh, no, I haven't. I've been drinking the wine." Merrill looked contemplatively at her handful of grapes. "Wine and grapes. That's a lot of grape, isn't it. Maybe I should try some strawberry, as well."

"There's my girl!" Isabela hooked her arm through Merrill's and led her back toward one of the tables of food and drink.

"Have you seen Carver? I turned around, and he was gone. There's just so many spots that are hard to see, and then the house... Do you know I got lost in the house? I was trying to find the drawing room, and I found myself in a pantry, instead. Bodhan had to help me back out. I don't understand why it's so big. It's nearly a town!" Merrill shook her head. "But, I lost Carver somewhere out here..."

"Oh, I'm sure he's around here somewhere," Isabela said, shrugging one shoulder. "Just keep in sight of Cormac. I'm sure Carver will end up punching him at some point tonight."

"Why?" Merrill asked, eyes round. "Has Cormac done something?"

"Cormac's always doing something -- or someone -- which is why I'm sure Carver will end up punching him eventually."

"Oh."

Isabela grinned and poured for them both, trading Merrill's wine glass for one of cordial.

"Leave the bottle open, Izzy!" Bethany said as she approached, a glass in either hand and Mia at her shoulder. Both girls were red-faced from laughter, and Mia bit her tongue to keep from breaking into more giggles. "We're trading embarrassing Cullen stories, and I thought cordial seemed appropriate." Her grin was wicked, the kind that said she knew something Izzy didn't, and Isabela gladly poured two more drinks.

"Cullen, married," Mia sighed, curling a hand around her refilled glass. "I thought he was dead, you know. For years. But he's not only not dead, he's married. My brother, married and not dead. I'm still trying to wrap my head around it."

"I still can't believe my brother proposed." Bethany shook her head. "Anton's the roguish sort. A finger in everyone's pie, and he'll lick them clean when he's done--"

"I can tell you that's the absolute truth," Isabela said, nodding as she swigged cordial and then topped the glass off with rum. "And it's not the only thing he'll lick, either."

"I know more than enough about Cormac. I do not need the fine details of another brother's sex life, Izzy," Bethany groaned. "But, we never thought Anton would marry. Of course, we also never expected he'd end up involved with a templar, either."

"Isn't one of your other brothers a templar, though?" Mia asked, sipping her drink. "This is very good, by the way."

"That's Carver," Merrill supplied, still looking around. "He's... somewhere. He was here, earlier. But, that was later. Anton was already engaged, before Carver joined the Order, and now I never get to see him, because he's too busy washing chamberpots."

Mia blinked at Merrill over her cordial and glanced at Bethany for confirmation. "'Washing chamberpots'?" she echoed. "Is that a euphemism?"

"I... is it?" Merrill asked, eyes wide.

"No, no," Bethany said, cutting in before Isabela could make that worse. "I believe there is actual washing of chamberpots. He's put on latrine duty every time he mouths off." She rolled her eyes.

"And where is he now?" Mia asked, looking about. She recognised Anton's other brothers over by the goat, even if she didn't remember their names, but she didn't spot any other Hawkes. "He's not cleaning chamberpots right now, is he?"

"Ask Cullen," Isabela suggested. "He's Carver's superior, and it is his wedding."

"Honestly," Bethany said, picking up the bottle of cordial and topping off everyone's glasses, "I was expecting him to get huffy and leave when Anton swung in from the balcony." She swung her glass of cordial down through the air to illustrate.

Mia hid a snorting laugh behind her hand. "That was amazing."

"You'll fit right in, around here," Isabela assured her. "Most of the Hawkes thought that was amazing. And then there's Carver. Is his swording really that good, Kitten? Because he seems like a compulsively boring guy. I almost got him to have fun, once, but it was right after we almost died."

"Oh, I know, you think I'd be better off with a mage. You and your sparklefinger obsession. Still..." Merrill smiled slyly. "I'm pretty sure he's the best sworder in Kirkwall. And he fixed most of what was broken in the Alienage, before he decided he wanted to be a templar. It's almost like the rest of Lowtown, now, but with less broken windows. He's good at things. He's just not very good at parties. It's sad. I like parties."

"You poor dear." Mia reached out and patted Merrill's shoulder. "It's a good thing you've got friends who like parties, then, isn't it?"

"Nobody parties like we party," Isabela assured them both, grinning across her glass at Bethany. "Do we need more sparkle? I think we need more sparkle."

"Don't we need a mage for that?" Bethany asked, eyebrows arching up. Not everyone knew about her, and she wasn't going to give anyone the impression they needed to take a closer look, if she could help it.

"Isn't that why we invited Anders?" Isabela asked without missing a beat.

Mia's eyebrows shot up, and she made a sound around her drink. "You mean you have a mage here?" she asked. "At a templar's wedding?"

"Warden mage," Bethany told her. "Out of templar jurisdiction. He's a family friend."

"And he's more friendly with some members of the family than with others," Isabela added, winking at Merrill, who giggled. "Hey, Anders!" Izzy shouted, spotting his blond head over by the mini quiches. He turned, scanning the crowd until he spotted Isabela flailing an arm in the air. He looked over his shoulder as though searching for an escape route and stuffed a quiche in his mouth as he headed over. His brows knit in a question, and Izzy said, "We were just discussing how... friendly you are with the Hawke family."

Anders darted a look at Mia and stopped chewing, making a choked sound in the back of his throat.

"I think we're hogging the drink table," Merrill said, noting the way they'd gathered around it.

"Good," said Isabela, "then I can guard the rum!"

"I think you can just as easily guard the rum over there," Mia said, pointing to a more open section of garden. "The rum is portable."

"If barely potable," Anders added, squinting at the bottle. "Is that from the Hanged Man?"

"I have had enough drinks to make it a fine rum, Sparklefingers. That's really the key. Drink to excess, and then drink the rest." Isabela laughed and swiped the bottle, gesturing with it toward the open area just below the patio. "We think this event needs a little more sparkle and shine. Old man Amell had the very best parties, and he had mages at least once. Or, that's what I've heard, anyway."

"You just want me to start sparkling up the place? In the middle of a bunch of templars?" Anders looked shocked and somewhat disbelieving. "Because that's the best idea I've heard all week! Oh, yes, parade your least ignorable, completely illegal talents in front of the people who want to lock you up for them!"

"You're a Warden, Anders. You're even dressed like one. You know Anton's not going to let anyone think it for more than a few seconds. We'll just say you're a special part of the evening's entertainments. Which I'm sure you are anyway." Isabela grinned and pinched Anders's hip. "Come on, nothing's going to happen to you! And everyone will be so impressed."

"Maybe we should ask Cullen, first," Merrill ventured. "It is his wedding. He is a templar, and a very important one."

"Oh! Yes, let's!" Bethany chirped, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Anton would love it!" She grabbed Anders by the hand and tugged him away from the table and towards the newly-weds. Anders cast a desperate look at the women around him, except that desperate wasn't quite the word. Terrified. The look he cast them was terrified.

"Look out," Anton said to Cullen, jutting his chin at the group. "A swarm approaches!"

"You're not going to swing up onto another balcony, are you?" Cullen asked with a pained laugh. He kept watching the entrance to the hedge maze, waiting for his mother to reappear.

"Too far away for a balcony. A tree, though..."

"Anton, no."

"So, Knight-Captain," Isabela said by way of greeting, "Anders has a question for you."

"No," Anders said. "No, I do not. I have no questions. Absolutely none."

"Sure you do," Bethany sweetly encouraged him, patting his hand in hers. "You have my question. Or Izzy's question, really. But I shall borrow it back and ask it myself. Cullen, darling brother, may our resident Warden entertain the crowd?"

"'Entertain'?" Anton's eyebrows migrated upward. "Did he lose a bet? She's not making you strip, is she, Anders?"

"Andraste's flaming knickerweasels! No! There will be no stripping! Nobody wants to see me strip, except your brother. Brothers. And they have lousy taste." Anders shuddered and rubbed his arm. "They want me to do impressive, but harmless, magic. Rainbows and purple static. Worst thing you'll get from it is a damp tingle. I'm still not doing it in a room full of templars."

Cullen watched Anders squirm. Here was a mage who was, by his very rank and circumstance, not subject to the Order's usual rules, and still, he was, by the look of it, completely terrified of performing magic where he might be seen. That wasn't why he'd joined the Order, Cullen reminded himself. Every time he spent more than a few minutes with Anders, he was reminded of how far the implementation had come from the intent.

"Promise you're not going to trap me in a bubble and feed me to demons, and you've got a deal," Cullen joked, smile not quite making it to his eyes. He knew Anders would hear what he meant.

"I'm not going to hurt anyone," Anders muttered. "I didn't become a healer to do harm. And it's still a terrible idea."

"No, it's a marvellous idea!" Isabela insisted. "You should know. You're familiar with my actual terrible ideas." She nudged Anders's hip with hers, brows lifting.

"I am, but those ideas make this one no less terrible. Just a different kind of terrible." Anders folded his arms across his chest, trying to look stern, like he wouldn't be budged, but the women around him weren't fooled.

"I have to admit," Mia said in a soft voice, "I'm rather curious. I've seen very little magic. The Hero of Ferelden used it while she was defending Honnleath, and it was... well, it was terrifying, but it was remarkable."

Bethany hid her smile behind her drink, and Anders let his arms drop back to his sides. That had piqued Justice's interest. This was a chance to share magic safely, to show at least a few in the crowd that magic could be beautiful, could be helpful, and that it was more than just something to be feared. "Maker's balls," he muttered. "Fine."

Isabela cheered and clapped her hands, or tried to, considering one hand was busy holding her drink. Shaking his head, Anders headed for the open area below the patio, the ladies close at his heels.

"Guess it's a good thing Meredith declined our invitation," Anton said, and Cullen laughed weakly.


	149. Chapter 149

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A demonstration of magic. A demonstration of power. A demonstration of cheesy romance-novel sensibilities.

"May I have your attention, please!" Isabela strutted out in front of Anders, gesturing broadly. She knew how to start a show -- between the assortment of brothels she liked to visit and Zevran's unending stories of Antiva, she'd picked up a few things. "We have a very special bit of entertainment, tonight, for this long-awaited event! By the Knight-Captain's own command, we bring you Mage-Warden Anders, and his astonishing magics! Never fear! The worst you'll get is rained on. Come closer! Get the good seats before they're all gone!" Isabela paced and spun, as the patter went on, one hand always pointed back toward Anders who looked more and more ill as this went on. "Witness the glamour of his glittering hands! See magic serve man as it is meant to!"

Merrill and Bethany led Anders forward, Bethany whispering the whole time. "Just do something harmless, Anders. Sparks and rainbows. Merrill and I will bring out the exciting stuff."

"No," Anders hissed, shooting a look at Bethany. "No exciting stuff."

"Do have some faith. I'm an illusionist, and she makes _flowers_. We can avoid setting anyone on fire," Bethany scoffed, waving aside his objections. "We just need it all to look like you're doing it, because they will come after _us_."

"An _illusionist_? Illusion!? You specialise in _entropy_!" Anders did not look impressed, but he managed to keep his voice down.

"Please. I'm a woman of many talents." Bethany batted her eyelashes before she and Merrill stood back and to the side, leaving Anders the lone centre of attention. Anders turned to the crowd and squared his shoulders, slapping on his best approximation of a cocky smile and hoping no one could see the sweat beading along his forehead.

In the crowd, Artie turned to Cormac, eyes wide. "Magic?" he hissed. "He's going to use magic? In front of all these templars?" He knew Anders was safe so long as he wore his Warden armour, but the thought still made his skin itch. "Maker. I need to... clean." If everything was clean, Anders would be safe. He went to the buffet tables and started straightening wine bottles and clearing away crumbs. Fenris exchanged a look with Cormac and went to soothe his mage.

In front of the crowd, Anders's hands started to glow, and all the excited murmuring hushed. Sparks danced at the tips of his fingers, and he held up his hands, passing sparks between them, lightning arcing from one hand to another, like a miniature rainstorm. He saw movement out of the corner of his eye, felt the dirt shift under his foot. A twisting vine sprouted from the earth beside him, and then another. Anders kept smiling, kept pretending this was him and only him, even as he watched the templars in the crowd, waited for them to reach for the swords at their backs.

Slowly, the chairs began to change, as if the rain were washing them clean, and they shone as if they were made of solid gold. The illusion reached far enough that most of the inhabited part of the garden could see it. Bethany played the perfect 'lovely assistant', pretending surprise and urging the audience to show their appreciation, even as she wove a spell that seemed to change their clothing to bold, Antivan styles. Anyone looking closely at themselves could see it wasn't real, as it didn't show their actual skin, in places their real clothing covered, but just an illusion of skin that roughly matched their overall tone. But, no one looked too closely at themselves, as they were far too busy observing everyone else.

Sounds of amazement rippled through the crowd, as the vines climbed up the chairs, bursting into very real flowers in white, pink, and purple, along the backs and legs of the chairs. Some vines ran between the feet of those standing and flowered there, as well. Anders spread his hands, and the three of them seemed to stand amid a light-purple storm, crackling electricity dancing between the mages and the outer edge of the bubble. Bethany nudged Merrill, and the two of them stepped out, in opposite directions, cupping their hands toward each other, as a rainbow spread between them, courtesy of Bethany, the arc growing larger with every step taken.

The garden filled with colour and light, and the crowd cheered and applauded. Isabela put her fingers to her lips and let out an impressive whistle.

"That really is beautiful," Cullen murmured, humbled. For so long, when he thought of magic, he'd thought of that little boy in Honnleath, of Artemis and the fear in his eyes, thought of Kinloch Hold, of blood and demons. But this magic was gentle, beautiful, and he hoped to the Maker that his fellow templars saw what he saw.

Cullen peered into the crowd and found the other templars clustered together, with the exception of Carver, who was likely off with his family somewhere. Some of the greener recruits had started to applaud, only to stop when they saw the older templars' stony expressions. Cullen's heart sank, and he looked away.

Anders took his bows, his smile more relieved than forced, and Isabela led another round of cheering from the crowd. Bethany and Merrill pulled Anders down to kiss his cheeks, before they darted back into the crowd, laughing. The illusions faded, but the flowers remained, and a decent number of people had picked some, marvelling at the fact they were real. Anders headed back down the centre of the garden, toward where Cormac still waited, under the lime tree, grinning and clapping like a fool. A fond smile crept across Anders's face, at least until a templar grabbed his arm.

"Where do you think you're going, apostate?"

The smile vanished, and Anders's shoulders dropped, loosely, as he turned, suddenly pale and much less amused. "Who do you think you're calling an apostate, Ser Halfwit? Take your hands off my armour, before you get greasy fingerprints on the griffons." Every time, Anders went in mouth-first, and every time, that just made it worse. He'd never been one to go down easily, though.

Two other templars stepped up, to either side of him. "Trouble, Lieutenant?" one of them asked.

"This apostate thinks he can do whatever he likes," the Lieutenant marvelled. "Imagine that! Mages running wild across Thedas, doing whatever their perverted, little, black hearts desired!"

"Well, ah, Lieutenant... he _is_ a Grey Warden." One of the templars shrugged. "He's not really our problem."

"He's our problem when he starts showing off in public, and making himself our problem," the Lieutenant insisted.

"The only problem I see here, _Lieutenant_ ," Cullen boomed, pushing his way through the crowd, "is you." He missed the comforting weight of his armour, of his sword at his back, but he needed neither to face down his men. "Mage-Warden Anders served under Solona Amell, the Hero of Ferelden, and he is a personal friend, here by my invitation. Stand down, Lieutenant."

Anton stood at Cullen's side, his glare just as fierce, and they provided a united front as Knight-Captain and Champion of Kirkwall. The two junior templars wavered, exchanging nervous looks.

"Captain," the Lieutenant insisted, "the Knight-Commander would not approve--"

"The Knight-Commander would not approve of you disobeying a direct order, Ser," Cullen snapped, and the Lieutenant's mouth closed with an audible click. "We're supposed to guard mages, not harass them. Now let go of the Warden, and get out of my sight."

"Please do," Anton added when the Lieutenant looked ready to protest. "My husband and I are dressed rather finely, and I'd hate to crease our nice clothing or ruin it with bloodstains."

The Lieutenant finally let go of Anders and backed away. Anders clucked and made a show of examining his sleeve where the templar had grabbed him. "See?" he sighed. "Greasy fingerprints. Artie would despair." The templar shot him a withering look before storming out of the garden.

Cullen turned to the junior templars, who quailed under his stare. "We have no trouble with the Warden, Captain," one hurried to say, and his friend nodded. "None at all."

"Good," Cullen grated out through his teeth.

During the scuffle, Cormac had appeared behind the templars, a half-cast spell at his fingertips. It would have been both saner and more satisfying to engage them without magic, but he'd left his glaive inside, not expecting this to turn into a battleground. Although, it was his brother's wedding, so maybe he should have expected it. Now, he slid his arms around Anders, putting himself between the Warden and the templars.

"You know I wouldn't have let it happen, don't you?" he breathed against Anders's collar. "I could see Cullen coming over, from behind you, and I figured it was better to let him handle it. I shouldn't have to kill someone, at a time like this. It would really ruin the mood. But, I would have."

"And to think, even the great Cormac Hawke fails to be immune to the sappiness of this fine occasion. Don't get any on me. I've already got greasy templar fingerprints." Still, Anders held Cormac just a little too tightly, as he watched Cullen shoo the templars away.

"Sorry about that," Anton said, rubbing his face with one hand. "I didn't expect they'd try something like that _here_ , in front of _him_. Good show, though. How much of that was my sister?"

"Sorry, Anton," Anders sniffed. "I'm a performer, and that's a trade secret you're asking for."

Anton smirked down at his feet then up at Anders. "So most of it, then."

"Most of it," Anders admitted. "I made the sparks, and Merrill made the flowers."

"I had no idea any of you could do that," Cullen said, his awed voice a stark contrast to the bark it'd been with his men. "That was... truly astounding. Thank you, Anders. Though I... suspect my sisters are a bit entranced, so to speak." He glanced over his shoulder to see Rosalie and Mia with their heads together, peering at Anders, only to look away and act like they hadn't been staring when they saw Cullen shaking his head at them.

Cullen cleared his throat. "I hope it goes without saying that you will not..."

"No, no," Anders assured him with a breathless laugh. "I've been warned off sisters altogether, it seems." Anders grinned against Cormac's ear.

"Is all well?" asked a new voice. Anders peered over Cormac's head to see Fenris sidle up to them. The elf frowned at the embracing mages, then at the newly-weds. "I'm afraid I was... too occupied to offer my assistance, but I see that no mages or templars are dead, so I assume my assistance was not needed."

"We didn't kill anybody, Broody. Thanks for keeping Artie out of it." Cormac turned his head to look at Fenris. "I mean that. I'm not just being a dick."

"Someone needed to do it. I am the obvious choice. I can only imagine the lasting blight on the family name, if you were to have attempted to solve the problem." Fenris cleared his throat and looked back toward the table Artie was still tidying, now accompanied by Bethany, who kept putting things on the table behind him, and Merrill, who seemed to be telling another story. When he'd left them, she was talking about what a foolish and useless child Mahariel had been.

"The lasting blight? Isn't that a bit much? At worst, he'd have shaved off my beard, in a panic," Cormac joked, with a wry glance in Artie's direction.

"Maker. Has he done that?" Anton asked.

"Just the once. It's a good thing I've got a bit from Dad, or I'd never have been able to grow a beard again, after that. You're lucky you're an elf, Broody." Cormac shook his head.

Fenris hummed. "Indeed, I do not envy you your fluffiness," he said wryly, "though being an elf has not spared me from his mage-floors." His ear twitched just thinking about it.

Anders stifled a laugh against Cormac's hair. "Fluffiness," he repeated. "He makes you sound like a long-haired cat." He scratched beneath Cormac's chin, just under his beard.

"If I were a cat, you would complain when I bite your ass," Cormac pointed out. "I have proof of this. But, then, we're talking about the guy who thinks we're magical bears, so..." He shrugged, a hint of a smile on his lips.

"Thank you for that," Anton drawled. He and Fenris wore matching pained expressions. "It's my wedding day. Can we maybe limit the amount of terrible images?"

"Speaking of terrible images," Cullen said, face draining of colour as he glanced back at the hedge maze. "Has my mum come out of the maze yet?"

* * *

Cullen had vanished from the festivities, at some point late in the evening. Anton expected it might have been the fact he just couldn't look his mother in the eye, after the garden tour she took with the Seneschal -- and Anton was going to have a word with Bran about that. Anton may have been better at cards, but Bran had an amazing talent for manufactured scandal.

Still, for Cullen to have ducked out without a word, it must have been serious. Or so Anton thought, until he found the note on his bed. 'Wait for me on the docks,' it said. Nothing else. No further explanation. Well. Anton had been the one to arrange most of the actual wedding celebrations, so perhaps Cullen had taken it upon himself to arrange for some other festivities. Although if it was a pleasure cruise through the valley, Anton might take a page from Carver and punch Cormac.

Anton let Bodhan know where he was off to and why, and the dwarf offered profuse and effusive congratulations on his freshly-wed state.

Anton knew the docks well enough to traverse them at night, and the docks knew him well enough not to mess with him, though that lesson had been learned the hard way.

The Qunari Compound was deserted, closed off. Anton didn't spare it a glance as he passed, but that eyesore of a statue that had been dedicated to him was harder to ignore. He rolled his eyes at the stone version of 'him', at the clunky armour he'd never be caught dead wearing and the firelit sword he wouldn't even try lifting. But the firelight caught the edges of a shadow, a darkened figure lurking just out of the corner of his eye. Anton slipped a hand into his fine clothing, slipping around the hilt of a dagger, the one he'd worn to his wedding.

A figure slipped out of the shadows, and Anton recognised the outfit before he even made out Cullen's face. "My, my," he purred, as Cullen swaggered toward him, "has some dread pirate taken an interest in my dainty noble ass?"

Cullen wrapped his arm around Anton's waist, pulling the rogue up along his thigh. "I've heard that's a very piratical interest, plundering dainty noble booty," he replied with a grin that couldn't hide the blush that bloomed on his cheeks as he tried not to stumble over any of the words. This was, in fact, ridiculous.

"Well, my booty has been plundered quite thoroughly, by dread pirates, in the past. Have you come to claim what's left and take it for your own, you dashing swain of the seas?" Anton couldn't keep the grin off his own face, but he managed to hold off the laugh a while longer, amusement still plain in every word, even as he struggled to sound flighty and breathless.

"I have come to do so, yes," murmured Cullen, quietly intense. He struggled to keep the laughter from bubbling up his chest. "To whisk you away to my chambers and ravish you until my plundering is the only plundering you remember."

Anton fanned his face with his hand. "Oh, how dreadfully wicked!" he said, voice shaking with suppressed laughter.

"Oh," Cullen purred, swinging Anton up and into his arms, "I haven't even begun to be wicked yet, my darling."

Anton threw his arms around Cullen's neck, snickering against his shoulder as the 'pirate' carried him off into the night.


	150. PART XXX: UNITS OF DISTANCE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris needs a favour from Anders.

Anders hadn't even meant to have a day off, and this hadn't been on the list of things he'd ever expected to be doing with his day off, but Fenris had shown up in the clinic with that look that Anders had come to recognise as Fenris avoiding talking about something that was very important, to _him_ , but not broadly important. It wouldn't be about Artie. It wouldn't be a job. It would be something small and personal, and he'd ask, eventually.

The seemingly endless stream of patients finally began to wane, and Fenris set down the book he'd pulled from the shelves on the back wall, and approached, before anyone else could walk in. "You said something, before everything went sideways. I want to know if you still mean it. If not, I understand, and I'll never bring it up again."

"You mean, before ... the couch." Anders wasn't going to say it, either.

"Yes. Before the couch. You said you wanted to help me learn what was done to me, so I could decide if I wanted to pursue undoing it." Fenris watched the young man shelving potions, but spoke softly, so only Anders could hear.

"You doubt me?" Anders almost managed to sound surprised, which he wasn't. Of course Fenris doubted him. The only mage Fenris liked less was Danarius, and that put some disgusting thoughts in his head.

"Will you give me a reason not to?" Fenris finally looked up, pinning Anders with his gaze.

"Diya!" Anders called out to the man rolling bandages. "I'm cutting out early. I'll dim the lamp on my way out. Maker willing, nothing will happen, while I'm gone, but if it does, send a message to Cormac. He's better than nothing."

Diya waved his hand as if shooing Anders out. "You never rest. Go on. Have a good supper, while you're out."

Anders turned back to Fenris. "Where are we going, and what are we doing?"

And that was how he found himself walking into the Blooming Rose, in the middle of the afternoon, with an elven warrior at his side.

"If I wanted to be surrounded by my patients, I would have stayed in the clinic," Anders sighed. He hadn't been in the Rose since the bachelor party, a party only remembered in hazy fragments. Jethann waved at him from the lap of a bearded gentleman, and Anders offered a weak wave in reply.

Madame Lusine sat at the bar, adding a few numbers to her ledger, and Fenris came up beside her, clearing his throat to get her attention. "Excuse me. Madame Lusine?"

Lusine sat up primly and turned to him, looking him up and down. "How can I help you fine gentlemen?" she asked. "Anders, are you here for Jethann? He mentioned that he planned to... ah, visit you later this afternoon."

"What? _Again_?" Anders looked back at Jethann and the man he was using as a chair. "Andraste's tits. Fine. I'll... talk to him before he does anything stupid. Or anyone stupid. Or anyone, really. But, Fenris and I, we're here to see Serendipity."

"Both of you?" Lusine asked, one eyebrow barely twitching.

"Yes," Fenris answered before Anders could stop him.

"You know that will cost extra."

"I... what?" Fenris sputtered as Anders squeaked out, "No, no!"

Fenris coughed into his fist and clarified, "No, we're just here to talk to her."

"'Talk' to her." Madame Lusine did not sound impressed, or even convinced.

"I'm the healer," Anders pointed out, "and frankly you should be paying me every time I walk through that door. But, you don't, because you're cheap, and you know it matters more to me that people are well than that I get paid. And with what I have cleaned up in this place, I will never pay for the services, here." He leaned on the bar, towering over the madame. "All I need to know is if she's otherwise occupied, and if you won't tell me, I'll have to ask Jethann."

Fenris recognised exactly how displeased Anders was, by how calm his face became, as he kept speaking. That, he'd noticed, was Anders keeping a grip on Justice -- one of those things that happened exactly never, in combat situations, but did come up, from time to time, in discussions of Darktown or the alienage. The spirit did seem to have a strong sense of wrong -- actual wrong, _most_ of the time, as far as Fenris had noticed -- and it rattled its cage at the suggestion that someone might be doing more harm than good.

"It's still going to cost you two sovereigns," Lusine insisted.

Fenris slapped the coins onto the bar. "We have paid. We will see her. We are just here to borrow a book, and this had better be the best book in all of Thedas, for the price."

"Thank you for your patronage," Lusine said, voice and smile sickeningly sweet as she swept up the pair of coins. She pocketed them and bent back over her ledger, effectively dismissing them.

"Come," Fenris told Anders as he turned on his heel. "I'm sure Anton will just win those coins back at some point anyway."

"It's not the coin," Anders muttered, following Fenris towards the stairs. "It's the principle of the matter." He wavered at the foot of the stairs, pausing long enough to flick some general healing in Jethann's direction. He'd do a more thorough job of it later, but right now he hoped it was enough. "I'm so glad Artie couldn't afford him when they met."

Fenris chuffed, and then his smile froze. "Oh. That would have been..."

"Terrible? Yes. Among other things." Anders knocked on Serendipity's door.

"It's open!" Serendipity singsonged from within, and Anders pushed the door open to find her standing by the vanity, in a long dressing gown. "I thought that was your knock, Anders," she greeted him, grinning. "Do come in!"

"Hello! Nothing exciting, today. No outbreaks. Do I need to check you out, while I'm here?" Anders waved Fenris in and closed the door behind them.

"You can always check me out, healer," Serendipity teased, catching his eye in the mirror and winking. "Is that Fenris with you?"

"You remember my name." Fenris sounded amused.

"Of course, I remember your name. I hear it often enough from Anton." Serendipity smiled at him, still not looking away from the mirror. "Is he still buying you tarts, every time he wants you to stab someone?"

Fenris laughed. "I do not think I will ever tire of that arrangement. But, we are here for a reason. You... mentioned a book, when we met. Said you'd seen this before." He gestured at his face.

Serendipity tapped her chin and hummed. "Ah yes, that lovely token of appreciation from a... former client," she said. "I'd almost forgotten all about it! Well, as much as one ever forgets such a laughable threat. Now, let me see if I can find it..."

She turned to the bookcase against the back wall, humming to herself as she scanned the titles, a fingertip tapping each book as she read. "Here it is!" She dragged a tall, heavy book out from the bottom shelf and handed it off to Fenris. "I also have the first two books of the _Hard in Hightown_ series, if you're interested. It's really quite riveting!"

"Er," Fenris mumbled, "I experience enough of Hightown outside of books. But thank you for the offer. And for the book. This book." He gestured with the tome Serendipity had given him. He recognised the shapes of Tevene letters, shapes that he could mostly read now.

Anders stepped forward. "I'm already here. Let me just set you right, before I go."

Serendipity stood and held out her arms, as if she were waiting for a tailor. "You know I'll never turn you down."

"You know Lusine made us pay to come see you?" Anders complained, as he cast spell after spell, each for something a little different. Serendipity glowed in a flickering green and blue light, as the magic washed over her.

"Then let me get dressed, and I'll come down with you. I'll tell her it's your fee." Serendipity laughed.

"You don't have to--" Fenris started, but Serendipity cut him off.

"No, I do have to. I shouldn't have to worry that the healer has to pay to work for us," she pointed out. "Anders should never be charged to see any of us, not least because he's never here to actually enjoy us." Her eyes lingered on Anders. "That Hawke of yours must be something. All these years and you're never in here but for your business."

"It's your business that brings me business," Anders reminded her. "Who is Jethann seeing, lately? This is the third time in as many weeks!"

"Oh, it's that Orlesian cheese merchant, again, I bet." Serendipity sighed. "He brings in so much money, but Jethann's the only one who will dare, any more."

"Does this cheese merchant have a name?" Anders asked. "I would like to pay him a visit. You know, Warden business and all that." He smiled sweetly.

"Oh, I'm sure he has a name," Serendipity replied, brow furrowing, "and an Orlesian one at that, but you'd have to ask Madame Lusine or check her records. Jethann just refers to him as 'Monsieur du Fromage'." She chuckled, and Fenris smiled indulgently, not knowing enough Orlesian to find that funny.

"I think I'd rather just ask Jethann," Anders sighed. He wasn't going to ask Lusine for another favour anytime soon. "At any rate, get dressed. We'll meet you downstairs, if you're serious about talking to Lusine."

"Oh, I'm quite serious," Serendipity said with a dangerous smile before shooing the pair out of her room. Fenris clutched the heavy book under his arm, grip tight enough for his claws to leave indentations in the leather binding.

"While we wait," Anders said, peering over the balcony railing, "let's go see an elf about his 'culture'."


	151. Chapter 151

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris and Anders discover some unpleasant secrets.

The book sat on the table in a room Fenris hadn't been in, since the night Theron and Kalli had visited. Anders, thankfully, had refrained from commenting. At least on that. He'd very definitely been commenting on what was on the pages.

"I don't see any mention of lyrium," Fenris grumbled. "I know it was probably too much to hope for, but I did hope." The tattoos in the drawings were extremely close to his own, all the same.

"Am I reading that right?" Anders asked, rubbing his eyes and tapping on a particular sentence. "The marks are not those of a god, but of 'the Destroyer', possibly a reference to the bearer rather than the source. They are only placed on warriors whose skills are far above the expectations of any human or elf. Some who bore the marks were put to death under suspicion of being possessed by demons."

"That..." Fenris moved Anders's finger and studied the page. "Yes." A small sound of amusement leapt into his throat.

"Suspected they were possessed," Anders laughed, shaking his head. "Well, you do glow..."

"And you know the source of my glowiness as well as I do and that no demons were involved." He hoped. He only had shards of memory of receiving those markings, and no memory of what came before. For all he knew, demon-summoning had been involved, and wasn't _that_ a cheering thought... "Well. Now we know the symbolism behind these markings. It would appeal to Danarius's... vanity to own a warrior with such terrifying markings."

"As for the rest," Anders sighed, running a hand through his hair, "the lyrium and the... Fade-glowy bits, I suspect that was more experimentation on his part than anything else." Fenris nodded grimly. "But... you know, you should ask Cormac to tell you about the ancient elven 'arcane warriors', some time. I suspect that may have been part of his inspiration."

Fenris tilted his head. Ancient warrior. Destroyer. He supposed there were worse comparisons.

Anders squinted at the page, again. "This text..." He stuck a finger in the page and flipped to the front of the book. "This is a copy of a much older book, but it's still not... that old."

Fenris looked blankly at him. "Feel free to begin making sense at any time."

"The original is only a couple hundred years old. It's post-Andrastian." Anders said it like it explained something, but Fenris couldn't figure out where he was going with it.

"Yes...?" Fenris squinted at Anders and then at the title page of the book.

"The Blights were already happening. The Old Gods were gone. Something bothers me about 'the Destroyer'. The author obviously doesn't know what it means, so this probably dates back just as far or almost as far as the rest of the vallaslin. And it's something that got lost, somewhere along the line. There was a Destroyer, but now there is not. And it can't have been one of the Old Gods, or this pattern would have been in the other book. There are only seven gods recorded, and this is an eighth design that is extremely different to all of them, but is still obviously honouring something."

"I don't understand why it can't be honouring the warrior," Fenris said, reopening the book to Anders's finger.

"Because that's not how this works. The honour is in the comparison to something greater." Anders took his finger back and rubbed his face, muttering to himself. "Destroyer, destroyer... Why does that remind me of something...? The Destroyer..."

Fenris paled. "... of thaigs."

They exchanged a look over the open pages, Fenris’s wide eyes mirroring Anders’s. “That… creature we read about in the Vimmark Mountains? Held by dwarven blood magic? What was its name… Mal…”

“Malvernis,” Fenris said. "Like I needed another excuse to hate ancient things with Tevinter names." He was beginning to wish they'd paid more attention to that fortress and its history, whatever history it had before the Wardens found it. He'd been too worried about Artemis, about the Carta's attacks on him and his family, to pay the dwarven inscriptions much heed.

"I think we need to find out more about this Malvernis," Anders said, thinking along similar lines. He scratched at the stubble along his jaw. "Assuming the information is out there to be found. This creature is old, pre-Blights old, and any scholarship on the subject is going to be dubious at best." He wasn't going to suggest a return trip to the Vimmark Chasm. He'd had enough of that place to last him through the next Blight, and knowing them, they'd just end up accidentally freeing this Malvernis.

Fenris hummed, finger tracing the illustration of inked tattoos much like his. "I wonder how much Danarius knows about these markings' history..."

"Well, after we kick his ass, you can ask him." Anders shrugged.

"Mage, after we kick his ass, he'll be dead," Fenris retorted. "It's not a state that lends itself to questioning."

"Presumptions! That's what magebane is for!" Anders grinned a little too cheerfully. "Trust me. I'd know. We interrogate him, first, and _then_ we make him dead!"

"I would prefer to just make him dead. He _is_ a magister. That's... I do not want to consider what tricks he might have up his sleeves." Fenris shook his head and looked back at the book, studying the lines. "The Destroyer. Why would anyone worship such a thing? If the inscriptions are accurate... would any worshippers have even survived the process?"

"Power," Anders said, leaning back and trying not to think too much about it. "It's all about the pursuit of power, and anything that can consume the bones of your ancestors and turn your best warriors into a liquid is a very powerful thing. Perhaps best to have such a thing on your side, if that's even possible, but it's not really about what's possible. Look at the ridiculous things the Chantry teaches. People still chase that up to the top." It wasn't that he didn't have faith. It was just that his faith was more in what was written than what was taught.

Fenris huffed, shaking his head. "Is that was Danarius was hoping from me? To turn warriors' bones into liquid? I fear I've fallen short of that aspiration."

"Yes, you can only squish organs," Anders said wryly. "Such a disappointment you must have been."

"Oh, I'm sure I can crush bone too, with enough time and determination," Fenris said with a wicked smile.

"You know, there's a terrible joke in there about you squeezing a different kind of bone," Anders said before he could think better of it, "but I'll just leave it implied."

"You're too kind." Fenris flipped through more pages, mouthing the words to himself as he read. After a while, he sat back and sighed. "I suspect that's the most we're going to find in this book," he said.

"It's a start, at least," Anders replied, shrugging one shoulder. He eyed Fenris's new cuffs and asked, "How are the runes working? Is the pain still better?"

"So far, this is working. I am not yet entirely convinced the body is meant to contain this much lyrium, in any form, but it is a much less offensive experience, now." Fenris adjusted the cuff on one wrist.

"I'm absolutely sure your body isn't supposed to contain that much lyrium, and while it's great that it's stopped hurting, I'm still a little concerned about long-term effects." Anders ran a hand through his hair and stretched, bumping his foot on the table. "On the other hand, I've seen what lyrium-addled looks like, and it's not you. I'm thinking templar problems, though. Might be worse to remove it, than to leave it in, but you'd want to talk to Cullen about that. He'd know."

"Did you just non-sarcastically suggest someone ask a templar for opinions?" Fenris teased. Anders was right, of course. Cullen would know -- he'd _have to_ know.

"Not just any templar. The one who likes me. There is, in fact, only one of those." Anders wondered about the constant trickle of lyrium, and how different it might be to this much embedded lyrium. Clearly, Fenris had survived, somehow, and he was a good deal less crazy than old lyrium miners or Tranquil who slipped. There was no such thing as an immunity, but the further one was from the Fade, the higher native resistance one would have. But, Fenris was using the lyrium to step into the Fade -- at least partially.

And given what he knew about lyrium, slaves, and stepping into the Fade...

The lyrium was already in contact with the blood of the slave. No murders required. Fenris was a walking example of ancient Tevinter blood magic.


	152. Chapter 152

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cormac and Anders have an almost-serious conversation. Bethany finds something extremely disappointing in her wardrobe.

Cormac wrapped his arms around Anders, from behind, pressing his cheek against the back of Anders's shoulder. "So, at Anton's party..." Anders tensed in Cormac's arms. "Were you serious?"

"Don't know what you're talking about," Anders said, rubbing Cormac's knuckles, nervously. "I was drunk. I said a lot of things."

"Going to be like that, is it?" Cormac pressed a kiss to Anders's shoulder and let go, sitting down on the edge of the bed to take his boots off. "That's fine. You just... Something you said. Something about the look in your eyes. You want it, we'll do it. Just tell me."

Terror flashed across Anders's eyes and he looked away. "What did I say?" Maybe it wasn't. Maybe he didn't actually say what he thought he'd said. Maybe he hadn't been that drunk.

"Something about hot water. Not being empty any more." Cormac was intentionally vague. There was a fine line between Anders confessing an actual desire and Anders drunkenly trying to destroy himself, and this one was weird enough that Cormac wasn't sure which side of the line it was on.

"Fuck." Anders sort of crumpled to the floor, resting his forehead on the edge of the bed, as the world spun.

"Not real, then? Just you being drunk?" Cormac reached out to stroke Anders's hair. "I'm fine either way. After all the shit you've done to me against your better judgement, it'd take more than that to shove me off."

"No, I... Andraste's tits aflame!" Anders snarled against the edge of the bed. "Yes, okay? Yes. I want it. But, I don't expect it. I don't need it. It's not--" Anders inched back and curled down onto himself, resting his head on his knees, and Cormac slid off the bed to sit next to him, rubbing his back. "It's not going to be pretty. It's actually pretty fucking disgusting."

"Would it be terrible of me to tell you I was turned on by the part where you told me if I did it right, you'd slosh when I fucked you?" Cormac looked faintly amused to be having this conversation. This really wasn't something he'd expected out of Anders, but anything that could make Anders look like he did talking about this, the other night, was worth doing at least once.

"Did I say that? Shit, I said that, didn't I?" Anders choked out a shaky laugh. "Are you having me on, or..."

"Anders, pretty thing, we're talking about my knob. When am I ever having you on, when it comes to my knob?"

"There was that one time," Anders muttered.

"That doesn't count. I wasn't having you on. I was just _wrong_." Cormac still felt kind of shit about that time, really. But, he supposed there were benefits to doing a healer. However bad he managed to break himself, Anders could probably fix it. And much better than he could fix himself.

"And what if you're wrong about this?" Anders asked, still mumbling into his lap.

"Then it's fucking horrible and we never do it again. Come on, like we haven't had that happen before?" Cormac could count at least six things that had sounded amazing at the time, but had ended terribly. But, those were his ideas and all the damage had been done to his body. Anders didn't much go in for things that were likely to end horribly -- at least when he wasn't terrifyingly drunk. And those were times Cormac mostly hadn't seen. Those were, all told, probably why Justice objected so strongly to the drinking, from what he'd gathered.

"Yes, but it's not-- You don't-- It's different." Anders didn't really want to explain. There were things that had been done to him, things he'd done to himself, things he'd invited people to do to him. But, this one thing. It had been done right by exactly one person. It had been horrible, in the aftermath, but in the moment... He tried not to think too hard about that.

"Anders, your eyes. I've never seen that look on you before. All these years, and not once. I don't know how much of that was the drink, but if it puts that look on your face, I'll do it." Cormac wasn't sure how this had become him talking Anders into Anders's own idea, but it seemed like something that needed to happen. "I'll wash the sheets, _myself_ , when we're done. No matter how badly it ends. No matter what you get on whatever. I have how much money? If we can't clean it, we'll burn it and I'll buy you a new one. I don't even care about the sheets, the furniture, whatever."

"Why are you so good to me?" Anders asked for what was probably the hundredth time. Every time Cormac did something unexpectedly sweet, there was that question again.

"Same reason you're so good to me. Nobody fucks us like we fuck us." Cormac laughed. "That and some sappy shit about your smile. Blah, blah, warm and fuzzy."

"You're turning into a tree, as you age, Cormac. One of these days, I'm going to wake up next to a sylvan." Anders's laugh sounded a little less strained, this time.

"Yeah, but just imagine the morning wood." Cormac tried so hard not to laugh, little snorts and choked sounds sneaking out.

Anders finally sat up and just looked at him, blank-faced. "Did you just-- Really. Maker damn it, Cormac, that is the worst pun." He snagged a pillow and swatted Cormac upside the head with it.

"You walked right into it." Cormac cackled and toppled to the side, landing on his boots. "You set that one up and left it wide open. Did you really expect me not to take it?"

"You're fucking horrible." Anders landed another thump with the pillow.

"Yes, but I'm a wonderful fuck." Cormac grinned.

"Yeah, you are." Anders tossed the pillow back onto the bed and crawled up over Cormac to nibble on his ear. "Weren't we going to bed? Because this is a lot less soft than I remember either of our beds being."

Cormac laughed again, and Anders swept him up, standing to toss him onto the bed.

"Merciful Andraste!" Cormac bounced and clutched at the sheets, as Anders went to let the cats in. "I weigh like two of you!"

"Yeah, but you've been feeding me. It catches up."

* * *

* * *

Bethany had decided on the blue dress, the one with the silver trim, for her evening out with Sebastian, but when she ducked into her room to lay it out, she found Mintaka sitting in front of her wardrobe and blocking her way. His teeth were bared in a growl, the fur at his neck and back sticking up in tufts, his stare intent on the wardrobe's door. And that was new. All these years with a dog, and he'd never once growled at her clothing.

"I'm sure the furniture is very sorry for whatever it did, old boy," Bethany soothed, reaching down to stroke back Mintaka's spiked-up fur, pausing to rub a velvety ear between her fingers.

Mintaka looked at her and huffed in a way that almost sounded annoyed. There was a sound like creaking wood from the wardrobe, and Mintaka's growls turned to full-on barks. Bethany narrowed her eyes. Were her brothers up to something? "Is there something in the wardrobe, boy?" she asked, speaking loudly enough to be heard over the barking. "Alright, let's a take a look."

"Please don't open the door!" begged a voice from inside the wardrobe.

"Oh my," Bethany said dramatically, "has the furniture learned to speak?" Not one of her brothers. "Is my wardrobe possessed and possibly crinkling my nice dresses?"

Mintaka wagged his tail, in amusement, panting happily. It was what they'd come to refer to as the dog 'laughing'.

"Come out, and perhaps you'll be spared, depending on the condition of my eveningwear," Bethany commanded, winking at the dog, who barked happily.

A man eased himself out of the wardrobe, stiffly. "My legs are cramping! Please, just let me go!"

"Reach back into that wardrobe and bring out the dress that matches my eyes. It's a Nevarran cut, with silver trim." Bethany lifted her chin, gazing imperiously at this burglar who stood almost as tall as Carver. "Hang it on the door, and we will see if you will be walking away from this."

"Please, serah," the burglar began, shifting hangers and looking for something... with silver trim... that was... er... He looked back at Bethany. Blue. He thought her eyes were blue.

"That's 'messere', to you," Bethany remarked, blandly, looking bored.

"Right. Messere. Er..." He found a blue dress with silver trim. He had no idea what a Nevarran cut looked like, but at least the colours were right. Mintaka barked once more, on principle, and the burglar jumped, the hanger clattering against the door as he tried to hook it over the top. "Here. Here's your dress. Please call off your guard-dog-monster!"

Bethany looked down her nose at him, waving him to the side so she could take a look at the dress. The man shrank against the wall, Mintaka following with teeth bared. "If you're lucky, I won't call the other dogs," she said sweetly, stepping forward to run her hands along the dress. She clucked her tongue, finding the skirt and tulle underskirt crumpled at the bottom. "Look at this," she sighed, smoothing out the fabric. She narrowed her eyes, peering closer. "Is that...? Did you _stain_ my dress?"

The man whimpered. "Please, messere. I shouldn't have come here. It was an honest mistake!"

"I believe it's the definition of a dishonest mistake, serah," Bethany said, fingers flicking at her side. "But, I think I will be kind. I will give you until the count of five to remove yourself from the building, before I release the hounds."

Mintaka barked and pranced merrily, knowing exactly what Bethany was up to, as the burglar's eyes widened. The man looked around the room, watching dogs inch out from behind every piece of furniture, peeking in from the doorway. The house was full of dogs, as far as he could tell, and it was pure luck that only one of them had caught up with him.

"One..." Bethany began, holding up a finger.

The burglar bolted for the door, stumbling to avoid the illusory dogs, and Bethany followed him out, as he ran down the hall to the stairs. "Two," she called after him.

Once he was halfway down the stairs, she laughed and called out, "Five!" A horde of mabari seemed to swarm in from every doorway, and Mintaka led the lot of them after the man, as Bethany leaned on the balcony rail and cackled. The burglar ran screaming from the house, howling about the crazy Fereldan nobles and the house full of dogs. Mintaka followed him into the street, nipping at his heels.

Cormac appeared at his sister's shoulder, glaive in hand. "I heard screaming. Should I be concerned?"

"Screaming that wasn't from you, you mean?" Bethany teased, smile wide. "And no need. Mintaka just happens to be a very good watchdog."

Anton slipped out from a shadow Bethany hadn't even noticed. "What did he do? Fart on the man?" He slipped his knife back up his sleeve.

"Even I am not so cruel as to let Mintaka do that," Bethany replied, tossing her hair over her shoulder, "though that is one way to dissuade a burglar. Especially a burglar who stains my favourite dresses." She would have to send them to Anton's cleaner and take a look at what dresses had survived the assault. "Mintaka found him in my wardrobe."

Anton thought of Meredith's wardrobe and what it'd looked like from the inside. "Poor sod," he muttered.

Mintaka came bounding up the stairs, looking thoroughly pleased with himself, stump of a tail wagging. He flopped next to Anton, who bent to scratch behind his ear. "There's a good boy," Anton cooed. Mintaka flopped even further, shamelessly exposing his belly for Anton to scratch. "Putting the fear of dog into burglars!"

Cormac shook his head. "This guy didn't _ruin_ any of your dresses, did he?" He knew how Bethany was about her gowns, and he also knew how expensive they were. Maker, if they were his gowns, he'd be like that about them, too, at that price.

"Oh, I don't think there's anything that can't be cleaned, but I still have to be sure nothing's torn." Bethany sighed, quietly. "How did he get past you, Anton? I thought you were the best."

"I am the best." Anton grinned. "But, you're assuming he had to get past me to get to you, which, in this house..." He shook his head and looked inquisitively at Cormac.

Cormac sighed and realised he'd be going over the accounts again, that night. "Tell me what you want. Tell me what we need.Then I'll figure out what we can actually afford."

"Afford? We're concerned about that?" Anton looked surprised.

"Between the garden and the way Hubert's completely unable to handle the mine or the miners? Yeah. And he's ripping me off, again. Thinks I'm too Fereldan to notice. I'd say I'm not sure how he's still in business, but I know the answer to that. I'm standing right here." Cormac sounded more than a little aggrieved about that.

"Too Fereldan. Because as an Orlesian merchant, he's so much more intelligent," Bethany scoffed. "I've known indebted gamblers with better financial sense." She paused. "I've been reading your mail. I wanted to see if I could afford to skim enough to buy a new dress for Artie's wedding, before the collegium pays for the last book."

"Pay me back, and it's yours," Cormac sighed. "I just have to convince him to sell me his half of the mine, but when you consider that I own half, and I'm getting about a third of the profits, I can see where that wouldn't be an economical choice, except for the part where he's running it into the ground."

"I wonder what would happen if he died," Anton muttered, contemplatively.

"Anton, no." Cormac groaned and leaned on the balcony rail. "At least not yet."

"You know I could--" Bethany started, with a faint smile.

"Absolutely not. No. Both of you. No." Cormac held up his finger to each of them, in turn, as if he were talking to the dog. "Speaking of necromancy, do you still have the, ah..." Cormac cleared his throat. He had no idea what word went there. 'Remains' sounded too much like what they would have been, had he and Artie not been quite so upset. 'Remains of the remains' just sounded stupid. And none of them really wanted to spend too long thinking about their mother, and how all that had ended.

Bethany didn't need him to finish that sentence to understand what he was asking. Quentin. A name neither of them was about to say. "Of course," she said with a serrated smile. "In a lovely little ring box inside my dresser. Do you need it for something?"

Anton sat on the floor, arms around Mintaka, and peered quizzically up at them. "I have no idea what the two of you are talking about, and that's always a cause for concern."

"I just want to study it. Dad... I only did that once before, and not quite like, well, that. Dad didn't really let me look too much at it. I'm kind of curious about some things." Cormac shrugged, not being intentionally vague, just that he really had no idea what he was actually looking for. "It's not that important. It's just been bothering me, ever since." He shot a look at Anton. "That's funny, I'm usually concerned when I _can_ tell what you're talking about."

Anton grinned. "That's only because you don't know enough to be concerned about the rest."

"You can have it," Bethany told Cormac, waving her hand. "I haven't found a use for it, yet, but maybe you can. Hold on." She glided back into her room, face twisting at the sight of her crumpled, stained dress still hanging from the wardrobe door, and plucked the ring box from her dresser. Padding back out into the hallway, she handed the box off to Cormac. "Here you are! Consider it an early nameday present. Don't say I never give you anything."

Cormac leaned in and kissed his sister's forehead. "You're the best, Bethy. I'm going to go back to the accounts. Just yell if you need me to kill something."

"If I need _you_ to kill something? We'll be in a lot more trouble than just a burglar before that happens," Bethany scoffed. "Anton, come take a look at something and tell me if you think your laundress can get it out. That man in my wardrobe stepped on the skirts of the dress I meant to wear tonight."

"I don't think she can clean it, that fast." Anton shrugged apologetically, and stood. "Cormac, I'll get back to you about the house. I have to look at some things, but we definitely have to do something about the windows in the dining room. That's probably where this guy got in. That's where I'd get in."


	153. Chapter 153

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders decides he's actually serious. Cormac's unsure about this whole thing, but if Anders wants it, he'll do it.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Anders asked for what had to be the fifteenth time, in as many minutes. "I mean, don't... don't do this just for me."

"Anders?" Cormac set down the pitcher of water and put his arms around Anders, gently stroking his back.

"What?"

"Do _you_ want to do this?" Cormac asked. "I'm not just doing it for you. I'm doing it because of how you _described_ it. I'm doing it because the idea of making you slosh amuses me and turns me on. But, if you've changed your mind, then we just go to bed, and you do whatever you want with me, until we pass out. That always works out well."

"Usually turns out well. Not always." Anders rested his chin on Cormac's head."I don't know if I want it. That's the problem. I've only ever been anywhere near something like this while I was too drunk to see. But, it stuck with me. I don't know if it's any good, sober. I never had any warning. It's always been horrifyingly disgusting, after, but I'm a healer. There's magic and other things for that, if I'm doing this on purpose. So, however it turns out, it should be ... less disgusting than the last I don't really want to talk about how many times."

Cormac knew better than to ask too many questions. Some things, Anders just didn't talk about, and some things, Justice got a little wound up about. Either way, asking wasn't going to end well for anyone involved.

"I just want to get it out of my head. If it's good, great. If it's terrible, it'll go away." Anders sighed and stared at the ceiling. "Are you sure about this?"

"After all the times I've scared the fuck out of you, you even have to ask?" Cormac laughed, quietly. "I owe you some weird. This doesn't even sound like bad weird. We'll do it on the floor, with a blanket. Worst case, we lose a blanket. It's been five years, Anders. It's going to take more than a couple quarts of warm water to scare me off."

Anders pressed his lips to Cormac's forehead and stepped back. "Go make tea," he said. "I can't... You can't watch me do this. Just give me half an hour, and come back. I'll know if I mean it, by then. Go send flowers to Artie or something. That'll take a little bit, the way you two go back and forth."

"You take good care of my gorgeous magical unicorn," Cormac warned, squeezing Anders's hand one more time.

Anders groaned. "Get out, before I stab you with something a lot less pleasant than my horn."

Cormac got out, still laughing, and headed upstairs. He knew the things Anders didn't let anyone see mostly had some relation to templars, and the thought pissed him off more than any number of other recent events. Scared him some, too, if he was honest with himself. Less the depravity involved and more that Anders -- completely sober -- wanted something they'd done to him. But, then, it was also usually much more complicated than that.

He put on the pot for tea, not even thinking to use magic. Anders had said to take time, so there was no rush. Dried dahlia, he thought. That had always been a bit of a joke with Artemis. Usually it was dried dahlia and yellow rose. 'Sorry I made a mess.' This time, though, dahlia... agrimony, and ... vandal aria, he thought. Maybe a daffodil tied with snowdrop. 'A mess. Be glad you're not here. Not sure, but hoping for the best.' He sketched out a note and stuck it in the clip by the door. Bodhan would get to it, at some point.

Pouring himself a cup of tea, Cormac wondered how long that had taken. Not long enough. He drank the tea and paced. What he was being asked to do wasn't so bad. It sounded like the kind of thing with the potential to end in a vile mess they'd be laughing about for years, but there was nothing wrong with that, really. He was just worried about Anders's reactions. That they were doing something Anders was so completely mortified by -- because _Anders_ asked for it. Something wasn't right, and it wasn't his place to ask. If Anders wanted him to know, he'd know.

A few more cups of tea and the pot was empty. Cormac headed back downstairs, slowly, listening for any sign he should turn around. He heard nothing, and the bedroom door was closed, two cats eyeing him critically from their perches on Anders's desk. He knocked. "You good, or should I go make more tea?"

"I'm as good as I'm going to get!" Anders's voice was higher pitched than usual. Nervous. Cormac read it as a good sign. If Anders was _showing_ nerves, it wasn't serious.

Opening the door, Cormac found Anders naked, on his elbows and knees on a blanket, back bowed, book under his hands. "Waiting long?"

"I'm still warm." An anxious chuckle escaped Anders, as he closed the book and shoved it under the bed.

"Good. I like it when you're warm." Cormac smiled warmly, closing the door behind him, to keep the cats out.

"You always think I'm warm," Anders scoffed.

"You're always warmer than the _floor_!" Cormac tugged off his robes and tossed them on the bed, before he knelt beside Anders. "You want me?"

There was a pause, while Anders chewed on his lip. He nodded, finally. "I do."

"Soon," Cormac said, slowly running his hands along Anders's back. "Won't take long. You're just as gorgeous as you were when I went upstairs. Possibly moreso, in this position."

"Your increasingly randy tomcat has one request..." Anders laughed against his forearms. That was a long-standing thing, between the two of them, and the request was implied.

"Is that a fact?" Cormac asked, moving to kneel behind Anders, hands sliding down to caress that slightly-distended belly.

"Mmm, yes." Anders relaxed into it, the stiffness in his upper back softening.

"You're right. You are still warm. Andraste's tits, I just want to curl up on you." Cormac was a little surprised at how well the warmth radiated through Anders's body.

"We'd both be very wet, if you did that." Anders laughed again, self-conscious. "Is this... Are you...?"

Cormac shifted forward, pressing his length along the crack of Anders's ass. "After all these years, you have to ask?"

"I'm hopelessly vain. I like the reminder." There was a long silence, in which Anders just relaxed into Cormac's touch. "Cormac, please... I want you."

"So very impatient!" Cormac teased, calling up a bit of grease into his hand, as Anders spread his knees wider, settling down to where Cormac could reach easily.

"Don't tease me, not tonight. If you want this, just take me." A shiver ran down Anders's spine. What was he even doing? This was madness. It was beyond stupid.

"If I want this? Of course I want this. It's you." Cormac stopped spreading the grease onto himself, mid-stroke. "Hey, your idea. You sure about this?"

"No." Anders laughed against his forearms. "Do it anyway."

"Tell me," Cormac said, lining himself up, as he stroked his clean hand down Anders's spine. "Tell me what you want, and I'll do my best. I don't care how stupid it sounds -- you know how ridiculous I sound, when you get me started. Half of what I ask for isn't even possible, and I want it anyway. You cannot possibly ask for anything weirder than the things that have come out of my mouth."

"Werecat," Anders choked out, mid-snicker, and Cormac groaned.

"See? You can't beat that."

"I wouldn't _try_!" Slowly, Anders remembered how to breathe, and stopped cackling. "I want you in me, Cormac. Always feels so good when you're inside me."

Cormac pushed in, achingly slowly, caressing as much of Anders as he could reach, as he moved. "Like this?"

Anders shivered under him, soundless, but poised in a way that Cormac knew meant he was enjoying it. His hips shifted, bottom wiggling, as he pressed back against Cormac.

"Talk to me, Anders. I need to know you're still with me."

"I'm fine. It's good," Anders breathed against his forearms. "Fuck me like you mean it, Cormac."

"You taking lessons from Artemis?" Cormac joked, grinding in slow and deep.

Anders groaned. "I'm going to smack you so hard you're going to need to rescue your face from the cats."

"And I thought you were going to discourage me from saying things like that!"

The joking made it easier for both of them to do things they weren't sure of, and neither of them had any idea how this would end up, but they'd go in together. Cormac picked up a gentle pace -- slow, long strokes that ended as deep as he could get. Anders rocked back, encouragingly. They were so much different with each other, this way. No blood, no screaming, no rowdy teasing and shoving -- Cormac was always slow and gentle with Anders, in exactly the way he didn't want Anders to be with him.


	154. Chapter 154

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders isn't quite himself. Cormac struggles to keep up.

Anders shivered and shuddered, rocking back against Cormac, trying to get him to move faster. "Harder," he demanded. "You wanted to feel me slosh? It's not going to happen unless you stop being gentle with me. I'm not going to break, Cormac. Just fuck me. Hard and fast. I want it."

A faint discomfort washed over Cormac, but he leaned forward, stretching to press his hand just below Anders's shoulders. "Ask, and you shall receive," he said, giving himself time to consider the idea. It wasn't anything he hadn't done before, from both sides, but... not like this. Still, Anders knew what he was doing, and that would have to be enough.

Cormac picked up the pace, from slow and easy thrusts to intent pounding, listening to Anders's breathing change, watching the body below him react. There were no complaints, not that he'd really expected them. Not yet, anyway.

"More," Anders demanded, between ragged breaths, and Cormac shifted a bit, bracing himself for more savage rutting. "Just like that!" The words came out on breaths knocked out of Anders, with each jarring thrust.

Relaxing into the new pace, Cormac warmed his hand just a little, as he kept stroking Anders's belly. He knew Anders was touchy about fire magic, for all the obvious reasons, but he also loved to be warm, and sometimes Cormac could get away with a little bit of magic to that end. From the sudden change in Anders's breathing, he could tell he'd made a good choice. His hips jerked hard and fast, and he tried so hard not to think of how good it felt to be inside Anders, because like this, he'd only be good for a few minutes, if he let it get to him. And then he heard the first slosh, and a small, sick sound slipped between Anders's lips.

"Do you--"

"No. Don't stop. I know, but don't stop," Anders panted, grinding back against Cormac. "Just surprised me."

"You want me to talk to you?" Cormac offered, knowing that some nights, Anders needed to hear his voice, to fend off the nightmares -- even when he wasn't sleeping.

"Yes..." Anders sighed, like it was the best idea he'd heard all night. "Talk to me. Tell me how it feels..."

Cormac wished he hadn't asked. He wasn't going to be able to keep this up. "Do you have one of those potions lying around? This is what you do to me, Anders. If you want me to tell you how good it feels to be in you, I'm going to have to start feeling it, and if I do that, I'm going to come so hard you'll feel it run up your spine. You're amazing. You're always amazing, but this..." Cormac shuddered, thighs tensing. "If you want me to actually satisfy _you_ , instead of just myself, I think it's time for me to consider a potion."

"Shit," Anders panted, resting his forehead on his wrists. "It's on the table behind you. I thought of that. Just forgot to tell you."

"You sure you're all right?" Cormac asked, one more time, as he leaned back and turned, holding Anders's hip with one hand and stretching for the bottle with the other.

"You know, if you move your hand a little, you'll know how all right I am," Anders drawled, sighing against his forearms. "Stop asking. If I'm not fine, you'll know. You always know."

"The last thing I want, right now, is Justice's opinion on any of this." Cormac tossed the empty bottle onto the bed and leaned forward, again, hands travelling Anders's skin, tracing the edges of the scars on his back. "I wish," he breathed, fingers lingering just short of that horrific, drippy exit scar just next to Anders's spine. "You understand?"

"I don't wish." Anders tipped his hips up and pressed back against Cormac. "I know you know."

"I do," Cormac said, pressing himself closer to lick the length of some scars he could reach. "I love the taste of every line on you. Scars taste different. Some of them of them are like echoes, barely a taste of your skin at all. Some of them, like this one --" he dragged his tongue along a line that even after all these years, still looked thick and red. "-- taste rich and strong, almost like if I keep licking there, I'll still be able to taste you in the morning. Can taste the salt in you, the basil from your soap. All of you, every little hint and subtlety. If there were a wine that tasted like you... I'd still be right here, licking your back."

"Every once in a while, I wonder if you have any idea how weird you really are," Anders laughed, slowly relaxing under Cormac's touch.

"Mmm, every once in a while, you remind me, my gorgeous magical unicorn." Cormac rolled his hips, shivering as Anders squeezed him, gently.

"I keep telling you, you're just borrowing me." Anders rocked back, encouraging Cormac to pick up the pace again.

"From who?" Cormac slammed in hard enough to slosh.

Anders gasped and followed it with a long slow breath. "From me."

"Well, we're both in the room, so I hardly see the problem," Cormac teased.

"Speaking of hardly," Anders looked back over his shoulder. "Aren't you supposed to be fucking me hard? You're hardly fucking me."

"Waiting for the potion," Cormac admitted, grinding in slow and deep.

"It'll catch up before it matters. Just move." Frustration marred Anders's face, as he glared up the length of his back toward Cormac.

"Yeah?" Cormac purred, thrusting a few times, still wholly sheathed in Anders. "You want me? You want me to have my wicked way with you until this potion runs out and we wake up on the floor, all stuck together?"

"Please don't pass out on me," Anders panted, pushing back harder. "I do have to get up, when we're done, or this is going to get really ugly."

"I think I can at least manage to pass out in the wet spot, instead of on your back," Cormac teased, picking up the pace. "You want me to make you slosh?"

"Please," Anders gasped.

"Tell me how it feels." Cormac slammed in harder. In all the years they'd been doing this, he'd never taken Anders like this. Never this hard, never this rough, and he just needed to hear that this was what Anders wanted. Needed to hear it again. Probably a few more times, really.

"Warm," Anders choked out, between jarring thrusts. "So full. Can't explain."

Anders had an enormous vocabulary, and a healer's precision when it came to his own body. There was no 'can't', Cormac knew. 'Can't explain' was just 'don't want to talk about it', and that made Cormac impressively angry. Not at Anders, of course, but about whatever had left him like this. Templars, he expected. It was almost always templars. Still, he kept going, listening to the slosh and gurgle in the middle of every third or fourth thrust.

"Want you," Anders managed.

Cormac ground in deep and hard, watching Anders shiver and shudder, beneath him. "You have me."

"More," Anders demanded, clutching at the foot of the bed to keep from getting shoved forward as Cormac rammed into him. And then Cormac was howling his name, curled close against his back, throbbing inside him. " _Yes_! Fill me up. Give me everything. I want all of you," Anders panted.

The words filtered through the haze, into Cormac's mind. That wasn't right at all. Anders didn't talk like that, pretty much ever. Anders didn't lose control of his mouth while he was fucking, and Cormac knew all the reasons why. A chill crept up his spine as he tried to find all the requisite parts of his body to keep going. "More?" he asked, taking a moment to sort himself out. "You still all right, Anders?"

"Andraste's tits, Cormac," Anders growled, knuckles white around the foot of the bed. "Stop asking me that!" He was fine. Fine, fine, fine. And he was determined to _be_ fine, to continue to be fine, to ignore the crawling shadows in the back of his mind. Crawling, the way his skin had felt under bruising hands...

"More!" Anders shouted, half plea, half defiant growl, and he kept asking for it, kept begging for it, Cormac's name a mantra on his lips, a lightning rod, a focus. He shouted until his voice rang through the room, just to hear it bounce off the walls and back to him, just to remind himself that there were no templars here to silence him.

Cormac's skin crawled with how wrong it all sounded. Five years ago, this would have been amazingly hot, but now he was so used to Anders's silence -- Anders's pride in his own silence, that smug little smile that came after a sharp breath that Cormac knew would have been a scream. Still, this was what Anders wanted, and after all the things Anders hadn't been sure about, when he'd suggested them, he could do this.

Every plea for more was met with a brutal thrust, Cormac's hands still caressing Anders's body, wherever he could reach. One hand supported him, while the other wandered, always returning to the curve of Anders's belly. And that was strange, too. He'd gotten so used to Anders being mostly concave, a flat plane, face down, and sharp hips and ribs, when he laid on his back. And that was part of it, he supposed -- part of Anders's insistence he didn't want to be empty any more. It wasn't even some grand existential thing; he was just tired of being cold and hungry, although Cormac thought he'd mostly solved those problems.

That voice was getting to him, though. Maybe he could get used to it, if Anders decided there were times to be loud, that didn't involve shouting about politics. "Do you know how beautiful you are?" he panted, hands still wandering. "How amazed I am that you'll let me have you like this, even after all these years?" And that was a truth. That had always been one. Anders didn't have time. He had Justice. Cormac had gotten the impression -- the very direct and explicit impression, actually -- that if Anders had his way, he'd live a much less ascetic life, with a great lot more fucking and expensive dinners. But, Justice tolerated this. Tolerated _him_.

"Cormac." This time, when Anders said the name, it wasn't a shout. It wasn't a plea. It was simply a breath, a statement. And suddenly it wasn't just templar hands he remembered, and in that moment, he needed, had to see Cormac's face. He twisted, looking over his shoulder, each hard thrust still knocking anguished, needy sounds out of Anders's lungs.

"Cormac," he said again. Then, in one, determined rush, "Cormac, kiss me." A demand, a need he didn't want to think about. No more thinking. No more remembering. He just wanted to _feel_.

And that wasn't right, at all. Cormac cut off a line of thought that tried to suggest demons, as he leaned forward, eyes a little too wide. Couldn't be what Anders was asking for, though. Didn't make sense. He dotted kisses along Anders's spine, pausing to ravish a scar with his mouth. That made much more sense. That had to be what Anders had meant. Kisses, the way Anders liked them. All over his body, but never his lips.

Cormac could still remember when he learned that. It was the second or third time he'd ended up almost naked in Anders's bed, and he'd leaned in for a kiss and gotten shoved onto the floor by his face. One moment, gorgeous mage in ecstasy, the next moment, gorgeous mage's calloused hand in his face, and his ass on the floor. 'Just don't', Anders had said, and never explained, and Cormac never asked. Instead, he learned all the places Anders wanted his lips.

Anders bit back a frustrated whine. He didn't want to ask again, but he couldn't expect Cormac to understand, to rewrite years of expectations. He struggled to put the words back together, struggled to find the breath to say them a second time. "No. Cormac, _kiss me_." He twisted to look over his shoulder again, trying to meet Cormac's eyes, to tell him with a look what he meant, what _this_ meant.

"I am--" Cormac looked up and caught Anders's eyes. "Oh. ... _Oh_." That was an interesting proposition. He'd never actually tried to reach Anders's face, except with his hand, from this position. "Tip your hips up. I can't quite-- I'm a whole head shorter than you and your ass is in my way. Well, my way is in your ass, I suppose, but ..." He leaned forward, stretched forward, tried to drag himself up Anders's back, without pulling too far out, but he could hear water dribbling onto the blanket under them, when he leaned too far, and the distance was still too much. "That's not going to work, in this position, sweet thing. I'm much too short." Never 'you're too tall', which was really the problem.

Another frustrated groan stuck in the back of Anders's throat, and he squeezed his eyes shut, considered waving it off and letting the moment pass. All these years, and they hadn't kissed, so why should now be different? Except that now _was_ different, and not just because of the heavy weight of water inside him. With his eyes shut, Anders saw another bearded face, felt another pair of lips, and Anders's eyes snapped open again to banish the memory. "Then we'll try another position," he said, sounding more confident than he felt. And, really, that was a conundrum all itself: moving. "Let me... on my back, hips up." He twisted under Cormac, slowly, carefully, mindful of every slosh of water as he moved.

"You... you really mean it, don't you?" Cormac pulled out, slowly, carefully, holding Anders's hips to keep them tipped up, until they'd separated. The change in position went quickly, after that, sharp movements and grabbing hands, a few dribbles of lukewarm water. "If I lean forward, you're going to bend in the middle, you know that, right?"

But, Anders's hands were insistent, still tugging at him, as he pushed back in and eased forward, slowly and carefully bending Anders, until he could reach. The sounds told him things he hadn't realised. Cormac had absolutely no idea how much water was in Anders or how much would fit, but to judge by the sound, it had filled in spaces he hadn't considered.

Trying to keep the uncertainty off his face, Cormac ground in and touched his lips to Anders's -- just barely a kiss. A breath of warm air and a pleased gasp against the tattered lips he'd avoided for so many years.


	155. Chapter 155

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And everything falls apart... (And Cormac learns not to drink an entire pot of tea, before one of those potions.)

It was gravity, Anders told himself, gravity and the water's weight that made his insides shift. His lips pressed back against Cormac's, chasing Cormac's breath, and for a moment, the world was still. Anders's legs pressed tight to Cormac's sides, one hand cradling the back of his head, caressing his neck. Anders's lips moved based on muscle-memory, stilted, hesitant at first, before gaining confidence as he remembered. Except he remembered more than just the press of lips on lips. He remembered the rub of a beard against his chin and cheek. He remembered the smell of old books, of the lamp oil the Tranquil used, remembered the library floor under his back.

Between kisses, Anders opened his eyes and didn't see Karl. "Cormac," he said again, a reminder. He didn't notice his own tears until he heard the tightness in his throat.

"Anders," Cormac replied, quietly, drawing back just enough to get a look. He supposed it wasn't the first time there had been tears in the middle of something, between them, it was just that they were usually his, and... he'd thought something about how that lost look wasn't usually there, but realised he had no idea how he looked, when that was going on. But, there was something to fall back on, here. "Fawning or fucking?" he asked, bringing up one hand to cup Anders's cheek, wiping away the tear-trail with his thumb. "Or both? We're creative. We could do both."

Anders conjured up a smile for him, but it was a pale, uncertain smile. He stretched up for another kiss, ignoring the way his stomach rolled. "Fuck me," he purred, his fake smile almost believable now. "Make me scream again." _Make me forget_.

For a moment, as the cold shiver ran down his spine, Cormac understood the look Anders had gotten, the first few times things had gotten bloody. This really was deeply wrong -- went against everything he'd come to know about Anders. "Ask, and you shall receive," he said, hips rocking and grinding as he worked himself up to the idea. "Just..." A pained look flickered across his face, gone as quickly as it appeared. "Never mind. Nothing. Just tell me what you want. You know how I like it when you talk to me." ' _Just tell me you aren't drunk_ ,' he'd almost said, but there was very little chance of that, and if he said it -- if he doubted out loud -- this would be over. Maybe really, permanently over, and that wasn't a chance he was going to take.

Cormac's hand slid down Anders's neck, across the scars on his chest, over the pocked and stretched scar at his hip -- his fingers lingered there, which they tended to, in silent thanks to whatever gods had let this mage live. He curled his hand around the flagpole for a few long, slow strokes, before letting his hips set a punishing pace. Yet again, Cormac found himself grateful for whatever was in those ridiculous but terribly useful potions...

Anders let his head fall back, focused on the feeling of fullness, of warmth, on the sound of sloshing water inside him. He clutched Cormac to him, kept his hips tilted up, knowing his back would be sore later. He focused on that, on the physical, on the now, and shoved aside all higher thinking, shoved down the sick feeling crawling up his throat. For a while, he fell back into old habits, fell eerily silent, only to remember that he was supposed to be making noise. And that Cormac had asked him to talk.

"Yes," Anders hissed when Cormac pushed in just right. "Like that. Harder." A tortured groan slipped past his teeth. "Touch me. So full, Cormac. Make me come."

The blinding sparkles started behind Cormac's eyes, with those words -- words he'd ... maybe imagined Anders saying, but not in a very long time. He'd gotten so used to the tiny shifts in Anders's body, in his breathing, that said the same thing. "So beautiful," he panted against Anders's lips. "So very good to me." Cormac cut himself off with a desperate kiss, teeth cracking together as he slammed into Anders harder and harder. For a moment, he forgot, thrown off when the earthquake didn't come, but the thick weight in his hand, the heavy smell of herb-scented sweat, brought him back. What a strange illusion, he thought, but the thought was gone as fast as it had come.

He turned his head to the side, cheek sliding against Anders's, until his lips met Anders's ear. A nibble, a lick, then, "If I come inside you, will it fit? How full are you? How much more do you want?" It was a tease, really. Cormac knew he wasn't fucking water, any more, so there was more than enough space, but Anders seemed so taken with the idea.

Anders shivered at the words, bucking under Cormac and into his hand. "More," he panted. "I want more. Fill me until I burst." It occurred to him that, with the potion, Cormac could fill him again and again, and that was another thought that made his toes curl. Anders lost track of his words after that, let them flow out in a way he usually didn't dare, let himself shout Cormac's name again and again. Let himself pull Cormac up into another kiss as he throbbed in his hand, vision flashing white, filled with glittering stars. He gasped against Cormac's lips, let him breathe in his last shivery moans.

Cormac held himself back, tried to wait for Anders, so he could enjoy every little gasp and twitch, but the way Anders screamed his name just pushed him over, hard and fast. He tensed and gasped, the quiet one, this time, just to hear this, just to let that voice pour into him as he spilled out into Anders's still warmer-than-usual body.

The tension ran out of him, after that, and he sagged against Anders, hips still rolling, slowly. "You amaze me," he groaned. "And yes, I can, and I will, but ... even with the potion, I have to breathe, first. And no bursting. I'd be even more upset than Artie, and he'd be pissed. Give you anything that's not going to kill one of us, though."

The words washed over Anders as he panted for breath, staring up at the ceiling. He knew that ceiling, knew every knot and whorl in its beams from staring up at it in moments like this. He knew that groove there, that notch there, and he checked for each defining characteristic as reality sank in around him. He knew where he was, whom he was with, knew that had been _good_ , better than good, and yet knowing all that didn't quell the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Suddenly, Anders felt like the water had crept up and into his lungs, and he couldn't quite remember how to breathe properly.

Anders pushed at Cormac's chest, keeping his touch gentle, and offered him a smile that didn't match his wide eyes. "I think we need a break," Anders said, fighting to keep his tone light. "And I need to take care of..." He gestured at his stomach. What he needed was to be out from under Cormac, to be out of here.

"Yeah, I-- Yeah, definitely." Cormac nodded and eased himself out, just as carefully as the last time, slowly sitting up. "Sorry, I didn't think. I just fell on you. You all right?" He ducked under Anders's leg, leaving him room to stretch out, and then busied himself with his own needs, working the feeling back into his thigh, as he reached for his robes. "If you're going to ... deal with that, I'm just going to step out a bit. Nothing to do with you, just there's not enough chamber pot in here for the both of us, and I'm coming to the conclusion that it's possible to drink an awful lot of tea in half an hour." Tugging the robes on, he stopped, for a moment, before he got up, hand cupping Anders's cheek. "Really, though, I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?"

"I'm fine," Anders assured him. Maybe saying it aloud often enough would make it true. "Go. Evacuate your tea." He clamped down on his panic long enough to wave Cormac out. It wasn't until Cormac left that he realised he felt cold again, wasn't until he'd taken care of his 'business' that he felt empty. In the silence, memories tried to fill that emptiness but only left him colder.

Anders knew this ceiling, this bed, these walls, but down here, away from windows or air, it felt like the Tower. Anders clutched at his arms and struggled to breathe, until Justice stepped in and breathed for him.

* * *

Cormac spent a good quarter hour staring balefully into his chamberpot. That potion had seemed like such a good idea, when he didn't have to pee, but when it came down to it, it did make this a lot more difficult. He breathed calmly and deeply. He thought about unsexy things. But, the potion was magic, and being magic, it meant he was stuck like this for a couple more hours, whether he meant to be, or not. Which... Anders had said something about bursting, but Cormac was feeling it. Finally, some combination of breathing, stretching, and flexing things worked, after which he spent another five minutes laying on the floor waiting for the blood to return to his head. At least he'd kind of expected that part. Still, this was usually easier, when there weren't potions involved. He'd mention it to Anders, who was sure to get a laugh out of it -- assuming anything could get a laugh out of Anders, right now. That look hadn't been contentment.

Wondering how long this was supposed to take, he headed back downstairs and knocked, spotting the cats still curled up under the desk. They had that wary look to them, though -- the way they looked at Justice. "Anders? You good?"

Footsteps approached from the other side of the door, and blue light leaked out from the space between the door and the floor. "LEAVE US," boomed Justice's voice, making the cats jump. "HE DOES NOT WISH TO SEE YOU OR ANYONE ELSE. NO ONE MAY ENTER, EXCEPT THE CATS."

Cormac rested his forehead on the door, suddenly so much more tired. "Justice? Take care of him. Whatever's going on, just take care of him. I'll come back around mid-day, just to bring food and take out the chamberpot. I'll keep doing it, as long as the two of you are here. Just put whatever needs to go out next to the door, and I'll take care of it." His mother had been like this, for a while, after Lothering. He could remember bringing her food, only to have her throw it in his face, with more accusations about how if he'd done what his father wanted, they'd still have a real home to go back to. It wasn't true, of course, but she was so bad at inevitability. At least, this time, Justice would handle the worst of it, and he'd just have to fetch and carry. Not that he wouldn't, if it came to that, but... it would be much easier for Justice.

"I'm going to see my brother. If he decides he wants to see me, tell him to come upstairs." Cormac sighed and headed for the Darktown door. He didn't want to deal with Bodhan, on his way out. Not right now.


	156. PART XXXI: DIVINE LOVE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cormac visits Artemis, in the aftermath, because who else knows panic like Artie knows panic?

Artemis had just gotten the flowers from Cormac when there was another knock on the door. He squinted at the vase in his hand as Orana flit off to answer it. 'A mess'? What was Cormac up to? Moreover, did he really want to know?

Orana reappeared in the doorway. "Messere Cormac is waiting for you in the lounge, messere," she announced, folding her hands in front of her primly.

"I suppose it's too much to hope that this is a coincidence?" Artie sighed, placing the vase on the mantel, wasting a moment or two to turn it this way and that, making sure the flowers were evenly displayed. "Right. Cormac. Lounge," he muttered to himself, forcing himself to stop fussing. He offered Orana a smile and a thank you as he went off in search of his brother.

And his brother was in one piece, at least, so it hadn't been that kind of a 'mess'. "Flowers _and_ a visit? My, Cormac, you know just how to make a man feel special." One look at Cormac's expression, however, and Artemis's teasing smile softened into something more concerned. "Ah. Your flowers said you were 'hoping for the best'. I take it the... best did not happen?"

"We're both still alive, so it's not the worst." Cormac looked up from where he was leaned forward in the chair, elbows on his knees. "Justice says he doesn't want to see me. I went-- I went to take a piss, and I got back, and ... Justice. I did -- I don't-- No. I do. Look, sit down. You're making me nervous, and I'm already nervous." Cormac paused. "Okay, terrified. I don't even know where to start... It all just... I thought it was fine. I thought we were fine, and then everything went wrong." His voice was strangely calm and well-measured, eyes wide and hollow.

Artemis had no idea what Cormac was talking about, but he nodded, eyes wide. Usually it was his brother talking _him_ down, but he could do this. He hoped. "All right, just... Let's start from the beginning, shall we?" Artemis sank into the chair next to Cormac as he spoke. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, mirroring his brother's posture and bending so he could better see his face. "Did something happen between you and Anders?"

Cormac just nodded, collecting his thoughts. He took a few more breaths. "I did what he asked me to," was the first thing he said. That was the most important point to get out, before he started talking about anything else. "He's... I guess he's got a thing. Like you and your ..." he waved a hand. "Like me and mine. But... shit, how do I even... I don't want to... I shouldn't say too much. It's a little messier than your taste and a lot less dangerous, I think, than either of us likes. But, I... He put it in my head and I wanted to try it. I just... somewhere in there, I should have stopped it. I should have. Something went wrong, and I knew it, and he just kept telling me to keep going. I trusted him to tell me to stop. And he did, but... I should have stopped it sooner."

Staring at his hands, Cormac caught his breath and tried to put words in an order that made sense. "He's not hurt. If he is, it's nothing he can't fix. I asked." That seemed important -- that always seemed important. "I have some thoughts, but I didn't ask. There are things you don't ask, you know? I think -- I'm really sure, actually -- that he asked me to do something... I think there were templars, once."

That made the picture a little clearer. A part of Artie was curious to know what, specifically, they had done, but he didn't need to know and suspected he didn't want to. "And... now Justice has taken over?" He thought back to the Deep Roads, to the panic on Anders's face, the faraway look in his eyes when Bartrand locked them in. Justice, he'd surmised, was protective of Anders and tended to step in when Anders would otherwise be too panicked to act. "How long ago was this? Did it just happen?"

Again, Cormac nodded. "I went to take a piss. I came back. Justice was ... And I knew it, too, even through the door. The cats look at him funny. And now I'm here. Didn't know what else to do." He leaned back in the chair, still perched on the edge of it, hands covering his face, and his robes tangled uncomfortably and obviously in his lap. A sharp laugh slipped out between his hands. "And a bottle of liquid Warden, to boot," he laughed, bitterly. "Longest and most difficult piss I ever had to take. I just... if I'd gotten back, sooner, would it have mattered?" It occurred to him, as someone else into some extremely weird things, that 'that was amazing' occasionally degraded into 'stop looking at me', at the first sign of disgust.

A soft, pitying laugh punched out of Artemis when he noticed his brother's state. He patted his brother's arm, offering a consoling squeeze. "I don't know," he said. "But... from the dribs and drabs you've told me? My instinct is to say no." He looked down at his hands, picking the dirt from under his fingernails as he spoke. "You think the templars... did something, and that what you two did reminded him of... well. It sounds to me like physical closeness might have just upset him further. Giving him some space to himself was probably the best thing you could do." Artie hoped so, anyway. He remembered how he'd been with Fenris, the first few times after they'd had drunken sex and later when they'd tried to do it sober.

Artemis rubbed a hand over his face. "Give it time," he said. "The panic needs to work itself out of his system before we can get a good look at what we're dealing with. And that's... that's not your fault. I know you, and I know that when you say you only did what he asked, you're telling the truth. And he knows that, I'm sure, but... well, panic like that isn't logical."

"Why do you think I'm here?" Cormac muttered into his hands. "I don't know anybody who panics like you do."

Artie gave him a look that said he was less than impressed with this observation. "Thank you for noticing," he muttered.

"No, shit, not... I don't mean that in a shitty way. I'm your brother. I'm supposed to give you a hard time." Cormac's hands dropped into his lap. "I just mean if you weren't ... you, I wouldn't have known who to even talk to about this." He sighed and rubbed his face, again. "He wanted me to kiss him. I mean, yeah, I completely misunderstood, at first, because knowing him, how could I not, but... he meant it. And it was so good, so wonderful, just so much of him at once... And it was so horribly wrong, I'm not sure how he managed to talk me into it." There was a pause. "No, I know exactly how. He meant it. There's this look he gets, when he's sure of something, and I trust it, because he's always so quiet. And that's something. Quiet. Always quiet." Cormac worried the side of his knuckle with his thumb. "He wasn't quiet, tonight. It's a good thing we were downstairs, because you'd have thought he was me. Almost scared the fuck right out of me, but hey, liquid Warden."

Artemis's eyebrows inched up. Loud? Anders was never loud. "That... hm." He scratched his jaw, nails rasping against stubble. "He only ever let me kiss him once, and then I got the sense that he... was just sort of tolerating it. But he's only ever been damn near silent with me. I... again I suspect that was a Kinloch Hold thing. All those people, living in such tight quarters? Had to be quiet, right?" He shrugged. "Unlike you, even when we were all living together at Gamlen's." He gave Cormac a flat look that was anything but serious.

But Artemis chewed at his thumbnail and considered all this. "It's--This will probably sound strange, but. That honestly sounds like progress? Like he's trying to break out of certain habits, learned at the Circle." He was assuming that's where the kissing thing came from, anyway, though really he had no idea. When they were sleeping together, he'd just thought Anders wasn't that into it. "It just, it... it takes time to get over habits like that. And... every now and then, there's going to be panic."

Artemis was trying very hard not to fidget. Cormac was feeling nervous enough, he'd said, and the last thing he needed was for Artie's agitation to rub off on him. But this... All this was reminding him of his first time with Anders, his first time sober since he was a teenager. "Anders... well, he helped me get past some of my own habits, you know," Artemis went on, ramblingly. "After Mahariel, I... Well. Not everyone liked the earthquakes you know." Artie managed a weak laugh but looked at his feet as he said this. "And alcohol made it less likely to happen, if I got drunk enough. Still happened, most of the time, but. Anyway. After a while, I just sort of... forgot how to let someone touch me when I was sober. Anders helped me remember. And that? That isn't _this_ , but it still took some time. And some freaking out on my part."

He wasn't sure if he should be comparing the two, but he wanted to reassure his brother. Then again, he also didn't know how much of that Cormac knew.

Cormac watched the shift happen, watched the way Artie nearly vibrated. He reached out and took his brother's hand."Hey. Why do you think I wanted you sober, that one time? I didn't have eyes for it, like I guess you had for me and mine, but I was up late enough, often enough. I knew what you looked like, when you came home. I wasn't going to be that, for you. Couldn't do it. Everything before that? We were drunk. Ridiculously drunk. The kind of drunk where I look back and wonder how that worked at all. The kind of thing you could always just write off as too drunk to remember or drunk enough the memories must have been hallucinations. That... Maybe it was selfish, but I wanted you to remember it. I wanted you to be absolutely sure that it was real."

He squeezed Artie's hand. "And I was not that bad, at Gamlen's. Maker's balls. I was never even in the house for any of that! I know how loud I am! I subjected someone else's neighbours to it!"

The corner of Cormac's mouth tipped up. "And I like your stupid earthquakes. Shit, tonight... I got lost, for a second. Couldn't figure out why the ground wasn't shaking."

Artemis smiled, turned his hand over to take Cormac's, pulling his brother's hand up to his lips. "Thinking about me, were you?" he teased, thumb stroking over Cormac's knuckles. "And you don't have to comfort _me_ , you know. This... this was years ago. These are old problems. What I was trying to get across amidst all that rambling was that I panicked my first time with Anders, but I wanted to do it and I was glad we did it. And... it might be wishful thinking, but maybe... maybe that's what this was for Anders. I know you two--" Artemis stopped himself mid-word, then turned the half-finished sentence into a complete thought: "I know you two."

 _I know you two love each other,_ was what he was going to say. Cormac wouldn't be here, wouldn't be this distraught, over just anyone. But now was not the time to start that. "Do you want to stay here tonight?"

"Fenris would shit a brick," Cormac declared. "And I'm not trying to comfort you. Thought I might even piss you off, with that one, which I'm not trying to do either. I just-- no matter how many times I say it, or what other words I put with it, I don't think there's a way for me to tell you that I love you, and have it mean what it should mean, when I say that to you. It's not what you and Fenris have, and I'm not trying to step on his toes, and the fact that I even feel like I should say that is fucked up so far you could touch the Black City before you got near it. But, you're not exactly Bethany, either, you know? I'm not just your brother, any more. I don't think I ever was. Not just. It was always you, first. Even when Anton got old enough that I should have been looking after him, too -- but, you know how Anton's always been. Might as well politely ask a chicken not to eat the corn. I'm pretty sure I can count on one hand the number of times I've denied you anything. I just want you to be happy. Maybe that's selfish, too. I just remember, even when we were kids, you'd smile -- and you'd smile when you force-pushed me down the stairs, you little prick -- but, every time you smiled, I really believed everything could be all right, one day. But, here we are, and everything's just as fucked up as it's ever been, and you still give me that."

The rambling ceased, and for a moment, Cormac forgot to breathe. "Some people have Andraste. I've just got you."

Artemis swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. He made some stuttery sounds that wanted to be words, only to give up with a self-deprecating laugh. Maker. He knew Cormac loved him, but... that wasn't love. That was _in_ love, complete with preposition. Those were the words he'd been waiting for his brother to say to _Anders_.

"Cormac, I..." Artie floundered some more. "I... am shit with words. So I'm just going to..." He gestured vaguely and cleared his throat before reaching for Cormac's cheek, half standing out of his chair to kiss him, trying to pour all the affection he had into that one kiss. This wasn't how things were supposed to be, he knew, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

"Saying it again," Cormac mumbled against his brother's lips. "I'm not stepping on Fenris's toes. Your lover. He'll stand with you. I'll stand in front of you. You know the difference. I know you do." He kissed back, warm and gentle, some treacherous voice in the back of his head reminding him how Anders's lips had felt, not even an hour before. "You're a god to me, Artemis. Always have been. All the faith I have in good and right, you gave me. Anders may be most of my world, right now, but you are still my god, and my profoundest apologies to Dirthamen, but he's always been my second choice, which may be how I ended up with this on my face."

Artemis pulled away from the kiss to laugh against his brother's shoulder. "High praise from you, Assface," he teased, cupping Cormac's cheeks and tracing those ridiculous tattoos with his thumbs. He still couldn't quite wrap his head around the words themselves, around the depth of Cormac's affection. He wanted to believe his brother was exaggerating, but knowing Cormac... "You're not going to tattoo my name somewhere on your body, are you?" He chuckled again, only for his smile to freeze. "No, seriously, you're not, are you? Because I swear to the Maker, if I see my name on your ass..."

"My ass? What do you take me for? No, no. I was thinking about having it done in Tevinter lettering, on my knob." Cormac burst out laughing, but it was impossible to tell if he was actually joking, or if he was completely serious and just knew how ridiculous it was.


	157. Chapter 157

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Artie asks for dirty stories, and Cormac's all too pleased to tell some.

"Come sit in my lap and let me make you smile, hmm?" Cormac paused. "That sounded so much dirtier than I meant, but if that'll put a smile on you, count me and the junior Warden in. I just meant I'd tell you the other half of some stories I used to tell you I'd tell the rest of, when you were older. I deserved every force push you ever gave me for that, too. But, hey, now's as good a time as any. You're older than I was when I said it, and if that wasn't enough, I think we've already violated almost every taboo two mage brothers can break, without summoning any demons."

Artemis chuckled, leaning in for one more, lingering kiss before climbing into his brother's lap, limbs tangling. He wriggled until he was comfortable, making a point to wriggle on Cormac's knob, where it still tented his robes. "Mm, stories _or_ your knob?" Artemis purred, nuzzling just under Cormac's ear. "How about both, and then I'll _really_ smile?"

"Yes. Maker, yes. _Artemis_ , yes. You know I'm going to have to start taking your name in vain, now, right?" Cormac teased trying to tug his robes up. "How about my knob and stories about my knob, hmm? But, that edges out into exactly how wicked you want to hear. I know how very loud I can get. I know you've heard things to make you wonder..." He also knew Anders probably wasn't the only person he'd said completely bizarre and insane things to. Impossible things. Bloody stupid things, and he hoped Artie hadn't heard too many of _those_. "Anything you wished you'd been watching? I'll tell you all about it. If you like it, I'll probably let you do it to me, too."

This was easy, Cormac thought, and that thought should have disturbed him a lot more than it did. Maybe an hour ago, Anders had put a stop to that amazing, but uncomfortable, series of events, and here he was, yet unwashed, offering to fuck the neurotically clean brother he finally realised he'd always regarded as a deity. Things were just as fucked up as they'd always been, and as usual, his answer was to fuck the problem into submission -- or at least to fuck until he stopped thinking about it, which wasn't quite as useful, but there wasn't much else for this one. Not yet, anyway.

"My name in vain, hmm?" Artemis murmured, grinding down into Cormac's lap. "Are you going to start swearing by my balls now? Sebastian would shit bricks. It would be delightful!" Which, really, was asking for trouble. There he went, giving Cormac ideas. He kissed under Cormac's chin, beard rasping against his cheek, and nibbled at the soft skin there. "Tell me all your favourite stories, hmm?" he purred against Cormac's skin. "Tell me about your first time."

"Oh, blight. The very first? I don't even remember what town that was. I'll skip the first, you don't want to hear about her. The second is more your style. Right around when I got my face done, actually. I spent so much time in the Alienage, there, and yeah, okay, I am acquainted with elven... 'culture'. He was a little older, I think, not much. But, he was there. I'd come out of talking to someone, and he'd be leaning on the wall, by the door, drinking or reading or flicking rocks at birds. Didn't say anything for a long while. Finally," Cormac choked on the word and laughed, "finally, he asked me -- not even looking at me -- he asked me if it was true that shemlen had big, ugly knobs, because he'd heard stories. I laughed and told him I'd show him, if he really wanted to know. Figured it would run him off, but... I guess he was into that. Who knew? Not me. Not at that age."

He buried his face against Artie's hair. "We ended up in an alley -- you remember how I used to dress, back then. No robes. Wasn't so easy. But, oh, Artie, his mouth... I didn't know what I was doing, but I didn't have to. Once I walked into that alley, I just followed his lead. Looking back, I guess he wasn't really that good at it -- not in any traditional sense of 'good' -- slurping noises and teeth, but... teeth... You know what I like. You know what I like better than I knew what I liked, at the time. I came in his mouth and he bit me and spit on the ground. Told me that was a waste, and I'd better be wiling to give him something, now that I couldn't give him that."

"Oh, Artie, shit, it was terrible. Not in the actually bad way, but in the 'I am so hideously embarrassed to even have this story to tell' way." Cormac laughed against the top of his brother's head. "I was going to get down on my knees, because that was what he'd just done, and I didn't know any better, and then..." He laughed again. "You remember that alley in Lowtown? A lot like that, but with less lube. Spit and wood-wax, I think. Hurt so bad, when he shoved into me, that I nearly came again. I felt it through my whole body, like a new kind of magic. I checked a couple of times to make sure I wasn't casting. But, he pretty much just jerked himself off with my ass, and left me leaning on the wall, aching hard all over again -- you know how it was, when we were young. He's tying his pants on, and I asked him if we could do it again, when I came back the next day." He laughed again. "Spent most of that month in that alley, and then we left town."

Artemis cackled against Cormac's neck, reaching down between them to lazily stroke Cormac's knob. "That's two of us, then, buggered for the first time by an elf's... 'culture'." He snickered again and nipped at the corner of Cormac's jaw. "You were there for my first time. Well, sort of. Outside the aravel, with the rest of Theron's clan." And, Maker, how stupid had that been? His ears and cheeks turned red even as he thought about it. "I mean, we fooled around a bit before, but hadn't gotten to the, ah, earthquakes yet. Did you know he thought that was a 'shem' thing? Seriously. Last time I saw him, he told me he'd thought we all made the earth shake." And that was another thought that had him cackling again. Poor Theron, trying figure out what he was doing wrong. "But that first time. Maker, that first time. He held me down, and I had to bite my lip to keep quiet. I knew you were on the other side of the wall. Even then, I think I wanted you to hear me."

"If I knew you then, like I know you, now, I'd have wanted to hear you. I'd have been listening for it. Shit, Artie, I don't know if I'd remember half as many of those stories, if I'd been struggling to hear you get fucked." Cormac ground against Artemis's hand, nuzzling his cheek. "You know, I do want to hear you, one day -- really hear you. Maybe it should just be us. No one watching. No one to quiet yourself for. I adore every sexy little sound you make, but... the way I can always knock a shout out of you, right before you come... I know you're holding back. I want to hear everything. Every moan, every gasp, every ridiculous thing you're trying not to beg me for. I don't need you to get loud -- I'm loud enough for both of us. I just want you to finish those little sounds you try to swallow."

"Maker, Cormac," Artemis breathed, squeezing his knob nearly too hard. "But you know, it's usually less about who's watching and more about the neighbours. I have manners." Maker knew poor Orana had walked in on and heard enough mortifying things. "Or do you plan to bring me out to some secluded part of the wilderness and have your way with me out there?" Which... sounded lovely, if a bit messy. He still doubted he could be as shameless as Cormac, but he could try, if that's what his brother wanted. He picked at the laces to his trousers, moving perhaps a bit more than necessary in Cormac's lap. "Tell me another story, brother-dear." He took his hand off Cormac's knob long enough to push his pants down past his hips.

"Out in the wilderness? I thought you didn't like all the dirt out there... But, you know, if you like, I'm sure we could find someplace quiet. Like the cellars. Yours or mine. There's always the room no one's using in my cellar. The one we offered to Fenris? I turned it into something else. You can't tell it has doors, any more. They look like any other part of the wall. I put it in, in case of templars. If they can't find us, they'll assume we ran. Buy us a couple of days, at least, to get out properly and conveniently. Point is, there's no one to hear you, down there. Nobody's going to walk in accidentally. I suppose Bethany technically _could_ , but if she did, we'd have much bigger problems than your pants being around your ankles. Also solid enough that you don't have to worry about the wine cellar, and in that kind of ground, you probably won't even wake up Anders." Cormac wrapped his hand around Artie's knob, stroking firmly and slowly, with the faintest hint of electricity. "Assuming, of course, you didn't want Anders watching us."

Cormac kept his hand moving as he ground against his brother with one less layer of cloth in the way. "More stories? Mmm. What about -- no, not that one. Hm." He'd almost suggested a story about Anders, but he couldn't find it in himself to talk about those early nights, in the back of the clinic. The times Anders had called him the wrong name, and then kicked him out. But, he'd just kept coming back. Still, there was one... "How about the first time I convinced Anders to give me the flagpole, hmm? You want to hear about your big brother getting rammed too full to breathe?"

Artemis pulled back enough to see Cormac's face, to read the look in his eyes as he mentioned Anders. He tried not to let his concern show and didn't stop moving, rutting up into Cormac's hand, his own hand still moving, fingertips crackling now with electricity and following his brother's lead. Despite his concern, for Cormac and for Anders, Artemis loved the thought of talking about someone they'd each been with, someone they'd shared. "Tell me," he said, a bit breathlessly.

Squeezing Artemis's knob just a bit tighter, Cormac circled his thumb around the tip, electric sparkles flickering from his skin. "I got him drunk. Justice didn't like it, but about once a week, I'd get him drunk. Always in the middle of the night. Always whatever fuckawful bilge the Hanged Man was passing off as liquor. And I never brought liquor, if I couldn't bring food. I'd feed you and mum, and then I'd feed Anders. I knew Anton could take care of the rest of the family -- but enough of that."

Cormac's eyes squeezed shut as he re-focused, enjoying the feel of Artie squirming in his lap. "I was there almost every night, for a while. You remember. But, that night, I did him like he loves to be done, slow and hard. I remember he'd always lay on his side, wanted me to take him from behind, while he sucked on my fingers or I rubbed his belly. We were always half-dressed. Never knew when someone might walk in -- it was Darktown. No doors, just curtains. I got him to go twice, before I fell to the charms of his lovely body. He was thinner, then. I was always so afraid I'd break him." Cormac laughed. "You know he throws me around, now, like I weigh nothing. Soon, I'm not going to be 'the mage with the nice shoulders', any more."

"But, twice. And I knew it wasn't enough. Couldn't be enough. Not my first Warden, but I don't think you were there, for that. Or maybe you were. But, I knew he wasn't done. And I knew he was going to lie there and keep stroking himself off, while we talked, because that was how that worked. And every time, I'd offer, and every time he'd turn me down. Never a reason, just 'no'. I didn't ask. Wasn't my business. Until that night." He kissed Artie's neck, nibbling at the pulse points, as he tried to remember how to tell the story around all the ugly parts -- he'd forgotten how much of that time was full of fighting and sickness and the echoes of people who hadn't made it out. Artie had been there for it, too. He didn't need the reminder. After a long lick behind Artie's ear, Cormac went on. "He told me the whole story about the flagpole, which I'm sure you've heard, with the Wardens and the flag and the roof... And he told me he wasn't drunk enough to do that to me, and he wasn't sure he'd ever be that drunk again. Of course, _me_. I took that as a challenge. Told him he wouldn't be my first Warden, which he knew, but ... he's missing a lot of little things, around then. Told him how much I ached to be hurt, how much I loved waking up still raw -- thought I went too far, when he got quiet for a bit. Couldn't see his face. Somehow I talked him into it."

"Grease, and his hands... But, _you_ know. I was so slick and loose, when he finally let me slide down his pole -- wasn't really what I wanted, but it was a step forward. Maker's balls, Artie, I'd never felt anything like it. I'd had bigger, but only from Isabela, and those were cold and ... you know the difference. But, he was thick and warm, and I could feel his pulse. Nobody's ever fit inside me the way he does. It's like his knob was cast from my ass, and I could feel it right from the first time I had him in me -- part of why I have the marble flagpole, so that when he leaves me, I won't be left without." Not if, _when_. They'd never approached this as anything but temporary. All things ended, in their time, and only fools insisted otherwise. Anders had somewhere else to be, even if he wasn't sure where it was, yet, and Cormac had known that from the start. "But, I rode him, until I couldn't make my legs move, and begged until he rolled us over and kept going. It was the first time he'd heard me get that loud, but it was so good, I couldn't help myself, even if the room did echo like an amphitheatre. All of Darktown knew he got some, that night. But, once he knew I meant it -- once he could tell how much I wanted it -- he just had me, hard and rough and desperate, like he was making up for all the time without. Hour after hour of it, and I screamed for him all night -- more, harder, deeper." In all honesty, Anders had fucked him like a man possessed, like a man trying to chase his demons out with the pounding of someone else's pulse. And that was something Cormac had been terribly familiar with, at the time.


	158. Chapter 158

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hot bath is the answer to so many things.

Artemis closed his eyes, his sigh a gust of breath against Cormac's ear. He remembered how Anders had felt, how deep he'd taken him that first time, how hard it had been to walk after but how terribly worth it. He remembered that time on the couch, the three of them moving in tandem with each other. "I rode him the first time, too," Artie murmured. He paused to nibble at the shell of Cormac's ear. "He was so careful with me. So slow and gentle, like I was something precious he was afraid to break." He usually liked it rough, but that time, 'rough' hadn't been what he needed. "I kept thinking about how you'd been with him the same way, that you knew just how deep that flagpole went and how good it felt." Though really, at the time, he'd been trying hard _not_ to think of that, the same way he'd been trying not to think about how Fenris had felt and sounded.

And now, Artemis wished there was something he could do for Anders but knew he needed space. Cormac, however, needed a distraction. "Fuck me, Cormac," he growled, the twist of his hips, the motion of his hand growing more insistent. "Or would you like me to fuck you?"

Cormac opened his mouth, and the words just tumbled out of him. "Let me adore you, little brother. Let me worship you with my body, with my hands, with my mouth. Let me praise every moment of joy you give me -- but, I should probably try to keep that at least a little less loud, if you're worried about the neighbours." The corner of his mouth twitched, and he looked away. "Just please don't fall apart on me. I don't know if I can take it twice in one night." His breath caught in his throat. "And do you know why he treats you like you're precious? It's because you are. Maybe you're not as delicate as either of us is afraid of -- you've survived my stupidity long enough -- but you're ... you're you, and it's all I need you to be."

Artemis still didn't quite know what to do with all the adoring words pouring out of Cormac, but he let them wash over him. "Not going to fall apart, Cormac," he murmured, pressing a kiss to his brother's cheek. "Whatever you want. Whatever you want, it's yours." Artie pulled back to press their foreheads together, his free hand gentle on the side of Cormac's face. "And there are rooms with beds, you know, if you prefer that." He grinned.

"As long as it's not Fenris's bed, I'm entirely in favour of beds. Possibly also baths." Cormac grinned wickedly, as a thought occurred to him. "What if we wash first? And then, maybe you'll let me rub oils into your skin... I've learnt some things from Anders, you know. And then... Then perhaps I'll really make you smile, at least between all the gasping and choking on my name. I'll leave you needing another bath and too worn out to get up and take one. And maybe, if I can still get my legs under me, I'll carry you back to the bath and rinse you clean. I'll even sleep in the wet spot, if you'll let me stay with you, which I know I shouldn't. It's not my place."

"I already told you you could stay," Artemis murmured, bumping Cormac's nose with his. "And this house is full of rooms I never use. A few with beds, in them. Seems a waste, really." He grinned, kissed his brother one more time and slid off his lap, letting him go and pulling his trousers back up, tying them loosely around his hips. "Come on." Artie took Cormac's hand and led him upstairs, nudging him towards the guest bathroom. "I'll send Orana out for a bit. Get the bath started?" He gave Cormac's ass a promising squeeze and disappeared back downstairs for a few minutes.

Cormac argued with the pump, until the water ran freely. He took his time examining the little extras in the room -- soaps and oils in scents he doubted were his brother's or Fenris's. He picked a soap that smelled like some sort of orange, and left it on the side of the bath, as he warmed the water. Always just a little too hot, because he loved the feeling of lifting his arm out of the water, into the cool air, and watching the steam rise up off his flesh. One of those foolish things he'd been doing so long, he sometimes forgot not to. Anders was much less fond of scalding baths. And Artie... Cormac realised he had no idea what temperature his brother liked a bath. It had never been important, when they were young and throwing themselves into rivers.

The tall cupboard beside the mirror contained towels, and he shook two for moths, just to be sure, since Artemis had said the room was unused. When nothing fluttered out, he set them on the edge of the washstand. By the time his brother returned, he was in the water and half-clean -- clean enough he didn't smell like Anders's sweat, which seemed like something of a loss, really. Maybe this hadn't been the best idea.

"Hey." Artemis returned, approached to card fingers through Cormac's hair. He pulled off his tunic and folded it, placing it next to the towels. The rest of his clothing followed in similar fashion, folded and stacked neatly off to the side. Kneeling next to the tub, Artie slid his arms around his brother's shoulders and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Do you still want this?" he asked, seeing the lost look in Cormac's eyes. "It's okay if you change your mind. We could just get clean and go to bed. Just to sleep. Or we could pull the covers up over our heads and make up ridiculous stories like we used to when we were kids." He chuckled at the memory.

Cormac's eyes squeezed shut, and he took a long moment to answer. "Just get in here and wash your hands before you accidentally lick your fingers. You'll kill me." He lifted his own hands out of the water and rubbed them over his face. "I just grabbed my robes and ducked out, you know? Didn't think I was going farther than upstairs, but... You, ah..." He coughed awkwardly. "If you don't want to do this, just tell me. I know it's not really your thing. But, wash your hands, first."

He always assumed, when someone offered him an out, that they wanted it for themselves, but didn't want to be seen as the one who'd backed out. So, he turned it, like he always did.

"Of course, if you're still in, I could wash them for you. And when we're done, and we're too tired to move, we can tell stupid stories until you pass out in the middle of a sentence, like you used to do. You'd say the weirdest shit, when you started to fade. I'd keep pinching myself, just so I wouldn't miss all the half-asleep rambling about elves and explosions, or the snake that was really a fruit, or whatever it was you were on about that time." Cormac laughed and dropped his hands back into the water, grinning at his brother.

Artie chuckled against Cormac's shoulder, feathering one last kiss to the skin there before pulling back. "At least I had the excuse of being half asleep," he replied. "You say the weirdest things even when you're wide awake." Artemis climbed into the tub, nestling between Cormac's legs and wriggling until his back was flush with his brother's chest, and he melted into hot water and against hot skin, feeling Cormac's chest expand with every breath. "And of course I'm in, you dolt," Artemis said affectionately, squeezing his brother's thigh underwater. He kept his hands submerged, wondering why Cormac was so insistent on his washing them, even though he was certain he didn't want to know. Even though he was certain it had to do with whatever he and Anders had been up to.

"At least I usually have the excuse of being fucked within an inch of my life," Cormac laughed, picking up the soap and lathering his hands, before he stroked them down his brother's chest, gently caressing and kneading the flesh. "I love that you're willing to spoil me like this. Not that I'm not just as happy to throw you down and have my way with you, but... I don't want that to be the only way you remember me, when I'm too old to keep up with your reckless, youthful lusts." He nibbled, teasingly, behind Artie's ear, and wondered if that was something he'd picked up from Anders. He couldn't remember when that had become something he did, but he knew he'd started doing it more with Anders, at the very least.

Artemis chuffed, arching into Cormac's touch. "You're giving me a hot bath and a massage, and I'm the one spoiling _you_?" He shook his head before scooching down so he could rest his head back on Cormac's shoulder. "If that's all that's involved, I'd be happy to spoil you on a regular basis." He sighed, eyes sliding closed as he focused on those hands, on those kneading fingers and the warmth they trailed down his skin. A pleased hum rumbled in his throat.

"If you fall asleep in this bath, I am going to be so disappointed." Cormac lathered his hands again, this time working his way down Artie's arms. "And yeah, you're the one spoiling me. This whole thing is still so weird, but... so are we. I don't know if I'd ever have looked at you quite like this -- I mean, it's not like there's a great lot of naked statues of Andraste, either -- if you hadn't ... I don't even remember. We were drunk, but I know it was you."

He scooped up water and poured it down over Artie's shoulders. "Scared me. Scared me bad. But, you wanted me, and I wanted to see you smile. I have no regrets. Still worries me, sometimes, like this means I've failed you, somehow, but after everything we've been through, you still smile at me, and it still means everything." Cormac tipped his head down and kissed his brother's neck and shoulder. "And apparently, I have very sexy taste in gods, which I will never be sorry about."

Artemis grinned, tilting his head back and offering Cormac the rest of his throat. "You'll find no arguments here," he murmured. "Though half of me keeps expecting the Maker to strike you down for saying stuff like that. A bolt of lightning or something, and not the sexy kind. A smiting from the Maker. But maybe you're already smitten." He tipped his hips back, reminding Cormac and his knob that was definitely still awake. "And you haven't failed me, Cormac. I don't think you could." There was a part of him that still blamed himself for this, for starting something his brother had never even considered, but this wasn't the time for guilt or regrets, not from him.

"The Maker would have to be paying attention, in order to smite me. You heard the Grand Cleric: the Maker drags his ass about everything. I'll be long dead before he can be bothered." Cormac lifted one hand to tug his brother's hair, licking that long expanse of throat. "Have I not failed you, then? Broken some sacred trust, in leading you to lust for the feel of me, deep in you?" Cormac was only half-serious, and he played it off as a tease, his other hand, still soapy, sliding along Artie's thigh, only to stop just short, fingers flicking up along one hip, instead.

Water sloshed as Artemis squirmed. "Nope, haven't failed me yet," he murmured, smirking. "I think the number of earthquakes you've caused can attest to that." He ran his hands along Cormac's thighs, squeezing the taut muscle there. "But you're welcome to ask me that again later." He arched back more insistently, hips moving in small circles. He would let Cormac do as he pleased tonight, but it was a request for him to stop teasing.

"I'm sure there's at least another hour in this potion. Do you want me to see how many more earthquakes we can get in that time?" Cormac purred, fingers trailing up to tap a small spark against Artemis's nipple, just above the water line. "Do you want me inside you until I can't keep it in? Do you want me to lick you and suck you and put my fingers into you, until you scream for me? Will you make the earth shake for me, my lovely god, if I pray to you all night?" His hands darted and teased, a flick of fingers here, a quick squeeze there. "Of course, you're in my lap. If you want me to move, you might have to get up, first."

"Maker, Cormac," Artie breathed. He could listen to brother's insane, filthy suggestions all day. "Or should I be using my own name instead of the Maker's? No, I'm _your_ god, not mine." He twisted in Cormac's lap, water lapping against the edge of the tub as he moved. He nipped at Cormac's lip. "Do you want to try to beat Fenris's record of most earthquakes in an hour? I believe his was four, but it was hard to count after three. That and the last one barely rattled the bed." Artemis shivered at the memory. That had been a fun night.

Artemis climbed out of the tub, grabbing a towel, and Cormac followed him out, spreading the second towel onto the floor, as he moved. Cormac sank to his knees on one towel and tugged the other one out of his brother's hands. "Let me," he pleaded, gazing upward, as he started to thoroughly dry one leg, from the bottom up.

Cormac pressed closer, as he began to dry the other leg, licking Artemis's knob into his mouth, with a low purr that vibrated through his tongue and the flesh he pressed against the roof of his mouth. His hands kept working, turning the towel so he was always using the driest part, as he rubbed the water off his brother's warm, soft skin. His lips and tongue worked just as hard, and little sounds of contentment buzzed along his tongue, as he licked and sucked.

Artemis clutched his brother's shoulder, his breathing growing heavier. There was a joke in there about Cormac worshipping on his knees, but it got lost somewhere in the swipe of a tongue and Artie let out a soft moan instead. "Look at you, even keeping my floor dry." He tugged teasingly at Cormac's hair, twisting the wet locks around his fingers. "You always take good care of me, don't you?" The tone was teasing, but his eyes were soft.

With an affirmative hum, Cormac looked up longingly. He might have looked like any number of paintings of the faithful, except the part where he had a wizard's knob in his mouth. Flicking the towel up, he hooked it over Artie's shoulders, using it for balance as he stood, dragging his tongue up the length of his brother's body, before ending up in a breathy kiss, as he pulled Artie tight against him. "Will you let me carry you to bed, just as we are? Mind the rest in the morning?" He traced one sparking finger up Artemis's spine.

Artemis shivered at the touch, wrapping his arms around Cormac and pressing as close as physics would allow. His gaze cut to the side, flitting over the tub full of dirty water, the wet towels, the bath oils that needed to be put back. The mess, however small, was an itch under his skin, but he smiled and ignored it. "You can do whatever you want with me tonight, brother-dear," Artemis murmured against his brother's lips. A dangerous promise, especially with them, but he meant it. "Guest bedroom is the next door on the left."

Artie suspected Fenris would be home soon from Donnic and Aveline's, but he would explain the situation and make it up to him later. Cormac needed him tonight.


	159. Chapter 159

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris comes home to two naked Hawkes in the guest room.

Cormac tucked Artemis's hair behind his ear, with one more awed and longing smile, before he hefted Artie onto his hip, with a smirk. "Put your legs around me, so I don't trip on them."

"You're lucky I've got such nice shoulders," he muttered, opening the door with one hand, as he held Artemis up with the other arm.

"You know why I'm older?" Cormac asked, stepping out into the hall. "It's so I'd be there, waiting for you. So I'd be there before you wanted or needed anything. So I'd be ready to look after you -- and I've done kind of a shit job of that, but it's not like being your high priest came with an instruction manual, which, you being you and all, it should've." Turning his head, he kissed Artemis thoroughly, before gently setting him on the bed and kneeling on the floor, between his feet.

"I think being me should have come with an instruction manual," Artemis replied with a wry chuckle, sliding his fingers into Cormac's hair, combing back the wet locks. "And you haven't done a shit job of it. I'm here, aren't I?" He still wasn't quite sure what to do with the adoring look in Cormac's eyes, but he smiled back because Cormac said he liked seeing him smile. "Not dead. Reasonably happy. Those are both good things, last I checked." Even if a part of him kept waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Not dead is kind of the minimum expectation," Cormac pointed out, muffling a laugh against Artemis's thigh. "Oh, shit, my hair. I got my hair wet." He tipped his head back and ran his hands through it, casting, as his fingers worked through the damp tangles. "All these years, and Anders has never seen my hair dry itself. I don't think he even realises it's not actually straight." It would be dry, straight, and slightly oily, when he was done with it, though. After so many years, it only took a minute or two to cast the spells to make his hair do what he wanted it to, instead of what it thought it should do.

Snickering, Artemis sank his hands in Cormac's hair again once he was done, finger sliding through silky strands. "You should let him see it, just once," he said. "It's... an experience. You know, Anton and I used to make bets on who could fit the most coins in your hair before you'd notice. Makes me glad I take after Mum in that area." Artie bent to press a kiss to Cormac's forehead, to the bridge of his nose, legs wrapping around him and pulling him closer.

"'An experience'. It's my hair, you little shit. And that's exactly why he doesn't get to see it." Cormac stood up, letting the motion knock Artie back onto the bed. He knelt on the edge of the bed, leaning forward, and pulling Artie with him, until they were both squarely on it. "And that was it, wasn't it. Dad did my hair and you couldn't tell the two of us apart, you and me. We were like twins. And then you got pretty and tall, and I got bulky and dark."

He stole a kiss and sat back, still between Artemis's legs, bending one of them to take a foot in his hands. And then came the trickle of thumb presses and electricity tricks he'd learnt from Anders. This was one of those occasions where he'd bring out all the tricks. And, yes, Fenris would probably kill him, in the morning, but the night would be worthwhile.

Artemis let out a pleased hum, his toes pointing at every shiver of electricity. He remembered Anders touching him in a similar way, knew Cormac must have picked this up from him, like Fenris had. "Which one of us is being spoiled again?" he murmured, lips quirking up, eyes lidded. He touched Cormac's leg with one finger and sent a spark of his own through it.

"Me," Cormac purred, knees drifting out as the spark shot up his thigh. "Absolutely me." His hands worked up along Artie's leg, loosening the muscles. "If I turn you into a very attractive pool of goo, am I going to get stuck doing all the work?" he teased. "Not that I mind, but I like to plan a few steps ahead, at times like these. I don't need you to get rough with me, tonight. If you want to, I'm absolutely for it, but... I just need you."

"You have me." Artie arched up to press another lingering kiss to Cormac's lips. "And this incredibly sexy future puddle is at your whim. How do you want me, hmm?" Artemis's hands trailed over Cormac's chest, his shoulders, his arms, mapping out the muscles there, outlining their shapes in sparks of lightning. He would even bleed his brother tonight, if it were asked of him. "Anything, and it's yours." And he knew better than to make promises like that, but that didn't stop him.

Cormac looked away, hands working their way up Artie's other leg. "Just some sappy shit, I don't know. Anders tells me I'm turning into a sylvan in my old age. Not that he gets to talk about being old." Cormac laughed and shook his head, still not looking at his brother. His fingers worked into the muscles of Artie's thigh. "Just keep up with me, hmm? And if you hate it, whatever it turns out to be, just tell me, or I'm probably going to do it again." He knew what he wanted, but he wasn't drunk enough to ask.

Artemis hooked a finger under Cormac's chin, tilted his face up to look at him. He waited until Cormac was looking at him before he said again, "Anything." His thumb traced Cormac's lower lip. Legs and arms pulled Cormac closer, winding loosely around him until they were practically one creature with eight tangled limbs. "I love you," he purred against his brother's ear, nuzzling Cormac's cheek. "You know that, don't you?"

"Yeah," Cormac breathed, finally, rolling over and pulling Artemis onto him. "Yeah, I know. Sometimes, I just get stupid. I don't forget it, but I forget what it means." He sighed and kneaded Artie's back, electricity and a bit of grease following his fingers. "You. Just you. You know that? I might make questionable tactical decisions, sometimes, but I always think of you, first. That fucking ogre. I couldn't get that many shields up, that fast, but I could get in the way. I just didn't want to see you hit it, and not hit it hard enough. I knew Bethy could get it, but she's slow. You're not. And if you hit it and didn't take it out in one, it was going to kill you, and that was the only thing in my mind, when I went charging in there like the stupid git I am. You were the important one. You mattered most. And you still do." Cormac's hands finally met his brother's ass, and the kneading continued, unabated.

"You _are_ a stupid git," Artemis said, both fond and exasperated. His hips rocked in time to Cormac's kneading hands. "You know if anything had happened to you, I wouldn't have forgiven you? 'Punched to death by an ogre', that would have been your memorial, and I would have let Anton pee on it." His hands framed Cormac's face, thumbs stroking tattooed cheeks. "If anything ever happened to you, I wouldn't know what to do with myself."

Another lazy, lingering kiss, and the press of Artie's hips grew more insistent. He traced one sparking hand down Cormac's side to squeeze at his hip. "I want you," he murmured against Cormac's lips.

Cormac's legs wrapped around his brother's sides. "Take me," he breathed, before he could say anything else, before he could think twice about it, before he could decide he was asking for too much. This was what he wanted. He wanted to be wanted, more than anything, in that moment, and as a close second, he wanted Artemis inside him. It was terrible and selfish, and as far as he could tell, not at all what Artie usually liked -- at least not from him -- and if that didn't just make him the shittiest freshly-named high priest ever to take up the standard of a god, he wasn't entirely sure what would. But, Artie had said 'anything', and this was...

He tried to convince himself the doubt was because of Anders. Anders had talked him into it, and then he'd talked Anders back into it, and then... Well, this definitely wasn't Anders he was in bed with, now. Bad decisions. He was a master of those, and this would be another one.

But Artemis had been waiting for him to ask, and while he did prefer things the other way, this wasn't about him tonight, not really. Artie took Cormac by the chin, tipped his head back and to the side to nip at his throat. "Anything," Artie sighed, a third time. He slid his palms along Cormac's thighs, then down and around to squeeze his ass as he ground down into his brother. "Your god is happy to oblige." Still nuzzling and licking the line of Cormac's throat, Artemis pulled one hand free to reach between them, teasing over his brother's knob before reaching lower, one finger circling his entrance before pushing in.

"Grease?" he asked, just in case, as he took his time stroking Cormac's insides. He knew his brother usually liked it rough, but tonight seemed different. Tonight he seemed to be hurting enough.

With a quiet laugh. Cormac almost dismissed the idea. "This is-- Oh. For you." He slipped a hand between them and wrapped it around Artie's knob, casting as he stroked it. "Don't want to do anything as, ah, painful as last time." Not that Cormac couldn't heal little tears like that, just that he didn't really want to do anything that was going to mean he'd have to. Hurting Artemis was the last thing he'd meant to do, even then.

"Does that elf tell you how wonderful your hands are?" he asked, writhing at the touch against his insides. "Because your hands are amazing. Your fingers feel so good."

Artemis grinned against Cormac's collarbone, arching into his brother's touch. "Oh, he does," he purred between bites, a tease of teeth against his brother's shoulder. "You should hear the noises he makes when I touch him like this." He curled his fingers in a way he knew Fenris liked, twisting until he wrung a similar reaction from Cormac. "Right here. Or when I do like this." Artie sent a jolt through his fingers, then another, stroking little pulses of electricity into Cormac. "We spent a whole night like this once, just my fingers inside him. He almost shook the bed as much as I do."

It took Cormac a very long time to manage a sentence, beyond the stream of little pleas for more. His head tipped back, baring his neck even further, as he squirmed and pushed back against those fingers, his own hand still stroking slickly over his brother's knob.

Fenris could hear the sounds, as he came upstairs. Cormac was never quiet, even if this was much quieter than he'd usually known the man to be, but he knew that voice. He checked his and Artemis's room, first, and was relieved to find it in the state he'd left it -- empty of extraneous mages. The sound let him pick a direction, and he found the right room, easily, as they'd left the door open. Artemis must have sent Orana home, for the night. That, or they were both extremely drunk. He waited, in the doorway, for some sign of what he was meant to do with this situation.

Artemis was too caught up in Cormac's touch, in the delicious sounds Cormac was making in his ear, to see Fenris in the doorway. He took his time teasing his brother, purring in reply to every plea he made. "I love the sounds you make," he said. "And this just from my fingers." Another jolt, and Artemis slid his fingers free, guiding his knob to Cormac's entrance in their place. He took a moment just to tease with the tip before pressing in, agonisingly slowly. Artie groaned against Cormac's neck, eyes fluttering shut.

Fenris swallowed, shifting in the doorway, wondering if he should stay, if he should draw attention to himself or leave the brothers to it. The line of Artemis's spine and the curve of his ass were distracting from this angle.

"Oh, Artemis, _yes_!" Cormac expected to go on, pleasure obvious in the pleas for absurd and obscene things that poured out of his mouth, but his breath caught, and he wrapped his arms around his brother, holding him tight. His breathing was sharp and ragged, for a bit, against Artie's neck. "Love you," he choked out. "I love you so much."

The absurdity of the entire situation struck him, suddenly, and Cormac almost wished he'd just had a few drinks and gone to bed. But, for as stupid and crazy as this had gotten, Artemis hadn't stopped him, hadn't discouraged him, hadn't -- well, no, he'd laughed, but not in a bad way. He wondered, for one insane moment, if he hadn't been wrong to compare his brother to Andraste. Perhaps it was more correct to say he was the disciple, here, and Artemis the loving god-husband. But, that wasn't right, either, unless the Maker had also had someone else, as well. Was he really thinking about this? He was really thinking about this, with tears running down his cheeks, and his brother's knob in his ass.

A hysterical giggle slipped out as he came to the conclusion that the Maker was actually cheating on Shartan with Andraste. That or it was a very, very open relationship.

Artemis heard the hitch in his breath, tasted the salt of tears when he turned to kiss Cormac's cheek. He pulled back to look at Cormac, concern furrowing his brow. "I'm here," he murmured, his hands gentle against Cormac's hair, against his cheeks. He wiped away the tears he found there with his thumbs, bent to kiss away the next tears that fell. "It's all right," he whispered, over and over, and hoped he wasn't lying. "Cormac?"

Fenris frowned at the scene in front of him, brows knitting. This wasn't what he expected to find or what he'd come to expect from Cormac. He had the sense he was intruding, even though this was his home, his fiancé, and he backed as quietly out of the room as he'd entered it. Fenris would leave them to it for now and ask Artemis about it later.

"Sorry." Cormac choked on a laugh. "I, ah... this isn't very sexy, is it." He took a few deep breaths and gently stroked Artemis's back. "I'm just losing my mind. Don't worry about it. It's not that important. Probably won't even notice it's gone."


	160. Chapter 160

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cormac is terribly broken, but Artemis loves him anyway.

Turning his face away, Cormac coughed, and wiped his cheek on the sheets, before he returned to kiss his brother. "How have we managed not to kill each other, all these years? Well, no, I know that. I have shields and you're too cute to die. I didn't even need to want you, to know that. You were always the cute one. I may have squished your dinner into a brick, but I don't think I ever did much worse -- not on purpose, anyway. Unless you count that time I tripped you into the mud. Or that time I almost got us both killed by elves, but that really wasn't on purpose, I swear."

Cormac started to shake, and the giggle threatened to reassert itself. "None of it matters, now. You want me. I love you. I'm yours. I've always been yours. Always."

"To be fair, I've almost gotten us killed plenty of times," Artemis replied, his smile just a touch too soft to be teasing. "But like you said, you have shields, and I'm cute." He kissed his brother tenderly, sweetly, until the giggling subsided, his hands gentle on every inch of skin he could reach. "And I love you," he murmured back, though he wasn't sure in the same way. "After all these years, I still can't believe you want me, that you'd let me touch you like this." He punctuated this sentence with a thrust of his hips, moving slow and deep inside his brother. A pleased sound caught in his throat at how beautifully Cormac fit around him.

Artie set up a slow rhythm, watching his brother's face, his reactions. "Cormac," he sighed, breathing the name like a prayer.

"That I _let_ you?" The look on Cormac's face was sweet, sad, and confused, for a moment. "I belong to you." He pulled his knees up a bit, tilting his hips to let Artemis deeper inside him. "But, it didn't take much to convince me of the appeal. Watching you offer yourself to him... I wasn't so sure about watching, but you wanted me there. I'm not that into your elf. I wasn't that into you, at the time. But you wanted me there, and I just couldn't take my eyes off you." Cormac's hands wandered over as much skin as he could reach, with his legs pulled up so high. His touch remained gentle, little, lingering caresses. "And then, whatever it was you said. I don't even remember, I was so drunk. I was half sure you were joking. That you were going to tell me to get out and find you a proper pillow or a blanket, since I was the last one dressed in that room. I kept waiting for you to tell me you didn't mean it. And then you were on me, rubbing against me, almost in me so many times, and all I could think was that this was another way to give myself to you. Well, that and the part where it was really stupidly uncomfortable, and I tried to keep my mind on that, because you'd have ended me if I ruined the rug."

Artemis chuckled softly. "I think the rug would have been worth the sacrifice," he said. "I was disappointed when you didn't start screaming. I knew why you didn't, but I still ached to hear you." He shifted his hips a little more forcefully, still moving slowly but hard enough to make the mattress bounce. "Oh, Cormac. The first time you screamed for me, I couldn't believe it. The next morning, I thought I'd dreamed it." Even now it felt unreal, absurd, and Artie made note of every detail, every touch, every breath, every rustle of the sheets, every tactile bit of evidence that proved this was real. "Almost as good as when I tasted you for the first time, when you shoved so deep I forgot I needed to breathe. You were my whole world, in that moment."

Bracing himself on one arm, Artemis reached between them again, fingers light along Cormac's knob.

Cormac's eyes rolled back at the feel of those fingers on him. "Do you want me to scream for you?" The words were out before he could consider them. He caught his breath in a few short gasps, squeezing his brother tight inside him. "But, the better question might be, 'Do you dream of me screaming for you, often?' Tell me, my beautiful god, how do you dream of me?"

His eyes were bright and sharp, as he tried to stay focused on the words. He needed to hear this. It wasn't that he doubted any of it, but every time Artemis told him a little more, the edges on that terror in his chest wore down a little further. He could convince himself it wasn't some terrible wrong, because Artie wanted it -- they both wanted it. And that was something he was still coming to terms with, but the more Artie talked about wanting him, the better he could accept returning that interest. And it was always, always hot listening to someone else's stories, even when they weren't about him.

Artemis shivered at the question, taking a moment to breathe, to gather his thoughts. "I do," he groaned. "I dream of you screaming for me. I dream of you telling me just how good I feel, inside you or around you. Oh, if you only knew how often I thought of you when we were teenagers, how often I would sneak out into the woods where no one would feel the earthquakes. I'd pretend the fingers inside me were yours. You don't know how often I'd watch you, wondering how you'd taste, how many times I thought about dropping to my knees in front of you and finding out. Oh, Cormac. You don't know how much I've thought of you." He shut himself up with another kiss, this one more desperate, breathless, as his hips got away from him, picking a faster rhythm. A groan caught in his throat. " _Cormac_."

"Come for me. Come inside me, Artemis," Cormac begged, voice a little higher, a little louder. "Mark me. Make me yours so everyone knows it. I don't care what they think. I want it. I want you. Let them know you own me, little brother." He writhed and arched, before falling into the rhythm Artie set. "Fuck me. Fuck me hard and I'll scream for you. Fuck me raw, Artie. Fuck me raw and come inside me," he pleaded, hands grabbing at his brother's body. "Do you want my fingers in you, next? Do you want it for real, this time, for me to finger you until you come again? Maybe after that, I'll still have enough in me to fuck you, hard and rough. Show me I'm yours, and I'll give you whatever you want."

Artemis shuddered, choked sounds catching in his throat. He wanted to wait, wanted to last, but Cormac's words sent heat and sparks down his spine. Holding tight to Cormac's hip, he picked up a merciless rhythm, rattling the headboard against the wall with each thrust, and breathed pleas to Cormac and the Maker against his brother's throat. He tightened his grip around Cormac's knob, stroking him and sending pulses of electricity through him in time to his thrusts.

"Maker, I..." Artie breathed. "Cormac. I can't..." Words were too much and disintegrated into more choked-off moans. Artie tried to hold out, but familiar sparks flashed behind his eyes as the rest of the bed started to shake. He pressed as deep as he could go, eyes rolling back as he spilled inside his brother.

Cormac howled, head pressing back into the bed, hands clutching at Artemis's back, ass wringing the knob buried inside him. "Yes, yes, _yes_!" But, he didn't come. He was nowhere near it, really. Wasn't about him, though. It was for him, but it wasn't about him. "You feel so good inside me. How did I go so long with you close enough to touch, close enough to kiss, without ever letting you take me like this? If I knew you'd do this to me, I'd have been on my knees for you with my ass in the air, years before I got there." He tugged his brother's hand away from his knob and brought it up to his lips, kissing the fingers. This was good. Amazing, really, but ... not Anders. He loved Artemis so much, but nobody fucked him like Anders did. Which didn't matter, because he was here to sate his brother's bizarre desires that had been left untended for nearly half their lives. And that was something he could do. That was something he could feel good about.

Artemis continued circling his hips long after the bed had stopped rattling. He frowned despite Cormac's praise, knowing his brother hadn't come yet and looking up to see the distracted look on Cormac's face. Anders. Cormac had to be thinking about Anders. The fingers Cormac had been kissing slid up to cup his cheek. "Will you let me suck you off?" he asked. "I want to taste you." He wanted his brother to feel as good as he did, wanted to replace the sad look in his eyes with one of pleasure. There wasn't anything they could do for Anders tonight, and Artemis wanted to be a pleasant distraction.

"You're welcome to suck me, if that's what you want. I'm all yours, little brother. All of me. But, if you don't mind, I think I'm going to stay right here on my back, while you do it. I just can't..." Cormac's breath rushed out of him. "I can't. Not tonight." He expected Artie would be able to fill in the blanks. "But, I would welcome your mouth on any part of me. Your mouth, your hands, your knob, your ass... If you want to touch me, I'm here. I'm yours."

Cormac reached up to tuck his brother's hair behind his ear. "So, yes, by your holy aching balls, suck me as much as you like. _Please_. Just... try not to be upset if there's no 'off'. One, I already came twice tonight, so I might be empty, and two... I don't know if I _can_ , right now, but as long as you're good with that, I want to keep going."

Artemis nodded, his smile soft, and he tugged teasingly at Cormac's beard as he bent in for another kiss. "Whatever you want, big brother," he murmured. Cormac did enough for him.

Pulling out of Cormac, Artie kissed a trail down his neck, his chest, nibbled on the point of one hipbone. He caressed Cormac's thighs, lowering Cormac's feet to the bed and gently spreading the knees further apart. He nuzzled the inside of one thigh, his hands still moving, still kneading, still caressing. Watching his brother's face, Artemis licked a broad stripe up his knob before closing his lips around the tip, humming at the taste.

Gasping, Cormac arched, trying to keep his ass against the bed. It wasn't the sensation nearly as much as the sight -- his brother, who was his god, so contentedly enjoying his knob. "Please don't be a demon," he joked, knowing it wasn't actually funny at all. "That would break my heart." This had really started after they'd come out of the Fade -- after they'd been tested and tempted -- and that thought still lingered uncomfortably in the back of his mind. But, it had been drunkenly hinted at -- more than hinted at -- before that, and that was how he could convince himself it was real. That and the fact that if he were in the Fade, he'd be in bed with Anders, right now. Demons would do much better to tempt him with Anders, even if he knew he'd be able to tell the difference, there.

He pushed the thought aside and reached down to stroke his brother's cheek. "Do you like it? Does the taste of me still turn you on? I remember you wringing your own knob, the first time I pushed into your mouth. By your sweet lips, I wanted to spill out across your tongue and fill you up with the taste of me. I'm still awed at the way you look at me, how much you want me. I love it when you tell me. I love it when you show me. I love it when I can make you happy."

Artie purred around Cormac's knob, eyes still on his brother's face. He pulled back until just his lips touched Cormac's knob and murmured, "You taste amazing. And I'd have loved it, you know, if you'd fucked my mouth until you came down my throat." Just the thought made him shiver. "Maybe next time, hmm?"

One hand stroked and squeezed his brother as Artie's mouth travelled lower, pausing to suck at his balls and then travelling lower still, tongue prodding teasingly at Cormac's entrance. "You're still dripping," he murmured. "Shall I clean you up, big brother?" He smiled wickedly against Cormac's skin, savouring every noise, every twitch his brother made. "You know I hate to leave a mess," he teased.

"Oh, Artemis, yes... Yes! I love the feel of you. I want--" What did he want? That was a question Cormac wasn't sure he had an actual answer to, other than 'more'. "Just-- Oh, Artie, you're killing me. Just the thought of you -- you being you -- you pushing your tongue into my ass --" The rest of that thought was lost in a strangled sound of raw desire. "I want you. I want everything you'll give me."


	161. Chapter 161

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yet more Hawkeward smut, and Fenris's opinion on all of this.

Cormac's hands clawed at his own skin, dragging red lines up his thighs and across his chest. "Even without the potion, I'd be just this hard. You do this to me. You drive me mad, you gloriously divine creature!"

Artemis felt his brother squirm, and his wicked grin turned smug. He turned his head to bite Cormac's thigh just hard enough to bruise. "Hard to drive you mad when you're already there," he teased. He paused to lick the skin he'd just bruised before returning his attention to Cormac's ass. His hand continued its lazy, steady rhythm, squeezing just this side of too hard as he licked into his brother's hole. Artemis had never tasted himself inside someone else before, and the thought alone was obscene enough to make him groan, even if he knew he'd want to wash his mouth out later. He'd do anything for his brother, especially if it resulted in Cormac making such delicious noises.

Delicious noises were the only sounds out of Cormac for a while, as his brother's tongue darted into him and flicked over his freshly-fucked hole. His brother. His neurotically clean brother was licking spunk out of his ass. As entirely, ridiculously erotic as the thought was, he felt like he ought to object, on principle. But, Artie sounded like he was enjoying it, which just made it even more appealing. That his brother had chosen to do this with his body-- A sentence finally fell out of Cormac's mouth.

"Never thought you'd be into this. That Fenris's influence?"

Artie pulled back, paused to wipe spit off his chin with the hand not busy on Cormac's knob. "Well, he and I don't, ah..." He cleared his throat, shrugging one shoulder. "He prefers my fingers. Quite vocally, too," he added with a broad grin. "But I love how it feels on the receiving end, and his tongue is..." Artemis shivered and let Cormac's mind fill in what adjective it wanted. "Well. You were there the first time he... you know." The memory turned his ears pink. He'd been on his hands and knees, completely on display for Cormac and Fenris. "And I loved the thought of you watching me. Hearing me." His other hand cupped Cormac's balls as he spoke, one finger pressing a spark to the skin there.

Cormac panted, delirious with vision and sensation, fingers squeezing his thumbnail against one nipple. He could probably _make_ himself come, he realised. The question was just how completely disgusting he was going to feel afterward. He was willing to seriously consider it, if it would make Artie smile, though.

"I loved watching you. Do you know how drunk I was? I shouldn't have been able to do anything but lie there and sulk about it. I didn't think I wanted to be watching you. I didn't think I should have been there at all, but it was... Oh, Artie, I wanted to be closer. I didn't want to want it, but I did. Kept trying to tell myself you were hot because I was hot, and we were related, so it was obvious. Couldn't admit to myself how much I wanted to feel you. How much I wanted you to bang me until I screamed, while he teased you with his mouth. But, I couldn't take my eyes off you."

Artemis licked Cormac's knob back into his mouth and hummed, all to hide the sad smile that wanted to pull at his lips. He loved hearing this, loved hearing Cormac tell him how much he was wanted, but he knew exactly how that felt, to want something he knew he shouldn't, some _one_ he knew he shouldn't. For so many years, he was afraid Cormac would hate him if he knew, that his brother would find him disgusting and he'd end up losing his best friend. Artie's hand pumped as he worshipped Cormac's knob with lips and tongue. He pressed a sparking finger into Cormac and finally introduced a scrape of teeth.

And that was the cue. Cormac's mouth got away from him -- all the things he was still considering the wisdom of just pouring out, louder and louder. "Harder! More! I can do it-- I can cheat it-- I can make it if you just make it hurt. Hurt me, Artie, just fucking ruin me! Push harder. Force it. _Make_ me come for you!" It would be revolting, if he did it himself, Cormac decided, but if Artie wrung it out of him, despite whatever was going on in his head, it wouldn't be so bad. Might even be good. Might even be _better_. He just had to want it. He just had to not think of Anders. This wasn't about Anders. This was his beautiful brother, who he loved more than life itself, swallowing his knob and finger-fucking his ass. _That_ was what he had to keep in mind.

And Artie was torn because he hated the thought of hurting his brother but loved hearing him make those sounds, loved feeling him squirm. He'd promised 'anything' tonight, and that's what Cormac would get. One sparking finger became three, shoving just this side of too rough, teeth scraping just this side of too hard. He groaned around his brother and watched his face, his mouth too occupied to beg but his eyes asking without words, trying to tell him with one look just how desperately he was wanted.

Cormac kept begging at the top of his lungs, riding the sensation, now. "Suck me! Fuck me! Give me more! I want you-- oh, Artie, I want you so bad! I want your whole hand in my ass, when I come! I want to feel your knuckles digging into me! I want to clamp down around your wrist and scream for you! Just ruin me. I'm yours. I'm yours always."

The first sob wracked his entire body. It wasn't pain -- this was a pleasant tingle, compared to how things usually went -- but, it was all too much and not nearly enough of it. This was the most simple, beautiful thing he'd been a part of. Just the two of them. Just him and his favourite brother. No one else watching. It was so perfect his chest hurt. The crying had to stop, though. The crying wasn't sexy. Shit, he was making a mess of everything again, wasn't he. "Trust the words, not my face," he choked out. "It's good. I want more. Just losing my mind. Sorry. I'm-- I'm fine. Just keep going. _Please_."

And that look broke Artie's heart, the way Cormac's face twisted, eyes glimmering with tears. Maybe this wasn't distracting or helping as much as he'd hoped, and he considered stopping, considered crawling up next to his brother and folding him into his arms. But he knew Cormac would just wave it off, make a joke out of it and try to keep going anyway. Both hands still moving, still crackling with electricity, Artie pulled his mouth off of Cormac's knob, pausing to lick swollen lips.

"Cormac, look at me," he said, watching the tears streak his brother's face. "I love you. I want you. Can you see what you do to me? Fuck, Cormac, do you have any idea how good you taste? Can you come for me, big brother?" He wanted Cormac's attention to be solely on him, for Cormac to let go just for a moment. "I want you. I want all of you." He wrapped his lips and teeth around Cormac's knob again, mouth and hands pushing everything as close to 'too much' as he could.

"Take me. I'm yours," Cormac panted, teeth grit against the noise in his head. He had to stop crying. It wasn't even bad crying. He was so ... everything was right in all the ways it wasn't supposed to be, and his body just refused to deal with it. "Take me, Artie. I know you can do this to me. I know you can make me come for you. I want it. I want _you_. I'm not kidding. Give me more. I know you don't think it'll fit, but it will. You know it will." Cormac squinted down his chest, eyes still damp, one hand still pressed against his forehead. "You, of all people, know it will."

Artemis's rhythm stuttered, pausing before picking back up again as he processed what Cormac was asking. He could understand that desire, that ache to be filled, and even if he hadn't, the promise of 'anything' still hung over them. Artie pulled back again, applied his teeth where he knew Cormac liked to be bitten and growled, "You want me? You want more of me?" Three fingers became four, and Artie prayed Cormac had the presence of mind to heal himself if this didn't go as planned. He still moved just a bit rougher than he wanted to, folding his thumb flat against his palm as he pressed deeper. "Come on, Cormac. Scream for me," he purred.

Screaming was something Cormac could do. It was nearly the only thing he could do, for a few long moments, the only words mixed into the noise 'please' and 'yes'. Cormac spread his legs wider, tilting his hips up to offer himself for more, deeper -- This was his brother inside him, his mind reminded him, the thought fluttering against the inside of his skull with every beat of his heart. He was wedged open around his brother's hand, his brother's arm. His brother would do this for him, when even Anders wouldn't, and Maker's bleeding balls, he was trying so hard not to think of Anders, right now.

His brother's name slipped into the flow of words he wasn't even sure were real words, as he screamed them. It didn't matter. What mattered was Artemis, buried deep in him, forcing him open, knuckles grinding where he wanted them most. He could feel the tingle in his thighs, his pulse against his brother's lips, but it still wasn't enough.

Artemis couldn't keep up this pace much longer. His arms were tiring, fingers cramping. Cormac had warned him that he might not be able to finish, but Artie had taken that as a challenge at first. "Do you want more?" he asked, though what he really meant was 'do you want me to keep going?' As long as Cormac wanted it and begged for it, Artemis would give it to him.

Artie didn't wait for an answer, deciding he could try one more thing before collapsing in defeat. His lips closed around Cormac's knob again, and he ratcheted up the electricity, enough to make the small hairs on his arms stand on end. A strong current shot through Cormac's knob and insides as Artemis swallowed him down.

Fenris, downstairs with a book, heard Cormac scream, that time. Not just a dim echo, but a sound that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He considered going upstairs, or maybe going to get Anders, but decided to wait. If something was wrong, he'd know soon enough. Cormac screaming wasn't usually a bad thing, except for the part where Fenris didn't much want to hear it.

Upstairs, Cormac arched, heels digging into the bed, body completely out of his control as he spurted hard into his brother's mouth. The scream went on through clenched teeth, as every delicious moment burned itself into his mind. Even if he wanted to forget, which he didn't, he wasn't sure there was enough booze or concussion in all of Thedas to wipe this moment out of his mind. As the screams faded, his hands clutched intermittently at the blanket, and his ass finally made contact with the bed again.

"Artie?" he panted, jaw still aching from how tight it was shut. "You all right?"

Artie's jaw ached as well but from being held open. He hummed around Cormac's knob before letting it slip from his mouth, grabbing a corner of sheet to wipe off his chin. "I'll live," he said with a crooked grin, a grin that didn't quite hide his wince as he pulled his hand free. He hadn't expected Cormac's hips to jerk that hard, but he'd suffered worse injuries than a wrenched wrist. And making his brother react like that was more than worth it. He stretched and wiped off his fingers, making a note to clean these sheets later, before crawling up towards the headboard and flopping next to his brother.

"You?" Artemis asked, curling next to Cormac and throwing an arm and a leg over him.

Cormac wound around Artemis, pulling him as close as they could get to each other, without Cormac investigating new uses for his glowy talents. "Yes," he whispered, hands wandering over his brother's skin, stroking healing magic into him. "I know. You're fine. Let me worry anyway."

He couldn't be sure if it was even necessary, but the last time he'd tried something like that, someone had wound up with a broken finger, so he had to make sure. He felt like he'd been hollowed out, and his body ached wonderfully. There were no words for this, but he wanted there to be, so he kissed Artemis while he tried to find them, a long, slow, passionate kiss. His senses filled with the taste and smell of his amazing younger brother, who deserved so very much better, but wanted him anyway. But, there was always Fenris, and he felt a lot better knowing that, even if he still had the sense he might have to kill the elf, one day. Things hadn't started well, but they seemed to have improved. But, what was between him and his brother... he still couldn't get his mind around it, but he could be grateful for it.

Letting his eyes slide closed, Artemis relaxed into the kiss. He could still feel drying tear tracks where he cupped the side of Cormac's face, but he didn't draw attention to them, merely reached up to tuck sweat-damp hair behind Cormac's ear. It occurred to him that Fenris would be home by now, and he wondered if his poor elf had heard all the screaming.

After a while, Artie pulled back from the kiss to get a good look at his brother. He didn't want to bring up Anders or ask how Cormac was doing, but those words were at the tip of his tongue. Instead, he traced Cormac's tattoos with the tip of one finger, tattoos he'd wanted to trace for so many years. A smirk pulled at his lips, and he murmured, "Assface."

"Your Assface. Always," Cormac promised, a smile threatening one corner of his mouth. His hands were still gentle. "So, I know I run my mouth a lot, and I know I haven't managed much of what I said I'd do, tonight, but... Do you still want me? Do I stand any chance of getting you interested, again? I promise not to use as many fingers as you just put in me." He laughed, quietly, throat still raw from the screams. "Anything for you, my sexy, young god."

Artemis chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Maybe in a bit," he said, giving Cormac's beard another tug. "Right now, your sexy god would like to rest and just lie here with his high priest for a bit." He still wasn't sure how he felt about being called a 'god'. It would be simple to pass it off as Cormac joking, but knowing him...

Artie shifted, winding himself more tightly around Cormac, and tucked his head under his brother's chin. There was so much more of him to curl around than Artemis was used to, sharing a bed with Fenris.

* * *

Fenris woke to the bed dipping, beside him. He squinted in that direction with one eye, face still firmly pressed into the pillow. Artemis. Oh good. He didn't actually have to move.

"Mmmrgh?" He stretched a hand toward his mage, who looked much more tired than usual, for the hour. But, he'd woken up a few times to screams from down the hall, before he'd given up and piled the pillows on top of his head, covering them with the blanket. It looked like he'd rearranged himself at some point after the screaming stopped.

"Mmmrgh to you, too," Artemis murmured as he snuggled closer, curling under Fenris's arm and batting aside a stray pillow. The elf grunted, blinking blearily at him, and the corners of Artie's eyes crinkled in amusement as he reached up to smooth his elf's impressive bedhair. "I'm sorry. Doubly sorry for the screaming I'm sure you heard. But... Cormac needed me, tonight. Haven't seen him like this since Mum..." He trailed off, knowing he didn't need to finish. "And I wasn't exactly there for him, then."

Fenris blinked, trying to wrap his mind around the idea that this actually was something serious, despite it involving Cormac screaming. "Happened?" he asked, still half asleep. Nobody had died, he assumed, or he'd have known sooner. He didn't much care, but he knew he should make the effort. "Y'brother okay?"

He wrapped himself possessively around Artemis, nuzzling his mage's neck, feeling the warm prickle of magic against his skin.

Artie held Fenris loosely against him, wrapping his arms more easily around him than he had around Cormac. Lyrium tingled against his skin in a way that'd come to feel like home. "He's upset," Artemis said, fingers idly tracing Fenris's tattoos. "He and Anders had a falling out, I think." He hesitated, unsure how much he ought to tell Fenris. "Cormac... I think Cormac's afraid he hurt him. 'It's not serious', they keep insisting, but Cormac is a mess."

"Your brother's an idiot," Fenris mumbled, pressing a kiss to Artie's neck. "My mage is much smarter. Prettier, too." He wasn't terribly sympathetic at the best of times, and mornings were never the best of times. "Should just find himself a nice Dalish and stop throwing himself at that abomination. 'S going to get himself killed. With his dick. You know what I didn't need to think about right after waking up? One guess. Don't say it."

Artemis smirked against Fenris's hair. "Well, that's a mixed message," he teased. "Do you want me to not say it or do you want me to guess?" He tugged gently at one ear, just to hear Fenris whine sleepily. "And they're both idiots, really, which is why they're perfect for each other." And Artemis still believed that, even after Cormac's proclamations of Artie's godhood. "But I'm... I'm worried about him. About both of them, really." He considered the mostly asleep elf in his arms and sighed. "You probably don't want to hear about this now. Go back to sleep."

"Middle of the day," Fenris muttered. "You really coming back to bed? 'S not a complaint. Like it when you're in bed, even if you do put off more heat than a man-sized warming pan. 'S proof you're hot. _My_ mage. I got the hot one." The rest of that thought trailed off into a stream of nonsense syllables, as Fenris forgot what he was talking about. It wasn't important, and he didn't need to be awake, as evidenced by the fact that his mage had just come back to bed. He had every intention of sleeping until sunset, drinking wine with breakfast, and ravishing his mage against a bookcase, somewhere in the house. His mage. _His_.

"Yours," Artemis murmured as though agreeing to this thought. But Fenris was already fast asleep.


	162. PART XXXII: A TELLING OF TALES

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cormac has questions he can't ask Anders. He realises he can get at least some of the answers from Cullen, instead.

Cullen arrived at the estate to find someone else already waiting outside the door, balancing a bouquet of flowers in the crook of one arm as he knocked. It reminded Cullen of the first few times he'd knocked on that door himself, palms sweaty, fingers fidgeting with the orchids in his arms, and he wondered whom the flowers were for. Bethany, perhaps? She and that Starkhaven gentleman had been getting on for quite a while now.

"Oh! Hello," Cullen greeted the delivery boy. It had been a while since he'd gotten Anton orchids. He should fix that.

Half a face appeared around the colourful bouquet. "Good day, messere," the boy said, words half-muffled by petals. It was only then that Cullen got a good look at the bouquet and the obscene amount of lime blossoms.

Bodhan opened the door, and Cullen blurted, "They're not from me," as his cheeks turned a mottled red. "And hopefully not for Bethany. Are they for Bethany?"

"Ah," said Bodhan, spotting the flowers. "For Messere Cormac, I suspect. I'll take those." The delivery boy relinquished the flowers, barely sparing the blushing captain a glance as he disappeared back down the street.

"What's for me?" Cormac called out from the library, appearing in the doorway after a few moments. He looked haggard, like he hadn't shaved in a couple of days, and either hadn't been sleeping or had been sleeping poorly. Dark circles could be seen under his eyes, which was quite impressive given the usual cast of his skin, and his hair seemed fuller, somehow. A palm-sized lump of grey and gold stone appeared in his hand, and he kept squeezing and turning it, as he lingered at the library door.

"Flowers, messere," Bodhan said, displaying the bouquet. "I'll put them in water."

Cormac blinked at the flowers and nearly choked on his tongue. "Put them in Artie's room," he said finally, shaking his head, and Bodhan nodded.

"I'll fetch Messere Anton for you," Bodhan assured Cullen, as he made his way further into the house.

"Anders sending you flowers now?" Cullen asked, assuming it to be the case.

Cormac pressed the heel of his hand against the corner of his eyesocket, a swirl of magic circling the other hand, as he clutched at the stone. "Anders ... isn't speaking to me, right now. They're from my brother."

Cullen couldn't keep the words from falling out of his mouth. "Ambitious lust!? Which brother would -- Anton. It's Anton, isn't it." He sighed, shaking his head.

"Not that you're wrong about the motivation, but you're wrong about the brother. Artie's a real asshole, when he puts his mind to it." Cormac laughed. That was his story, and he was sticking to it. "Ambitious lust. Yeah, at this rate, it's pretty ambitious." He sighed and gestured at the cellar door.

Anton poked his head in the door. "Cullen, I heard you say my name and the word 'lust' from down the hall," he teased. "I'd ask if I'm about to have an eventful afternoon, but I just saw the flowers." The teasing grin became a grimace as he glanced at Cormac. "You and Artie aren't starting that again, are you? We have enough inappropriate flowers out in the garden without you bringing the bawdy blossoms inside."

"They've... done this before?" Cullen asked, looking back and forth between the brothers. He thought of Branson and vowed to never send him lime blossoms. "This is a thing they do?"

"Yes," Anton sighed, walking into the room to press a kiss to Cullen's cheek. "It looked like a forest in here a few months ago." In a loud whisper, he added, "Cormac doesn't know how many bouquets I fed to the goat."

"Please. Feed my flowers to the goat. Saves on Artie coming over and complaining about the dried petals on everything," Cormac groaned, before calling up the hall. "Bodhan? Send back eglantine and bellflower!"

Cullen reeled, looking surprised. "Is it that bad?"

"Worse." The swirl of magic around Cormac's hand grew brighter. "I fucked up."

"Obviously, if he's not talking to you," Cullen pointed out. That was one of those things he was pretty sure about. He wasn't very good at relationships, not having been in any that weren't with Anton, but he was extremely certain that 'not talking to you' was one of those things that indicated you fucked up pretty seriously. "What did you--"

"Exactly what he told me to," Cormac said, with a bleak shrug. He studied the stone in his hand. It had been black, when he started, but he could see it lightening, bands of translucency starting in the stone, and he wondered what would happen if he just kept squeezing it. He wondered how tight Crushing Prison could actually squeeze. "Don't ask. It's nothing political."

Cullen wanted to ask anyway. Political or not, Cormac was part of his family now, which was a thought he was still getting used to, but Anton shook his head. Anton was making that 'I don't want to know so please let me stay in denial' look, a look Cullen had come to expect in most of their interactions with Cormac.

"Is he all right?" Cullen asked anyway. "Are _you_ all right?" He wasn't asking as a templar, even though his stare kept darting down to the stone in Cormac's hand and the twists of magic he could sense there. "Because if there are going to be any drunk Hawkes wandering the city, I think Kirkwall as a whole needs to be warned."

Anton smirked. "I think Kirkwall has learned to read the warning signs," he replied.

"I'm not drinking," Cormac muttered, sounding like the thought had already been well-considered. "I'm sitting in the library, playing with this rock Bethy gave me. If I cast Crushing Prison on it, when I get annoyed, I don't punch myself in the face. Unlike Carver, I can actually do that and expect to hit me."

Cullen nodded. He usually smacked his head on his desk, but he knew that feeling. Still, to have a mage -- even one he was related to, now -- admit to using such a terribly deadly spell so casually. But, then, Cormac still wasn't hurting anyone with it. He had access to deadly magic, and he was sitting in his library, squeezing a rock, and trying not to punch himself in the head. And he'd seen Cormac get upset, before, but the only other time was in the middle of combat, and his brother was dying, so killing things had actually been an appropriate response. Once again, the apostate surprised him.

"Can I see it? It looks like an interesting stone. What kind is it?" he asked leaning sideways a bit, to take a better look.

"I don't actually know," Cormac said, with a shrug, magic fading as he held the stone out in his palm. "I don't know the names for a lot of rocks, but it used to be black. The more I squeeze it, the prettier it gets."

In the light, it almost seemed to glow. "That's amazing," Cullen murmured, reaching as though to touch the stone for a moment before pulling his hand back. The rock was still charged with magic, and he knew better than to meddle with such things. "Just squeezing it? That's all you're doing?" He thought of the illusions at his wedding, the way the chairs and tables had seemed to glitter with gold, but knew this wasn't an illusion. More and more, Cullen found himself in awe of what mages could accomplish.

"That... looks quite a bit shinier than the last time I saw it," Anton said, showing none of Cullen's hesitation as he plucked the stone from Cormac's hand, twisting it in the light. "Don't show Izzy. You know her weakness for shiny things. She might try to steal it."

"Just squeezing it. No illusions, nothing weird." Cormac laughed and shook his head. "Pressure changes everything, I guess."

And there was an observation that gave Cullen pause. There was a terrible truth in it, and he wondered how different he would be if-- but there was no use thinking on that, too long.

"And I'm not letting Izzy near it. Not this one. I thought maybe I'd... I don't know, wear it or something. If she wants one, maybe I'll make her one, but I have no idea if this is something that would work twice. I don't know if it needs to be the same kind of rock, or how long it would take, if I were trying to do it on purpose." Cormac's eyes settled on Cullen, and a thought darted through his head. The one other person who knew Anders almost as well as he did, if for very different reasons... "Anton? I need to borrow your husband, for a minute. I can't promise not to break him, but I can promise not to turn him into a shiny rock."

"Borrow?" Cullen repeated, looking uneasy. "Why am I being borrowed?" After that incident with the cordial, Cullen made it a habit not to be alone with either of Anton's older brothers. Or to drink cordial.

Anton patted Cullen's shoulder reassuringly, but that just made Cullen's frown deepen. "You had a falling out with Anders, and now you're borrowing other people's husbands?" Anton said, dramatically laying a hand on his chest. "Really, Cormac, what would the neighbours think?" He nudged Cullen towards his brother anyway as he spoke. "But yes, you may borrow him, as long as you're gentle with him."

"And here I thought you'd fight harder for me," Cullen replied wryly. "What can I do for you, Cormac?"

"Talk to me about Kinloch Hold," Cormac said, eyes uncertain. "I need to know some things. I don't know if you know them, but... It's not like I can ask Anders, right now."

"Creepy mage shit!" Anton declared, kissing Cullen's cheek. "In that case, I'm going to go make supper. Do you want me to leave you some, Cormac?"

Cormac's stomach answered for him, before he could open his mouth, and he glanced down, looking betrayed. "Apparently, I do. Why are you cooking? Don't we pay people for that?"

"That's my husband. Why wouldn't I be cooking?" Anton grinned and sneaked a hand out to squeeze Cullen's bottom, resulting in a twitch and a squeak from the templar. "I've got to remind him I'm good for something besides lovely afternoons in the garden..."

"Don't tell me. I've seen your garden extras. I paid for them. I don't need to think about that too much." Waving his hands in front of his face, as if to chase off the idea, Cormac shook his head.

"You know, you should probably be making more use of that garden, if Anders isn't talking to you. Just clean up after yourself, because I don't want to," Anton suggested.

Cormac shook his head again. "Thanks, but no. Not... no. But, thanks." The garden would remind him of Anders, since the only times he'd really made use of it, Anders had been with him.

Cullen was a bit relieved to hear that. It was mortifying enough knowing his mother had _walked_ through those gardens. Brother or not, he didn't need to think of Cormac using those... amenities. Not if he planned to use them in the future.

"Very well," said Anton, stepping towards the door. "I'll dinner. You'll discuss." He winked at Cullen before disappearing around the corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter may require a strong stomach.


	163. Chapter 163

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cormac admits to some things. Cullen tries very hard not to admit to anything.

Cullen fidgeted where he stood, offering Cormac an awkward smile. He had a feeling he wasn't going to like the questions Cormac had, but he'd try to answer them as honestly as he could. "Shall we sit?" he offered, gesturing at the chairs in front of the fireplace. "From the look on your face, this looks like a sitting conversation."

Cormac nodded and sat in one of the chairs, by the fireplace. "I'm sorry for the things I'm about to say. I have to ask some really ugly questions, and just... try not to get too pissed off at me? I'm not accusing _you_ of anything. I'm asking you, because I think you weren't involved, and I need to know what happened." He stared at the floor between his feet, elbows resting on his knees. It was a position he'd found himself in a lot, in the last couple of days. "It's bad, Cullen. It's bad, and I don't know what to do, because I don't know anything but that."

Cullen sank into the chair across from Cormac. This was definitely a sitting conversation. "All right," he replied softly, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees too but looking at Cormac instead of the floor. "You are welcome to ask whatever you need to ask. And I'll... I'll do my best to answer." He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to find the right words. Just thinking about Kinloch Hold made his stomach twist. "Just... remember I was young and relatively new when... well, when the Blight happened. And Uldred. I don't know how many answers I can give you."

"I keep forgetting how much younger you are." Cormac shook his head. "You married my brother. In my head that makes you... well, older than you are, I suppose." He laughed awkwardly, wondering where to even start. There were so many things he wanted answers to, but he didn't really want to ask the ones Cullen couldn't answer. "You mentioned you remembered him from the dungeon. He mentioned being in a dungeon. Tell me what you can remember about that. I've never seen the inside of a mage tower. I don't quite know where to start asking, but if you start at the beginning, I'll meet you in the middle." It wasn't true, really. He'd been in the Gallows, but not in any way he'd admit to having gotten there. He'd never seen the proper insides of a tower.

And Cullen supposed Cormac was bound to ask about that at some point, though he was surprised Cormac was asking _him_. "Yes," he said, looking down at his hands. "That's where he was when I came to Kinloch Hold. They said he kept causing trouble and trying to escape. 'They' being the other templars, my superiors. They called it 'solitary'."

Like Anders was a recalcitrant child they'd told to sit in the corner. And Cullen could picture it, the dungeons, all cold, dark stone and stinking of Maker knew what. And Cullen knew what, really, if he let himself think about it. "He'd been down there a while by the time I first saw him, and he was half mad by then. Probably more than half."

"Tell me, Cullen." Cormac kept looking at the floor, setting the stone between his feet, as he felt his hand start to heat up. The magic stayed on the stone, and it changed subtly, but visibly, as he watched. "He's still out of his fucking mind. What happened, down there? Because something that happened there is why he's not talking to me. He's shut himself in his room, and he's not talking to anyone. I know you don't know all of it. I'm just hoping you can hit the part I'm looking for. You know how he doesn't drink much? He gets drunk and remembers. Most people get drunk to forget. I'm trying to figure out what I can ask about, directly, without breaking any confidences. So, let me start somewhere you'd have to have seen. Chained to the wall and packed full of magebane, he says. I don't doubt it, but you're going to remember details that I don't have. I need them."

Cullen wondered if Cormac knew how intimidating this could have been, watching the man squeeze a rock into transparency with his mind, the man he'd watch stick a hand through the Arishok's chest. In the past, Cullen _would_ have been intimidated, possibly defensive, but he'd since faced scarier things and lived.

"Chained. Yes." Cullen's voice was soft as he remembered, as he swallowed back the nausea that came with thoughts of Kinloch Hold. "I... I didn't see everything. Mostly, I saw the aftermath. Bruises. Injuries they wouldn't let him heal." Cullen paused, grappling with words again. "And what I _did_ see... a few of my 'colleagues'--" He spat the word. "--well, they treated him like a dog. They spat on him, threw food at his feet and..." He shook his head. "There were rules. There was -- is -- a way we're supposed to conduct ourselves, but it was like those rules didn't exist down there, not with him." Though he supposed it was naive of him to think that those rules were only broken in the dungeons.

"He's got a pretty notable scar that dates back to that. Well, he's got a few. You've seen some of them -- maybe you've seen all of them. Half of it's on his hand." A bitter laugh leapt to Cormac's lips, and the stone squeaked, scorching the stone of the floor. Another good reason to sit by the fire, Cormac decided, watching another smear of stone start to yellow.

"I know there's more. I suspect a lot of things, but I want to know what you think, because you were there. Me, I'm just surprised he's become who he is. Do you know why he came to Kirkwall? That I can tell you. You already know so much of it. Karl Thekla. He won't talk about it, but I'm... I suggested they were in love, once, and he looked at me like I'd kicked him. Said no mage was that stupid, but Karl was his best friend. I'm still sure he's understating it."

Cormac paused, looking up from the stone to study Cullen's face. "I wouldn't tell you this, but I think you already know. Somewhere in your head you've put the pieces together. You need to know that Anders killed him. You also need to know it was because -- The man's got some dirty Warden tricks I can't discuss, but he brought a Tranquil mage back to his senses for a few minutes, with one of them. It doesn't last. It's not a cure. You don't have to worry about that. It was a flicker. I was there. I know what that makes me, but I was there, and if you feel the need to do something about that, all I ask is that you wait until I make this right." Cormac finally looked up. "He begged Anders to kill him. And then he was gone again." The stone squealed, again. _'Why are you looking at me like that?'_ He remembered the Tranquility settling back across Karl's face. "I am extremely surprised at how calm, kind, and reasonable Anders is, and I am surprised by it every day. I would not be so pleasant. So, if something happened that was enough to --" He gestured toward the door. "I have to know what it was. I have to know all of it, because there's no way I can ... do... anything, without some clue what I'm walking into."

For a moment, Cullen's mind stuck on the thought of a Tranquil being made un-Tranquil. Even if it was just for a moment, that went beyond the scope of Cullen's experience, and it was the sort of thing that would haunt him for a while. He wanted to ask more, but now wasn't the time.

"I remember Karl," Cullen murmured, eyes squeezing shut, shoulders bowing. "Outspoken, but a good man. I... that was Alrik's handiwork, as I recall. And those who followed Alrik, I don't suspect they would have gotten much better from us than they got from you, if it came out." He'd always suspected Anders had been involved with the death of those templars in the Chantry, and he hadn't blamed him then and blamed him even less now. He hadn't considered that Cormac had had a hand in that, and he supposed it was best if he didn't consider it now. Still, death was likely kinder than the Order's punishment for such dramatic disobedience. "As for Anders, Cormac, I wish I could help you. There was a lot going on in Kinloch Hold that I wasn't privy to. There were rumours, certainly, and Maker knew there were always rumours about Anders." Cullen rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, pinched the bridge of his nose. "Anything else I tell you, it... it would mostly be conjecture." He shrugged helplessly. "Will you... will you tell me what happened between you two?"

"If I leave it at 'sex accident', does that give you enough of a clue why I'm asking? Your conjectures are better based than mine, I suspect, at least about some things." Cormac rubbed his face and looked into the unlit fireplace. "I'm going to give you a few phrases. You never heard them, I didn't say them, but I suspect at least one of them is relevant to the situation. Those are the ones I want to know what you've heard about. I'm giving you a handful, because I can't tell you what's important, here. 'The templars can show you what I'm really good for, and they're right. I am good for it. Every time'? Maybe 'love seems like a real dick thing to do to somebody'? How about 'chained up and used as a toilet'? Or 'I guess they thought if it fell off, I'd stop going over the water'?"

Cormac's words were like ice down Cullen's back. He wished he could keep playing ignorant, wished he could continue pretending he didn't know what Cormac had been getting at this entire time. He remembered Anders's face as they'd talked over duchess cakes, remembered the haunted, brittle look he'd seen behind Anders's eyes, behind all the jokes. Another mage Cullen had failed in his duties to.


	164. Chapter 164

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cormac gets the answers he doesn't want, but does need. Cullen still wishes he wasn't having this conversation.

"We templars," Cullen began, swallowing past the tightness in his throat and staring down at the twitching stone between Cormac's feet. "We templars aren't supposed to be intimate with our charges, you know. We technically aren't even supposed to befriend them, but." The rest of that sentence died on his tongue, and he shrugged. "There were a few templars in Kinloch Hold who had a nasty reputation among the mages. Rather like Alrik or Karras, I suppose." And that made his insides twist again, remembering that he'd let men like that serve the Order, even if he hadn't known what they were at the time. "And Anders had the, ah, reputation of lifting his skirts for pretty much anyone. Not my words, I swear," he hurried to add. "But... well. You put a mage in an isolated part of the tower and let scum guard him, and I think you know where I'm going with this." He finally looked up at Cormac again as he said, "I have a feeling you already know what must have happened. And I'm... I'm sorry. But I can guarantee you those men died painfully when Uldred took over the Circle." He wished that made it better, but he knew it didn't.

Cormac nodded, as if none of this was surprising. "I should give you something, for that. You suspected it. I suspected it. But, I have a sense that wasn't all of it. Let's say that's not the first mention of his 'reputation' I've heard. I know there were a few times he was using himself as a target, to protect someone else. Several someones, from the sound of it. I know he walked into at least some of it with his eyes on, but ... Shouldn't have needed to happen. There shouldn't have been a situation in which that was the best answer. He shouldn't have been in a position where he knew that would _work_." The stone between Cormac's feet shrieked.

"Still not blaming you. You were the new guy. Nothing for it, really. But, understand that if I ever find out you put a hand on him in a less than friendly fashion -- which I honestly don't think you did -- you will stop having a hand. And that's because I like you. But, I think if you had, you wouldn't have lived long enough to marry my brother, because I have no doubt he'd have solved the problem, himself. And that is why I trust you." Cormac took a few deep breaths. The stone at his feet was almost entirely gold and cloudy, and it seemed to be radiating heat. "Next one. 'Love seems like a real dick thing to do to somebody'? I ... I've asked him about that one, and he keeps treating it like I'm asking if the sky is blue. I'm just going to gesture vaguely in the direction of Karl's memory, and ask if that's something he had any business expecting."

Cullen kept staring at the stone as he mulled that over. "The Chantry discourages mages from forming romantic bonds," he said, speaking in the detached way of someone repeating another's words. "There are affairs, certainly, and... quite a few of them." Cullen's cheeks coloured as he remembered. He'd walked in on Solona once, bent over a library desk, and that was a memory he still found equal parts mortifying and inspiring. "But... any real relationships, if found out, are usually broken up. It's the same reason they isolate mages from their families." He shook his head. "If you had been found out, if you, Artemis, and Bethany had been taken as children, you would have been split up and sent to three different Circles." Which was another rule he didn't quite understand. All it did was make mages bitter, lonely, and resentful.

Cormac was finally starting to understand it. "It's the insistence that mages are weapons. Objects to be aimed and unleashed, like ballistae. If you want somebody to act like an object, you can't treat them like people. People have things like love and hope. Anders... has neither, any more, but I'm working on hope." Another bitter laugh from Cormac. The stone, he'd noticed, seemed to be getting smaller, which made a certain kind of sense, since he was squeezing it, but he'd never considered crushing stone. "... The ... toilet one. You said you saw the aftermath of 'things'. Is that as bad as I think it is? Because that sounds terrible, and I think it's worse than it sounds." This was the one, really. The rest were curiosities, and they'd be important one day, but this one...

Cullen's face twisted, looking nauseated. That was another memory burned into his mind. "It's..." More struggling for words, Cullen's face turning green. "It's exactly what it sounds like. And, Maker help me, but the men who did that? After Solona had come back and cleared out the tower, I was relieved to find out they hadn't made it. Desire demons, it looked like, and that seemed awfully fitting." He peered at Cormac then, the grimace still on his face. "If... what you and Anders did was related to that, I don't want the details. But why would he ask for...?"

"You're telling me it was worse than was obvious. The fact that you're even asking that tells me I'm right. Regardless of whether it's related, you'll never know. Like I said, 'at least one of these things', and they all cut pretty deep. For your sanity, though, I'll tell you I even know about that one because he was much, much too drunk to be talking to anyone. Scared me, you know? Scared the fuck right out of me. Not for me, but what if you'd taken my sister, my brother? Again, not ... not you, but... between this and Alrik..." Cormac looked a bit grey in the face, when he looked up, this time. That had been confirmed, not that he'd doubted it after what Anders had said about Howe, of all the things to have made it fit together. But the combination of 'fucking Howe until he pissed himself' and 'not my fingers'... But, obviously, Anders had been stupidly drunk, at the time, nevermind how drunk he was talking about it.

"Last one. There's a question I'm not asking, here, and your answer to this is going to answer that question for me. Doesn't matter if it's related, I'd want to know anyway. Do you know that scar?" There was really only one way Cullen would have seen it, other than-- "Again, not blaming you. Not asking if you were involved. Just... a little something that's been left out of all the stories, so far."

Cullen sat back in his chair. Anders had a lot of scars, but... "I'm assuming you don't mean the half that's on his hand?" he asked with a humourless smile. "And... and yes. I wasn't there when it happened, and I didn't ask, but I'm familiar with the scar on his -- yes." He gestured vaguely towards his privates. "Which... I suspect does answer your unasked question."

"Thoroughly." Cormac turned his arm, rested his face against his fist, and finally forced himself to stop casting. "Thank you. You have to know it's not that I doubt him, it's just... there's so many things he can't tell me. So many things it wouldn't be right to ask him. And you, well... I probably shouldn't be asking you, either, but..." He trailed off. "So, I'm going to change the subject, so there's a chance you'll actually be able to swallow food, by the time Anton finishes cooking. I know that look. I see it a lot. You knew my cousin, before she was famous? I didn't know her. I still don't know her, except that Anders thinks she's a hopeless prude with a hot husband. Was she interesting, before she was a hero?"

A high-pitched laugh left Cullen, and his face started to look less green and more red. "Interesting. Yes, she certainly was. Absolutely fearless, really." He cleared his throat, glancing at the unlit fireplace. "You still haven't met her, have you? There's some family resemblance, you know. Not... not just in the fearlessness, though Maker knows the Hawkes and Amells do 'reckless' better than anyone. And... maybe not so much a resemblance to you, but you take after your father anyway. A bit like Anton, though, with the eyes and the smirk and the... erm." There was that image of Solona in the library again, showing off a few of her, er... finer attributes.

"The... 'erm'?" Cormac tried to turn a snicker into a cough and ended up choking on it. "You've got a type, don't you? Amells. Well, better Anton than me. Was she as flirty as he is, too? I mean, I doubt it, given what Anders has to say about her, but..." He laughed against his arm and nudged the stone with his boot, earning the smell of burning leather for his efforts. He debated cooling it, but remembered the eight or ten times he'd blown up dinner, like that, before he got the hang of slow cooling.

"She was... th-that is..." Dammit, there he went, stuttering again. And Cullen wished he could argue, but Cormac was right about him having a type. "Solona was rather more... blunt when it came to her affections. She didn't so much flirt as... make a reasonable albeit scandalous suggestion involving a broom closet." And there was another theme: Amells and closets. Except now he was thinking of that one time he walked in on Artie and Fenris and just... no. "And I assumed Anders would've mentioned it," Cullen muttered, "the way he and that crazy elf were carrying on at the time."

"Anders insists she was uptight and terribly boring, at least until she became the Hero of Ferelden. And then something about how he ended up in bed with her husband." Cormac laughed until the rest of the sentence caught up with him. "Crazy elf? Carrying on? Oh, this sounds like fun!" He wasn't sure why he'd never considered that Anders might have had friends who were elves. Possibly because he was so used to listening to Anders and Fenris threatening each other over cards. At least until the ... electricity thing. He'd softened to Merrill, after a while, too, even if he was still a little uptight about the blood magic and the demon. Cormac was still a little uptight about the demon, too.

"Surana," Cullen said, three syllables' worth of exasperation. "Alim Surana. That elf was..." He shook his head. "He's something you have to experience yourself to understand. And then you'll understand even less. I had no idea mages could summon bees before I met him. He filled Greagoir's helmet with them once, and I just..." He laughed helplessly, wiping a hand down his face. "How he survived the Circle I'll never know. Except -- no, I suspect he survived the Circle because Anders was a healer."

Cormac suddenly remembered Anders mentioning he'd learnt the bees spell from an elf. This elf, no doubt. "Anders found a way to make that even more terrifying. He summons swarms of tainted wasps. Only ever saw him do it once, and that was with the Qunari." Watching Cullen got him started laughing, too. "Only survived because of Anders? Is this another story I'm not going to be happy to have heard? More of the same? Maker's sagging balls, how common was that?" He assumed the worst, of course, because Cullen hadn't explained anything, which suggested it would be.

"I-- no!" Cullen blurted, eyes popping wide. "Not like--! Surana was just a terrible troublemaker. He had tattoos on his face, you know." He gestured at Cormac's cheeks. "Like the Dalish, but... well, the story goes that one day he didn't have them, then suddenly he did. Rumour had it he did them himself, and if you knew him, you'd believe it."

Anton poked his head around the corner while Cullen was still shaking his head. "Dinner is served!" he said. "It's been a while since I've cooked, but I want you both to notice that I have not burned down the house!"

"I'm sure we're all thrilled at this sudden bout of competence. Let's just hope you've managed something better than roast deepstalker," Cormac joked.

"I was very proud of that deepstalker, and you should be happy there was food at all, after that!" Anton jabbed a finger at his brother.

"Do I... want to know?" Cullen asked, looking back and forth between the brothers, as he stood up.

"Probably not," Cormac assured him, also getting up. He could bring a plate back here, he decided.

"Action! Adventure! Evil dwarves!" Anton crowed, heading back toward the kitchen. "But, he's right. You probably don't want the details."


	165. Chapter 165

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More flowers. Some unfortunate presumptions. A happy ending, for Artemis, at least.

Artemis assumed the flowers were from Cormac. It was a sound assumption, considering the amount of business he and his brother had given the florist over the years, but in all his life, Cormac had never spoken to him like that, whether through flowers or more conventional means.

"Well, that seems a bit harsh," he muttered, taking the vase from Orana, unsure what to do with it. Purple carnations, lavender, hydrangea... Artie knew Cormac was still sore over Anders (and for once he meant that metaphorically), but that was hardly necessary.

Orana gave him a sympathetic look, and Artemis wondered if her girlfriend had taught her how to read any flowers. Considering what he and his brother usually sent each other, he hoped not. "I assume you have a reply, messere?"

"Yes," Artie mumbled, setting the flowers down on the desk and pulling out a piece of paper and a quill. "Yes, I do."

* * *

"Flowers, messere." Bodhan had taken to assuming all the flowers arriving at the estate were for Cormac, unless they were orchids, in which case they were for Anton. Oddly, Bethany never received flowers.

Cormac looked up at the burst of orange in Bodhan's hand. "Marigolds?" He looked a bit grey. "Are they from my brother?" They'd better be, all things considered, but he hadn't done anything to his brother. He just couldn't imagine them being from Anders. Anders would have come upstairs and _said something_.

"I believe they are," Bodhan replied. "Unless you're expecting flowers from someone else...?"

Which meant Bodhan hadn't had a hand in sending them, which he probably would have, if the order had originated in the house. Not Anders, then. Cormac finally remembered to breathe. "That dick. I didn't even do anything," he grumbled. Unless this was about the other night. In which case this was much more serious than he wanted to deal with. "Send back chestnut and sunflower, and ... feed those to Goatilda or something."

* * *

Artemis squinted at the new bouquet. "And now he's playing innocent?" he huffed, rubbing one sunflower petal between his fingers. Had Cormac been drinking? Did Artie need to be concerned? Well. Artie already was concerned, but now he was annoyed and concerned.

"What would you like me to do with them, messere?" Orana asked.

Artemis shrugged and spread his hands. "What would I _like_ you do with them? Nothing polite, that's what. But... keep them I suppose. Maybe in the kitchen? They work with the colours there, if nothing else." He'd always been partial to sunflowers, though he'd never admit it, especially since he rarely had the opportunity to send or receive a flower that meant 'pure and lofty thoughts' to someone like Cormac.

Fenris returned while Artemis was still muttering about his brother. Artie stopped when he saw him and greeted his elf with a smile and a kiss. "Out gallivanting with Anton?" he asked. "I saw the half-eaten box of tarts."

"I was. We spent the afternoon dumping slavers in the bay. Quite satisfying, really." Fenris wrapped his arms around his mage. "Did you get my flowers? I... hope they were as appropriate as I thought them. I'm afraid I didn't understand some of the book..." He nuzzled Artie's cheek.

"Your..." Artemis sputtered, eyes growing wide. He held Fenris's shoulders and leaned back to look at him. " _Your_ flowers? Those were from you?"

"Yes?" Fenris's eyes were round and hopeful.

"And... did you _mean_ to call me an untrustworthy dick?"

Fenris looked horrified. "A what? No!" He sputtered, ears twitching. "I ... no. Amatus, you know I wouldn't... That's... Is that what I meant? What I said? I need a different book. This is useless. I should have asked Anton to help me." He twitched, wanting to rub his face, but not wanting to let go of Artemis to do it. "No. I ... carnations because I love you and you are unique and wonderful. Lavender because I will be with you until the end of time. Hydrangea because you, of everyone I've met, understand me. Was I wrong? How did I get that wrong?"

Artemis didn't quite manage to stifle the snicker bubbling up his throat. "That's... oh, Fenris." He tugged the point of one twitching ear teasingly, affectionately. "Maybe try a red carnation next time?" And that was the only difference, really: the colour. He'd been on the right track with everything else. "Maker. You've been learning flowers for me? That is the sweetest thing." He framed Fenris's face with his hands and pulled him up into a passionate kiss.

Grinning, Artie called out for Orana over his shoulder.

"Yes, messere?" she called from the doorway.

"Put the 'untrustworthy dick' flowers on the mantel. They should have pride of place!"

* * *

After three hours with no response, Cormac put his boots on. This was bullshit, whatever it was, and they were going to have it out. He tried to keep his face calm, as he knocked at his brother's door, expecting it wouldn't be Artemis who answered.

He was correct, of course. "Messere, I'm afraid they're... occupied," Orana told him, with a sly smile.

"That's fine. I'll wait."

Orana nodded and led Cormac through the house. It wasn't as if this was an uncommon situation, really. These brothers seemed to be fairly comfortable waiting for each other.

In the middle of the main hall, though, Cormac paused, hearing the sounds of Fenris very obviously ravishing his brother. This wouldn't take long, but he was profoundly annoyed. "Put your pants on and get down here, Artemis!" he shouted. "What the shit are you accusing me of?"

And then he spotted the flowers. Maker's balls, he'd have been pissed at himself, too. Except they weren't his flowers.

At the sound of Cormac's voice, Artemis's groans of "Oh, Fenris!" turned into "Oh, _fuck_."

Fenris growled in Artie's ear. "I am going to kill your brother."

"No, I..." Artemis cursed, head thunking back against the pillow. "I might deserve that. I thought the flowers were from him." He threw a hand over his eyes and let out a snorting laugh. "Sorry, Fen. I'll make it up to you. Lots of sparklefingers, promise."

Artemis and Fenris descended the stairs a few minutes later, hair rumpled but pants on. Fenris's glare threatened to bore holes in Cormac's face. "Hello, Cormac," Artie said, his smile sheepish. "I take it you got my flowers..."

"Marigolds? _Really_?" Cormac huffed, pointing to the flowers on the mantel. "If this has anything to do with those flowers, I had nothing to do with them. I don't know who the fuck else would be sending you flowers, but I'll be happy to punch them. I'd punch them if they were me!" He looked intensely irate, and then his eyes shifted to Fenris, who seemed to be trying to hide a guilty smile behind Artemis's shoulder.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" The tips of Cormac's fingers turned a deep indigo, but he didn't seem to notice.

Artemis positioned himself more squarely in front of Fenris, hands palm out. "No, no. No glowing!" he said, voice shaking with suppressed laughter. "Fenris was trying to learn flowers and made a miscalculation. Picture a red carnation instead of a purple one." He shrugged sheepishly, blue eyes wide. "Sorry about that. I saw flowers and assumed they were from you. I... whoops?"

Fenris arched an eyebrow at the back of Artemis's head. "Did you send your brother angry flowers? You sent him angry flowers, didn't you."

"He sent me angry flowers. He sent me _marigolds_!" Cormac slowly started to calm down, and the glowing subsided. "Well, not so much angry. Hurt and offended flowers. And ... I didn't _do_ anything, so..." He shrugged. "When I sent a response and I didn't hear back, I assumed he was so pissed he'd stopped talking to me. Wouldn't be the first time, but it never lasts long. I just wasn't taking it for something I didn't do." Especially not right now. Not twice in a week, from two different people.

"Sorry, brother-dear," Artemis said, smile still somewhere between amused and guilty. He stepped forward, stroked the side of Cormac's face and kissed the opposite cheek. "I was about to send you more flowers, but, er..." He threw a coy look over his shoulder at Fenris. "Well. I got a bit distracted."

"I preferred when you were 'distracted'," Fenris muttered, eyeing the bare line of Artemis's back.

Cormac reached up and slid a hand into the back of his brother's hair, curling his fingers as he whispered in Artie's ear. "Do you want to get down on your knees and make it up to me?" he asked. "Obviously Fenris wants to finish what he started, but I think you can satisfy us both. You'd be so lovely between us, like that time in the wine cellar, but with my knob in your mouth instead of just my hand on your shoulder." He really shouldn't, he knew. He didn't have the time. He had somewhere else to be, but he'd also been sitting in that chair for the better part of six days. He wouldn't stay, he decided, just this, and then he'd go back to the chair. With his luck, though, this would be the hour Anders came looking and didn't find him.

Artemis made a sound he would deny was a whimper. "That sounds... _Maker_." He tilted his head just enough to feel Cormac's fingers tug against his hair. He glanced down the hall to make sure Orana wasn't in sight. "Come upstairs, and I'll make it up to you as many times as you want."

Fenris sighed, wondering if this was going to be a regular thing, Cormac borrowing his mage until he and Anders worked out whatever problems they had. But he couldn't bring himself to mind too much when Artemis made that face, when Fenris would be able to touch him as well.

"Oh, just once," Cormac purred, nudging his brother toward the stairs. "I'm sure Fenris has innumerable other things he wants, and I won't get in the way of those. Really should get home, just in case..." Just to take his own mind off that, he wrapped an arm around Artemis's waist, slipping his fingers into those loosely-laced trousers to teasingly stroke that still-throbbing knob.


	166. Chapter 166

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders comes back to himself, and goes to Fenris for advice.

Anders woke up on the floor, beside his bed, to Purrcy standing on the side of his nose. The last... he had no idea how long was a blur of memories he'd hoped never to see again, flashes of Justice, and... the cats had been with him. They hadn't been in the room, the last time he'd been actively paying attention, but he could remember the hints of fuzziness and meowing. At some point, either he or Justice had let them in. The chamberpot seemed to be only slightly used, so he couldn't have gone hazy for that long. The cats looked fed -- at least they weren't yowling and clawing at him, like they did when they were hungry. He just... wasn't sure what day it was, or what he'd been doing before...

Cormac. It slowly came back to him, and he curled up around Purrcy, earning a confused meep, as the rest of that night filtered back into his head. Windowless and dark -- why hadn't he just gone upstairs? But, it hadn't even occurred to him that upstairs was an option, that there were windows in other rooms. Cormac's face was so much clearer in his memory than he remembered it being at the time, strangely, and the reluctance and concern -- so obvious to him, now -- bothered him more than most other things about any of that. In no small amount, it also bothered him how hard he'd pushed, how he hadn't even acknowledged that he was upsetting Cormac. But, he couldn't see it, then. He'd gotten lost inside his head.

Justice reminded him that Cormac had been bringing them food and taking out the chamber pot, but that he hadn't been allowed in the room. Hadn't laid eyes on Anders since that night. And that wasn't right at all. That wasn't what he'd meant to happen. Justice, it seemed, had also dressed him, at some point, probably because he'd been complaining about being cold. That stayed with him. Cold was something he knew. What he didn't know was what to say to Cormac, after all that. And who would? That had been appalling!

...But, Fenris might know. He'd been so drunk, but he remembered holding Fenris's hand, remembered that unspoken acknowledgement that had passed between them, at the party. The night this all started, really. Maybe Fenris would know.

He showed up at the door, unshaven and still sweat-damp from a week of nightmares and terrors, in the same thing he'd been wearing the whole time. It hadn't occurred to him to change. Hadn't occurred to him to wash. His voice creaked, when Orana answered the door, and he had to clear his throat before he managed a few words. "I'm here to see Fenris."

Fenris paused when he spotted Anders, his reaction showing only in the twitch of one eyebrow. "If you're looking for Cormac, he's not here," he said, even though Orana had said Anders had asked for _him_. Why would the mage be asking for him? "I believe Artemis planned to drag him out to the Hanged Man when he left here." Which was an amusing thought, really, and the reverse of what he was used to.

Anders winced at the mention of Cormac, and his stare cut to the floor, studying the lyrium lines on Fenris's feet. "No, I..." He cleared his throat again. "No. I wanted to talk to you."

Fenris nodded, his expression still carefully neutral, and he motioned Anders into the lounge. "Sit," he said, pointing at a high-backed chair. It occurred to him that that sounded less like a request and more like a demand, so he added the word, "Please."

Anders obeyed almost too readily. As Fenris sat across from him, studying the mage's haggard appearance, he wished he'd paid more attention to that late-night conversation with Artemis, the one about Cormac and what had happened.

"Help me," were the first words out of Anders, as he stared at the floor, quiet and miserable. "I was there for so much of what happened with you and Artemis, and-- I just didn't know who to go to. Except that's not true. Stop, Anders, think about the words coming out of your mouth." He sighed and tried again. "The night before the wedding. I said some things. You were there. You gave me your hand. I know you know what's going on. I know you've seen it before. Please just help me ..." Anders gestured irritatedly, as he couldn't find the words he meant. "I have to talk to Cormac, but I can't do it, yet."

"You came to ask me for help with your relationship problems?" Fenris asked, more than a little surprised. "I would almost expect you to ask Aveline. She's been quite successful, so far, excluding her own execrable attempts at flirtation."

Anders barked out a bitter, hollow laugh. "I think your relationship has been successful in spite of her advice, not because of it," he said. "And this... she wouldn't know what to do with this. _I_ don't know what to do with this."

"Well, to start, you can remember to breathe," Fenris said, voice calm, measured. Only then did Anders realise he was practically vibrating in the chair, breathing just this side of too shallow and too fast. He took a deep breath and then another, and Fenris nodded. "So what happened between you and Cormac?" He had some... ideas based on how Cormac had been, on what Artemis had said, ideas corroborated by what little Anders had already told him.

"I did some pretty terrible things, and that's a lot coming from me. I-- I talked him into it, and then he talked me back into it, and ... doesn't even really matter what 'it' is, just that it wasn't something I should have been doing at all, and I don't really blame him for not knowing that, at first, but when he realised it, when he tried to stop me, I snapped at him. He was so worried. I can see it, now, but I couldn't see it then, and every time he tried to give me an out, I just kept getting angry that he didn't trust me to take care of myself. And then it was over, and he went to take a piss, and I don't remember." Anders looked up, pale around the beginnings of an extremely fluffy beard. "Justice made sure I didn't die. I know that. But, I don't remember anything else. Justice told me Cormac kept bringing food and taking care of the cats, but I don't remember. Fenris... what day is it?"

"Sunday," Fenris told him, brows tilted in concern. "If this happened the same day Cormac spent the night here, then it's been a week."

Anders's skin went from pale to grey, eyes glazing over, turning inward. A week. He'd been like this a whole week with Justice in control. He already had blank spots in his memory, but this...

"Mage." 

Fenris's voice reminded Anders where he was. "I... He came here, did he? Cormac?" Anders nodded to himself. "That's... that's good. Artie is good for him."

"Just for one night," Fenris said. "He looked..." Fenris hesitated, unsure how to finish that sentence, _if_ he should finish that sentence. It would likely make Anders feel worse. "He was worried about you."

And, really, that just made Anders feel even worse. After everything he'd done, Cormac was still worried. Cormac had taken the time to make sure he ate, while he was... apparently shut in a windowless room, by his own decision. Or Justice's. He wasn't quite sure how that had happened, and he really wasn't sure it had been a good idea, but at least the cats had been there.

"Worried." Anders shook his head. "Something wrong with that man." His shoulders started to shake as it all crashed over him, again. "I was wrong. I was so wrong, Fenris. What am I supposed to do with this?"

Fenris sighed. "Mage-- Anders, look at me."

Anders looked at Fenris's feet.

"I'm not that much shorter than you," Fenris drawled, and Anders slowly dragged his eyes up. "As far as 'wrong' goes, I've done substantially worse. You didn't try to kill him, did you? I think I might have heard about it, if you did."

"I don't think so." Anders looked confused. He hadn't even considered it, which might be a good thing. Either way, Cormac was still alive, so if he had, he hadn't succeeded.

"I nearly killed Artemis, in the Fade. He almost let me," Fenris reminded Anders. "And we're about to get married, now. I think that whatever you've done, it's probably a great deal more forgiveable than attempted murder."

"That was different," Anders insisted. "That was the Fade. Demons. You weren't you."

"I was me enough," Fenris muttered. "Were you _trying_ to hurt him?"

"No, but--"

"Then there's no point in feeling guilty."

"But... Cormac..."

"If you feel guilty for worrying him," Fenris gently interrupted, "fine. But your guilt doesn't help him. He needs to see you." He could see the panic filling Anders's eyes and added, "Or at least hear from you. I could talk to him, if you like. I suppose I could use flowers, though that didn't end so well last time I tried."

Anders offered him a wan smile.

"He got me flowers once -- got us flowers, I guess, not that Justice really understood them. I nearly punched him. That time, he deserved it." Anders tugged at the ends of his hair, which hung loose and ratty, hiding some of his face.

"I have become well-acquainted with flowers gone awry," Fenris offered, studying a corner of the ceiling. "And I frequently think your -- think Cormac should be punched, on principle, if nothing else. I am in agreement with Carver, there, it seems."

"My what?" Anders asked, hollow eyes settling on Fenris's cheeks.

Fenris took a deep breath. "Another year, and it will be 'husband' by Fereldan law..."

"What? We're not getting married. _I'm_ not getting married. Ever. Fuck the Chantry." Anders choked on his tongue, nervously twisting the ends of his hair around his fingers. And Fenris was wrong, anyway. They had a couple of years, yet, before that would come into it, and they weren't _in_ Ferelden, anyway. "It's not like that. It's nothing serious."

"Four years? Five? The two of you have been 'non-seriously' engrossed in each other for longer than I have been with Artemis." Fenris shook his head. "I have my doubts about how seriously you decline to take this, given that you are here, talking to _me_ about how serious this non-serious situation has become." Fenris paused. "He's been waiting for you, since that night. My mage went to drag him away, so he'd think of something else."

Waiting for him... Anders couldn't quite picture it, couldn't quite wrap his head around it. "That's... no. It _can't_ be serious," Anders said, emphasising the word 'can't', as though he had no choice in the matter. Then again, when it came to Hawkes and matters of the heart, Fenris was used to having no choice in what he felt either, though he was far from complaining.

"It can be," Fenris said, seeing the look in Anders's eyes for what it was: fear, not denial. "The same way I can marry my mage. Because I'm free, and so are you. You and I, we can make choices like that now." They were the kind of choices that made freedom worth it, in his opinion.

Anders shook his head, looking back down at Fenris's feet, but he didn't argue. He considered pointing out that Cormac loved Artie, not him, but he suspected Fenris was the last person he should say that to.

"Do you want to stay here? Perhaps have Artemis and I with you, when you speak to Cormac, again?" Fenris offered. "It is a very large house. Many rooms are unused, if you wish to rest. You look... tired. Unwell."

The mage looked kinds of bad that Fenris hadn't seen since the refugee population had stabilised in Kirkwall, and the fact that he was clearly unwashed didn't help that at all. Not that Fenris was really one to talk. He'd lived among corpses and broken bottles for years, until Artemis convinced him to _live_ , and not just to survive. He suddenly wasn't sure Anders had found 'living' yet, which was strange, given how obnoxiously self-determined the mage had always seemed.

Anders shook his head again. "No, it shouldn't happen here. It's not right. I have a home. He has a home. We don't need to do this in your living room."

"You don't need to," Fenris agreed, "but you could. You could also come here for a drink after, if you find yourself in need of one."

"I think a drink was how this started," Anders said with a weak laugh. "But I might take you up on that." He ran his hand through his hair, frowning when it caught in a snarl. "I need to face him, don't I?"

"You need to talk to him," Fenris corrected. "But... this might just come from living with Artemis, but I suggest you bathe first."


	167. Chapter 167

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cormac and Anders sort things out. Mostly. Sort of.

Anders decided he'd take a bath upstairs, in Cormac's room, where he could open the windows and enjoy the evening breeze. Which, honestly, was likely to be pretty cold, but the water would be warm enough to make up for it. He just needed to not be in the cellar for a little while, and Fenris was right -- he really did need to wash. This was terrible. It wasn't the first time he'd gone a week without washing, but it was the first time in a very long time, and the memories weren't pleasant ones.

He came up from the cellar, because it was quieter and less ostentatious than using the front door. He could almost convince himself he belonged in that grand house, when he didn't have to look at the entranceway. The tower had been similarly flamboyant, in some places, and he'd certainly lived there long enough. He paused, in Cormac's doorway, the subtle smell of the room washing over him. Maybe he wouldn't open the windows, after all. Closing the door, he took a look at the bath and swore. He'd forgotten why he always bathed in the cellar. There was no pump, up here, and the water had to be hauled from the kitchen. The estate was old, but he'd forgotten it was that old. Never much had to think on it, really, since he'd moved into the cellar, where the water was just outside the bedroom door.

Maybe he'd just sit down a moment, he decided, eyeing the bed. Yes. He'd just walked across Hightown, and he was going to sit down a moment, before he tried to carry water up the stairs.

* * *

Cormac kissed his brother goodnight, in the hall, and made his way upstairs. He wasn't expecting much. Anders had been shut in that room for a week. He thought he might insist that Justice speak to him, tomorrow, just to see if there was anything else they needed -- that the _cats_ needed. He paused in the hall, thinking that he'd left his door open when he went out, but maybe Bethany had closed it. Shaking his head he walked into the room.

Anders. Anders was asleep on his bed, looking like something the dog had dragged in.

Cormac closed the door, quietly, trying to catch his breath. It was over. It was finally over. He knelt beside the bed and ran his fingers through Anders's greasy, tangled hair. "I missed you," he whispered.

"Mmmf?" Anders opened his eyes to Cormac's face, and for a moment he forgot everything, forgot he'd locked himself in the cellar, forgot what he and Cormac had done to make him want to. In that moment before remembering, he smiled.

It was as Anders was wiping crusted drool from the corner of his mouth that he looked around and remembered. "Cormac," he began, propping himself up on his elbow. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what happened. I... or well, maybe I do. I just... I should have listened to you. You didn't deserve that. I..." He'd been worried about what to say before, but now words just poured out, not all of them making sense but punctuated now and then with the words 'I'm sorry'.

And somewhere in the middle of it, Cormac realised that Anders was blaming himself for all of it. "Anders, Anders, no. I'm sorry I let that happen. I knew something wasn't right, but... All I could think of were the times you looked at me like I'm pretty sure I was looking at you, and you trusted me anyway, and we were usually all right. And we're all right now, aren't we?" Cormac cupped Anders's cheeks in his hands, finally noticing the scraggly golden beard that would likely be impressive after another week or two. "Did I hurt you?" he asked again, knowing Anders had said no, at the time, but also knowing Anders might not have been all there.

Anders swallowed past the tightness in his throat, blinked back the dampness gathering at the corner of his eye. "No," he said, cupping one of the hands on his cheeks. "No, you didn't hurt me." He wanted to call Cormac an idiot for being so patient, so kind, even after all this, even after Anders had hurt him like that. He turned his head to press a kiss to Cormac's palm. "And yes, we're all right." And he was surprised by how true that was, by how much better he felt just from seeing Cormac. "Aside from the fact that I'm stinking up your bed," Anders added with a wry laugh. "Didn't quite make it to the bath."

"You could be covered in wyvern shit, and I don't think I'd care, right now. You're lucky you got me and not Artie in the end, you know that?" Cormac teased, tugging at Anders's ear. "Shit, Anders, I went up to take a piss and you were just gone, when I got back. Justice told me you didn't want to see me, and I knew I fucked up. Of course, that was also the longest piss I think I've ever taken. Or the longest time I've ever tried to take a piss, anyway, what with that stupid potion." He laughed and rested his forehead against Anders's chin. "Don't ever let me drink a whole pot of tea before one of those, again. That's an accident waiting to happen, and it will put Anton to shame, I'm sure."

Anders laughed weakly, pressing his face into Cormac's hair. "I'll make a note of that," he teased, wrapping an arm around Cormac's neck. "The Hawke horseradish is a dangerous thing as it is." His laugh turned a touch hysterical. "Though now every time I say the words 'dangerous thing', I think of the word 'saarebas'. The Hawke horseradish is saarebas." And really, how tired was he that that not only made sense to him but seemed unnecessarily funny.

Cormac nearly choked on his tongue. "No. You may not speak about my knob in Qunlat, because that will just make me think of Fenris, and that's not... no. How about Antivan? I'm sure you can think of some fine Antivan words for it. Or I could just go haul the water for a bath, and we can forget all about you talking about my knob, and I'll just wash you until you sparkle, and then we can go to bed." He paused. "I know there are a lot of nights I go to bed without you, but... I think that was the first time my bed's ever felt empty. I missed you." The last few words were oddly mushy, as Cormac started to choke up, unexpectedly.

Anders clutched Cormac tighter, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. "My absence hasn't made you less of a sylvan, I see," he murmured, but his tone was gentle. "I missed you too." Which was true, even if he only had a handful of memories from the past week. He wished he could promise Cormac that it wouldn't happen again, that he would never react like that again, but he knew better than to make such promises.

Anders leaned back, tipped Cormac's face up with a finger under his chin. He only hesitated a moment before bending in for a kiss, just a simple one, a brush of lips and nothing else. If Anders's hair was dirty, he could only imagine how terrible his breath was.

Cormac melted into the kiss, gasping as Anders pulled away. "Do you mean it?" he asked. "Would-- Will you let me?" He was afraid to move, afraid to do anything that might set Anders off again. But, Anders had kissed him. Kissed him without that strange, wrong look in his eyes. He was afraid to imagine what it might mean, if only because he'd be so disappointed if he were wrong.

Anders shrugged one shoulder, reaching for words. "Yes?" he said, suddenly uncertain. "Just... not all at once. I have to -- I _want_ to -- get used to it again." He thought of Karl, of the promise he'd never gotten to keep, and the ache was still there, buried in his chest, but that's all it was now. An ache, not a roiling pain. Smiling sadly, Anders cupped the back of Cormac's head, seeing him and only him.

"Tch, don't look at me like that," Cormac teased, shoving Anders's cheek, gently. "I'll think you're getting sappy or something. I thought I was the sylvan around here." They'd just come back from the edge of something he didn't want to stare too deep into, and he wasn't going to let Anders fall back into that hole. At least not until he'd had a bath and a proper night's sleep. "Just one more, gorgeous, and then I'll go draw water. Can I have one more?" He paused, for a moment. "Are you coming to bed with me, tonight? Not that I won't draw the bath if you tell me you're not, but... I just want to know how happy I'm supposed to be about this. I don't want to catch myself halfway, if I should be giggling like a giddy idiot."

Anders chuckled softly, fondly. "Maker forbid me from ever telling you not to act like an idiot, especially a giddy one." He leaned in for another brush of lips, this kiss just as chaste as the last one but lingering just a beat longer. "And yes, I'll stay here tonight. Wouldn't want your bed to keep feeling empty. That's an awful lot of bed to leave unoccupied."

There was still a tiredness in the set of his shoulders, even in his teasing, but that hollow look was gone from his eyes. Smothering a yawn, Anders pushed himself up from the bed, winding an arm around Cormac as he stood. He kept thinking of Fenris's words. The elf was probably right; whatever this was, he couldn't keep describing it as 'nothing serious'. Maybe 'less serious' or 'not that serious'.

'Almost serious'. He pressed a kiss to Cormac's cheek and smiled.

An hour later, Anders was clean, damp, and exhausted. He hadn't quite managed to shave, because he kept dropping the razor in the water, but finally, Cormac had just done it for him, and with a minimum of teasing. A minimum of teasing, a minimum of groping -- Cormac had just held him and helped him wash, and was now helping him into bed. A clean, warm bed.

"Open the window?" Anders yawned, curling up on the side of the bed away from the door.

"You sure? It'll get cold just before the sun comes up." Cormac stood beside the bed in nothing but a towel.

Anders nodded, sleepily. "Yeah, I'm sure. Just need some air."

"You want me to get the cats?" Cormac asked, as he opened the latch and punched the frame until the window swung open. The one in this room always stuck.

"No cats. Cats tomorrow." Anders stretched out an arm in Cormac's direction. "Just you."

"Just me," Cormac agreed, draping the towel over a chair, before he slid into bed and wrapped himself around Anders. They were asleep in minutes, Anders wrapped up in the blankets and Cormac wrapped up in Anders.


	168. PART XXXIII: FADE WHISPERS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merrill brings in some more help for her eluvian troubles. Carver is less than amused with this turn of event.

"But, he's your brother!" Merrill protested, as Carver turned one bottle on the shelf the wrong way around.

"Exactly," Carver replied. "And you can stop making the bed! He'll fuss no matter how clean the place is."

Merrill huffed, shooting Carver a glare as she smoothed out the blanket. Carver didn't point out that it hung more on one side than the other. "I just..." Merrill sighed. "Artemis is always so polite about it, but I can just see the poor thing twitching every time he comes in here and--"

A knock on the door cut her off before she could start rambling. "He's always like that," Carver threw over his shoulder as he headed for the door. "It's better if you learn to ignore it." He opened the door and wasn't surprised to find his brother accompanied by an elf. He was, however, surprised to see that the elf wasn't Fenris. "Is that--? Mahariel, was it? What are you doing here?"

"I see your manners are right where you left them," Artemis muttered, patting Carver on the shoulder as he stepped into Merrill's home, not waiting for an invitation.

"Ah, the brother with the sword," Theron cooed, with a barely-pleasant smile. "What does it look like I'm doing? It's a favour for my favourite shem." He, too, ducked past Carver and gave Artemis's bottom a quick squeeze. "Merrill." He greeted her with a nod deep enough it was nearly a bow, and spread his hands. "Mala nuvenin."

"Ma serannas, Mahariel. Sulevin revas enasalin." Merrill's smile was quick and uncertain.

Carver was still stuck on the elf groping his brother, and the fact that Artemis hadn't objected in any way. "Are... are you _cheating on Fenris_?" he demanded, staring at Artemis in horror.

"I can promise you that's not what Fenris called it," Theron called back, tilting his chin up, but not looking over his shoulder. "And my wife can corroborate that."

Carver's eyes crossed, while Artemis hid his reddening face behind his hand. "More information than my little brother needed, Theron," Artemis squeaked.

"That's--!" Carver sputtered. " _How am I related to you_?"

Theron's grin was wicked and not the least bit apologetic. To Merrill, he said, "I understand you could use my help." His tone was polite but overly so, and it told Merrill more than words that Mahariel was only here because Artemis had asked him to be.

"Hopefully," Merrill replied, her smile nervous. "I'm not sure yet, but. Any help you could give me would be appreciated. Can I get you anything to drink? Food? I... I don't have much, but..." She cast about her small kitchen, sighing when she saw Artie staring at the bottle Carver had turned around.

Theron shook his head. "No, I have no need. Explain the problem. You speak the language as well." He sounded far more confused than anything.

"You know what the eluvian is for -- or what it would be for, if it worked. But, it doesn't work. It's... I'm so sorry about Tamlen, but I removed the curse from it." Merrill's voice was strong, in the last few words, as if that were the most important part, that she'd removed the curse. "I found a description of how to use one in a book, but the book isn't old enough. It's _Dalish_. We don't know if the words are right."

"And I should know?" Theron asked, bristling at the mention of his dead friend. But, if she'd removed the curse... "Are you sure it's safe, now?"

"I haven't been harmed by it. Anders and the Hawkes have touched it, and they're fine. It's not dangerous _like that_ , any more," Merrill insisted.

That, at least, was somewhat settling, Theron decided. Seven people had handled the thing since it was theoretically un-cursed, and all of them were still alive, unlike Tamlen. And that still bothered him. He'd survived, but Tamlen had just... disappeared. "I'm not a mage, and you're not going to like this, but have you considered that the 'curse' might not have been one? That it was part of the intended function of the thing, and when you tried to remove it, you broke the thing?"

"No," Merrill insisted, though she looked pensive immediately after, brows furrowed as she looked at the mirror. "That can't be it. From everything I've read, it--"

"And that's it, isn't it?" Theron interrupted. "From everything you'd _read_. These are ancient artefacts, more ancient than anything you could have read, so how accurate can they be? We know next to nothing about the eluvian, Merrill, and that's what makes them dangerous!"

"And that's why they need to be studied!" Merrill replied, cheeks red with pique. She folded her arms across her chest and took a deep breath. "I have had this argument enough times with the Keeper, Mahariel, and I don't need to have it again with you."

"I'm... not arguing that, ironically," Theron said, running a hand through his hair. "We _do_ need to learn more, if we want to keep from repeating our mistakes, but you can't ignore the danger here. You weren't there, when Tamlen..." Theron took a breath, shook his head. "You weren't there."

Carver scowled at Theron's back, arms folded and shoulders hunched. After some internal debate Artemis fixed the bottle on the shelf, turning it forward again, while keeping one ear on the conversation.

"No, I wasn't," Merrill admitted. "And I should have been. What were the two of you even doing, running off like that, without telling the Keeper? You shouldn't have been in those ruins in the first place!"

"You're right," Theron admitted. "I shouldn't have been. But, do you really think you'd have made much difference? I barely escaped the taint. Do you think both of us would have been that lucky? Tamlen -- I shouldn't say he wasn't that lucky. I don't even know what happened to him. He was just _gone_. And you..." He trailed off and reached absently for Artemis, just needing a body beside him. "The Keeper says she threw you out because you made a deal with a demon, and she thinks you'll bring corruption down on the clan. She's afraid you're going to start sacrificing other people for your magic, but Merrill, the clan's getting smaller since you left. People die. That happens. But, not like this, and you're not there so I know it's not your fault. Something is wrong on that mountain, and it started with you -- you and the Keeper, I guess, since I remember she was there when you found that demon."

"I haven't been back. You saw when I came back. It was just for the arulin'holm, which she wouldn't even give to _me_." Merrill shook her head. "Whatever is going on up there, and something is, it isn't me. That varterral didn't come from nowhere. It's been there for a long time, even if it hasn't been angry. What was she looking for? What did you find?"

Theron shook his head. "That I cannot answer," he murmured. "I don't know what she was looking for when we came here, but without our halla we are stuck here."

"I'd say there are worse places," Artemis said, squeezing Theron's shoulder, "but you've seen Kirkwall."

Theron offered him a smirk. "The earthquakes help," he teased, just to watch Artie's ears turn pink.

Carver squinted angrily at Theron. "What are you accusing my girlfriend of?" he demanded. "And Maker, stop... touching my brother, elf, that's disgusting. I get enough of that with Fenris."

"Elf. Of which there are two in this room. One of which you appear to be dating." Theron finally looked back to where Carver leaned against the wall beside the door. "I'm not accusing her of anything. I have no idea what's going on, and my clan is dying, and the Keeper is blaming her. And whether or not I agree, and whether or not I can help, that's something she needs to know. She's always been a little... People treat her differently, because she was borrowed from another clan, because we had no mages. People treat me differently for a lot of reasons, actually. I'm... kind of a joke, and so were my parents, Falon'Din mind them. So, of all of us, it's safe for me to come down the mountain. My wife's from the Denerim alienage, and I found her because I'm that tel'taren len who keeps running around with the shem. Some days, I'm amazed they even let me back into the clan, after that. I came down _with your brother_. Nobody knows why I'm here, and I'm pretty sure they all think it's anything but what I'm actually doing."

Merrill laughed. "What did you tell the Keeper?"

"I told her I was going down the mountain so we didn't knock over any aravels." Theron cackled, grinning at his former First.

"Oh sweet Maker," Artemis groaned, hiding his face against Theron's shoulder as Merrill snickered. "I'm never going to be able to look Marethari in the eye again."

"That's what you said the first time we knocked over an aravel," Theron replied, patting Artie's rump again just to piss off Carver. "And yet here we are."

"Yes," Carver muttered, "here you are. Tainting any good memories I have of this room."

"But, anyway," Merrill said, looking considerably less tense. "I don't know why the Keeper would tell you such things. I have had little contact with the clan since I left, and I've just been trying to find answers." She gestured hopelessly at the eluvian. It explained why Pol had run away from her, explained the distrusting looks the clan had given her. Merrill knew she and the Keeper saw things differently, but to accuse Merrill of harming the clan... "Anyway. Are you willing to help me or not?"

Theron glanced at Artemis and sucked in a breath. "I can look at the Dalish writing," he said, noncommittally. "But I make no promises."

"Of course not," Merrill looked confused at the suggestion, but she gestured to the book on the table. "Anders thinks the words were written down by a native speaker of Tevene, and they might be the right concepts but the wrong words, or the right words but only if you say them like you would if they were Tevene words."

"Well, I don't speak Tevene," Theron admitted, letting go of Artemis to get closer to the book. "Ma'shiral in abelas tu bora var vhenas. 'Your journey with sorrow will make you lose our home.' Well, that's cheery. Are you sure this is something we should be playing with?"

"Arlathan had already fallen," Merrill reminded him. "It sounds like the sort of thing you'd say to get back there. Or at least the sort of thing you'd hope would take you home. Except it doesn't work."

"Are we certain of that?" Theron asked, squinting at the mirror, one finger marking that line in the book. "Do we have records of anyone using an eluvian after Arlathan? Maybe this password is not a password but just wishful thinking."

Merrill chewed on her lip and seemed to be considering it. "No," she decided after a while. "It can't be."


	169. Chapter 169

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theron Mahariel, Dalish poet, saviour of the -- what do you _mean_ it still doesn't work?

"Are you sure _that's_ not just wishful thinking?" Theron asked, arcing an eyebrow in her direction.

"No. I mean yes, I'm sure," Merrill replied. "I've tried the password before, a few times, and each time it... I feel like it _wants_ to work. I think we might just be off from a word or two."

Theron sighed and pursed his lips as though to keep from saying something he'd regret. He tapped a finger against the book as he considered. "This book isn't as old as it should be," he said. "This is a copy. The Elvish we're looking for would be old, older than this book suggests. Maybe... maybe not 'ma'shiral' but 'mala shiral'? It's an older form, but..." He shrugged.

Merrill shrugged as well, waving everyone toward the far side of the room. "We're not going to know, unless we try," she said. "If it doesn't work, I'll show you what happens with the original phrase, too. You have to see it to understand why I'm so sure."

Theron stepped back, tugging Artemis with him. "I don't suppose you've got anything that would help if this goes really, really wrong, do you?" He looked a bit ill, remembering the last time he'd watched someone touch one of these -- the same one, actually, even if it had been different, then.

"What, no. Merrill-- Merrill, what are you doing?" Carver still stood by the door, mostly out of the way, but close enough to be concerned. "Okay, no. You're about to cast a spell on something ancient and broken that killed people, and you're doing it in front of the templar."

"Oh, Carver, don't be silly. Go stand with your brother, so you don't get hurt. Not that it's done anything that would hurt someone, since I fixed it, but just in case." Merrill flipped her hand at him, unconcerned. "Just ask Artemis. He's watched me try to get it working."

"I have," Artemis answered, stepping back anyway. "And no one died." His eyes widened. "I didn't just jinx it, did I? I just jinxed it." Muttering under his breath, he summoned his rock armour, adjusting the plates of stone so they acted more like a wall, shielding Theron and Carver as well as him.

Merrill took a few deep, steadying breaths and raised her hands, magic gathering under her fingertips. No blood magic, not this time, not if she wanted Mahariel to trust her. "Mala shiral in abelas tu bora var vhenas," she incanted. Magic made the air heavy, like just before a rainstorm, and the surface of the eluvian rippled and trembled. Merrill held her breath, hoping.

"Did it work?" Theron asked, peering over plates of stone.

Carver stared at his brother. "Remind me again how the Arishok managed to throw your guts on the floor?"

"This is a new trick," Artemis explained, jutting his chin at the stone. "One inspired by and dedicated to him. And to my poor intestines."

Merrill hesitated, hands prodding at the eluvian as she squinted into its cloudy depths, before she answered Theron. "Nnnno, but... That's the best, yet. Let it settle for a moment, and I'll show you what I mean. It's different. We're closer."

"We don't actually speak the same language, do we?" Theron realised, stepping out from behind the stone to look at the book, again. "You'd have thought of that, if we did. You only know the words the Keeper taught you, and I had to learn the stories. The stories are different. They're poetic, so they're easier to remember. This looks like..." He squinted and picked up the charcoal stick from next to the book, scrawling on one of the bits of paper piled around it. "The rhythm's wrong. That's not an easy sentence."

Merrill recited it again, without the magic, exaggerating the words. "It stumbles, doesn't it." She took the charcoal from him and scribbled a few more words next to his notes.

"It's not going to be 'arla' for 'vhenas'," Theron decided. "That makes it worse, not better. I'm pretty sure 'var vhenas' is right. That shows up in other places. 'Aravas' for 'shiral', maybe, though. That's a good catch. 'Mala aravas' feels better on the tongue. Also goes with 'var vhenas'."

Merrill bent to read the scrawled words over his shoulder. His handwriting was rushed but legible. "Mala aravas..." she began.

"Except, wait," Theron murmured. "We're treating this like poetry, ancient poetry, so we need to read it that way. It's written 'mala aravas' but pronounced 'mal'aravas'."

"Mal'aravas," Merrill repeated, nodding. "That's easier to say. Which is... probably the point. So. Mal'aravas in abelas tu bora var vhenas. Yes, that flows much better." 

"Do you understand any of this?" Carver muttered to Artemis, who shrugged, grinning.

"I don't know any Elvish, but it's nice to listen to," Artie said.

Theron chuckled, laying down the charcoal. "I tried to teach him a little when we were younger," he said over his shoulder as he double-checked the password's phrasing. "He was hopeless!"

"I just had... other interests on my mind," Artemis replied. Carver rolled his eyes.

"Shall we try again?" Merrill asked, and Carver was pleased to see that excited gleam in her eyes again. That alone was worth dealing with his brother, the elf-groping, and the mention of earthquakes. Yet another reason he liked the barracks. No earthquakes.

Theron nodded and moved back toward Artemis. "I'm just going to go stand behind the shem, again. That seems safe," he joked.

Merrill waited until the stone was in place and they were all behind it, before she tried again. The air again thickened with magic, sharpened with the smell of rain. "Mal'aravas in abelas tu bora var vhenas," she intoned, and the mirror hummed, the lyrium in the frame singing out. The surface of the glass rippled like a pool struck by a drop, but it remained hopelessly hazy.

"Don't!" Theron cried out, as Merrill drew closer, pressing her fingers against the eluvian's rippling surface, but it was still just glass.

"You've seen it do that before," Merrill guessed, turning to look into the glass at a different angle. "I'm sure it's almost working. I just can't make anything out." She huffed and squinted at it, calling into the glass, "Hello? Is anyone there? Dirthara ma emma renan?"

But, no response came, and in a few moments, the surface was again still.

"Oh, Elgar'nan," Merrill sighed, her shoulders sagging. "We were so close."

"Well, that was new," Artemis said, keeping his tone hopeful for her sake. "At least you know you did something right." He banished the stone and stepped cautiously forward, poking the mirror's surface with the tip of one finger. He frowned at the dirt he found there.

Theron ran a hand over his face, his skin pale. "It might have worked," he said. "This eluvian might have just connected with another that's isolated or in the dark or... also broken." He shrugged, throwing his arms out. "You need at least two eluvian for this to work the way it's supposed to, you know."

"Yes, yes, that's true," Merrill sighed. She shook her head. "I just don't know what else to try."

"You'll get it," Theron assured her, not sure how he felt about that fact, but pretty sure he was right. "You started out with a broken piece of cursed glass, and now it almost works. But, Creators, Merrill, if you get it working... Just don't work on it by yourself. If anything happens, someone needs to be able to tell the story, or someone else is going to repeat the same mistake. I'm not even sure it's the eluvian you should be worried about or what might be living in those ruins. I'm assuming they're all in ruins, like this one was. I can't imagine it would be so difficult to find information, if they were just ... sitting out somewhere."

"I can't work on it alone," Merrill pointed out. "I don't know what to try. It'll be someone else's idea, if anything."

Carver finally stepped away from the wall, hesitantly moving closer to the eluvian. His eyes never left it, as he wrapped his arms around Merrill. Mages. Why was everything in his life always defined by mages? He wasn't sure, but that was the most terrifying magic he'd seen since the last time Bethany gave him nightmares. There was something wrong about the way the mirror rippled, and he wished Merrill would give it up, but he also wished his sister would give up creepy death magic. There was nothing for it. If he wanted Merrill, the mirror was part of the package. It was probably less creepy than Bethany's work, in the end, he told himself. This was some kind of communication thing. That was some kind of ... zombie thing.

"I'm out of ideas," he volunteered. "Not that I had any to begin with."

"Maybe you should ask his healer friend with the legs up to the sky," Theron suggested, cocking a thumb at Artemis. "Even if he doesn't have any ideas, he'll sure give me some ideas."

Artie smirked. "Anders certainly is very good at giving... ideas."

Carver glared at him balefully over Merrill's head. "Get out."

"We've already asked Anders," Merrill said as everyone ignored Carver. "He helped us get as far as we did before you came here. But... he might have some new ideas..."

Carver groaned, pressing his forehead against the top of Merrill's head. "Just please don't invite Cormac too," he muttered. "I can't deal with all four of them. I will punch something."


	170. Chapter 170

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Artemis decides to pretend he's Anton, to get free drinks. Anders is the only sober member of this party, and Justice is getting a little too interested.

At this point in the evening, Cormac wasn't sure how many bars they'd hit, but the number was more than three, and the number of drinks he'd had was approaching ridiculous. Anders could probably tell him, though. Anders was still sober, and seemed terribly amused with the idiot suggestions coming out of his mouth.

At some point, Artie had decided that he was going to be Anton, for the night, and see how many free drinks being the 'Champion of Kirkwall' would get him. And then drinks had turned into bottles and pitchers, and thank the Maker there were four of them -- well, three, since Anders wasn't drinking -- because any one of them would have died of booze, after drinking anywhere near all that, alone.

They were in some dive, down by the docks, Cormac thought, one of those places where no one knew who they actually were. One of those places where no one knew he was Artie's brother, and that was just fine by him. Anders had gotten up to see about getting them a room, because there was no way any of them were walking back to Hightown, in the shape they were in, and Cormac was groping his brother, under the table, much to Fenris's amusement.

Artemis leaned heavily against his brother. He smacked and licked his lips, brow furrowed in confusion. "I can't feel m'lips," he announced to the table. "Fenris. Fenris, can _you_ feel my lips?"

Fenris squinted at Artemis over his most recent bottle, not sure what was in this drink, let alone how much he'd had. Fenris leaned in and gave Artie a messy kiss, missing on his first attempt. "They're still there," Fenris informed him, nodding, "if a bit harder to find than usual."

"All right, you drunkards," Anders said, returning. "We've got a room upstairs, which... is going to be fun to get to, isn't it."

"Fenris was just saying he was having a hard time finding my lips," Artie slurred, grinning. He cupped Fenris's chin with one hand and squeezed Cormac's thigh with the other. 

"In fairness," Fenris replied, words distorted by the way Artemis smushed his cheeks, "s'not a problem I usually have."

Anders stifled a laugh behind his hand.

Cormac wrapped an arm around Artemis's chest and then tried to stand up and take his brother with him. However drunk he might be, he was extremely clear on the fact that his brother was his responsibility, and he was not to leave Artie in the middle of some Maker-forsaken bar, doubly so one in this part of town. Still took him three tries and some help from Anders to get to his feet.

Once on his feet, Cormac seemed to be able to stay there, which he attributed to years of living with Shakes-and-Quakes. It wasn't that the room was actually vibrating, but it might as well have been, and as bad as he might have been at _boats_ , shaking was very different to _rolling_. "I could make it fun to get there," he slurred, with a wicked grin at Anders. "But, I think it's better if we wait to start the fun until the door's closed."

Anders blinked, then blinked again, then reached over the back of Fenris's chair and picked him up. "You're drunk enough to slur. I've never seen you that drunk," he told Fenris. "You're also tiny. So, we're going to do this the easy way. I'll carry you upstairs, and then come back for them, if they don't make it by themselves."

"Put me down, ma--" Fenris started, but Anders's hand clapped over his mouth.

"Don't say it. Not here."

Fenris grumbled something against Anders's hand, and Anders pulled his hand away before Fenris could bite it, his teeth clacking on air instead.

"Ahh, so you _are_ a biter," Anders said, ignoring the elf's grumbling as he carried him up the stairs. "I owe Izzy five silver."

"I prefer betting with other things," Artemis told Cormac in what he thought was a whisper. He grinned, swaying into his brother as they made for the stairs, and licked a stripe up the shell of Cormac's ear.

Anders couldn't see what the brothers were up to, but he could guess. Fenris was still heavy for an elf, and he staggered under his weight. "The bartender is going to have some interesting stories about the 'Champion' in the morning," he said, and Fenris hummed in agreement.

Justice clattered against the inside of Anders's head, in that way he sometimes did, when they were alone and he had some revolutionary intention to get onto paper -- too many words, too fast -- and Anders struggled to calm him down enough to figure out what the intent of those words was, as he checked the numbers carved into the doors.

"Fenris. Open the door for me." Two sentences, and a wait for the elf to register he was being spoken to, between them.

"I'm not your--"

"No, but my hands are full," Anders pointed out, flexing both of them against Fenris's body.

"Right. Of course." It struck Fenris how strange it was they didn't have to finish sentences with each other, any more. He expected that with Artemis, but Anders... Perhaps he'd spent more time talking to the abomination than he'd thought. And that really wasn't the word he wanted, he supposed. Even Justice had never tried to hurt him, in all the years he'd known them. But, he didn't know another word for someone who carried a Fade-creature inside them. His hand slipped off the door handle a few times, before he managed to push the door open.

"Wait right here," Anders said, tossing Fenris onto the bed. "I have to go rescue the Messeres Slutty."

Which was a fairly accurate statement, Anders noticed, as he stepped back into the hall, to discover that Cormac and Artemis had made it up the stairs, but not much further. Cormac was leaned in a corner of the wall beside the stairs, engaged in an extremely sloppy kiss with Artemis, whose legs were wrapped around his waist.

Justice trilled impatiently in the back of Anders's head, but Anders ignored him for the moment, pausing in the hall to enjoy the inspiring, if uncoordinated, show. That enjoyment only lasted a moment before the brothers looked like they were in danger of toppling over, and Anders rushed forward to brace them.

"All right, 'Champion', Assface," Anders sighed. "If you could kindly disentangle yourselves long enough to get through the door, you could resume this activity on a bed. A bed that might include Fenris and myself."

Artemis purred around Cormac's earlobe, still nibbling at it as Anders coaxed him into lowering his feet to the floor. "That sounds cosy," he said, finally pulling back, one arm still wrapped around Cormac while the other curled around Anders's waist. "And you're going to have to try harder, Cormac. I still can't feel my lips."

Manoeuvring Fenris had been challenging enough, but manhandling a pair of handsy Hawkes was like corralling cats. When they finally stumbled their way into the room, Fenris was sprawled across the bed, staring dazedly up at the ceiling.

Justice surged forward, at the sight, which was extremely unusual, but Anders finally understood, and he meant to put a stop to it. ' _You're going to regret that_ ,' he thought, nudging Artemis toward the bed, as he wound himself around Cormac, hands lighting up with a wave of healing that he stroked into Cormac's face and chest. He knew better than to try to argue with Justice, by himself, and he needed Cormac just a little less drunk, for this.

"You all right?" Cormac asked, looking up as the healing washed through him, easing some of the throbbing behind his eyes and steadying the room a bit.

"I'm the only sober person in the room," Anders pointed out, stretching his leg back to nudge the door closed. "And Justice..."

"Shit," Cormac sighed. "What's he upset about? Is it obvious, but I was too drunk to notice?"

"Lyrium," Anders whispered.

Cormac looked confused, and then his eyes drifted toward the bed. "Anders, tell me the truth. Did I break your spirit? Did I do something I shouldn't have?"

Anders shook his head. "Not you. The library. That was all me." He sighed. "It was stupid and I shouldn't have done it, but..."

"Do I need to get glowy? Would that distract him?" Cormac asked, putting an arm around Anders.

Anders drew in a breath. He rubbed his cheek against Cormac's and breathed him in, trying to focus on him instead of the lyrium he could practically taste from here. "You could try it," he said, shrugging. "Can't hurt." Maker knew it couldn't end more disastrously than last time.

On the bed, Artie had curled around Fenris, hair still tousled where Cormac's hands had gripped it. He nuzzled under Fenris's chin, licking a long stripe up his throat, tracing the thick line of lyrium there. Fenris purred, curling an arm around his mage. "Want to try to find my mouth again?" Artemis asked. "Maybe with something other than your lips this time?"

"Mm, with what?" Fenris teased, tracing Artie's lips with the pad of his thumb. "With my finger? A toe?"

Artemis nibbled at Fenris's thumb. "With your knob," he slurred, reaching down and fumbling in Fenris's lap until he found said piece of anatomy. "I love how you taste. The lyrium in your knob makes your spunk taste like _magic_!"

Cormac choked on his tongue, eyes lighting on his brother in horrified amusement. He opened his mouth to make a joke, but the sudden blazing blue glow in his arms made everything a lot less funny. "Justice, no. Stay with me. I'm a lot more fun."


	171. Chapter 171

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justice craves the taste of lyrium. Fenris is really not sure how to take this.

"I WISH TO LICK THE ELF. HE TASTES LIKE HOME," Justice boomed, still not moving to pull out of Cormac's grip. If Cormac didn't want him to move, there must be something he was missing. Cormac rarely stopped him. Anders also seemed extremely upset by the idea.

Fenris's eyes were huge as he pulled Artemis on top of himself, wrapping the blanket over them. It wouldn't really help, but maybe if he were less visible... He suddenly wished he were a bit less drunk. And then the glowing doubled, as Cormac faded into an indigo shimmer, pressing closer against Justice's side. Fenris was somewhat reassured that someone was sober enough to look after him, because the only 'looking after' he could do for himself, in this state, was going to end in someone dying.

Artemis blinked down at Fenris then over his shoulder at his brother and his brother's 'nothing-serious'. As fun as the idea of Justice licking Fenris was, the wide-eyed look on Fenris's face was decidedly less fun. Justice seemed to be restraining himself -- or, rather, Cormac seemed to be restraining him -- but Artemis reached for his rock armour just in case. The air twisted a bit, but no stone appeared. Artie tried again, but the magic kept slipping through his fingers.

"What're you doing?" Fenris asked, watching Artemis wave a hand in the air, frowning all the while.

"I'm trying to... rock," Artie explained. "Don't worry, Fen. I'll protect you. Once... once I get this working."

Fenris watched Artie grope the air again. "Thank you," he said dryly. "I feel very reassured."

Artemis gave up and settled for wrapping himself around Fenris instead. It had been a while since he'd been drunk enough for his magic not to respond. 

Justice seemed to be momentarily distracted by Cormac, a fact that did not escape Anders's notice. He encouraged this distraction, reminding Justice of how much he'd enjoyed the sensation of Cormac's body wrapped around them both, bright with the Fade. "YES," Justice murmured. "THIS IS VERY PLEASING. BUT, I DO NOT UNDERSTAND WHY THE LYRIUM ELF HIDES HIMSELF FROM US.  I DO NOT WISH TO HARM HIM."

"He's had a rough couple of decades," Cormac assured him, deep blue fingers tracing the glowing blue seams in Anders's skin. "He doesn't like mages, an--"

"I AM NOT A MAGE," Justice pointed out.

"Anders is. And you're ... I'll be honest with you, Justice. You're terrifying. And you know that." Cormac shrugged, hands loosening Justice's belt, picking at the rings to open his coat. "I don't mind it. You've got your own charms, and you live in my-- in Anders's body. If I want him, I get you, too. And that's all right, because I'm not afraid of you. But, I think Fenris is. And I think he's not wrong to be."

"BUT, I WILL NOT HURT HIM," Justice insisted, still confused by the nuances of the living.

"And I wouldn't hurt Anders. You see what still happens." It was a horrible thing to bring up, but it seemed to have the effect Cormac was going for, as Justice grabbed his shoulders and wobbled. "It's not just about you, my gorgeous blue nightlight. It's about him, and what he wants, too."

"TO HAVE IT OTHERWISE WOULD BE UNJUST. I WOULD NOT DO SUCH A THING. I SIMPLY DO NOT UNDERSTAND WHY I AM SO ..." Justice looked expectantly at Cormac.

"Objectionable," Cormac filled in, leading Justice toward the bed. "Excuse us," he said to his brother. "We just need to sit down. Don't worry, Fenris. He's not going to touch you, unless you say he can."

Fenris still stiffened at first at their glowy proximity, tensing like a cat ready to bolt, but Justice merely sat next to Cormac and looked longingly at the elf. Which was an odd look to see in Fade-blue eyes.

"Fenris," Artemis murmured, poking Fenris in the arm. "I think there's enough glowing going on in here."

Pulling his stare from Justice, Fenris blinked up at Artemis, then down at his arms, at the markings he'd lit on defensive instinct. "Ah. That's..." Yet instead of switching his tattoos off, he cut a glance to the side, eyeing Cormac and comparing the way their skin shimmered with Fade light. There was a part of him that found it unfair that Cormac could do this, that he'd learned how to without having his memories erased or painful scars carved into his skin. Then again, with the way Cormac viewed pain...

Fenris reached around Artemis, hesitating just before poking Cormac's arm. "May I?" he asked, because if Justice was waiting for his permission to touch, Fenris could ask for Cormac's.

"You know," Artemis sighed, "it's really disheartening being the only non-glowy person in a room."

"Electrical halo," Cormac whispered, the kiss he pressed to Artemis's cheek sinking just below the surface of the skin, as he offered one hand to Fenris. "I bet he'd love it."

Fenris traced his own glowing fingertips down Cormac's arm, marvelling at the way they _didn't_ pass through. "I'm inside your shield, aren't I?" he asked, with a sly smile.

Cormac tilted his head from side to side before answering, chewing on his lip. "Not quite. I took down the shield to do this. I take down the shield for ... things." He raised his eyebrows, pointedly. "But, that is my arm, you are touching it, and I have no doubt in my mind you could break it. Please don't."

"No... I ..." Fenris was fascinated, twisting to get a closer look. "You're not the same colour," he pointed out. "I thought it was your skin, but it's not. That's not the same blue, at all."

"Justice, tell me if I'm wrong," Cormac started, closing his eyes to consider how to put the idea together. He wasn't nearly sober enough to be talking theory, but he knew what Fenris was seeing. "I don't know if it's actual depth or concentration or ... I have no idea, but I'm not touching the same part of the Fade that you are. The books say the magic that I have comes from the --" he cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows. "-- deepest wells of the Fade. I don't know why that makes it different, but I do know it occasionally has its own opinions."

Justice stared at where they touched, yearning in his eyes. "YOU SING WHEN YOU TOUCH HIM," Justice told Fenris.

"I... sing?" Fenris tilted his head, fingers still light on Cormac's arm.

"NOT WITH YOUR VOICE," Justice said as though that should explain everything. When Fenris continued to stare blankly, he sighed and gestured at Fenris's body. "WITH YOUR... THE LYRIUM. IT SINGS." Justice tilted his head to listen to the song only he could hear, a sad smile playing about his lips.

"Mm, I like it when you actually sing, you know," Artemis murmured, pressing a kiss to Fenris's shoulder. "You should sing more. I've only heard you sing that one time. And then that other time when you were in the bath and forgot I was home." Fenris smiled indulgently and stroked a finger of his free hand along Artie's spine, the tip disappearing just under the skin. Artemis's drunken rambling disintegrated into a purr.

"LYRIUM ELF," said Justice, voice still booming but somehow softening, like Justice was trying to lower his voice. "FENRIS. YOU ARE FREE TO OBJECT, BUT MAY I TOUCH YOU? JUST MY HAND ON YOURS."

Fenris stiffened again, hunching tighter against Artemis, but the look he gave Justice was appraising, not fearful. He darted a look at Cormac, sending him a look asking the elder Hawke to help him if this didn't go as planned. "...you may," Fenris said, one ear twitching. "Just my hand."

Justice moved with exaggerated care, tracing one finger from Fenris's wrist down to the point of a finger, following the line. He felt it twice, just as he had with Cormac, making contact both physically, with Anders's body, and in the Fade, with his own. The lyrium song, so long so quiet, became nearly deafening, inside his head. He had not been so close to Fenris, in the library. That had been Anders, and Anders had been trying to hold him back. He thought he finally understood why, with the tips of his fingers pressed against Fenris's, Cormac's hand caressing his cheek. It was so loud. It was so powerful. He could understand the fear of it, even as it comforted him.

Fenris watched a blissful smile spread across Justice's face, at the contact, the monstrosity settling out into a purring kitten -- and he did seem to be purring, if Fenris understood that sound correctly. He didn't really understand it, but he recognised it, and wondered if that was how he had looked the first time Anders had run lightning down his arm.

"It was," Cormac said, eyes still on Justice, answering the question Fenris hadn't realised had come out of his mouth.

Artemis hummed in agreement, pressing another kiss to Fenris's shoulder and tracing a hand down Fenris's other arm. He sighed in disappointment when only the barest spark jumped to his fingertips. He had liked seeing that look on Fenris's face and liked seeing it now on Anders's, even if it was Justice making that expression.

Fenris surprised himself by stretching his arm further, offering more of his vulnerable underarm to Justice. The spirit's eyes widened, and Justice traced the lines of lyrium down to the crook of Fenris's elbow. Fenris shivered, his skin prickling at the contact, though it was a different kind of sensation than he was used to from Artemis's touch or even from Anders alone.

Artemis rested his chin on Fenris's chest and watched the two of them, one hand smoothing down Fenris's side. He could feel his elf's breathing pick up, and he smirked, exchanging a look with Cormac, eyebrows twitching upward.

Cormac used his free hand to gesture for Artie to roll over, and then dragged his fingers suggestively down his brother's leg. There was something going on here that they weren't really invited to, and he meant to keep an eye on it, but also not to waste the opportunity. Usually, this was the other way around -- he and Artemis on display, while Fenris and Anders tried to ignore each other, in the corner. But, Cormac had no intention of ignoring Artemis, if they were being granted the opportunity to watch.

Cradling Fenris's elbow in one hand, Justice showed the other hand to Fenris, as Anders suggested one might do with an unknown dog, and then traced the lines back down Fenris's forearm, to his fingertips, with one finger, every motion cautious and gentle. His awe was obvious, even as Anders shifted uncomfortably in the back of their mind, reminded of other less-pure songs. But, Justice soothed the concern with memories of the Fade, and the chorus of life that infused every part of it. Out here, only the lyrium still sang of home. Everything else was too far from its roots.

Artie nestled back against Cormac, one hand reaching behind him to squeeze Cormac's thigh even as the pair in front of him had his full attention. A part of him was uneasy, remembering how Justice had been in the Deep Roads under Corypheus's influence, how he'd almost attacked that mage girl while fighting Ser Alrik. It occurred to him that, despite the amount of time he'd spent with Anders, he'd seen relatively little of Justice.

Justice inched closer to Fenris, his body language still submissive, as though trying to soothe a spooked animal. Fenris watched him move, unblinking, but didn't tense this time, and Justice bent over his open palm, pressing the barest kiss to the collection of lines there. Fenris's breath hitched, eyes wild, but he didn't draw back. "IS THIS ALL RIGHT?" Justice asked. "HAVE I OVERSTEPPED?"

Fenris swallowed, staring at Justice and at where the spirit still touched him, hands gentle on his arm. "Not yet," he said guardedly. He caught Artie's eye, comforted by the presence of his mage.


	172. Chapter 172

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hawkes give Justice bad ideas. Fenris is uncertain if he approves of these developments.

For all that Cormac was sure this wouldn't go much further, he still whispered into Artemis's ear, as he eased Anders's favourite boots off of Justice. "He loves the feel of the Fade against his tongue. Sometimes, I can trade him for Anders. He writes while I hold him, while I touch him like this." Cormac was a bit more solid than he'd been at the start of the affair, the indigo glow still clinging to him, but clearly visible and able to support his brother. He ran the fingers of one hand across Artie's lips and down his chin, as the other hand kneaded Justice's foot. "He likes my fingers in his mouth, just like Anders. Likes the glow against his tongue. The taste of home."

"I WISH TO TASTE YOU." Justice's lips moved against Fenris's palm. "MAY I? YOUR SKIN... THE LYRIUM SINGS, IF MORE QUIETLY NOW."

Cormac realised he'd stopped touching Fenris, at some point, or maybe Fenris had stopped touching him.

"Taste...?" Fenris began, thinking immediately of Artemis's earlier words, regarding the taste of his... 'spunk'. 

Some of the panic must have shown on his face, because Justice elaborated, after some nudging from Anders, "YOUR HAND. I MERELY WISH TO TASTE YOUR SKIN. IT DOES NOT MATTER WHERE."

"Ah. I see." Fenris's cheeks still flushed with heat, ears twitching in opposite directions. "You... may?"

"THAT SOUNDED LESS LIKE PERMISSION AND MORE LIKE A QUESTION."

Fenris cleared his throat and took a moment to shake his head at the absurdity of the situation. A Fade spirit possessing an irksome mage, asking to lick his hand. More absurd still was his answer. "Yes. You may." He still watched Justice carefully as the spirit bent back over his hand. A possessed body's tongue, it turned out, felt much the same as anyone else's tongue, but Fenris still squirmed at the wet line Justice traced across his palm.

"Tell me I'm not the only one who finds this hot," Artemis asked, directing the words over his shoulder while watching the reverent way Justice touched and licked Fenris's hand.

"Holy balls," Cormac sighed against Artemis's ear. "Yours, of course. It's not just hot, it's inspiring." His hand slid down from where it rested against Artemis's neck to settle into his lap, squeezing gently. "Do you think we can talk them into something more? Justice on his knees, with that blissful smile, while Fenris fucks his mouth? All that lyrium on the tongue... I can remember almost every line of it, and I only touched it once. I was afraid it would scar." Cormac's other hand continued to work against Justice's foot, pressing on all those spots Anders loved to have rubbed. "Or maybe another way... You and Fenris, side by side, all hands and tongues, while Justice and I swallow you both down? What do you think of that, little brother? Should we suggest it?"

Justice continued to trace the lines he'd traced with his fingers again with his tongue, in slow, gentle, cautious motions. Tiny sounds of pleasure worked their way out of him, but he was willing to attribute them to Anders, not recognising such sounds as his own. Anders shoved a memory of the Deep Roads forward, reminding Justice of exactly the sorts of noises he could make, given the right provocation, and he gasped against Fenris's wrist, warm from the taste and warmer from the memory.

"Oh Maker, yes," Artemis breathed, hardly daring to blink. "All of that. Any of that." His hips moved in small circles, pressing up into Cormac's hand while Artie reached back to pull Cormac tighter against him. He wasn't sure how well this would end, wasn't sure if the more sober versions of themselves would approve come morning, but right then all Artemis cared about was the body pressed against his and the look on Fenris's and Anders's faces.

Fenris melted into the mattress, slowly losing his wary edge until his eyes rolled back. More sounds fell between them that Fenris would never take credit for. "Mage," he breathed, unsure whom he was asking for, whom he was addressing. There was a time when Fenris would have called Justice a demon, and the way Justice was touching him now, all careful caresses and gentle swirls of tongue, Fenris had to wonder if he was. "That's... I'm..." He struggled for words, wanting more but unsure of what. He looked at Justice, then pleadingly at the entwined mages.

"Fenris," Cormac said, after a few moments of waiting to see if Artemis would take the lead. "I know you're not asking me, but my brother's distracted. If you want more, maybe let him lick your knob. Anders is extremely very incredibly talented at knob-sucking, and I'm sure he'll share. Maybe let me lay Artie down next to you, so you can enjoy each other, while Justice and I enjoy you both?"

He squeezed Justice's foot. "He's got lyrium ridges along his knob. It's... an experience." Cormac declined to specify that he hadn't found it an entirely pleasant experience. Lyrium in bed might be fun, but he wasn't sure it needed to be that close to his knob. He also wasn't sure Fenris needed to be that close to his knob. Of course, he'd also forgotten how many times Anders had gotten that close to Fenris's knob and its lyrium ridges.

"IS THIS SOMETHING YOU WOULD LIKE?" Justice asked, as Anders flooded their mind with memories of sucking other, non-lyrium-etched knobs. After a brief pause, they remembered the library, together, and the feel of that lyrium pressed into them. Justice was still not entirely comfortable with the sensations Anders's body provided him, with the way the muscles flexed and rolled without his leave, the distracting throbbing against their belly, and other things Anders seemed to enjoy. Certainly, he remembered the Deep Roads, and how Cormac had led him to the pleasures of the flesh, but... he wasn't sure if the sensations were more pleasurable or irritating, if only in that they nagged and pulled at him, unceasingly, leading him further into things he hadn't meant to participate in, but now found he wouldn't turn down an invitation to.

Fenris should say no, wanted to say no, but his drink-fogged brain was stuck on the words 'lick', 'suck', and 'knob' and how much he liked when those three things went together. He looked at Justice, then at his mage and the eagerness in his eyes. There was a line here somewhere -- he was certain of that -- but he couldn't figure out where it was or if he'd already crossed it. Fenris nodded, taking a moment to find his voice before stammering out, "Yes. We could... yes."

Artemis grinned, twisting in his brother's arms to give him a lingering kiss and a squeeze to his ass, before disentangling himself. "You are a genius," Artie told his brother before settling back next to Fenris.

Justice's eyes seemed to glow a brighter blue, but his touch remained gentle as he pulled away, guided by Anders's memories to where he needed to be. "I THANK YOU FOR THIS GREAT HONOUR," he boomed, and Fenris nodded, unsure how to respond to that.

"I'm only a genius if I can remember how your trousers work," Cormac muttered, kneeling between Artemis's legs. "Why do you own such complicated pants? Is this because we were coming to a sketchy part of town? Is this your defence against sitting on the wrong dick? Because, my beloved god-king, this may be proof against you getting a blowjob, at this rate."

"The belts are decorative," Fenris pointed out. "Stop unbuckling them and look to the left."

Cormac ran his fingers over his brother's left hip and cursed, quietly. "Are you fucking kidding me." The buttons opened easily under even his drunken fingers, and he pressed a kiss to the inner curve of one hip, right where Anders had a scar. Cormac wondered for a moment when Anders had become the defining point in sex acts, for him, but there was no denying it had happened. He tugged Artemis's trousers down to the tops of his boots and then fumbled a bit, before giving up and ducking under them, hooking his brother's legs over his shoulders. 

"Sorry. Too lazy for boots," he said, sucking his fingers and gazing up Artemis's chest.

"You got the pants down," Artemis informed him, words still running together. "That's the important part." He gave Cormac's head a congratulatory pat before threading his fingers into his brother's hair. He wondered if he should invest in simpler clothes for just such occasions, only to decide the extra buckles were safer.

Justice knelt between Fenris's legs, but Fenris handled his own pants. The last thing he wanted was a Fade spirit pawing his crotch trying to figure out how the knots worked. He wriggled out of his leggings and luckily had no boots to contend with. He tossed them to the side, letting them flop to the floor, not caring where.

Justice drank in the sight before him, the new lines of lyrium that snaked up from Fenris's feet, up his long legs, curling around each hip and up his knob.

"Don't think I've ever seen a spirit drool before," Artemis said, watching Justice as he turned his head to nibble at the point of Fenris's ear. "I can't say I blame him."

Fenris shivered, both at the teeth around his ear and at the sight of Justice on his knees, clearly aching to touch him.

Anders tried to be supportive, really, but Justice reminded him of every drooling idiot teenager in Kinloch Hold -- himself included. He was too old for this shit. He needed something a lot less drooly and stupid, or at least for the drooly stupidity to be the result of Cormac drinking too much. That was usually funny. But this... this was really kind of disturbing. He shoved his way forward, swatting Justice back, the blue fading into faint traces across his skin.

"Fenris? You sure about this?" he asked, slapping himself in the arm, as a bright blue seam started to open up. "If you change your mind, tell me. If you say my name instead of his, I'll make him stop." Anders hoped that was a valid offer, but he had no reason to believe Justice would be difficult to unseat, without a _cause_ drawing him forward.

Fenris offered a dizzy, confused smile. When had he become surrounded by mages who asked him things? When had his opinion started to matter to someone other than Artemis? And why was he only really noticing it now? Surely the drink. He hadn't been this drunk in a long time. Perhaps he should take it up, again. It seemed to help his perception. "What are you?" he asked, reaching up to tuck Anders's hair behind his ear. There had been another question, one he meant to answer, but this one seemed more important, first. "It seems rude to think of you as an abomination, but I know no other word."

Definitely the drink, he decided.

Beside them, Cormac nuzzled and kissed Artemis's belly, flicking his tongue across the knob that twitched against his cheek. There were things he meant to say, things he meant to do, but what was going on next to him seemed much more interesting, for the moment. Artemis continued to toy with Cormac's hair, but his attention was just as focused on the pair next to them.

Anders blinked up at Fenris, gaze turning inward as he debated with Justice. "I'm Anders," he answered simply, shrugging. "Mage, healer, asshole. All of those things. I'm also Justice or... Justice is also me. Not an abomination. Just... complicated."

"So," Fenris said, drawing out the word, "It would be rude to call you an abomination but less rude to call you an asshole?"

"I'm not sure about less rude," Anders huffed, "but certainly more honest."

"The asshole with the flagpole," Artemis added under his breath.


	173. Chapter 173

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justice enjoys this little excursion into the abundant pleasures to be had of tasting lyrium, in certain ways. Cormac gets surprised, not entirely pleasantly.

A smile twitched at the corner of Fenris's lips. Anders squeezed Fenris's leg, his thumb tracing circles along the skin there. "You never answered my question, Fenris," he said, needing to hear the answer. Justice clamoured for control in the back of his mind, Fade-blue just waiting to crack through his skin. "Are you sure about this?"

'Sure' wasn't the word Fenris would use, but he wanted it anyway. "Yes," he said. "For the moment, I am. If that changes, I'll let you know."

The words came out a bit slurred, but the 'yes' was clear, as was the inviting cant of his hips. This time, when Justice pushed forward, Anders let him. Blue splintered across Anders's skin, eyes a glowing, burning blue.

"Be gentle, Justice," Cormac warned, remembering that time in the Deep Roads. "He's not me."

"YOU DO NOT SING FOR ME," Justice pointed out, as if that were the most obvious distinction between Fenris and Cormac. "I WILL NOT FORGET." He edged back until he could lower his mouth to the lines along Fenris's thighs, which were thicker strokes than the ones on his forearms. More gentle swirls of tongue, faint kisses, and needy sounds followed Justice's every motion.

Cormac watched a moment longer, before returning his attention to the beautiful body beneath him. "So," he began, rubbing spit-slick fingers over Artemis's hole, as he darted his tongue against the tip of Artie's knob, "you said you used to dream of me with my fingers in you. I remember that. Do you still want that? Do you want to remind me how you dreamed of me taking you, so I can make it more than just a dream? I wouldn't want to disappoint your memories of imaginary me."

Fenris's attention wavered between the spirit lapping at his thighs and the beginnings of what would no doubt become the kind of vile filth Cormac specialised in, beside him. Still, the way Artemis always reacted to that filth was enough to make Fenris listen more closely. Between Cormac and Theron, he thought he might learn how to talk to his mage, eventually.

Artemis groaned, his head pressing back into the pillow as he arched his back, tilting his hips to press down against his brother's fingers. He was still too drunk to see straight, let alone form coherent sentences while there was a mouth on his knob, but he would try because his brother had asked him to. "This is already better than the imaginary version," he said with a breathy laugh. "I was still... I was still only figuring things out back then, and... Maker. You would always take your time with me at first, teasing me like the asshole you are, until I'd beg for more. And then you'd give it to me hard and fast, the way you know I like it." The words flowed out of Artie unfiltered as he squirmed against Cormac, legs pulling him closer by the shoulders.

Justice sucked at a line of lyrium at Fenris's hip, and Fenris swore under his breath. Artemis looked to the side, catching Fenris's eye. Artie reached over, carding a hand through Fenris's hair before leaning in for a kiss, gasping against his elf's lips at another flick of Cormac's tongue.

Justice's tongue finally found Fenris's knob, licking experimentally at a bit of lyrium, and Fenris pulled back from the kiss to suck in a breath. "Venhedis," he swore, and Artie's mouth dropped to his neck instead, licking the stripes of lyrium there in counterpoint to Justice.

Cormac's fingers danced over Artemis's hole, one finally pressing in just the slightest bit, the pad rubbing against the edge in a few slow, teasing strokes. "You want me to tease you before I take you?" Cormac purred, pushing one finger in as deep as it would go, and then sliding it back out to the first joint. "Lucky you, that's what I do best."

He shut himself up, wrapping his lips around the tip of Artie's knob, sucking gently and darting his tongue against the slit. He could keep this going all night, if he wanted to, using the earthquakes as his guide for when to back off. The thought was oddly appealing, but he wasn't sure it was wise, with Artie this drunk. Pissing off the brother with the force magic might not be the best idea, if he expected to actually survive the evening. On the other hand, shields.

As Cormac debated with himself, Justice busied himself with Fenris's knob and Anders's memories -- how the lines of lyrium fell along paths he'd want to lick anyway, that the taste was so similar and yet so different to what Anders remembered of so many others. And that was something battering against the back of his mind. This taste reminded Anders of another taste, one he was trying to keep to himself. Justice would let that go, for now. Anders had the strangest secrets, sometimes.

Stroking each line with his tongue, Justice marvelled at the artistry. Not only was the pattern attractive, but Fenris was still alive and relatively sane. The man who had done this was a terrible person, but a very, very skilled artisan, and Justice wondered if this art had been recorded anywhere, or if it would be lost upon the inevitable demise of the responsible party -- something he intended to see to, at some point. For now, though, he could appreciate the work, the way his tongue crackled with it, and he let Anders lick the marked flesh into their mouth.

Fenris shuddered, clutching a hand in Artie's tunic to ground himself. Artemis's skin -- Anders's skin -- felt like magic, like a charge through his nerves, but Justice was something else, something _more_. This much, this close, was almost a burn, a line of fire that lit up his markings. A soft groan fell from parted lips, and Artemis could feel its vibration in Fenris's throat. Artie smiled, nipping just under Fenris's jaw, only to stifle a gasp against the skin there as Cormac's finger continued to tease.

One hand still curled in Cormac's hair, Artemis fought to keep his hips still, his breaths coming out in shivery pants against Fenris's neck. "How does it feel?" Artemis asked Fenris, nibbling the shell of his ear again. "I love when you make those sounds. I love when you talk. And, Maker, _Cormac_ , I love when you do that with your tongue!" The next choked-off moan Artie made spilled right into Fenris's ear. Growling, Fenris turned his head and swallowed the next few sounds his mage made.

The lyrium was sweet against Justice's tongue, the song louder here, filling his head and drowning out everything else. Anders reminded him to move, coaxed his tongue to press just so, his lips and hands to move here and here.

Working his finger right where Artie wanted it, Cormac let himself indulge. Maybe Artie would be drunk enough to give him some lovely noise to go with the earthquakes, tonight. Not like anyone here knew them well enough to know that was his brother screaming his name -- or even to know what his name was. Everyone thought Artie was Anton, anyway, and wouldn't that be a riot come tomorrow. He swallowed, drawing Artie's knob in deeper, pushing down until he could nuzzle his brother's belly. Soon the bed would start to shake, and then he'd back off and make Artie beg for more, but he always liked to show off a little first. Make it ever so clear what 'more' might consist of.

Beside him, Cormac could hear Justice making warm sounds of satisfaction -- sounds he'd never really imagined out of Justice. Not that he didn't make offers, but Justice didn't take them very often, and when he did... that was not among the library of sounds he made. Cormac rested a hand on Justice's back, to remind Anders he was still there, still watching.

Justice barely noticed the hand, distracted as he was by the lyrium song filling all his senses. Even Anders had gone almost quiet in awe of the song, just nudging soundlessly, when Justice fell too far in. Justice could feel it in his chest, ringing through his ribs, like the Fade might run right through him, and words of praise and amazement turned into garbage sounds around the lyrium-etched flesh in him mouth. He sucked harder, working his tongue against the lines, feeling them light against him. This was the closest he'd been in years, and he wanted to savour every moment of it.

The sweet burn climbed up Fenris's spine, his back arching off the sheets. A sound that wasn't quite Justice's name slipped through grit teeth, and for a moment he spared a dizzy thought to how strange it would be to shout 'Justice!' in ecstasy. 

Next to him, his mage started to shake, making those sweet, desperate little sounds against Fenris's lips, and Fenris clung to him, holding him close. He wrapped a hand around Artie's throat and squeezed just a little, fingertips glowing blue and sinking just under the skin. "Are you going to shake the bed for us?" Fenris murmured. He always loved how that felt, loved watching his mage come apart, and he divided his attention between Artemis and Justice, wanting to watch and feel the spirit but not wanting to miss this.

Artemis garbled something that could have been nonsense or it could have been their three names rolled into one, his toes pointing and hips shivering as his world narrowed to the mouth around his knob, the fingers crooking inside of him. He spilled inside his brother's mouth, his shout filling the room. 

Cormac choked. For the first time in almost twenty years, he choked on the knob in his mouth, as it throbbed in his throat, and his brother's spend dribbled out of his nose. He pulled back, coughing and snorting, fingers still stroking Artemis's insides, trying to get words out, between attempts to clear out his sinuses. He'd have known, if it had been anyone else, but it was Artemis, and he'd waited for the earthquake to tell him. But, there was no earthquake. His eyes watered and his other hand finally moved from Justice's back to thumb the tears away. 

"No earthquakes?" he finally managed, fingers curling in annoyance, but in a way he knew would only please his brother more. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he hoped it would make up for the fact that he was dripping spunk and snot across Artemis's belly.

Anders heard it happen, even as he urged Justice to suck harder and lap at the lyrium more quickly. He could feel Fenris coming apart beneath them, but some part of him wanted to check on Cormac. A glance to the side revealed pretty much what he'd expected, from the sounds, but he couldn't get a look at Cormac's face. But, then, if Cormac was still talking, it wasn't serious, and he could take care of it later. Justice fluttered with faint concern, but Anders redirected his thoughts to the matter at hand.

Artemis tried to sit up, only to flop back down with a strangled sound when Cormac curled his fingers. He could have sworn he felt the earth move, but maybe that was just the drink messing with his equilibrium. "No...? Oh." He blinked down at his brother, stiffening at the mess he was making. He fought back the urge to force shove Cormac and his dripping snot away and instead asked in a strangled voice, "Are you okay?" His hands flailed in the air a moment before finding a corner of the bedsheet, which he used to wipe the worst of the mess off his stomach. "Ew. That's just... ew."


	174. Chapter 174

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get a little less fantastically Hawkeward, for a little while, but no less smutty.

Still half-watching the brothers, Fenris's sounds of pleasure choked off and broke into sounds of wheezing laughter. He let his head fall back to the pillow and cackled at the ceiling, the sound still breathy and punctuated with the occasional gasp at the feeling of Justice's lips and tongue. He'd been close, but that sight had caught him by surprise.

Artie swatted Fenris with a pillow and, after making sure Cormac wasn't going to choke to death, burst into a fit of giggles as well. "I'm sorry," he gasped out. "Too drunk for earthquakes apparently. I didn't think to... oh Maker."

Cormac grabbed the slightly-used bedsheet and blew his nose into it a few times. "Anything else you want to tell me, before I pay you back for that?" he asked, crooking his fingers again, before sliding them out. "I was thinking maybe I'd just hold you down and have my way with you. If you beg prettily enough, it won't even be in the gross spot." Not the wet spot. This went beyond 'wet'.

It wasn't until their body started to vibrate that Justice realised Anders had started to shake, but he couldn't make out the reason. Pleasure? Discomfort? Humour? But, Anders waved aside his concern, still mostly focused on Fenris, reminding Justice of how good the lyrium tasted, how good it felt against their tongue. Flashes of another flavour darted through their mind, although Anders took little pleasure in those memories. Justice was still intrigued by the taste of lyrium in them.

Artemis pulled Cormac closer and tried to ignore the stickiness he could still feel. Bath. There was a bath in his future, but it was probably better to wait until they were done making a mess to take one. "Anything else I want to tell you?" he repeated, trying to pull Cormac on top of him only to remember that his pants and boots were the way. "Only that you're my favourite big brother and that I love you even when you're sneezing come?" He disintegrated into more snorting laughter and tried to block the sounds behind his hand, blue eyes wide and apologetic. "Please don't get any more snot on me."

"Mages," Fenris gasped before focusing again on Justice's mouth, one hand reaching down to stroke back Justice's -- Anders's -- hair as his head bobbed over him. Fenris whimpered and bit his finger to block out the next sound, the coil of heat at the base of his spine returning. He didn't know whose name to call out -- Anders's, Justice's, both? -- so he just continued to make warm, nameless sounds around his finger. 

The taste of lyrium hit Justice's tongue in greater force, sweet and sharp. Justice would say he could _taste_ the music in it if such a thing were possible, and a purr rumbled in his throat as he drank it down, Fenris twitching and shuddering underneath him.

"I'm your _only_ big brother," Cormac reminded Artemis, ducking out of the tangle of pants and legs to toss the sheet aside and flip his brother over, kneeling across those narrow thighs as he unlaced his own trousers. "And it's your come I'm sneezing, so you don't really get to complain," he teased landing a quick, sharp pinch on Artie's bottom. "Do you want me? Do you want me to satisfy myself inside you? Or have we destroyed enough of your dreams for one night?" His embarrassment was still plain in the laugh that followed. That had not been at all how he'd meant this to go, but he thought it might yet be salvageable. Artie was probably too damn drunk to remember it, later. He hoped. Anders would remember it enough for all of them, he was sure.

Justice let the slowly-softening flesh slide from his mouth, his tongue still tracing the lines, before they crossed his lips. He had no idea what to say, so he busied his mouth with the lines along Fenris's hip, instead. Still, Anders seemed to think something was wrong, but ... quietly. Anders made no move to stop him, or to encourage him to do anything else. Justice pressed a kiss to a conjunction of lines and spoke against the skin. "WAS THAT... CORRECT? ACCEPTABLE?"

' _Was it good?_ ' Anders finally prompted, and Justice repeated the words.

Fenris took a moment to catch his breath, to wait for the world to stop spinning and for colours to right themselves. "Yes, it was 'acceptable'," he said in a warm tone that wasn't quite a laugh. An absurd answer to an absurd situation. "It was good." 

Next to him, Artemis tucked a pillow under his chest and offered Fenris a lopsided smile. Artie glanced over his shoulder at Cormac and wriggled his ass in invitation. "Might as well go for broke, big brother," he teased. "Though I'm not sure you could top that last performance." It was still better than what he'd pictured all those years ago, and he might tell Cormac as much later.

Fenris looked back down at Justice, noting the pensive way his brows furrowed and wondered what he should do now. "Do you want me to, er...?" He gestured vaguely down towards Justice's crotch. He wasn't about to bend over for the flagpole, but some reciprocation was in order.

Justice looked down as Fenris gestured, noting, once again, the rather uncomfortable sensation that Anders seemed to enjoy. He opened his mouth to ask a question he hadn't finished formulating, but Anders dragged him back.

"No." That was Anders -- clearly Anders -- even as the seams of blue still flickered along his face and neck. "Absolutely not. Nothing personal, but you are much too drunk to be getting anywhere near my knob. I could fix that problem for you, but I doubt that would make this any better of an idea." Justice reached out and ran a finger down one of the lines on Fenris's thigh, before Anders pulled their hand back.

Anders stepped back off the bed. "I'm just going to stop touching you, now, before Justice gets too wound up again." He glanced around the room for something to get the taste out of his mouth. It wasn't that Fenris tasted _bad_ , it was just a flavour he never thought would be on his tongue again, and everyone else was too drunk for him to be having this problem.

Cormac paused, knob pressed teasingly against Artemis's hole. "Anders? You all right?"

"I'm fine. ... Justice, you know?" Not the whole truth, but some part of it.

"C'mere, gorgeous. Don't just lurk in the corner, because Fenris is tiny. No offence, Fenris, but you are. My sister's bigger than you." Cormac's drunken rambling might have been less drunk than it had been downstairs, but it was no less rambly. "Come sit, Anders. I can pet you while I give my brother what he wants. I can give you both what you want. I'm talented like that." He grinned over his shoulder and pressed his hips forward, just the smallest bit.

"I am not tiny," Fenris huffed, flopping back to the bed. "I am a reasonable size. I am not a magical bear." He nodded solemnly to himself.

"A magical wolf?" Artemis suggested around a gasp. He tried to press back against Cormac, to draw him in deeper.

Fenris hummed, turning that over in his mind. "Still too hairy," he said. He was unsure when he reached over, but he found his hand tangled in Artie's hair, combing through the sweaty strands.

"But not as hairy as a magical Hawke," Artie replied. He snickered into the pillow, drunk enough to be proud of his wit. Anders shook his head but sat on the edge of the bed, watching the drunken fools in front of him and thinking of another elf before shaking the thought away. "Come on, big brother," Artemis purred, bucking against him. "I thought you were going to have your way with me."

Cormac pushed in, slow but unceasing, terribly proud of the amount of lube he'd thought to use in advance. For all that he'd have been just as happy without, he thought Artemis might have strangled him with his own intestines. He settled one hand between Artie's shoulders, shifting his weight forward as he ground in hard, at the end of the first thrust. "I love you, you obnoxious little prick," he sighed, drawing slowly back out to tease his brother with just the head, before he slammed forward and fell into a desperate rut, pounding into the hot, tight body beneath him. His other hand reached for Anders, glancing off his side, stroking a thigh.

Catching the hand Cormac offered him, Anders pressed a kiss into the palm, a small smile crossing his face as he watched the brothers enjoy each other. For all this, they were still very much brothers, and it amused him to watch them fall further into each other without ever losing sight of that. After a moment, he laid Cormac's hand on his own belly, leaning back against the footboard to offer a better angle.

"Love you, too," Artemis panted, the force of Cormac's thrusts making his voice shake, "you obnoxious bigger prick." He threw a smirk over his shoulder before his face twisted in pleasure.

Fenris watched Artemis's face, his own body still humming, and marvelled at how beautiful his mage was even like this, especially like this. Artie pressed his face into the pillow, trying to muffle the sounds Cormac was jarring of him, and Fenris slid a hand under Artie's cheek, pulling his mouth away from the pillow. "I want to hear you," Fenris murmured, and from the look on Cormac's face, he suspected he did too.

Artemis's face twisted as though he were about to complain, but he remembered Cormac's words to him the last time they were together. Instead, he pressed a kiss to Fenris's palm and let a soft moan spill out over his elf's skin.

"Fuck right I'm bigger," Cormac panted, twisting his hips down and feeling Artemis move with him. "Bigger, harder, and buried in your incredible ass." It was a ridiculous thing to say, and he knew it, biting his tongue not to laugh, even as he felt Anders shiver beside him, obviously also not laughing. "Show me how good it feels, little brother. Let me hear you. Let me hear all those sexy little sounds you make."

Just the thought of that was enough to make Cormac's thighs shake, and he pushed the thought away, to focus on Anders, as his hips served themselves. He stroked and kneaded Anders's tunic, bunching the cloth between his fingers, as his hand circled gently. He didn't much need to think about it, after so many years -- his hand knew what it was doing -- but even with that contented smile on Anders's face, Cormac could tell it wasn't enough. The tension showed at the corners of Anders's eyes, in the way his ears sat.

"Anders," Cormac started, hand working on the knots of Anders's trousers through the tunic, "do you want to fuck me? Because I want it. I want you. Both of you."

Grabbing Cormac's hand, Anders thought he might say no, but the more he thought about it, the more he realised that he didn't want to say no, he didn't want to give in to the lyrium taste turning foul on his tongue. "When do I not?" he asked, hoping Cormac wasn't drunk enough to actually answer that question, because he knew the answer wasn't the 'never' that was implied.


	175. Chapter 175

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pile of half-dressed mages. Fenris observes.

Watching Anders disrobe out of the corner of his eye, Artemis smirked and said, "It's a bit like that time on the couch. Just... rearranged." And he remembered how obscene that had seemed at the time, sharing someone with the brother he'd spent well over a decade hiding his lust for. He remembered watching Cormac over Anders's shoulder, remembered Cormac's hands grabbing his hips.

Fenris's eyes met Anders before both of them looked elsewhere. 'That time on the couch' meant something very different to Fenris, and it took Anders a moment to remember that _other_ time on the couch.

"You don't feel left out, do you?" Artie asked Fenris, misinterpreting the strangled sound his elf made.

"I am perfectly content not fucking your brother," Fenris said archly.

"Your loss," Anders said, climbing over Artie's legs to kneel behind Cormac. Justice's attention was still on the lyrium elf, but Anders's was on Cormac, hands reaching down to give that familiar ass a squeeze.

"I love how no one considers my opinion on any of this," Cormac muttered, using his free hand to haul Artie's hips up, while still leaning between his shoulders. "For the record, I agree with Fenris. I get my 'tastes like the Fade' elsewhere. Which reminds me..." He considered it, for a long moment -- the idea of fading out, again, while he ravished his brother, but that sounded like it might not be the best idea he'd ever had. If nothing else, he was still too drunk not to screw that up in some horrifying fashion or other. Still, if he didn't actually step out... If he just let it settle onto his skin... The idea was tempting, and maybe he would, but not right now. Right now, Justice was too close to the surface, and this wasn't for him, it was for Anders.

"We already know your opinion," Fenris reminded him, slurring words against Artemis's lips. "Only one of us needed to voice it, since we are in agreement."

"Both of your loss," Anders teased, pressing a hand to Cormac's belly. "You're too drunk for me not to," he apologised, casting a small grease spell right where he needed it.

Cormac relaxed, subtly, rhythm changing as the grease settled inside him. "I know." He turned his head and pressed his lips to Anders's arm. "Is this what you wanted, that night on the couch? Is that why you slapped my hands away so fast? Were you afraid my touch would make you beg for it? The feel of my hands on you would push you over the edge into the depths of everything you ever wanted?" Cormac teased his brother mercilessly. "Even then, if you begged for it, you'd have had it. Any moment in our lives, with the possible exception of some near death ones, if you wanted me, wanted anything I could give you, all you had to do was ask."

Anders reflected that Cormac never said things like that to him, but that Cormac had never once let him down, even in situations where he hadn't expected anyone to stand with him. It was more than he had any right to hope for.

Artemis whimpered against Fenris's lips, and Fenris breathed in the sound, his lips leaving Artemis's to trace the line of his mage's jaw. Even drunk, Fenris envied how easily Cormac said such filth as he watched and felt the way Artemis reacted. "Maker, Cormac," Artie breathed. "It was like you were fucking me through Anders, and I... I wanted..."

"You two will be the death of me," Anders muttered, resting his cheek against the top of Cormac's head. That night on the couch was one of his fonder memories, and he closed his eyes, remembering the way the couch had rattled, how the brothers had felt on either side of him. He pressed the tip of his knob to Cormac's entrance, hands tight on Cormac's hips, coaxing him to hold still as he pushed in.

"I'm glad you're here now too," Artemis whispered in Fenris's ear, turning his head to nuzzle his elf's cheek. Bracing himself on one arm, Artie reached for Fenris, skating a hand down his stomach and fondling him under his tunic. "And, I think, so is Justice."

Fenris cupped Artemis's face in his hands. "And I'm glad we're not doing this on a couch," he whispered back, making Artie grin.

"I don't think even Anton could find a couch big enough for all f--" Cormac's words ended in a raw, pleading sound as Anders slid into him, so incredibly huge, as he always was with the first thrust. He lowered himself along his brother's back, hand still pressed between Artemis's shoulders. "Please," he breathed against his brother's shoulder, before his voice returned to him.

Anders smoothed his hand down Cormac's back, always struck by how easily Cormac always offered himself. Even impaled as he was, Cormac still wanted more, and Anders found himself no less amazed, in the moment, than he'd been the first time. Watching himself slide into Cormac's body was always such a thrill, but one they so rarely took the time for, if only because he liked watching Cormac's face, even more.

Beneath him, Cormac finally caught his breath. "Anders, please, I want you. I need this. I need you. Please, please, please, make me bleed for you," he begged, not as loud as he'd get, but definitely no longer a breathy whisper. A long groan poured out of Cormac's mouth as Anders slid slowly back out, rolling his hips. The next words out of Cormac were aimed the other way, though. "Tell me what you wanted, Artie. I'm here, now. I'm here inside you, and I'll give you anything you want. I just want to hear you tell me. Turns me on the way you think about me, listening to you talk about me..."

And that was something Artemis still had to stop and marvel at every now and then, the fact that this was Cormac inside him, above him, fulfilling all those teenage fantasies he'd felt so guilty for for so many years. Here he was with these three men, his brother, his love, and his friend, feeling incredibly wanted and loved... and still more than a little drunk, but he was used to that.

"I wanted you both," Artemis breathed, a soft sound catching in his throat as Anders rocked Cormac forward into him. "It's why I didn't argue as much as I should have, why I blamed it on being drunk. I was so worried you'd notice and I'd give myself away." He turned his head to whisper over his shoulder, "I knew it was your ass I grabbed, you know." He was drunk enough to admit that, and he and Cormac were in deep enough that he wouldn't be too mortified by that in the morning. 

"I'm almost sorry I missed that," Fenris purred, nipping down Artemis's throat. But that just reminded him why he'd missed it, reminded him how angry he'd been at Artemis for reasons that seemed so pointless now.

"Funny thing," Anders mumbled, most of his attention on grinding into Cormac without hurting Artemis, "when you stop being a dick and start using your dick, you start getting invited to the fun parties."

Cormac choked on a laugh, as he lifted his hips, pushing Anders back. He could do most of the work, at least for a while, he thought, rocking forward into Artemis and then back again onto Anders. "I didn't care why you grabbed my ass," he admitted, finally. "It felt good, and it was you. Worth a warning, sure, but..." He slowly lifted himself back up, bent straighter than his brother, beneath him, as Anders towered over them both, casting a long shadow in the room's dim light. "I grabbed you because I didn't want to hurt you. I didn't want to bounce you too hard on the flagpole, when I got that bounce going off the couch cushions. Occurred to me I was fucking you with the flagpole, and I just... didn't know what to do with that, other than to make sure I didn't hurt you."

Cormac laughed again and picked up the pace, a bit, as he adjusted to Anders inside him. Anders's hands wandered Cormac's body, a pinch here, a long, slow scrape there, and Cormac's rhythm started to reflect it, his hips stuttering at each new little pain. "Shit, Anders, don't fucking tease me!" he barked, even as his back bowed, offering his ass more enticingly. Not that Anders really needed the invitation, but it never hurt. Well, no, that wasn't quite right. It never hurt the cause. It frequently hurt Cormac. Which was really the point, and he made it again. "I want more, Anders. Show them how I like it. Show them how I love it when you make me bleed."

"So demanding, these Hawkes," Anders said, catching Fenris's eye and grinning. His hips snapped forward, shoving into Cormac and rocking him again into Artemis, knocking a short shout from Artie's lungs. Fenris purred at the sound, rocking up into Artemis's hand when his mage's rhythm stuttered. How Fenris ended up in bed with three mages he'd never know, but for once he wasn't complaining.

Anders's hips gave another shove, but Artemis choked off that next sound, burying his face in Fenris's neck. "Huh," Anders said. "A shame. I was hoping to get both Hawkes shouting at once." He picked up a rhythm, settling into the familiar motions he knew Cormac liked, careful not to push him too hard into Artemis, just in case. Every now and then, another shove would catch Artie off guard and startle another loud sound out of him as he panted against Fenris's throat.

Cormac might not have been screaming, yet, but he'd definitely started pleading, a constant stream of outrageous demands for entirely vile things pouring off his tongue. Fenris shuddered at the ideas involved, having witnessed some of them, and hesitant to even imagine others being put into practise. So many of those things would result in gouts of blood, shredded muscle, broken bones, and after a bit, he came to the terrifying conclusion that that was exactly the appeal of them, for Cormac -- that he wasn't just into a few bites and pinches that were a little too hard, he was into things that made the healer a _necessity_. What was it with Hawkes, he wondered, thinking of how Artemis loved to be held down and choked. He debated asking Cullen about Anton, just to see if this was a family thing.

Anders's fingers settled onto Cormac's nipple, rolling it gently, first. Cormac tensed, knowing what would follow, but it wasn't until his body started to relax that Anders dug in his nail and pulled, sparks skipping from his fingertips. Then, Cormac finally screamed -- screamed loud enough to rouse every passed-out drunk in the building, most likely, but this close to the docks, no one would care. The pleading continued, deafeningly loud, now, as he bucked desperately between Anders and Artemis, between fucking and fucked, moving faster and faster, unable to get enough of anything, and wanting more of everything at once.

It turned out they didn't need earthquakes to rattle the bed, and the headboard banged against the wall, underlining every shout and scream, every ridiculous or chilling request Cormac made. Fenris watched the three mages, the three entwined bodies undulating against each other on display for his enjoyment. It wasn't the first time he'd seen such a thing, but it was the first time he'd enjoyed it and been allowed and invited to enjoy it.

Artemis's whimpers grew more desperate against Fenris's throat, and Fenris felt his mage start to shiver. "Please," Artie begged, still pulling at Fenris. "I need... _please_."

Fenris didn't know whom he was addressing, but he recognised the need in his voice. Fenris pressed a kiss to Artemis's cheek. "What do you need, Amatus?" he rumbled in Artemis's ear. He flexed the fingers of one hand and held his mage close with the other. "Do you want me to touch you?" His flexing fingers turned Fade-blue, telling Artemis exactly what he meant by that.

"Yes, Maker, _Fen_."

Fenris pet back Artemis's hair with his solid hand while he reached into Artie's chest with the other. Artemis's eyes popped wide, letting out another shout, not nearly as loud as his brother but loud enough to fill the room.

In the back of Anders's mind, Justice sat up at attention at the sound of the Fade's music.

Cormac howled, back bowing tightly, as Anders pulled away the arm he'd been supporting himself with, easing him down against Artemis's back. Anders reached down to the bottom of the pile, cupping his hand around Artie's bits, curling his thumb around the base of Artie's knob. As long as he kept Cormac pinned tight between them, this wouldn't end too poorly. Anders knew he had to keep Cormac from jarring Artie's chest too much, while Fenris's hand was in the way, and he kept a close eye on that, even as he spilled quietly into Cormac, hips stuttering for barely a moment, before he picked up the rhythm again, breath strong and even.

Crushed between his lover and his beloved, Cormac wasn't quite sure he was entirely comfortable with the Fade-fingers that close to him. Or that far into his brother, really. It wasn't the first time he'd seen it, but it still disturbed him, terribly, and he tried to focus on Anders suddenly throbbing so much harder inside him. The first. If he could get another five or six, Anders would sleep well, and Cormac clamped down around the flagpole, with that in mind, wringing it as he rocked his hips, out of time to Anders's thrusts, putting Artemis at the end of some strange three-point rhythm.

Fenris's fingertips were gentle on Artemis's hammering heart, and this, to him, was the most intimate thing of all, feeling his fiancé's pulse from the inside and feeling him shiver. His solid hand and arm held Artemis steady, his grip tight so Artie didn't jostle against his hand too much, and Fenris nodded in thanks to Anders for helping on his end. "Te ardeo," he murmured against the shell of Artemis's ear as he pulled his fingers back to trace the lines of his ribs instead, following the curve to his breastbone, his collarbone, sliding along the scapula and back to the spine, finding the nerves there that made Artemis choke out another desperate sound against his throat.

Anders watched as he rocked Cormac forward into Artemis, unsure he liked the amount of attention Justice was paying to this. No. This was not a thing they were going to do. They would not have their organs fondled by the lyrium elf, no matter how enjoyable Artemis seemed to find it, no matter how prettily Artemis pleaded for more.

"Can you give us another shout, Amatus?" Fenris purred as he pet his mage in time to the rhythm the others had set. Artemis's whimpered reply was less than intelligible. And Fenris could have been imagining it, but he could have sworn he felt the bed start to quiver.

"Yes," Cormac panted, catching his breath between screams. "Come for me, Artie. Squeeze me, beg for me, tease me until I can't keep it in, but come for me first." As if he'd forgotten that he'd already ended up with the first load in his sinuses.

Anders pounded in harder, his hands trying to keep the bodies under him from moving the wrong way, which didn't leave him much room for the usual spectacularly painful things Cormac loved. Instead, he leaned down and sunk his teeth into Cormac's shoulder, letting the electricity dance from his tongue as he lapped at the bruising flesh in his mouth. Cormac screamed again, and Anders moved up the line of his shoulder, all teeth and sparks, landing finally at the back of Cormac's neck.

That sound was unmistakeable, and Anders made a note to apologise to Artemis, later, because that was probably almost right in his ear. That was the sound of Cormac finally letting go, every muscle in his body rippling in waves, choking off the raw howl of pleasure every few seconds, until Cormac lay loose and panting between Anders and Artemis.

"Please, please, please." The words were barely there, as Cormac tried to remember how to breathe. "More. Don't stop. Please."

Anders didn't stop. He didn't even slow, his teeth still worrying at a set of Cormac's bruises. Without Cormac's screams, he could hear the rattle of the headboard against the wall more clearly, could feel the bed shaking from more than just the force of his thrusts. 

Artemis's softer sounds filled the room instead. "Cormac," he choked, his brother's shout still ringing in his ear. Fenris murmured words of encouragement in his ear as he stiffened, hips shaking. He squeezed around Cormac as he spilled onto the sheets, his pulse pounding in his ears, in his throat, against Fenris's fingers. 

Artie slumped bonelessly into the bed, hips still high in the air where Anders gripped them, and Fenris slid his fingers free. 


	176. Chapter 176

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cormac discovers a whole new kind of bad idea, and Artemis loves it. Fenris and Anders are substantially less thrilled.

Things moved faster, after that, once Anders didn't have to worry about Fenris's hand. Or Justice's fascination with it. All he had to worry about was himself and the two brothers directly under him. He held Artemis firmly, hoping to work Cormac up to another round before the inevitable happened, and his thumb stroked Artie's softening knob as gently as he could manage, while still slamming into Cormac like a dwarven miner hammering stone.

Cormac continued to plead, eyes unseeing and half-closed, body loose and nearly gelatinous with pleasure. He kept his mind focused on the incredible memory of his brother crying out his name in ecstasy... well, choking on it, anyway, and the reality of Anders filling him so perfectly with the flagpole, an ache that crept out through his bones. Time became some distant thing that mattered to other people and his perfect pleasure was interrupted only by stronger waves of the same -- teeth against the bruises on his neck and shoulders, Anders spilling into him again and again, little sounds of pleasure from Artemis. At some point he realised, dimly, how well Anders had held them together, when his knob began again to take an interest in the proceedings, thickening from where it remained just barely inside Artemis.

Artemis felt his brother react and smiled lazily, content to let Anders prop up his lower body and push his brother into him again. His upper body lay slumped, half on top of the pillow, half on top of Fenris, his elf's arm still curled around him, fingers pushing back sweat-lank hair. Artie's hand had resumed its exploration under Fenris's tunic, fingers tracing the spiral of lyrium up Fenris's knob. He didn't need to look to know its shape, its contours, and Artie let Fenris's breath at his ear tell him what to touch and how. His touch was slow and teasing in contrast to Anders's pounding, and Artemis was content to float like this between Fenris and Cormac's pleasure, with Anders's hand on his knob.

Anders looked up at a hitch of breath from Fenris, saw the glazed look in the elf's wide eyes before he saw where Artie's hand had ended up, the tip of his middle finger teasing the elf's hole, pushing in just to the first knuckle. Anders's rhythm stuttered at the sight before picking up again with renewed intensity. Maker. That was something he never thought he'd see, but lately he'd been finding out all sorts of surprising things about Fenris.

"Mage," Fenris warned, squirming when Artemis's finger pressed deeper, stroking his insides.

"Which one?" Artie purred, nibbling on his earlobe.

"The more troublesome one," Fenris said, breath hitching and back arching.

"Cormac?" Artemis teased between gasps. "Troublesome is one word for him."

"Troublesome jelly," Cormac panted, between loud, desperate pleas for more. "Oh, fuck, Artemis, I hope you want more of me, because you're getting more." That was substantially louder, and Cormac's fingers twitched against the sheets where they'd landed, one hand returning to clutch weakly at his brother's side, a faint flicker of electricity dancing between his fingers.

A tiny gasp from Anders, the faintest shiver, and Cormac's eyes rolled back, his hips tilting up as he begged for more. "Please don't stop. Please don't be done. Oh, please, Anders, one more..." But, his thoughts remained on Artemis, on how much Artie loved the feeling of the Fade in him, and Cormac closed his eyes and cast, remembering how it felt to do it wrong, to only pull the Fade to him, but not let it pull him back in equal measure. The indigo glow crept inward from his fingertips, and he remained almost solid, almost real, even as he let it take him. He tried to ground himself in the feeling of Anders inside him, Artemis so tight and warm around him, and somewhere in the back of his head, he thought he could feel the magic laughing, which wasn't all that unusual, but it almost felt like inviting someone else to this already crowded pile.

Artemis's whole body jerked, eyes popping wide as he let out a hoarse shout by Fenris's ear. Fenris swore, head falling back as Artemis's fingers crooked inside him, and he looked over to see Cormac glowing. Not just a hand, the way Fenris had, but his whole body. "Fasta vass," he breathed. He could only see this ending badly, but the sounds Artemis was pouring into his ear would make it worth it. He had never heard his mage so loud, and Fenris found himself watching Cormac, wondering if this was a trick he could learn for when it was just him and Artie.  Or maybe it would be better to have the healer around just in case.

Artie tried to focus on Fenris's pleasure, on stroking his insides the way he liked, but it was hard to when his skin crackled with energy everywhere Cormac touched him. It was like the brush of Fenris's fingers, only it was everywhere, just under his skin and filling him from the inside along Cormac's knob. It didn't quite have the prickle Fenris's lyrium did, but it still lit up nerve endings he didn't know he had.

"Cormac! I... _Cormac_!"

Anders frowned down at the glowing body beneath him, even as Justice purred his approval in the back of his mind. He considered voicing some sort of disapproval, but Cormac seemed to be mostly solid and unlikely to be harmed by this idiotic decision. And it was idiotic. This wasn't just a hand -- this was his entire body, both penetrating and penetrated, and the chance of an accident... still, Anders found himself drawn into the sensation, unsure of whether that was his own desire or Justice's, and not entirely certain it mattered, at this point. They were exhausted and sweat-soaked, and they'd been going long enough for Cormac to start sounding like he might go again, which meant it was probably almost time to stop. Most nights, this wouldn't even be near 'stop', but there were other people involved who might like to sleep at some point, so Anders was trying to keep things quick, rather than taking hours to wring every last drop of pleasure out of Cormac along the way.

"Yes," Cormac panted, catching his breath between screams, "scream for me, Artie, let me hear you--" The word trailed off into a long sound that was unmistakeably pain, as Anders leaned forward and bit his badly-bruised shoulder again. From anyone else, that might have been a bad sign, but Cormac followed it with more barely-coherent shrieks for more and harder absolutely anything Anders would give him. It was good. It was so good, it was perfect. And the world started to get a little fuzzy around the edges as he drew closer to spilling into his brother a second time -- and just that thought was almost enough to make his eyes roll back again.

Artemis's cries changed in pitch, and Fenris felt him start to tremble, Artie's fingers moving more forcefully inside him. Fenris grunted his own pleasure in his mage's ear, one hand stroking himself in time to his mage's touch, his mage's sounds. Artemis tried to bite his lip around his shouts, but Fenris brushed his cheek and coaxed his lip back out from between his teeth. Cormac wasn't the only one who wanted to hear these new sounds from Artie, and Fenris purred soft words of encouragement in Tevene in his ear.

"Cormac," Artemis whimpered, his free hand clutching at the sheets. He repeated his brother's name between gasps of Fenris's, of Anders's, and pleas to the Maker. The crackle of energy spread over his skin, sank down into his bones, and Artie could have sworn he felt Cormac deeper than he'd ever been before, reaching places usually only Fenris or Anders could reach.

Fenris swore in Tevene, head falling back again as Artemis twisted his fingers just right. "Artemis!" he shouted, toes curling and feet rumpling the sheets as he spurted over his hand. "Amatus..."

Cormac rambled endlessly at the top of his lungs, as he slid deeper into Artemis, not realising he was starting to lose control of the spell. "Oh beloved, lord of my life, maker of all good things, king of my heart, you whose smile drew the path of my life--" The rest of the Nevarran-style prayer to his brother cut off as Cormac felt Anders's fingers -- he hoped they were Anders's, just as much as he hoped he was hallucinating the whole thing -- curled around his knob, squeezing and stroking gently. Something wasn't quite right, but Cormac couldn't figure out what it was, as Anders slammed forward again, with a sharp sound of pain that he'd care about in a split second... just as soon as the pleasure let go enough for him to think. He came again, spilling into his brother? Over Anders's hand? Reality had stopped making sense and everything was wonderful, except the part where he'd somehow hurt Anders, but he'd get back to that in a second.

Anders, meanwhile, had wrapped himself around Cormac and Artemis, which was much easier than it should have been. There must have been no space between them at all -- all too literally, Anders realised, as his knob passed straight through Cormac and slammed against Artemis's tailbone as he came again. That would be the last one. The very last one for the night. That -- It was a very good thing he was a healer, he decided, trying to bail his senses out of the sudden rush of glorious pleasure and crippling pain, long enough to heal himself. At least Cormac seemed to be enjoying whatever the fuck just happened...

Artemis made a noise that barely sounded human, eyes round, wide, and unseeing as he spilled over Anders's hand. He could feel Cormac throbbing inside him, close enough, deep enough to be a part of him, and two different heartbeats pulsed against Anders's hand. It was like his brother was coming _through_ him, and that thought alone was enough to blot out Artie's vision in a blaze of white. He couldn't hear the sounds he was making over the roaring in his ears, couldn't hear the tortured shout he tried to muffle against Fenris's shoulder, couldn't hear the rumble as he shook the whole floor.

Fenris cupped a hand over his eyes, watching dust fall from the rafters. "Pedica me," he swore, pulling back to look at the magey mess next to him. "Cormac, what in the Blight's name did you do? Amatus. Amatus, are you all right?" This... this was exactly why Fenris hadn't let Artemis talk him into trying that.

"Fine," Artie wheezed, eyes still wide and glazed. 

"The fuck?" Cormac muttered into his brother's shoulder, perhaps a little more literally than he'd meant to. "Anders, get off me. 'S a problem."

"No, really?" Anders wheezed, eyes clenched closed as he healed himself. "I hadn't noticed at all. I was completely expecting to ram my knob straight through you and into your brother's extremely solid ass, because that's _exactly_ how this is supposed to work." He finally managed to roll off the top of the pile in the opposite direction of Fenris, one hand stroking his knob, checking for further damage. Not the first time he'd done that, but the first time he'd done that _sober_ , which wasn't really an experience he wanted to repeat. Ever. He hadn't much wanted to repeat it drunk, but with Howe it was pretty much inevitable, at some point. Drunk Wardens were easily triple the accidents.

"You all right?" Cormac asked as he separated himself from his brother, feeling a twinge of loss as their ribs parted, and he was only himself again. His hips were a little more complicated to recover, but he managed, eventually.

"Yeah, I'm fine, I break my blighted knob all the time," Anders snapped, knowing it really was Cormac's fault, but at the same time, that he should have been paying more mind. He was the sober one of all of them. "Sorry. Hurt. Past tense."

Cormac leaned to the side, the glow finally going out, as he was sure he wasn't inside Artemis anywhere, still, and hesitated before touching his lips to Anders's forehead. "Sorry. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I had it for a minute, and then... I don't know, I just didn't. Stupid."

"Stupid. Yes." Anders nodded and looked up at Cormac, some combination of wonder and irritation in his eyes. And then Cormac kissed him. Actually kissed him. Lips against his lips. His breath hitched, and his hand leapt up to clench in Cormac's hair, but he stopped himself from ending it. And that was it, just lips, for a long moment, until Cormac drew back.

"Why is it so cold in here?" Cormac complained, easing into the tiny space between Anders and Artemis, feeling like he might never be warm or whole again. Well, unless he did that again. Which was a terrible idea and something he was sure should never be repeated, but in that moment... Everything had been closer to right than it had been in a long time, even if it was all an illusion. "Are we laying on the blanket? I'm going to be pissed if we're laying on the blanket."

"We're laying on the blanket," Artemis said against the pillow, his words sounding slurred again but less from the alcohol this time. "And I'm laying on... I don't even know whose mess this is anymore, but it's disgusting." He didn't so much as twitch a finger, however, and Fenris sighed, shaking his head.

"Up." Fenris patted Artie's shoulder with his clean hand and pulled his arm out from under the mage, wiping his other hand off on the already soiled blanket. Artemis whined in the back of his throat but pushed himself up enough for Fenris to pull the blanket out from under him, kicking the rumpled fabric towards the foot of the bed. Artie flopped back to the bed, curling up next to his brother and reaching for Fenris. Fenris curled up behind his mage, pulling Artie back against his chest.

"That was incredible," Artemis slurred.

"That was dangerous," Fenris said, glaring at Cormac over Artie's shoulder. "And not to be repeated."

"But that felt so... so..." Artemis's eyelids were heavy as he tried to explain. "I'd love to feel that close to you, Fen. Feel your heart beat against mine."

"I am not -- no." Fenris shook his head and pressed a kiss to Artemis's hair.

Anders kicked the blanked out from under himself and Cormac before dragging it back up over them. "No. I'm not even involved in this, but I'm the healer, and I say no. Do you even--? Fenris, you've grabbed a heart. You know why this is a no. Do you have any idea what would have happened if Cormac had come back while he was passed through--?" A sound of raw frustration wrenched out of him. "No. That is ridiculously dangerous."

"Saarebas," Cormac muttered, draping a leg over his brother's shins.


	177. PART XXXIV: DIFFERENCES IN PERSPECTIVE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anton is terribly amused. Then, Carver picks a fight that doesn't go the way he meant.

Cormac staggered down the stairs, mostly dressed, the next day, Anders still looking exasperated behind him. Actually, Anders was debating whether or not to do something about that hangover, after what had happened the night before. Still, neither of them were expecting to see Anton leaning on the bar.

"Where's our brother?" Anton asked across the top of his pint, smile somewhere between amused and impolite. "This lovely lady at the bar tells me the Champion of Kirkwall was in, last night, and the very walls shook with his pleasures."

Cormac thought about explaining, but the laugh hit before he could stop it. This was entirely absurd. This was beyond absurd and out into ridiculous, by far. He tipped sideways and caught himself on a support pillar, resting his forehead against his forearm as he continued to cackle. Anders just shrugged at Anton, eyebrows arched as if he couldn't wait to hear what Cormac would come up with.

"He's upstairs with the elf." Cormac knew better than to be saying anyone's name, now that Anton was in the room. Maker only knew what he'd told anyone. "How'd you find us?"

"A hairy little birdy told me," Anton said, looking somewhat relieved that any earthquakes could be assumed to be Fenris's fault. Artemis, in a bar, free drinks, and Cormac staggering drunkenly in the morning? That had looked like much more trouble than he wanted to consider. At least Anders had been there to make sure nobody _caught anything_. Particularly Artemis. Particularly in a place like this. "Rough night?"

"Eventful night," Anders replied. "And I was sober enough to remember all the good parts." He grinned at Cormac.

"And I'm not drunk enough to hear them," Anton said, tipping his pint at Anders. "Nor do I ever plan to be." He raised the tankard to his lips only to grin and replace it on the bar. "Why, good _morning,_ 'Anton'," he told the next person coming down the stairs. Artemis looked to be in better condition in Cormac, but the previous night's debauchery still showed in his rumpled and stained clothing and bed hair, not to mention in the way it took him a moment to understand why he was being called Anton. "I hear you had a busy night."

Artemis groaned and wiped a hand over his face. Fenris came up beside him, looking just as pleasantly tousled but much more smug about it. "The Champion of Kirkwall," Fenris said with a suggestive smirk, wrapping an arm around Artie's waist.

The barmaid interrupted, noting that Anton's pint was almost empty. "Another pint, Artemis?" she asked him, to the real Artie's great horror.

"Tempting," Anton said in a low purr, eyeing the barmaid in a way that said he didn't just mean the drink. "But I don't know if I should. After all, I'm not the Champion."

Fenris had to stifle a snicker against Artemis's shoulder.

"Are you saying that only the Champion would be able to satisfy this lovely lady's obvious desires?" Cormac teased. "Gosh, _Anton_ , what do you think? You going to teach our brother a thing or two?"

"Ooh, I think he should!" Anton agreed, grinning at Artemis. "I think we should let her choose her favourite Hawke, from among the Champion and his brothers. Well, brother. Not you, Cormac, you look like you're going to throw up."

"Ugh, don't say 'throw up'," Cormac groaned, leaning against Anders, and batting his eyes at the healer, in the hopes of getting rid of this awful sensation of the floor dancing a tango without him. Anders stepped to the side and Cormac stumbled, catching himself on an empty table.

"Oh, I don't know if the Champion could satisfy this one," Anders joked. "I think he might be worn out from banging the headboard against the wall until the building shook, all night long."

"Building's still shaking," Cormac complained.

Artemis cleared his throat. "Yes, I think we all know who the real 'Champion' was last night," he said, hooking a thumb in Fenris's direction. "Though I'd be more than happy to show our brother 'a thing or two' at some point in the near future." His tone said he didn't mean that in a fun way, at least not for Anton. 

The barmaid went away, hiding a laugh behind her hand and not sure whether she should refill Anton's drink.

* * *

* * *

"What the fuck are you doing?" Carver grabbed the shoulder of the templar who was currently towering over a sobbing mage, tightening the buckles on his armour.

"It's just some robe trash, Carver. Don't worry about it." The other templar shrugged and gestured toward the mage.

"That 'robe trash' is somebody's family," Carver snapped, shoving the templar down the hall a bit. "Don't give me that shit, Loren. These are people. You can't just do that shit to people."

"You're just pissed because your dad's trash, too. I wonder how you even got into the order, junior garbage." Loren sneered and tipped his chin up. "Oh, that's right, your brother sucked off the Captain until he let you in. You sucking off the Captain, too? Is that how you get your ration? Is that how you're still here? Is it because you give good head, junior garbage?"

 _Don't hit people_ , Cullen had said, and by the Maker, Carver really tried. Still, he thought this might be an exception to the rule, and his gauntleted fist leapt up and slammed into Loren's cheek. "Try to find a healer for that, the way you treat people."

"They're not people, junior garbage, and neither are you." Loren staggered forward, one hand pressed to his bloody lips, and Carver missed the other hand. Platemail. He should have been fine.

But Loren's dagger slipped between the plates and opened him from the hip to the ribs. Carver was shocked, first, before the pain even struck, and when it did, it was like a flicker, there and then gone, but the strength went out of his legs. He still landed another solid punch under Loren's chin, as he slid to the ground, watching Loren wipe the blade on the cowering mage's robes, before sheathing the blade and walking away, with a jaunty flutter of his fingers.

* * *

Cullen heard the shouting first, a woman's hysterical shrieking that stone corridors warped and distorted. Next, he saw Keran round the corner, face pale and eyes bugged. 

"Keran?" Cullen asked. "What's all that noise? What's--? Where are you going?"

Keran didn't stop, didn't even slow. He just kept running back the way Cullen had come. "Sorry, Captain!" he threw over his shoulder. "A healer... I need..." 

Cullen didn't listen for the rest. He darted down the hall Keran had come from and drew up short at the sight of blood, enough blood that the air was thick with it, metallic on his tongue. He saw the templar armour, chestplate with the Sword of Mercy cast aside, and his first thought was 'blood magic' when he saw the mage, her face tear-streaked and hands dripping red, only to hate himself for jumping to that conclusion the next minute.

"Help me," she said, voice trembling. 

Cullen nodded, pulling off his gauntlets and kneeling next to mage and templar. Only then did he get a good look at the templar's face. "Carver?" Oh Maker. Anton was going to kill him.

Carver didn't respond. He was definitely still breathing, but he seemed to be at least dazed, if not unconscious with his eyes still open.

"Ser Keran's gone to get a healer," Cullen said, as much for himself as anything. "You. Mage. I'm sorry, I can't remember your name, but do you know any healers? Creation mages? Can you get someone here faster than Keran?"

The mage shook her head. "We don't have many healers, Ser." She didn't know his name, either, and he felt less bad. "The templars took them away, years ago, and they didn't come back."

A chill ran down Cullen's spine. What had Meredith been thinking? Had that decision even been Meredith's, or was it some part of Alrik's plan? The idea that he'd been working with nearly no healers available terrified him, especially since the viscount's death. "Did you see this? Can you tell me what happened? If it wasn't you, you're not in trouble. I just need to know -- I know his family." _I am his family_ , Cullen thought.

"I can't-- I didn't see anything. Nothing. And then the blood, so much blood. I just tried to help him, but there's-- he's not going to die, is he?" The mage looked even more afraid than she had, sure that if this templar died, she'd pay for it, somehow.

"He better not," Cullen said gently, as much to reassure himself as her as he assessed Carver's injury. "Do you hear that, Carver? If you die, I'm telling Cormac, and you don't want that." He squeezed Carver's arm. "He's stubborn," he told the mage as he added his hands to hers to help stop the bleeding. "But thank you for looking after him." 

Despite his reassurances, it was a long wait as Cullen felt Carver's blood seep through his fingers, and he prayed to the Maker, to Andraste, that Keran would hurry the fuck up. It was barely minutes later that Keran returned, face flushed and sweaty from running in full plate, but it felt like hours. Another mage followed, an older man who was doing his best to keep up. Magic leapt to his fingers the moment he saw Carver, though he darted a look at Cullen, at Keran, the hounded look of someone expecting to be punished. 

"Do something!" Cullen gestured at Carver with one bloody hand. "Keran, run to my--" It still felt strange to say it. "-- to my husband's estate, and tell whoever answers the door to send Mage-Warden Anders. Not that I don't trust what we've got, but I want the best."

The older mage looked surprised at the idea the Knight-Captain would be consorting with mages outside the circle, but it did reassure him this wasn't a trap, and he started the slow work of putting Carver back together. "Ella, fetch my potions," he said, addressing the other mage, without a thought as to whether it would be appropriate. If the Knight-Captain wanted this man to live...

"Yes, Enchanter." But, Ella paused, a wary eye on Cullen.

"The man says go. Go!" Cullen shooed her with one hand. "And bring something for poison! I don't know what happened to him!"

"This is the one who upsets the others," the enchanter said, still trying to bind the correct pieces together. "And this wound wasn't caused by magic." He looked up at Cullen to see if the words were sinking in. "Maybe the Crows," he suggested, dismissively, after a moment. "Maybe the Carta."

"Maybe," Cullen agreed for the sake of appearances. He suspected the other mage -- Ella? -- had seen more than she let on, had seen something other than Crows or Carta. Cullen's hands clenched into fists, and he sat back, giving the healer room. He watched the mage's wrinkled fingers work over Carver's skin, limned in blue light, and he remembered watching Cormac and Anders put Artemis back together, remembered describing it as fascinating, which it was, in a way. Blood slowed, and skin knitted, and Carver stopped looking so deathly still.

Ella returned, shaking fingers setting down the potions she'd brought. She stayed to watch, wringing bloodied hands and offering assistance whenever the healer asked for it, while Cullen counted the minutes, waiting for Anders.


	178. Chapter 178

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders to the rescue. Anton is pissed. Cormac doesn't want to have to tell Artemis.

Anders came up the centre of the tower, doors that all opened from the stairs, but not from the halls -- he'd run straight from the clinic to the Darktown entrance that shouldn't have been there, and maybe one day he'd tell Cullen about it, but not today. He ran up the hall, clutching at his bag, to keep it from rattling, just in time to see Carver sit up -- or try to sit up, anyway -- and that wasn't just any templar Cullen had been calling about, that was _Carver_.

"Loren, you piece of shit, get back here I'll fucking ki--" Carver started to shout, and Cullen leaned over him, over the healer's arms, pushing Carver back to the floor.

"Stay down! You're still bleeding," Cullen roared, still shaking with the idea of having to tell Anton if Carver died.

"Carver?" Anders asked, coming up quietly, and looking over Ella's shoulder. "What happened?" He nudged the girl out of the way and knelt at Carver's shoulder, nodding to Cullen to stay put, as he looked at what the other healer had done and started to work with him, making minor corrections, first.

Carver was still swearing, trying to swing his arms, and he looked like he was trying to figure out the answer to that question himself. He blinked up at Cullen, eyes wide and wild. "Captain? When did you--? _Anders_?"

"Hold still, dammit!" Cullen said, and Carver finally -- for once -- obeyed that order, slumping back to the floor. "You've been stabbed."

" _Really_?" Carver spat, face twisting as the mages continued to poke and prod at him. "I couldn't tell!"

Cullen rolled his eyes, even as a relieved smile pulled at his lips. He'd much rather deal with a sarcastic Carver than one bleeding and barely conscious. For now, anyway.

Carver looked about as best he could while horizontal, searching the faces around him. "Where's that fucker Loren? I wasn't finished with him!"

"Loren?" Cullen repeated, eyes narrowing. He was about to ask if Ser Loren had done this -- and why -- but remembered there were mages here who didn't necessarily need to know the details, not if there was infighting among the templars.

Anders, however, had no such concerns. "Who's this Loren? Artie's going to want to throw them down the stairs, you know. Can't disappoint your brother." He picked the least-threatening Hawke sibling, sure that the idea would rile Carver and get him talking.

" _Ser_ Loren," Carver spat, "thinks he can just help himself to the ' _robe-trash_ '. Captain, he attacked the girl. Mage. What's your name?" He blinked up at the woman still hovering nervously nearby, trying to rub the dried blood off her hands.

"Ella," she replied, not looking at Carver.

Anders tipped his head, eyes squeezing shut, as a flicker of electric blue lit out across his skin, and he forced Justice back. _Not now._ At a curious look from the other healer, he shrugged. "Just working too hard." But, Justice clamoured to be heard, hammered at Anders's concentration.

"I saw it happen. I punched him, after a little discussion on the subject, and now I'm bringing it to you." Carver glared at Cullen, daring him to do something, anything.

"I see," Cullen said, his tone neutral but his expression darkening. "I will take care of it."

Carver scoffed, giving him a look that said he didn't believe him. 

"I will," Cullen repeated, "once I'm sure you'll be all right." He wasn't going to leave Carver alone just yet, even if he trusted Anders to take care of the situation. Anton would kill him if anything happened. Then again, Anton would kill him if he didn't take care of Ser Loren.

Carver swore, head thunking back against the floor. "Maker, Anders, what are you doing down there?" 

"Helping save your life, you ungrateful git," Anders replied without rancour, closing over the last bit of skin.

* * *

Anders left the appropriate way, down the outer stairs and through the courtyard, to avoid drawing any further suspicions to himself or any other mage still inside. It took him longer to cross town, this way, but the sunlight and fresh air were important, after a couple of hours in the Gallows. He didn't miss the tower, and after that, he missed it even less. Justice still raged, but less so, as they moved away from the source of the problem. Cullen had promised to 'take care of it', and Anders had more faith in that declaration than he thought he'd ever had in a templar's word. It wasn't so much that Cullen wasn't trying as that he was fighting an uphill battle against centuries of tradition, from the inside, and no one trusted him to keep them safe -- which, really, Anders didn't blame them for. Cullen probably couldn't keep them safe. Not yet. Certainly not by himself. But, it was a step, and some days, Anders thought he might be willing to settle for 'less bad'. A world in which mages were people, instead of objects. He could very nearly live with just that, some days.

Bodhan let him in, with a quick question about the grim look on his face, to which he replied only that he couldn't talk about it yet, and he was going to go wake Anton. Anders assumed that would involve waking him, since it was barely midday.

Anders pounded on the door of Anton's room. "Get up! We have to talk! Now!"

"If it's about what I might have caught at the Rose, it can wait!" Anton groaned, loudly. "I was out with a merchant caravan from Rivain until dawn!"

"It's not about that, and it _can't_ wait. Open the door!"

Anders heard the click of a lock turning, and then the door swung open onto a disgruntled, half-dressed Anton. Then Anton spotted the blood on Anders's coat, and that disgruntled look became concerned. "What happened?" he asked. "Do I need to stab anyone?"

Anders shut his eyes and grit his teeth as Justice tried to push his way to the front. "You might," Anders said, wrestling the spirit back under control. "Carver was hurt. He'll be fine, I healed him, but he was stabbed by another templar. Cullen would be here to tell you, but he's busy sitting next to Carver's bed with a big sword, looking pissed as fuck."

Anton's eyes lit, jaw clenched, and Anders readied to stop him if he tried to push past, to march down to the Gallows in a half-dressed rage. Instead, Anton took a long, steadying breath and asked, "This templar who stabbed my brother, does he have a name?"

Anders's eyes were blue, when he opened them. "Ser Loren. Takes after Ser Alrik, as I understand it."

"Perhaps not the brother I expected to be stabbed by templars," Anton muttered, after a few deep breaths, surprised by the humour he could still find, even in this.

"We all thought it would be Cormac," Anders assured him. "Cullen says he'll see to it, though. I believe him."

"As do I, but that's my little brother. I'm sure Cullen will handle it appropriately. So will I." Anton smiled beatifically, and turned to the wardrobe, rifling through shirts until he found one that suited his intents. "It won't happen again."

Anders nodded. "I should probably let Cormac know."

"And then sit on him. I don't want him in my way." Anton sat on the edge of his bed and pulled on his boots.

"Go downstairs, before you go out. Shelves in the middle of the room, third shelf, left side, yellow potions. Drink one, and take two with you. You haven't slept, and I don't need to clean up another Hawke, today." Anders patted the doorframe as he backed out of the room.

"You have--" Anton laughed quietly. "Of course you have something for that. The way you work, you'd have to."

"Oddly, I don't use them. I have Justice." Anders turned and went looking for Cormac.

Anders found the eldest Hawke in the study, bent over the desk, quill moving furiously over the parchment. At least Anders didn't have to worry about ruining a good mood.

"Knock, knock," Anders said, leaning against the doorway. "I'm afraid I have news you're not going to like."

"And the sentiments conveyed in--" Cormac looked up in the middle of a sentence. "Am I going to like this even less than Hubert's latest stunt? Should I compose myself first? How angry am I going to be?"

He wasn't taking it seriously, yet. The latest financial reports were in, for the quarter, and Hubert's accountant had left a slip between two documents that was loaded with blatant insults to Cormac's competence and intelligence. He was in the middle of an extremely angry letter that he was probably not going to send. He thought he might file a complaint with the -- except the viscount was dead, and the post hadn't yet been filled, something he kept forgetting. It was his problem, and he was running out of higher authorities to take it to. He seriously considered Anton and Bethany's offer. Zombie Hubert might be a more bearable business partner.

"I suspect you're about to hate someone more than Hubert," Anders said with a pained smile. And he told Cormac what he'd told Anton, that Carver was stabbed, that he would be fine, and that Ser Loren was being... 'taken care of'. "So please don't do anything stupid. Anton and Cullen are dealing with everything."

"Oh, if Anton's taking care of it, I don't have to. I just want to see it when he's done." Cormac's eyes glittered with an unpleasant glee. "Did I ever tell you about the time he got a templar into the middle of a lyrium-smuggling dispute? Half of that was Athenril's problem, but this guy had an eye on Bethy, and then he just... didn't." He smiled. "I'm not sure they ever found his eyes, actually. Funny thing."

"Yeah. Funny." Anders still eyed Cormac, surprised the man wasn't halfway to the Gallows by now. Surprised and relieved. As he'd told Anton, he didn't want to clean up after more than one Hawke today. Justice still rumbled in the background, dissatisfied, and Anders wiped a hand over his face. "You know Carver was protecting that girl?" he added with a weak laugh. "The one Justice -- I -- almost... The one escaping from the Gallows that night we killed Alrik." And he was supposed to have helped her, to have improved her life, and yet there she was, still suffering the same injustices at the templars' hands. Had _anything_ changed since he'd come to Kirkwall? "But... you should be proud of him. Of Carver. None of us were thrilled at the thought of him becoming a templar, but at least he's become the right kind of templar. Mostly. Though I hear he's still keeping the latrines sparklingly clean."

"That... sounds like Carver. Polishing toilets since the first time he ran off with the king's army." Cormac leaned back, forgetting he was sitting on a stool and not the usual chair from that desk, and caught himself with one foot as he tipped back. He went on, like nothing had happened. "You obviously told Anton. Does Artie know? Does _Bethy_ know? Of course, knowing Anton, he's probably already telling Bethy. I can't imagine he'd go out without her, this time."

"That... is a frightening thought," Anders said, quirking one eyebrow. He had no doubt this Ser Loren would regret crossing the Hawke family. Assuming he lived long enough to feel something like regret. "But no, I have not told her or Artie. I came straight here."

"I'm debating not telling Artie until later. Until there are remains to show." Cormac rubbed his face and put up the quill he'd been using. "And that is because I am a chickenshit. Let it be so known, blah blah, start walking before I change my mind and sit back down. You tell him. I'll catch him when he runs for the door."


	179. Chapter 179

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Artemis is extremely displeased that he's not allowed to solve this problem. Nonetheless, the problem gets solved, in ways that make Cullen nervous.

" _He WHAT_?" Artemis roared. He dropped the broom and abandoned the half-cleaned room, storming for the door. His brothers had taken it so calmly that Anders hadn't expected it, but luckily Cormac had and intercepted him at the door, as promised.

"Anton's got it. You don't want to go out in that. It's going to be messy." Cormac grinned, furious delight sparkling in the corners of his eyes. He wrapped his arms around Artemis's waist and spun back into the front room, before taking a few more steps, in an awkward impression of a certain Orlesian ballroom dance. "All we have to do is watch. Anton will let us know if he needs us."

Artemis growled, wriggling in Cormac's arms and kicking his legs. "No. You know what would be messy?" he said, practically hissing. "Me dropping that asshole off the roof of the Circle, that's what. _Put me down_!"

"Now, see, this is the reaction I expected from _Cormac_ ," Anders said, blue still flickering over his skin. "But, Artie? Please calm down. You're riling Justice."

" _Good_!"

Fenris sighed and shook his head at the ceiling. Surrounded by mages. Again. "I'll take that," he said to Cormac, throwing his mage over his shoulder. "You deal with the other one."

Cormac wrapped himself around Anders, nuzzling his neck. "Hey, it's fine. Anton's taking care of it. All we have to do is watch, and it'll happen. Drink tea while justice is done. Or maybe I should do--" The look Fenris was giving him over Anders's shoulder put a stop to the rest of that sentence. "The situation is under control. Carver found the problem. Anton's removing the problem. I'm sure there are enough other problems you could be solving, although probably not mine because -- _Artie_? Do you want to throw Hubert down a flight of stairs for me? I have written proof from his accountant that he's ripping me off, and you should see the things this Orlesian asshole's suggesting about our family!"

Piss everyone off about something else seemed like the way to go, here.

"Is this wise?" Fenris asked, struggling to keep a grip on Artemis.

"I have another answer, but he's going to like it even less," Cormac said, readying a spell in his palm.

"Cormac," Artemis said, stiffening in Fenris's arms. He couldn't see his brother from this angle, but he knew what was coming. "If you cast barrier on me, so help me, there will be rashvine nettles in your robes and bedsheets for a _month_!"

Anders let out a cringing laugh. "Oh, please don't do that. I spend a lot of time in that bed!"

"Collateral damage," Artemis replied. "Sorry, Anders."

"Calm down, Amatus," Fenris coaxed, patting the rump just to the side of his face. "Anton can handle this. I do not like the idea of you walking in there and using magic around so many templars, even if you are sneaky about it." He tactfully refrained from mentioning that 'sneaky' wasn't something Artemis did well. "That wouldn't help Carver."

Artemis sagged over Fenris's shoulder, scowling at the floor. "Stop being so logical about it and let me kill something," he whined.

"I think that's why your brother suggested Hubert."

"Come on, Artie. Just think of the opportunities to use all those exciting Orlesian phrases mum never used to let us say! I was right in the middle of an extremely angry letter. We could hand-deliver it. You could tell him exactly what you think of him, of Orlais, and of the way he's been ripping me off for the last five years. And then you can throw him down the stairs a few times. Give him a concussion and he won't even remember it, later." Cormac laughed and turned, one arm still around Anders, to run a lightly sparking finger over Artie's ankle. "But, you can't get between Anton and this templar. This is extremely dangerous, and I don't want you ending up on the wrong side of the Carta or something. I have no idea what he's got planned for this. He was gone before I made it out of the study, and Bodhan didn't see him leave the house."

"Considering the last time you were at odds with the Carta you ended up freeing an ancient Tevinter magister," Fenris drawled, "I'd rather you didn't."

"Fine, fine, yes," Artemis muttered, still scowling, and Fenris set him down but kept an arm around his waist just in case. He scratched at his arm, glancing back at the mess he'd left half-cleaned. "It's stupid, but I keep thinking it's because I haven't been able to clean his room. Has he been making his bed? Probably not. Dammit, Carver."

"Please tell me you aren't going to sneak into the Gallows to clean the barracks," Anders sighed. "I'm not cleaning up after _that_."

"No, no. Told you it was stupid. Now where's Hubert? I feel like kicking an Orlesian."

The last thing Cormac was going to do was tell Artie that Hubert was in Orlais, meeting with the accountant. "I don't know. He'll show up. Come home and look at the books with me, hmm? I'm sure you'll see even more than I did. And you just have to see the accountant's note. If there were still a viscount, I'd be standing in his office. I may be Fereldan, but we've been nobles in the City of Kirkwall for long enough that this is getting political." He rested his head on Anders's shoulder. "It's unjust! It's just not right! And the next time someone calls me a dog, I'm just going to burn Orlais to the ground. We can do that, right? It's not that big. Might take a couple of weeks, but I bet we could."

"No, Cormac, you cannot burn all of Orlais to the ground," Anders sighed again. "The two of you are just -- How did you survive this long? Where is the sense in this family?"

"Bethany," Cormac admitted. "Bethany is the sense in this family."

"Again, how did you survive this long?"

Artemis shrugged and offered Anders a crooked smile. "He has shields, and I'm pretty. We've established this."

Fenris nodded, unable to argue with that logic.

* * *

* * *

Donnic was walking his patrol of the Docks when he saw the glint of metal. Thanks to the Hawkes, this part of the city was safer, quieter than it used to be, and his morning had been uneventful. But that? That looked like armour in an alley behind one of the Dock's seedier inns. Donnic's first thoughts were of his fellow guardsmen, and he wondered which idiot had gotten that plastered in this part of the city. 

He had to walk into the alley and kick some rubbish out of the way before he could see the Sword of Mercy on the man's chest, and by then he could tell that the man in question wasn't so much drunk as dead. Very dead. And it was not a pleasant death either, judging by the way he was contorted.

"Oh, Cullen will love this," Donnic muttered, wondering who the poor soul was. So much for a quiet morning.

* * *

The cause of death was quickly obvious to Cullen. Lyrium poisoning. But, Loren had been young, yet, and there was no reason to suspect it had started to get to him -- not like that. But, the second clue was in the turned out pouches on his belt, the bottoms of all of them slit open. This wasn't an accident, it was a hit. Loren had either gotten in the way of or gotten in debt to lyrium smugglers, and around here, that nearly always meant the Carta.

"How long do you think he's been dead?" Cullen asked, kneeling beside the body to check for any lingering warmth. He'd been with Anton all night. Actually, he'd been with Anton since Anton had shown up in his office, in the early afternoon, furious and ready to slit throats. There was no way Anton could have been responsible for this. At least not directly. When he'd gotten up to deal with this, Anton had been asleep beside him, down hard after far too long awake.

"Some time in the night, I figure," Donnic said, with a shrug. "The last shift didn't find him, and I was here, before that."

Couldn't have been Anton. Cullen knew he'd seen Loren much too close to Anton arriving in his office for that to be possible. The man was alive when Anton arrived, and he'd died some time in the night, while Cullen was still with Anton. Still, Carver did have other brothers. He just didn't think any of the others would have gone for something quite so ... subtle.

Cullen wiped a hand over his face. The Circle -- and Carver -- would be safer without Loren, but it was like Alrik all over again. To effect change, he or Meredith needed to be the ones making examples out of templars like these. "Damn," he muttered.

"Did you know him well?" Donnic asked.

"Not well enough, apparently," Cullen muttered. "I wish I could say his death is a shame, but there's no need for me to lie to you." Cullen patted Donnic's shoulder and smiled grimly at his surprised expression. "Can you see to it that the body is taken care of? There's a question I need to ask my husband."

"Of course, ser," Donnic said, brows knit in a question he didn't ask.

* * *

Cullen sat down on the edge of the bed, dressed well, but not in his plate. There hadn't been time. "Anton?" He reached out and rubbed his husband's back, gently.

"No." Anton grumbled into the pillow. "If you're not telling me you're coming back to bed, the answer is no." He pulled the blanket over his head.

"We need to talk," Cullen insisted, quietly.

"No, I need to sleep. I've been trying to sleep for two days. You can talk to me after I sleep," Anton whined, grabbing the other pillow and pulling that over his head as well.

Cullen wished he could just drop it, just let Anton sleep and maybe even join him. "They found Loren this morning," he said instead, addressing the pillow over Anton's head.

The pillow lifted but only just. "Who's 'they', and have you punished the fucker yet?"

"'They' is actually 'he'. Meaning Donnic, specifically. He found Loren's body in an alley this morning."

The pillow slid off the rest of the way, joined soon after by the blanket. Anton still didn't get up, but he turned to look at his husband. "Body. Did you say body? Implying said body was dead at the time?"

"Yes, I said body, and yes, I meant a dead one." Cullen searched Anton's face, looking for a clue in his expression, anything that hinted his husband was acting, that he'd already known about Loren. He was grateful to find none, though he suspected that just meant Anton was a particularly good actor. "A lyrium overdose, it looks like."

"Looks like someone saved me the trouble," Anton replied, pulling the blanket back up under his chin. "Good. Now I can go back to sleep. If you're not going to lay down, go back to work. I'll bring lunch when I get up."

"So, you were going to do something, even after I said I'd handle it?" Cullen asked.

"Was going to go see you after I slept, and ask what you did. Notice the 'after I slept' in that sentence," Anton muttered, eyes drifting closed. "Could decide if I had to do something, myself, after that."

A few seconds passed, and Cullen opened his mouth, but one of Anton's eyes popped open, and a question followed. "Wait, lyrium overdose? You sure that's not an accident? A suicide?"

"The Carta made sure I'd know it wasn't. At least I expect that was the Carta, unless you know of anyone else smuggling lyrium, around here."

"Nuh-uh. Lyrium's nasty. I stay out of that. Not touching anything that can do that to a man." Anton shook his head, pressing his face further into the pillow.

Cullen refrained from commenting on that and instead reached over to scratch behind Mintaka's ears. That dog was always on Anton's sleep schedule.

Anton opened one eye, expression softening. "That's not something I have to worry about with you, is it?" he asked.

"Working with smugglers?" Cullen drawled. "No."

Anton rolled his eyes. "I meant the lyrium."

Cullen kept petting Mintaka. The dog flopped over onto his back, giving Cullen his belly and all but demanding it be rubbed. Cullen obliged.

"You're not even going to lie to make me feel better, are you?" Anton sighed, propping himself up on his elbow.

"Do you want me to?"

"A bit."

"Then no, you don't have to worry."


	180. Chapter 180

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carver presents himself to Merrill, in the aftermath. Cormac tries to make peace with Aveline.

"I don't understand!" Merrill said, again, running her hands over Carver's freshly de-platemailed chest. "How did you get stabbed by another templar? I thought you were supposed to be on the same side!" Even now, Merrill didn't quite understand the nuance of what went on in the Gallows. The entire structure of human society was confusing, and she mostly ignored the parts she didn't have to deal with regularly.

"Templars are supposed to get in the way. I got in the way." Carver grinned, picking Merrill up high enough to kiss her cheeks without having to stay bent over.

"Now you're just being difficult," she said, poking him in the chest.

"You like it when I'm hard," he joked.

"I got that! I got that and it was very dirty, Carver Hawke!" Merrill laughed delightedly. "But, you have to tell me what happened! Anders told me you got stabbed and there was blood everywhere!"

"Mmm, not as much of it as you're going to get," Carver laughed, pressing his face to Merrill's neck and taking a deep breath. "But, how I got stabbed? Well, not all templars are as amazing as me. Some of them aren't even as great as Cullen. And this one guy, he really doesn't -- well, didn't, I suppose -- like mages. Of course why he'd be doing that with someone he didn't like just doesn't make any sense to me. But, I caught him terrorizing some poor mage, and I told him exactly what I thought of that. And then he insulted my entire family, so I told him what I thought of that, right in the teeth, I told him."

"Well, to be fair," Merrill teased, "you insult your family all the time. But I'm proud of you, my brave hero!" 

Carver puffed out his chest. "Well, I don't know if I'd call myself a hero," he said, "even if some people are. I was just doing my duty, you know. Looking after mages."

Merrill chuckled, winding her arms around his neck. "And you're very good at it. Just try not to get stabbed again." The thought that she might have lost him, this shemlen who'd become so important to her made it difficult to breathe.

"I'll try, but I make no promises," Carver replied, holding her tight against him. There was still a dull, phantom ache where the knife had stabbed him, but his only regret was that the wound hadn't scarred. It would have been impressive.

* * *

* * *

"What are you doing in my office," Aveline grumbled, not looking up from the pile of paper on her desk.

"Well, hello, Captain Aveline! It's a lovely day, and I thought you might have time to do lunch, with an old friend. No, I didn't bring my brother. You're welcome." Cormac leaned in the doorway and held up a basket from the market.

"You're not getting me drunk in the middle of the day," Aveline snapped slapping another completed report onto the pile on one side of her desk.

"No, I'm not. South Reach-style cranberry lassi." Cormac stepped into the room and set a tall jar of creamy pink liquid in the one spot he could still see wood on the desk.

"South Reach-style? How did you...?" Aveline looked up, suspiciously.

"I asked Donnic." Cormac grinned completely unapologetically. "Come on, I know you're still pissed at Anton, but you can't take that out on the rest of us."

"Yes, I can. I've been doing it very effectively, too, I might add," Aveline growled, quill catching on another page, as she pressed down a little too hard.

"Look, Aveline, Artemis really wants you to be at his wedding, and he's been refusing to schedule, because he knows you won't come. You're part of the family. Don't just ditch us because Anton fucked up a negotiation with someone who didn't want to negotiate." Cormac leaned the basket on the edge of the desk, tilting it so Aveline could see into it. The food looked distinctly Fereldan, but as with so much Fereldan cooking, it was a bit difficult to distinguish -- at best she could tell both parts were brown and probably baked goods. "On top of that, thank you for not arresting my brother. I think I owe you at least one good lunch, for that, and probably more. It's not a bribe. I just owe you."

"You really don't understand, do you, Cormac? He didn't just screw up a negotiation. It reflected directly on this entire office. You can't understand. You're not a captain of anything. Not a day of service in your life." Aveline threw the quill into an inkwell she shouldn't have been leaving it in.

"You know what else I'm not?" Cormac asked, a little too calmly and quietly. "Champion of Kirkwall. Politics has done me no favours, and Anton holds my title, my lands, and complete control of our family's estate, because he's the only person in this family who's not going to get fucked like I did."

"I could always arrest him," Aveline pointed out.

"And then you'll be turning my holdings over to the Knight-Commander, because we have no viscount. I'm not asking you to _like him_ , Aveline, whatever the two of you had going on before. I'm just asking you not to look away from the rest of us, because you don't."

Aveline blew out a harsh breath through her nose, lips pursed as she stared at the basket of food-related offerings. Her scowl was impressive enough to make Broody swoon. "You're a close family, Cormac," she said. "It's hard to avoid one Hawke without avoiding them all. But, I will go to Artie's wedding, and I will be civil. I owe that much to him and Fenris." Aveline shook her head. "Beyond that, I don't know what you expect me to say. Anton completely undermined me and betrayed my trust, and I'm having a hard time looking at him without remembering that."

Still. Anton wasn't there now, and here was Cormac, standing in front of her with a peace-offering.

"Now, are you going to keep standing there," she muttered, rifling through the next set of papers on her desk, "or are you going to sit down? I'm not going to eat with you looming over me like that."

"Well, I wouldn't be looming if your office wasn't designed to make people on the wrong side of the desk uncomfortable," Cormac scoffed, unloading two heavy clay dishes from the basket, and setting one in the middle of the papers Aveline still hadn't moved. "Apple pudding. I'm holding the cottage pie. I don't think Bodhan managed to put plates in here, but I've got spoons, and I'll trade you at the halfway mark." He jammed a spoon into the pudding and sat down on a pile of books, beside the desk, resting the other bowl on his thigh.

"Anton's... an idealist, really. And he told you at least twice not to take him with you, for that. And you _knew_ he didn't agree with what you were trying to do." Cormac shook his head. "I'm not saying either of you was right. I'm just saying most of this was predictable. He tells it to me, again and again, how he was really more interested in stopping the war -- convincing the Arishok that we weren't all useless barbarians. But, nothing. It was the end of the road, there. They got their book, and they went home. You want somebody's head, consider Isabela's." Cormac paused for a mouthful of cottage pie. "And no, that doesn't imply that I'm no longer sleeping with her. The one has nothing to do with the other."

"I expect Isabela to look after her own interests first," Aveline said, stabbing the apple pudding with more force than necessary. "Doesn't mean I'm giving her pass, not after all the lives that were lost because of her. But... I _trusted_ Anton, and I..." She closed her eyes and shook her head, picking at her food with the spoon. "Well, I suppose that was my failing, not his. I should have known better."

The apple pudding was just the right amount of sweet on her tongue, and Aveline took a moment just to enjoy the taste before speaking again. "Look, maybe I'll forgive Anton at some point, but I am not at that point yet. For now, will you tell me what I've missed? What's going on with you and the others?" She licked her spoon clean before taking another bite.

"Bethany's just gotten another book published. Something about the design of tombs and their role in attracting spirits. I don't understand a lot of what she does, but she doesn't understand my work, either. I'm sure there's overlap. I'm sure we'll find it. It's just not there right now. But, this book's a big one, I guess. Lots of people waiting for it." Cormac took another huge bite and tapped his spoon on the edge of the dish, as he thought.  "Fenris is learning to read Tevene. Somehow this hasn't ended in him disembowelling Anders, for which I am grateful on a daily basis. Anders is amazing, as always, and I have no idea what the hell this gorgeous revolutionary is doing, hanging around with a shithead like me. Artie's... you know I really have no idea what he's doing, but it hasn't involved him being drunk in public, so it can't be too bad. And Carver... you heard about Carver, didn't you?"

Aveline nodded, humming around her spoon. "Donnic told me," she said. "Apparently he found the body of the templar who stabbed Carver." Her tone was neutral, but the look she gave Cormac over the food said she knew exactly who was behind that. "And how is the poor sod, anyway? All healed up and back to being a pain in the ass yet?" Aveline pulled the jar of lassi closer and twisted off the top to take a quick drink. "Mm, that's good," she sighed.

"I'd assume as much. He hasn't been to the house, that I've noticed, but Merrill didn't show up for Wicked Grace, last night, so I'm thinking he's putting in some appearances, at least. I just hope Bethany doesn't decide she needs to get involved. Not that I think she would, but... He did just get stabbed pretty badly. You can bet if we still had a viscount, she'd be making complaints." Cormac shrugged, perfectly content with the idea that Anton had solved the problem before anyone had to summon higher powers. "Still, Anders is writing another angry letter to the Grand Cleric. Something about Meredith not being able to keep her men in line, even internally. And there's a thing. Since when do we have templar patrols on the streets? Last time I checked, there was no reason for that. That's what your men are for, right?"

"Last I checked," Aveline replied, eyes narrowed. "Then again, I have a feeling we're not looking for the same things on these patrols. I would ask the Knight-Captain about that." Aveline managed to keep from sounding catty despite mentioning Anton's husband.

She took another bite of the apple pudding and then gestured at Cormac's dish with her spoon. "I think I'm about halfway. Ready to switch?"

Cormac took another enormous bite and held out his bowl, spoon still in his mouth as he nodded. They swapped dishes and he worked his way through a mouthful of potato, before he spoke again. "As pissed as you are, it's still a shame you missed that wedding. The performance was amazing, my brother aside. Sebastian almost walked out. And then Cullen somehow convinced Anders to demonstrate some attractive but harmless magic. I heard old man Amell used to bring in mages for the big events, but _Anders_ surrounded by templars, putting on a show like that? Definitely worth all the wine I didn't drink."

Aveline raised her eyebrows, humming a note of surprise around a bite of cottage pie. _Cullen_ had convinced Anders? "In Kirkwall? And no one ended up maimed, killed, or thrown in the Gallows? Or at least, I'm assuming they didn't." She pointed her spoon at Cormac. "They didn't, did they?"

"A particular lieutenant looked like he might lose his commission, but nobody ended up bleeding on anything or spontaneously folded into breakfast pastry. Anders hasn't had to move. And the Knight-Captain has made his position on Wardens extremely clear." Cormac made a small blissful sound around a mouthful of apple pudding, before he went on. "I suspect Isabela may have had something to do with the actual convincing part, but Cullen gave permission and thanks for it. Even apologised for the dick who was making trouble. Man's getting his head around the idea that not all free mages are lunatic maleficars. Some of them may still be lunatics, but still not maleficars. I might even mention it to him, if I didn't think the very thought would get him fired."

A few bites of pudding passed. "How are things with you and Donnic? I only ever hear things from Fenris, third hand."

Aveline couldn't help the smile that pulled at her lips just at the sound of Donnic's name. "Things are good. Fine." Which wasn't to say it had been easy, but they were finally settling into each other's routines. "Though I worry what you might have heard from Fenris. He and Donnic are usually well into the wine whenever I see him. Though really I should just be grateful Donnic hasn't gambled away our livelihood yet." She licked her lips after another sip of lassi. This was almost pleasant, she decided, Hawke or no Hawke.

"Don't you dare tell Donnic I mentioned it, but Fenris wouldn't let him. He's starting to come around to the idea of friends and family as the people you don't stiff, even if you did do it according to the rules. Unless it's Anders. And _balls_ , but I have to hear about that every week. Fortunately, Anders is betting my money, so it doesn't usually matter all that much." Cormac laughed and scraped some of the burnt bits off the bottom of the bowl, for a bit of extra-sweet crunch in the next bite. "You know why Anders is poor? It's because he can't think of himself, first. I don't even mean he doesn't. I'm pretty sure he's just fundamentally incapable of it. I know I could be doing other things with this money than pouring it down the bottomless hole that is Darktown, with him, but ... I want to know what it's like to believe something so wholeheartedly, so dedicatedly, that everything else stops mattering. I don't know how he does it."

"Justice," Aveline said around her next mouthful. "Justice is how he does it." She finished chewing and, looking up at Cormac, softened her words. "But it is admirable, what he does. There are few who have the patience for caring for so many people and fewer still who have the resilience to do it for this long." Which, Aveline decided, didn't help the man's sanity any. "And I'm glad Fenris won't let Donnic gamble all his money, or the next body found in an alley would be my darling husband's." She smiled tightly, until she thought of Wesley and realised that wasn't something she wanted to be joking about. "Well. You know what I mean." Her spoon scraped up the last bites of the cottage pie.

"I know. Really, _I know_." Cormac laughed again, gnawing the last sticky bits off the spoon. "So, I'll let Artie know you'll be at his wedding. It'll take us months to get this going -- weddings are ... Let me just say I'm glad I don't intend to have one. And with the party, and... We'll let you know. And, Aveline, if you need someone to make a run up the coast for you..." He cracked a smile. "Call Fenris. No, but really, he's always liked the coast. Or, I guess, call me, but I still live with Anton, so showing up at the door's a bit of a gamble."

Aveline smirked, putting the empty dishes back in the basket. "I'll call Fenris," she said. "And if I need a loudmouth mage, I'll call Fenris to call you."

"Well, then. I look forward to being woken up with the wrong kind of sword, soon!" Cormac winked and swept off the stack of books, toward the door, before Aveline could swat him upside the head. "Lunch next week? I'm still buying! Oh, wait, did that sound like a question? That wasn't a question. Don't get stabbed or anything!"

He was gone before she could object. " _Hawkes_."


	181. Chapter 181

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen asks advice of Goatilda. Anton has some ideas involving mirrors.

"I just... I don't know what to do," Cullen sighed, running a hand through his hair, fingers twisting in his curls. "I don't know what Meredith was thinking when she signed this order. A tower without Spirit Healers? What good does that do?" He blew out a sigh. "What do you think? Do you have any advice for me?"

Goatilda eyed the templar rubbing her ears. After a long moment, she answered with a decisive, "MAEH."

Cullen nodded, patting her nose with a bit of hay, which she promptly folded her lips around. "This is a fair point," said Cullen as Goatilda pulled the hay out of his hand and started to chew. At the very least, it was better feedback than he was used to from his recruits. "I'm glad we're having this talk."

Cullen didn't hear the door open behind him, but he did hear Anton's chuckle. He turned and offered his husband the bit of hay he'd just picked up. "Lunch?" he offered.

"Thank you, but I had hay for breakfast," Anton replied. He tipped his head at Goatilda. "New assistant?"

"I, er..." Cullen just shrugged, exhausted exasperation settling across his face. "When I can get better advice from a goat than I'm getting in the office, there's something distinctly wrong in the world, but that's where I've been. Months of this horseshit. Years of it." He sighed, pressing the ball of his thumb against the inner curve of his eye. "Don't say 'horseshit', Cullen. Yes, ser." He looked back up at Anton. "Some days, I wonder if it's worth it, and then I remember the lyrium. And then I remember what it would be like, if I weren't there. I want the circle to be a safe place for everyone in it, but... It's not. And I keep trying, and it's still not. And now, I find out that Meredith had the healers _removed_? I can't even find records of exactly what happened to them. Just... 'removed'. I'm about to go through the records of the Tranquil, again, because otherwise I think they might be dead. She's very fond of making people dead. As a _warning_."

"You're rambling," Anton pointed out, with an indulgent smile. "Come on, it's too hot out here. You'll melt your wits right out your ears, if you keep thinking so much. What if I get Cormac to freeze some of the wine from last night, and we go upstairs and drink wine, and get naked, and you tell me all your worries, and I'll lick them all away, hm? I'm probably better advice than Goatilda, at least."

"Oh, I don't know," Cullen teased, a smile easing the hard lines of his face. "Goatilda's advice might be on par with yours, but I'm willing to try it out." He tossed the hay at Goatilda's feet and wrapped an arm around Anton's waist. Anton certainly had a point, however. It was sweltering out here in the sun, and his tunic was soaked through with sweat even without the weight of his armour.

"Oh, you're willing, are you?" Anton drawled, the fake scowl given away by the curl of his lips. "Would you rather share the wine with Goatilda and have her lick it off?"

"Well, now that you mention it..." Cullen tapped his chin as though genuinely considering this, until Anton poked him in the side, prompting a laugh out of him.

Anton kissed Cullen's cheek and led him back out of the goat pen. "Don't worry, Goatilda. I'll bring him back not much worse for the wear."

* * *

Upstairs, Anton was all hands. Cullen couldn't keep track of him. One moment he was sipping slushed wine, and the next his hands were sliding down Cullen's legs, but there was the wine again. Cullen checked for Isabela, just to be sure, but this was all Anton. It may, however, have involved some sleight of hand and the vanity.

Anton's fingers loosened laces, sneaking squeezes between knots, and Cullen was left panting and groaning, just trying not to spill wine on the carpet. The iced wine had been a very good idea, Cullen decided, pressing the mug to his face. He looked up in time to see Anton crouch down to loosen his boots, and that was when he spotted the mirror. Anton's precious full-length mirror, that was angled directly at him.

"Anton, no." Cullen looked down at the top of Anton's head, trying to steady his grip on the mug of wine. "Not in front of the mirror."

"Why not? You should see how completely breathtaking you look, when I swallow your knob. You must turn every head in the Gallows, when you come in without your plate. And when I touch you, when I taste you, when I get to see you like none of them do..." Anton smiled up, looking just as dazzled as he tended to at the sight of Cullen. He'd married this man. Must've done something right.

Cullen cupped Anton's face, his expression softening at the adoration he saw in this man's eyes, adoration he still didn't think he deserved. "'Breathtaking' isn't exactly what I see when I look at myself," he said wryly. "When I look at you, however..." Cullen knelt in front of Anton, palm moulding to his husband's cheek as he kissed him sweetly, tasting the wine on his lips.

Even here, half hidden behind Anton, the mirror distracted Cullen. He avoided looking at it, but it was still there in the periphery of his vision. "Just... could we maybe do this elsewhere?" Cullen asked. "How would you feel watching _your_ self in the mirror?"

"You say that like you think I haven't done it," Anton replied with an impish smirk, hands resting on Cullen's hips and pulling Cullen into him. His arms looped around Cullen's waist.

"That's... huh. I suppose that was my mistake." And that was putting all sorts of terrible thoughts in Cullen's head.

"How would you feel watching me in the mirror?" Anton asked, fingers sliding up under Cullen's shirt. "We're almost the same height. I know you can see over my shoulder."

And that was something Cullen hadn't quite gotten to, but now that Anton had said it... He could feel his cheeks flush at the thought of Anton, who he knew would put on an act that would put any stripper at the Rose to shame -- he'd seen enough of them at the wedding to be pretty sure of that -- standing in front of the mirror, presenting every side of himself to Cullen's inspection. "That... This is not leverage, Anton. If you do this, it doesn't mean I'm doing it."

Anton's eyebrows arced up. "Well, no. If I do this, it will be because I think it's a fantastic idea, and I'm gorgeous. And I love the idea of you getting a good look at me, of me getting a good look at me -- you know, if you want, we could do this in front of the window, and then the neighbours could watch, too. Nosey bastards. Be good for them to get a faceful of Hawke, the way they watch the house."

"No. Absolutely not the window. _Maker_ , Anton, how did I end up married to an exhibitionist? You're lucky you're cute." Cullen leaned in and kissed Anton's neck. "No neighbours. ... ... Yes to the mirror. For you."

"For me," Anton repeated with a soft chuckle. "Except I think it will be for you, too," he added in Cullen's ear, licking Cullen's earlobe into his mouth.

"As long as it's not for the neighbours," Cullen replied with a breathless laugh. He finally set his wine on the floor, sliding it out of reach so they didn't knock it over. With fingers still chilled from the wine, Cullen set to work on Anton's clothes, slipping off each article of clothing tenderly, almost reverently, in between kisses. Anton toed off his boots, the trousers Cullen pushed down to his knees, and soon they were both naked, kneeling on the floor.

Cullen chanced a peek at the mirror. Avoiding his own reflection was easy enough when he had such an inspiring view of Anton's ass, the lean line of his back. He watched his hands trace those lines in the mirror, noted the contrast in skintone and the way Anton shifted under his touch. This man was unfairly beautiful from every angle.

Anton got in the way of that amazing view, just long enough to pull Cullen into a dizzying kiss, and then he stood. "Think we can do this without knocking over the mirror?" he asked, with a teasing smile. "I mean, I know I can, but you... You're some burly Fereldan savage. Too many solid thrusts, and I might need a new mirror."

"Maker, Anton..." Cullen dragged a hand down his face. "Is this something I should actually be worried about?"

"Nah, the mirror's survived rougher things than you." Anton reached down and tugged Cullen to his feet.

"I don't know. I rather liked the view from the floor," Cullen joked, still nervous about this idea, the splash of pink creeping down across his shoulders as he eyed the frame of the mirror over Anton's shoulder.

"View's about to get better," Anton said, copping a quick feel before he turned around and grabbed two carven mountain cats on the frame of the mirror. He looked at himself admiringly before looking over his shoulder at Cullen, teasing grin firmly fixed. "Come on, Ser Templar, show me the might of your sword."

Cullen let out a sound between a laugh and a groan. "Oh, is it my sword today?" he teased, the pink spreading further, down along his chest, as he approached. "Not my 'meatpole'?"

"Would you prefer 'meatpole', Captain?" Anton subtly adjusted his stance, the movement of his ass drawing Cullen's attention. "Perhaps your 'lusty man-spear'? Your 'turgid rod of delights'?"

Cullen choked out another pained laugh, wrapping his arms around Anton's waist and resting his head on his husband's shoulder. "Maker, that's terrible. Please don't ever try to seduce me with the word 'turgid' again."

"Try? Please." Anton arched back into Cullen, grinding back into his 'turgid rod'. "It seems to be working so far."

"You are terrible," Cullen said fondly, pressing a kiss to the skin just in front of his face. He caught Anton's eyes in the mirror and smiled. 


	182. Chapter 182

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Knight-Captain takes on the Ass-Bandit. A duel of meatswords begins in earnest. (These two are ridiculous and I love it.)

Anton stretched and shifted as Cullen's hands wandered his skin, always putting those hands at the best angle, making it terribly clear exactly what he thought of being touched. He watched Cullen's eyes in the mirror, waited until he caught Cullen looking at his face, again, that blush still so obvious, even over his shoulder. "Do you want me to beg for it, Knight-Captain? To plead with you to put your virile rod of manly delights inside me?" Anton wiggled his bottom against his husband, trying to keep the burgeoning giggles behind his lips, without breaking into a ridiculous smile.

Resting his forehead on Anton's shoulder, Cullen snorted. Sometimes, he almost missed the days when they could get through a night without a reference to those terrible books, but... those terrible books really were what brought them together. Right down to Anton's performance at the wedding, and his own decisions about their reckless romantic holiday, right after. Still, any hope of the flush on his cheeks fading was dashed in that moment, and he thought if Anton kept on like this, he'd be discovering if his toenails could blush. He hadn't been paying attention any of the previous times he might've had the opportunity, and he might not be paying attention this time, either.

"Cry out for it, knave!" he demanded, resting his chin on Anton's shoulder, and dropping one hand to cup Anton's balls. "Instruct me in the depths of your depraved desires!" He was never going to get rid of this blush. His face would be dyed beet-red for eternity.

Cullen could feel Anton shaking with suppressed laughter, and in the mirror, his lips pursed and his eyes glittered. "Oh, Captain!" Anton said in a syrupy groan. "Ravish me! I yearn to feel your mighty man noodle deep inside me!"

A wheezing laugh punched out of Cullen, and he clung to Anton's shoulders to stay upright. "'Mighty man noodle'. I don't remember that one being in any of my books!"

"You should read some of Isabela's books, some time," Anton replied. "She'll add some new phrases to your vocabulary."

Of course, the mention of Isabela's writing brought to mind that glorious filth featuring Anton and the Arishok, and there was no way Cullen's blush was going to fade any time soon. He could see the rest of his chilled wine out of the corner of his eye, and he considered grabbing it, pressing it to his heated cheeks to see if it would help.

Anton grinned. "Or would you prefer 'turgid man noodle'?"

Cullen lunged for Anton's wine, instead, as he spotted it on the vanity, returning as quickly as he'd leaned back to press the frosty mug to the inner curve of Anton's hip. "What did I tell you about 'turgid'?" he growled, eyes wide and cheeks bright red, as Anton squealed and squirmed in his arms, cackling like a fool.

"Oh, Maker -- Maker -- Cullen, oh, shit that's cold! What--!" Anton cackled and sputtered, trying to twist away from the iced wine against his hip, but only succeeded in knocking his knob against the cup, which set off a whole other round of squealing.

Finally, Cullen moved the wine, to take a sip of it, before he set it back on the vanity, dipping his fingertips in it, so he could paint cold lines on Anton's chest. The Tevinter 'property' mark was simple enough and small enough to get through with so little wine, and he grinned over Anton's shoulder. "You're mine now, knave. Perhaps your depraved pleadings would win you mercy from someone, but I am a very serious man. Devoted to my work." He flicked Anton's nipple with his freezing fingers.

 Anton let out a high-pitched squeak, eyes wide and round in his reflection, jumping under Cullen’s touch. “Oh, please, Captain!” he pleaded. “Have mercy on your captive!”

“Mercy?” Cullen growled against Anton’s neck, frozen fingers tracing down his belly, feeling the muscles bunch. "Why should I show you mercy, knave?” His fingers played over Anton’s knob. “Would you have shown me such mercy, hmm?” He punctuated this question with a bite at the juncture of Anton’s shoulder and neck.

“Please, Ser Templar!” Anton gasped, body squirming. “Allow me to atone for my transgressions!” His knuckles were white around the mirror’s frame.

“Atone?” Cullen purred. “Do tell me how you plan to do so.”

"I'm ever so good at polishing things." Anton's eyes caught Cullen's in the glass. "Maybe your knob needs a new shine, ser? I'm extra good with knobs." He bit his tongue, not to laugh, when Cullen pinched just above his hip.

"A champion knob-polisher, hmm? I might have some use for you, but not enough to free you on the basis of such a flimsy offer." Cullen nibbled at the side of Anton's neck and tried to keep his mind on those ridiculous novels and off what went on in the Gallows when he wasn't looking. "Surely you must have something more fitting."

"Oh, well," Anton purred, grinding back against Cullen. "If it's _fitting_ you're looking for, you're welcome to check me for a perfect fit. I'm told I have the very finest and best-fit bottom, this side of Rivain. Of course, the other side of Rivain is mostly water, so unless you've a fondness for the fit of fish..." He grinned.

"Anton..." Cullen wheezed, resting his forehead on Anton's shoulder, before pulling himself together. "Have I captured the notorious Ass-Bandit, then? The thief who looks good going, but looks better coming again and again?" He stifled a giggle against Anton's neck.

Anton had to bite his lip against a laugh, a snicker still bubbling up his throat.

"Or perhaps I have let you capture me, good Ser," Anton purred, composing himself, his smile coy in the mirror. "I have heard legends of the good Captain's skill with a sword. Never bested in a duel, or so I've heard, and I had to see for myself how well you wielded your weapon." He rubbed back against Cullen's knob in an obvious reference. "So what do you say, Captain? Do you accept my challenge for a duel? I would throw a gauntlet, but both of mine are already on the floor, along with my trousers."

"Ah, but I think throwing your trousers would be a more apt challenge, anyway," Cullen replied. "But I accept your challenge, knave. I look forward to putting you in your place, Oh Ass-Bandit!"

"Mmm, more like putting you in my place," Anton choked out, in something that might have been a purr, if he'd been able to completely suppress the laugh behind it. "You know what they say about those who come to plunder, but are plundered for come."

"Maker's breath, Anton," Cullen cackled against the back of his husband's neck. "Where did you leave the oil, you glorious idiot?"

"Table on the window side. It's right next to the orange syrup you love so much. And please don't mix up the bottles. That would be really terrible for both of us, but mostly me." Anton pushed off the mirror and stood up, as Cullen went to get the oil. He grabbed the wine and took a few long swallows, letting the chill sink in. "Andraste's tits, but it's nice having a mage in the family," he groaned, taking one more gulp, before pressing the mug to Cullen's chest as he returned.

"' _A_ mage' says the Ass-Bandit," Cullen replied, voice rising in pitch at the press of cold against his skin. "It's nice having one mage in the family but less nice having more than that?"

"You've met my family," Anton said wryly. "You _are_ my family. You know the answer to that."

"I suppose I do," Cullen murmured, leaning in to press a kiss just behind Anton's ear. "But I believe a challenge was issued!" His tone changed, settled back into a theatrical cadence as he brandished the bottle of oil over Anton's shoulder.

"Time for you to draw your sword, Captain," Anton purred.

"Draw it or sheathe it, Ass-Bandit?" Cullen replied, unable to quite bite back his laughter.

Anton smacked Cullen with the mug of wine one more time, as he ducked under Cullen's arm to set it back on the vanity. He returned swiftly to his place before the mirror, hands back on the frame. "Well, I'm hoping you'll do both of those things, many times, in rapid succession, Captain," he teased.

"Perhaps I won't begin with my sword. It might be best to test my target, first -- to see if bringing my sword into this is even necessary," Cullen teased, setting the bottle beside Anton's foot and rising to catch Anton's eye in the mirror, just as he plunged one slick finger in. Anton arched, mouth opening around a gasp, as his hips tilted up, and Cullen watched it all happen. He could see the appeal of this, as long as Anton was the one on display. He was already a little too familiar with his own body, after -- but he wasn't thinking about that. Easing another finger in, he stroked Anton's insides, caressing just as gently and intently as he'd touch any other part of Anton. "A sword might be overkill," he murmured, dabbing the first drop from the tip of Anton's knob, with a finger of his free hand, and raising it to Anton's lips.

"Oh, I'm sure you'll need to bring your blade to bear before this is over," Anton replied, voice a bit breathy now. "Though I love a man who knows how to wield more subtle weapons." Anton wrapped his tongue around Cullen's finger, slipping it into his mouth and moaning shamelessly around it. He watched himself in the mirror, eyes on the point of contact between Cullen's finger and his lips.

"Looks like I'll be doing the plundering tonight, knave," Cullen said in his ear, crooking his fingers in Anton's ass and feeling Anton gasp around the finger in his mouth. Cullen pet Anton's tongue and slowly pulled that finger free to trace over Anton's lips, watching his husband's face in the mirror all the while. Yes, he could see the appeal in this, but then, he found almost everything about Anton appealing.

"Will you, Captain? Will you sink to my level, then? Plundering comely asses?" Anton pressed a kiss to Cullen's finger before nipping at the tip.

Cullen jerked his finger out of Anton's mouth and flicked him in the nose with it. "I am entirely sure there's a joke about come that you're expecting me to make, here."

Anton eyed Cullen expectantly, in the glass.

Cullen sighed. "Yes, well, it'll certainly be comely by the time I'm through plundering it." His hand drifted downward, teasing one and then the other of Anton's nipples.

"Come-filled, if nothing else." Anton grinned and wriggled, knob bobbing obviously in the reflection.

"Already you raise your sword to me!" Cullen gasped, melodramatically, parting his fingers as he drew them out. "Perhaps it is time for me to sheathe my mighty sword in you, and put an end to this mockery!"

"Maker protect me!" Anton said just as dramatically.

"The Maker does not protect the wicked, Ass-Bandit!" Cullen declaimed. "And you are the most wicked man I have ever met." He pressed his knob against Anton's entrance, watching Anton bite his lip and tilt his hips back in the mirror. "Do you yield, knave?"

"Why should I yield now, Captain?" Anton asked, his smirk every bit as wicked as Cullen had expected. "The duel has barely begun!"


	183. Chapter 183

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someday, Carver will learn to stop opening doors without knocking. That day is not today.

Cullen paused to stifle a snicker against Anton's shoulder. He cleared his throat and composed his expression as he said, "Then you leave me no choice." Holding Anton's hip, Cullen pushed forward, sinking into him and breathing a sigh against Anton's skin, eyes slipping closed for barely a moment before meeting Anton's eyes in the mirror. For the first time, he could see that Anton's expression reflected his own, eyes lidded and lips parted.

"Oh, Captain," Anton groaned, "here stand you with your blade buried and blooded and mine rises still bare! Mercy, ser, mercy!"

"Do you yield?" Cullen panted, grinding in hard, wondering how Anton still had the wit for lines like that at a time like this.

"Oh, such a deep wound." Anton licked his lips. "Such a deep wound, Ser Templar! You tempt me. But, I think I will hold on." He squeezed tight, clamping down around Cullen's knob, as he tilted his hips down, pulling and driving his tailbone against the base of Cullen's knob.

Cullen gasped, hands clutching at Anton's body, as his knees loosened. "You cheat!" he declared, trying to figure out how to keep standing as the pleasure washed over him and wound around his bones.

"Oh, Ser Templar, I've barely just begun," Anton purred, eyes lingering on Cullen's. "And you accuse _me_ of cheating, when you stab me from behind?"

Cullen wrapped an arm tight around Anton, his other hand cupping Anton's knob. "If you take me down, I will take you down with me!" he said, voice breathier than it had been. He twisted his hips, thrusting up hard enough to rock Anton forward on his toes.

"Oh, Captain!" Anton gasped, adjusting his grip on the mirror. "Another grievous wound!"

It took a few deep, shivery breaths before Cullen could ask again, "Do you yield?"

Anton groaned, watching Cullen's face in the mirror. "Not yet, Ser Templar! Though I see tales of your prowess were not exaggerated! You are a worthy opponent!"

"I fear this may be a short duel, if it keeps on like this," Cullen murmured, nibbling at his husband's neck. "Quick and deadly." His hips rocked, forcing Anton to move with him, in little lifts, rising up onto his toes. Finally, he slid almost out and slammed in again, jarring a surprised shout from Anton.

Behind them, the door slammed open, hitting the wall. "Andraste's tits, Anton, what the shit is--" Carver's voice choked off, mid-sentence, as he got a look at the scene in front of him. " _Captain?_ Maker's balls, I ... well... Ser." Carver looked at anything that wasn't his naked boss having sex with his naked brother.

"Carver, didn't Bethy teach you not to go around opening doors?" Anton groaned, leaning forward to rest his head against the mirror as he started to laugh. "Can this wait? I'm a little busy. Actually, I'm a lot busy. That's... very, very not little."

If Cullen wasn't blushing down to his toenails now, he doubted he ever would be. "Hello... Ser Carver," he said, voice strained. "And never mind Bethany... D-didn't living with any of your brothers teach you that?"

"I... er..." Carver fumbled for words as his hand fumbled for the knob. The doorknob. "It... it can wait. Yeah." He pulled the door closed behind him, but the traumatized look on his face lingered in Cullen's mind.

"Oh, Maker," Cullen said weakly. "I work with Carver. I'm never going to be able to look him in the face ever again. Or return to the Gallows. I'll just have to stay here and hide in this room."

"I wouldn't exactly mind that," Anton said, chuckling as he leaned on one hand to rub a hand over his face. "You're always welcome to hide in my bed, you know."

"Yes, but then I would be suddenly unemployed, and your idiot brother would be alone in that place. Can't have that, can we?" Cullen left out the part where he really didn't want to try to give up the lyrium. He'd seen men try. He had yet to see one succeed and survive, and the thought of Samson, down by the docks, lingered in his mind every time that crossed it. And if there were ever a thing that could put him out of the mood...

"Cullen, my love, you're brooding." Anton noticed the sudden hollow look in his husband's eyes. "My brother's a bit of a shock, all of them are, but surely not so much as all that. It's his fault! He shouldn't be throwing open doors, after all the things he's seen!"

"Can we avoid talking about your brothers? That's... not helping." Cullen managed a weak laugh, glancing down to see if his toes had turned red yet.

Anton reached back and pinched Cullen's bottom. "Do you yield, then, Ser Templar?"

"Mm, not just yet," Cullen replied, grinding shallowly up into his husband. He pressed a kiss to Anton's neck. "I think I'm getting my second wind. You have not yet won this battle, Ass-Bandit." The ridiculous nickname brought a small smile to his lips, and he tried to brush off the dark mood he'd been falling into. He could be broody and embarrassed later.

Anton grinned in reply, bracing himself against the frame again. "Good," he purred. "I don't enjoy an easy battle."

"Really?" Cullen growled against Anton's neck. "Because 'easy' is one word I have for you."

Anton snorted, reached back pinched Cullen's ass again. Cullen retaliated with a hard thrust of his hips, rocking Anton up onto his toes again.

"Do you doubt that I'm hard for you, then?" Anton teased, rubbing against the hand still cupped over his knob. "Because it is just for you. All for you. I've got a line of men and women who long to try my sword, but tonight, this is our duel, yours and mine, Captain. Let us see who still stands at the end of it."

"Both of us had better still be standing, or that mirror's going to be a loss," Cullen pointed out, easing Anton back down, before jarring him up onto his toes again. He sucked at the top of Anton's shoulder, nibbling at it, as he stroked Anton's knob in time to his slow, grinding rhythm.

"And where would I be without that concession to my vanity, hmm? I might start to look like a peasant, again!" Anton's hips moved easily, legs flexing to balance him wherever Cullen wanted him. He clenched in time to his breathing, wringing Cullen inside him. "You never knew me as a peasant, did you? I was just as dashing a bandit of asses and other portable finery, if a bit less well-dre--" Any further comment was cut off in a squeak as Cullen rammed into him again, pressing him forward into that unmoving hand.

"Less well-dressed?" Cullen growled. "Is that what you were about to say? Well-dressed or poorly-dressed, I prefer you undressed."

Anton panted around a laugh, a laugh that broke into a groan. He licked his lips and watched them in the mirror, watched Cullen shove into him, watched his own knob bob until Cullen wrapped his hand around it again, swiping a thumb over the head. "I'm inclined to agree," Anton said. "This is the best dressed I've ever been." A long groan pulled from his throat as Cullen's hand worked over his knob. "Are you trying to disarm me, Captain?"

"Dual-wielding," Cullen replied, earning another gasping laugh from his husband.

But, that laugh melted into a steady stream of pants and groans, interspersed with the occasional gasp of Cullen's name, as Cullen brought his 'swording' skills to bear. His eyes never left Anton's reflection, watching every twitch and flex, every bead that became a falling droplet with a flick of his wrist, every time Anton's eyes squeezed shut in the middle of a surprisingly hard thrust. Anton truly was just as handsome and dashing as he thought himself, and Cullen almost envied that surety, that freedom. But even that envy was drowned out by his desire for Anton. His thoroughly fulfilled desire, even. This was, he reflected, everything those ridiculous books said love should be, and so very much more. Anton -- in the moment, everything was Anton -- the taste of his skin, the smell of his sweat, the feel of his body, the sound of every lusty groan, and the glorious sight of that lean, muscled body in the mirror.

Anton was reduced to gasping, propped up on his toes, fingers nearly numb where they gripped the frame of the mirror. He wanted to make other sounds, to cry out Cullen's name, but he couldn't quite catch his breath, couldn't quite get his jaw to move the way he wanted it to.

Cullen was not much better as he panted against Anton's skin, as he watched Anton's face twist in pleasure. Had he the breath to, he would have asked Anton if he yielded, but he knew he didn't need to, with the way Anton was twisting and straining against him. Cullen's lips moved anyway, mouthing words he didn't quite have the breath to say, words of adoration and devotion as Anton cried out, stiffening against him. The mirror shook in his grip, and Cullen felt and watched him spurt over his hand... and onto the mirror.

"Oh, Cullen!" Anton gasped, finally finding his voice again as his eyes rolled back. "Oh, _Captain_!"

"Anton," Cullen breathed, finding the breath for just those two syllables. " _Anton_." The vision of Anton straining and spattering the glass was more than enough. The thrill of watching Anton, his Anton, his gorgeous fool of a husband, come apart for him tipped Cullen over after him, shuddering and panting, knees weak and quivering. 

Of all the things they'd done, _standing_ hadn't much been on the list, aside from when there was a wall involved, and Cullen leaned heavily against Anton, as he tried to catch his breath. At least until he heard the squeak of wood. The mirror was not going to hold both of them. As he leaned back, trying to regain his footing, which should have been easy, since both feet were flat on the floor, Cullen's knees decided they were quite through and dumped him unceremoniously on his posterior.

Anton cried out, again, a sound of surprise and frustration, and after a moment, he started to laugh. "I do not yield," he cackled. "The game is mine, Ser Templar, and you have fallen!"

Cullen pushed himself up long enough to wrap his arms around Anton. He flopped back to the floor, his weight pulling his husband with him, and Anton squeaked, landing sprawled across Cullen's chest. "As have you, Ass-Bandit! I'd call this duel a draw. We are far too well-matched."

"Although your skill with a blade was impressive," Anton laughed, "you fell first!" He twisted so they were lying chest to chest and bumped Cullen's nose with his.

"Then I shall have to challenge you to a rematch." Cullen grinned against Anton's lips, hands stroking Anton's sides and back. "But later, when we both have the strength to lift our swords again."

Chuckling, Anton leaned across him to pick up Cullen's discarded wine. It had mostly melted by then, but the drink was still cool against his tongue. "Consider the gauntlet thrown," he said after a long sip. "Or the trousers, in this instance."


	184. PART XXXV: THE TONGUE TANGO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Preparations for another wedding.

Cormac, for a change, did not have his feet on the coffee table. He wasn't actually trying to annoy his brother, this time. "So, I saw Aveline, the other day. Actually, I showed up in her office, unexpectedly, bearing gifts. Seemed to be the correct approach. But, she said she'd love to be at your wedding, and you just have to let her know when it is. Can't imagine Donnic would want to miss it, either, with the amount of money he very explicitly doesn't owe Fenris." He laughed and caught Artie's sleeve as his brother flitted by to dust something else upsetting. "She means it, though. She'll be there. We'll all be there."

Artemis finished picking dust out of a corner on the shelf he was working on before he looked back at his brother. "I hope so," he said. "That she'll be there, that is. Fenris and I owe her, Maker knows." He thought of the corset she'd helped him pick out, of how that night had changed his relationship with Cormac as well as Fenris. Artie cleared his throat, scratched behind his ear. "But... yes. Good news, all around." He twisted the rag in his hands and considered moving on to the next shelf. "She and Anton, are they still...?" He gestured vaguely. "You know."

"Yeah, she's not exactly thrilled with Anton, right now. I think she blames him for the Qunari attack. Really, I'm pretty sure that was some combination of her and Isabela, and mostly Izzy. But, she needs it to be Anton. Needs it to be Anton's fault for disagreeing with her on something that, honestly, I hope she never finds out I disagree with her about, too. She went there with a purpose, and it was a good one, but... she couldn't back away, when things weren't what she expected." Cormac sighed and slumped down in the chair, hands over his face. He pushed his hair back, after a moment. "Anton was there to handle the Arishok, but the Arishok wanted something else from him. Wanted the damned book. Two and a half years, and he still gets drunk and complains about it, when Cullen's not around. That whole thing fucked him up. Fucked me up, too." He held out a hand to Artemis. "Do me a favour and don't die, okay?"

A wry smile twitched at Artie's lips. "I'll do my best," he said, turning back to the bookcase, crouching to dust the next shelf down. "But didn't you call me a god? Aren't gods supposed to be immortal?" Which, he supposed, didn't necessarily mean they couldn't be _killed_. The Old Gods were a testament to that. "Hey. I have my fancy rock armour now, remember? I could probably punch through a dragon's skull with that." Not that he was going to try. He'd leave anything dragon-related to Anton and his insanity. "And don't you die either or I'll be very cross with you."

"Dying is not on my list of things to do," Cormac assured him.

With Aveline no longer an issue, Artemis went through his mental checklist of what needed to be done for the wedding. So many arrangements had to be made, flowers, catering, seating... "So... I guess this means we need to pick a date, don't we? That is the next step, isn't it? Or am I missing something? Am I missing something, Cormac?" Artie twisted to peer up at his brother.

"There's a party the night before, but that's on me. I just need you to tell me when you're doing this, so I can take care of it. You all right with the Rose? I'm thinking I can fill the place with elves, for you. Anders can go take a flying fuck at the archdemon. If you want Jethann there, I will make sure Jethann is there." Cormac grinned, lopsidedly. "You're actually getting married. My very favourite little brother is having a wedding. I can't believe it. I just... never thought you'd do it, Artie. You and your one-night stands and your elf thing... But, here you are, getting married to a right stand-up sort of elf. I like him, Artie. I don't want to do him, but I like him. And he's crazy about you, and that's what matters."

Artemis cleared his throat and ducked his head, grinning stupidly at the line of books in front of him. He forgot about that sometimes in the stress of all this wedding planning. "I guess I was just waiting for the right elf," he said. "That was cheesy, wasn't it? It was cheesy. True, though. I still can't believe... Maker. And to think, the first time I met Fenris, I accidentally slammed him into the floor and he purposefully slammed me into the wall. In the unfun way."

Artemis finally straightened, deciding he'd done as much as he could with this bookcase. He sat next to his brother, still twisting the rag over in his hands and looking about, trying to figure out if he'd missed anything. "But, erm. Elves, you say. At the Rose." He hummed speculatively. "I'll set a date with Fenris once he gets back."

* * *

"Wait for the spring, Amatus," Fenris pleaded, absolutely not making his best sad faces at Artemis. No, that would be cheating. "Autumn is too close, and we cannot take advantage of the gardens in the winter. It invites misfortune to wed after the harvest, as well." His toes clutched at the floor as he said this last, and he looked away. He wasn't sure he believed it, but thus far, tradition had worked well for them -- fancy underthings, a goat -- perhaps this was another tradition to follow. "And my sister. I wish my sister to be present. I am no longer an illiterate slave. I am a man with a home and a husband, and I wish her to know me first at my finest. So, please, let us do this in the spring."

Artemis smiled at his fiancé, and it was a soft kind of smile that lit his whole face. He could deny Fenris nothing when the elf looked at him like that, and he certainly wouldn't deny him this. "Of course, Fen," he said, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "That gives me more time to plan anyway. To make arrangements. Make sure everything is in order. And I want your sister to be there. She's going to be my family too, after all, and the one sister I already have is kind of scary."

"Kind of?" Fenris asked archly.

"Very," Artie amended. "I just hope that my, er, siblings behave themselves."

"Behave themselves? Your siblings tend to be fairly composed, _in public_." The last was really the truth in that sentence, Fenris thought. They were never ill-mannered _in front of people_ , at least not that he'd noticed. "Unless you have concerns about Carver punching the bear, again."

"I always have concerns about that," Artemis replied. "Although, you're right about the 'in public' thing. I was going to say that I'm always concerned when my family and drinks are involved, but, er... I guess that's mostly me." He twisted his fingers in his hair and gave an embarrassed half-shrug.

"Amatus, it's going to be your wedding night. I'll be right there with you. If you get any foolish ideas, you can introduce me to the floors of a few more closets. Hopefully, not Anton's closets, this time..." Fenris grimaced at the thought of their last closet adventure. "Whatever you want, however drunk you get, Cormac and I will make sure no one finds out what you decide to do." It was probably a better promise than that he'd stop Artemis from doing terrible things. At this point, Fenris wasn't even sure he could establish where 'terrible' intersected with Artemis, except that it probably involved someone else becoming aware of it.

Artemis gave one pointed ear an affectionate tweak. "You spoil me," he said. He didn't plan to be drunk for his own wedding -- he wanted to remember everything -- but, well, he rarely ever _planned_ to be drunk. "But yes, no closets. We have plenty of alternatives, after all. Bedrooms, a cellar. Our garden's not as... extensive as Anton's, but we could make do. Just no trees, please." 

Fenris huffed a laugh that Artie quieted with a kiss. Not for the first time, Artie couldn't believe his luck that this handsome elf, that Fenris wanted to be with him forever. Spring suddenly seemed a long way away. 


	185. Chapter 185

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A game of Wicked Grace turns into a game of spin the bottle.

The game was going as it tended to, and most of the coins were piled in front of Anton, Isabela, and Fenris. Fenris had that devastatingly smug look he got after a few wins in a row and several glasses of wine, and he tossed another copper into the pot. Up the table, Isabela had her cards in one hand and an empty bottle in the other, bouncing the bottle off the soft wood of the table and catching it. Her eyes darted to the coin, and the bottle popped up over her fingers, landing on its side and spinning. When she reached to pick it up, the neck pointed to Varric, who sat next to her.

"Well, the bottle spun!" Isabela declared, grabbing Varric's scruffy cheeks with the hand not holding her cards.

"Rivaini, what--" Varric managed, before the rest of the sentence was cut off by her lips.

"I always wanted to do that!" Isabela laughed, letting go. "Spin the bottle. If it points to you, whoever spun it has to kiss you. It's good fun. A party game. Don't tell me you've never played!"

"You didn't even spin it on purpose!" Varric pointed out. "Of course I know the game, but you weren't spinning the bottle, you just dropped it!"

"So, I'll spin it, this time." Isabela shrugged, face a moue of hard-won concession. She set the bottle further out and twirled it.

The bottle spun and knocked against the pile of coins in the middle, earning an irritated huff from Fenris. When the bottle stopped, its neck pointed between Cullen and Anton. Izzy waggled her eyebrows at Cullen, but the Knight-Captain scooted to the side, eyes wide. She shrugged and looked at Anton, who laid his cards face-down on the table and laughed, holding his arms out wide.

Rather than walking around the table, Isabela climbed over it, further upsetting the pile of coins in the middle, and dropped into Anton's lap. "Cheater," he teased just before she laid a kiss on his mouth. It was little more than a peck, surprisingly chaste from Izzy, and Cullen smirked and shook his head, trying to focus on his cards.

"Please," Izzy huffed, poking Anton in the chest with one finger. "If I knew how to cheat with that, I'd've kissed all the Hawkes by now."

Artie looked up, wide-eyed, as Varric cackled.

Anton patted Isabela's rump, and she jumped up from his lap, walking over the table to return to her seat. Anton picked up the bottle, twirling it in his hand. "It's been a while since I've played this," he admitted, to Cullen's relief. "Is it my turn to spin?"

Donnic looked up from his cards to see that most of the rest of the table had abandoned theirs. "Hold on, are we done with Wicked Grace?" he asked, brows knit. Not that he was complaining, with the hand he had. At this rate, he'd end up owing Fenris a kidney.

"Don't think you can win around the bottle?" Anton joked, spinning it. "Of course, knowing you, you might finally take back some coin, with all the distraction."

The bottle pointed straight across the table at Cormac.

"What?" Cormac looked at the bottle and then at Anton. "Oh, gross. No." One brother was more than enough. At least Anton didn't look much more thrilled about it than he was.

"Andraste's holy twat, what have I done to so displease the gods, today?" Anton groaned, resting his head on Cullen's shoulder.

Isabela grinned wickedly. "You spun! It's on you, now! Do it! Do it! Do it!"

Down the table, Merrill clanked her tankard against a plate of cheese in time to Isabela's chanting. Cullen looked torn between amusement and horror. This was what he should have subjected Bran to, he decided, all at once. The rowdy little shit deserved it.

Anton groaned, dragging himself to his feet, face sagging in the most unenthused possible expression. He hiked one knee onto the edge of the table and leaned across it. "Kiss kiss, you hairy bastard," he muttered.

"Don't talk about our mother like that!" Cormac shot back, before reaching out and slapping Anton across the mouth. "A smack on the lips. That's what this needed, right? I choose the literal interpretation. Keep your lips off me. Maker only knows where they've been," he huffed. "Give me the damned bottle, before I do something I'll regret more than spinning it."

Anders watched all this over the lip of his tankard, quietly amused but unsure how he felt about this. 'Kissing' was something he'd only started doing again recently, and only with Cormac, but with any luck would avoid him altogether.

The bottle certainly avoided Anders this time, and everyone at the table watched as it slowed its spinning. For one terribly amusing moment it looked like it was going to point at Artemis only to slide past him and point instead at Fenris. Rum shot out of Artemis's nose.

Fenris's ears twitched. "What."

Izzy hooted with laughter while Varric threw his head back and cackled at the ceiling. Cormac patted Artemis's back as he continued to laugh-wheeze around his drink.

"I don't like this game," Fenris growled. "I was winning the other game! I was winning the other game, _and_ I didn't have to kiss any magical bears!"

"Suck dicks in the Abyss. I am not a bear, Fenris, we've been over this," Cormac huffed, glaring at the bottle. "First my brother and now this? Balls!" He slapped a hand on the table and then turned his head and muttered something to Artie that was worth another dribble of rum down said brother's chin. "Holy Allfather, what have I ever done to deserve th... yeah, okay, not something to ask an elven god, with this on my face." Cormac paused and turned back to Artemis. "Artie!" he whined. "Do something!"

"Sure, sure," Artemis said between coughs, wiping his chin and schooling his expression. He scooted his chair back so that he was no longer between his brother and his fiancé, and then he put a hand behind each of their heads. Before either of them could figure out what he was doing, Artie pushed their faces together.

"Thrff n'wrt r mnt!" Cormac protested, trying to pull his lips between his teeth.

"Amatus-- Amatus, if I do this, will you please let go of my hair?" Fenris sounded mildly panicked by the entire affair, obviously forgetting that he could extract himself from Artie's grip with a minimum of effort.

Cormac sighed. "Balls," he muttered, touching his lips to Fenris's.

"No, lips, thank all things great and good," Fenris grumbled.

Anders looked on in frozen horror, certain he should be doing something, should have done something, but with no idea what. Getting in Artemis's way, where Cormac and Fenris were concerned was rarely wise, as both of them would defend him and their decision to do as he demanded. It wasn't something to get into, in public.

Artemis let them both go, and Fenris grimaced, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. Artie scooted his chair back into place at the table, looking altogether far too amused. He pressed a kiss to his elf's cheek to smooth over the scowl he saw there, and for a moment he almost did the same for Cormac, only to remember that this was not the place. He patted his brother's leg under the table instead.

"So it's my turn to spin this damnable thing, is it?" Fenris grumbled. He paused to take another long drink. It had just been lips against lips, but he still imagined he could taste Cormac's mouth. "Right." He set down his drink with a heavy thunk and spun the bottle, hard enough that it almost spun right off the table.

It slowed, slowed... and stopped, pointing right at Varric. Artemis had made a point not to take a drink during the spinning, but he still almost choked on his laughter. 

Varric looked momentarily terrified before he schooled his expression, looking instead at Fenris with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Pucker up, Broody."

Fenris looked horrified, first. Resignation followed shortly, as he stood up and walked around the table. "At least you're not Cormac," he sighed, before grabbing Varric's hair and tilting the whole chair back, with the dwarf in it, to deliver a kiss Isabela could have taken a lesson from.

In fact, Isabela did take a lesson from it, eyes wide and wolf-whistle quick to follow, as Fenris stood up, wiped his mouth, and tipped the chair back up. Applause followed immediately.

"Holy _shit_ , Broody, are you trying to get on Bianca's bad side?" Varric stared at the cards on the table in front of him, hands stiffly spread against the edge of the table.

"Is it so easy as that?" Fenris asked, heading back to his seat as if nothing had happened. "I would have thought it would take something a little more interesting." His eyebrows twitched up, as he sat down, and he wrapped an arm around Artemis's waist.

"That... is... Give me the bottle." Varric held out one hand, still staring dazedly at the table. "And a full one, too. I need a drink. I need three drinks."

Cormac grabbed the empty and rolled it up the table, and Isabela produced another bottle of something that passed for rum from somewhere no one was going to ask too much about. Varric took the full bottle first, pouring three fingers into the beer already in his tankard and taking a long swig, before he picked up the empty and spun it. After a few revolutions, it pointed mostly toward Merrill, just a bit shy of Donnic, who was occupying the spot Carver usually had.

Merrill giggled, and Isabela whooped, patting her on the back. Varric made a show of smoothing back his hair and straightening his jacket. He swaggered over to her seat with a devilish smirk, and Merrill set down her drink, turning towards him. Wrapping an arm around her waist, Varric pulled Merrill half out of her chair as he kissed her.

Her face was bright red as he pulled back, and she pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle the giddy laughter bubbling up her chest. 

"As you were, Daisy," Varric said, offering her a wink as he pressed the bottle into her hand.

Merrill cleared her throat and fanned herself as she turned back towards the table. "My, it suddenly got warm in here," she said as she spun the bottle.

With his head on Fenris's shoulder, Artemis watched the bottle spin and slow, watched it pass over Anders, Cormac... and point directly at him. He looked up at Merrill to see the same round-eyed look of surprise on her face. Next to her, Isabela cried out, "That's not fair! Andraste's flaming knickers!"

"Oh, it's fair," Fenris said, returning the pout Artemis gave him with a smug smile. 

"This? This is what you get for not helping your brother, Artie." Cormac folded his arms and looked on in amusement. "Just kiss the girl and take the bottle. She's cute. She's even an elf! And you are pretty cute for an elf, Merrill. I say that with exactly no intention of ever sleeping with an elf. Just... not my thing."

"Which is why you have vallaslin," Merrill teased, standing slowly and picking up the bottle. "Because elves are 'not your thing'."

"Hey, hey, there's two kinds of appreciation of elven culture in this room, and I do one, and Artie does the other. Extensively. Every chance he gets." Cormac elbowed his brother as Merrill came around the table, still looking at the bottle in her hand, as opposed to Artemis.

"This seems terribly foolish," Merrill apologised, setting the bottle on the table, in front of Artemis. "Isn't this foolish, Fenris?"

"Utterly. But, you spun the bottle, and if I didn't get out of it, neither do you," Fenris drawled.

"Oh! No, I... it's not me. I don't mind at all. He just looks so uncomfortable." Merrill eyed Artemis sympathetically.

"Just kiss the man, Kitten!" Isabela shouted down the table. "And then tell me how it was!"

"It's all right," Artemis reassured her with a pained smile. "Better you than Anton." He wondered what Carver would say about all of this if he were here. It would probably involve a great deal of swearing, whatever it was. And Cormac would probably end up getting punched again.

And, really, that wasn't half as reassuring as he thought it sounded, but Merrill kissed him anyway, just a quick peck of her lips against his. 

"Aw, what, no tongue?" Isabela whined. "You disappoint me, Kitten! This was a once in a lifetime opportunity!"

Merrill and Artie offered each other awkward smiles before looking at anything but each other. Merrill went back to her seat, and Artemis went back to his drink.

"It's your spin, Amatus," Fenris sweetly reminded him, as if he needed to be reminded.

"Yes, yes," Artie sighed, waving his hand and reaching for the empty bottle. He gave it a whirl and prayed it didn't land on Izzy. Or Anton.

Instead, it rolled just past Fenris, past him, to point at Cormac. This time it was Fenris choking on his drink. 

"No," Anton said simply, reaching for Izzy's questionable rum. Izzy shushed him, staring at the pair of Hawkes in question.


	186. Chapter 186

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spin the bottle continues out into more interesting kisses.

Artemis cleared his throat, a blush spilled across his cheeks, up to the tips of his ears. He offered Cormac a smirk and said, "Well, what do you say, brother-dear?"

"Shall we give them a show, like we did for the Orlesians?" Cormac's cheeks darkened and his eyes squinted shut. He gave Artie a pained grin and pressed his thumb to his forehead just long enough for a quick, disbelieving laugh. "Come here, you fucking drunkard, and give Izzy something to think about."

Anders kept a hand over his mouth and watched them, inquisitively, trying to look as if he hadn't seen this before -- at least until he remembered the party at which he very likely should have ensured Artie remained much less drunk than he'd gotten.

Cullen looked at Donnic. Donnic looked at Cullen. The two of them shrugged, and Cullen tried very hard not to think of how many Orlesians he might have traumatised, that one night, with Artemis.

"Doooon't," Anton whined. "The two of you have been nauseating since I was old enough to walk. Probably before that, too, but I don't remember."

"You know we just do it to gross you out, right, Anton?" Cormac grinned across the table at his other brother.

"That just gives me more incentive," Artemis agreed, nodding. He turned back to Cormac, hoping everyone believed his nervous smile was because this wasn't something they did -- or at least not often -- and not because they were going to do this _in front of everyone_. 

Artie slid a hand behind Cormac's head and leaned in. It was a simple kiss, at first, a brush of lips, but then Artemis dived back in, and the kiss turned heated.

"Oh my," squeaked Merrill, barely audible under Anton's groan of, "Oh, ew, _stop_!"

"Easy, Rivaini," Varric said, patting Isabela's shoulder. She looked positively gleeful, and she hadn't blinked since Artie had leaned in.

"Varric, this is magical," she breathed, clutching the table.

Fenris sipped his drink and watched out of the corner of his eye, trying to look disinterested, at least until Anders burst out laughing. Then he leaned forward, resting his elbow on the table and his nose on the edge of his fingers, trying to cover the smile he could no longer keep off his face.

Anders cackled and applauded, as if this were the funniest thing he'd seen in weeks. Which, to be fair, Anton's reaction might have been. "Andraste's flaming knickers, the two of you are just... I'm still not marrying you, Cormac, but if there were ever something that made me think twice about it..." He waved one hand in their direction and patted the table for his tea, with the other, laughing so hard he couldn't quite get his eyes open.

"You know, when I was a recruit, some of the lads and I would do things like that, just to gross each other out," Cullen admitted. "Really learned to put on a performance, after a while."

Cormac broke the kiss at last, bending his back to bring himself down even shorter than his brother, as he gazed up in melodramatic astonishment. "Oh, Maker!" His voice was straight from an Antivan comedy. "I burn for you! Make love to me at once, you b-- beautiful man," he choked out the last words, before the laughter took him, too.

Artemis stifled his own honking laughter against Cormac's shoulder. He sat back and tried to respond with something equally theatrical, only to see the look on Cormac's face, which sent him cackling all over again.

"I am going to have so many nightmares," Anton muttered, one hand propping up his cheek and the other pouring alcohol down his throat.

"Your nightmares are my wet dreams," Isabela replied, her grin wide enough to split her face.

Artie wiped tears of laughter from his eyes and squeezed Cormac's thigh under the table. He looked around and realised that, with the addition of Merrill, he'd now kissed more people at this table than he hadn't. "Oh Maker," he wheezed. He thunked the bottle onto the table in front of Cormac. "Here. It's your turn, you hairy slut." He made a show of wiping his mouth and taking another swig of his drink.

Cormac spit on the floor beside his seat and rinsed his mouth out with Anders's tea. After a bit more wheezing and wiping his eyes, he weighed the bottle in his hand, set it on the table, and spun it again. "Creators take mercy on a man like me!" he pleaded, eyes raised to the ceiling.

The bottle settled on Anders, for an unusual three hits in a row, on the same side of the table.

"Oh, ah..." Anders looked a little surprised, and tried to go for pleasantly surprised, but he grabbed Cormac's hand under the table.

"Well, shit." Cormac's eyes lingered on the bottle.

"Cheater!" Anton insisted, jabbing a finger at Cormac.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did you want me to kiss you again?" Cormac shot back, with a little more venom than usual. His eyes finally turned to Anders, a subtly inquisitive look on his face. Every once in a while, just between the two of them was one thing. Here, in front of everyone, was something else. Which wasn't to say he hadn't shut Justice up with his tongue in front of everyone on more that ten occasions, but _Justice_ , not Anders.

"Oh, hurry up, you two," Donnic sighed. "It's not like you don't do it all the time, anyway." He'd rather been enjoying Cormac's responses, so far, and had been hoping for another good laugh with this spin.

Artemis leaned forward in his chair, partly to reach for the rum but mostly to get a good look at Anders's face. Anders didn't look panicked, which was good, but he looked less thrilled than the rest of the table probably expected.

"You know, we never did finish that round of Wicked Grace," he suggested idly, ignoring Isabela's booing and giving Anders an out if he wanted one. But Anders shook his head.

"We all know Fenris was going to win that one, anyway," Anders said, conjuring a smile.

"Damn right," Fenris muttered.

Anders's smile eased, turned more genuine as he looked back at Cormac. He could do this. "It's not like we don't do it all the time, anyway," Anders repeated Donnic's words wryly. Before either of them could think better of it, he leaned in and pressed his lips to Cormac's.

Cormac reached up to cup Anders's cheek, tipping his head up, so the kiss would take longer to break. "Var enansal," he whispered, as Anders pulled away, knowing there was only one person at the table who would understand, and that it wasn't Anders, sadly. Still, he occasionally spoke Elvish as a suggestion to ask him about something, later.

The next smile from Anders was understated, as were the words that followed. "I should pass."

"Oh, don't be like that, Sparklefingers!" Isabela was quick to call out. "You're the one who keeps telling us how much kissing went on at Kinloch Hold! Show us your skills!"

Cormac looked like he might warn her off, but Anders squeezed his thigh, under the table, looking for the words he wanted, and Cullen looked extremely uncomfortable watching the two of them. He'd always thought Anders was easy, and the mage never denied it, but looking at this... He had a terrible feeling he knew what he was seeing.

"I thought that was very sweet!" Merrill chimed in from the far and of the table. "You don't have to be embarrassed to be in love, you know!"

Cormac laughed, and Anders followed him down, clutching the bottle. "Merrill, sweetie, we're not in love," Cormac was quick to say. "He's part of the family, just like you. We're just having a little more fun with it. Izzy and I have fun, too."

"He's right," Anders said, after a bit. "He's one of my dearest friends, but we're not... it's not like that."

Cormac put his hand around the neck of the bottle. "Come on, if you're not spinning, give it to someone who will."

"Didn't say that," Anders grumbled, pulling the bottle back.

"Yes, you did!" Cormac pointed out.

"Just let the man spin, if he wishes it," Fenris put in.

Anders took a deep breath and spun the bottle. He could do this. Cormac had kissed Fenris, and he could do this. And then the bottle stopped, and Anders froze, a moderately dismayed look on his face. " _Cullen_?"

And, really, Cullen knew the bottle would land on him eventually. Probability was against him. He just hadn't expected _Anders_. "That's... er." He floundered, looking at Anton for help, but Anton just smiled sweetly and kept on drinking. "I mean... you don't... have to?"

"Oh, come on, those are the rules!" Isabela whined. "Now, Ser Cullen. Don't tell me you haven't made-out with any mages in your day."

Artie hid his face and the strangled noise that wanted to come out of his throat behind his tankard. Take a long drink. Don't make eye-contact with Cullen or Isabela. Or anyone. Fenris tightened his arm around Artie's waist.

Cullen hadn't quite managed to stutter out a reply to that while Izzy cooed at how red his cheeks looked. "T-That's... it was i-inappropriate to..."

"Ignore her, Cullen," Anders said, sounding more confident than he felt as he rounded the table.

Cullen stood up and promptly backed into his chair, stumbling into Anton, who patted his hip, reassuringly. "Go get 'im, Captain. Show him what a lucky man I am."

Cullen sputtered and looked back and forth between Anton and Anders, until Anders's hand came to rest on the back of his neck, and he swallowed hard.

"Cullen," Anders said, quietly, "look at me. You all right?"

Cullen nodded, reassuring himself that kissing Mage-Wardens was not the same as kissing other mages, and that he wasn't violating any basic rules of conduct. "I, er... All yours, I guess... For the moment."

"Relax," Anders said, resting his forehead on Cullen's. It was a bit of distance, really, but so was Cormac. He kissed Cullen gently, at first, a soft sound, a firm press of lips, and then he caught Cullen's lip in his teeth and licked at it, sucked at it.

One of Cullen's hands darted up to clutch at Anders's coat, as a small sound coiled in his throat. He tried to forget that he'd seen Anders naked, years before. Tried to forget the scars he knew were there, as the mage kissed him warmly and thoroughly, a few small sounds of encouragement sneaking in under the wet sounds of lips and tongues.

Eventually, Anders drew slowly back, Cullen's lip sliding from between his teeth with one last flick of tongue. Cullen whimpered, before he could get a grip on himself and loose his grip on Anders.

"They were right about you," Cullen breathed. "You _are_ dangerous."

Anders leaned in closer, to whisper in Cullen's ear. "They were right about me. I'm always good for it." He stood and watched Cullen's face for a moment, before he turned and walked back around the table, with a quiet elegance he rarely bothered to affect.


	187. Chapter 187

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected arrival puts an end to the game.

Cormac whooped with laughter as Cullen continued to stare blankly into the space Anders had occupied, and he took Anders's hand in his own, under the table, as Anders sat back down, beside him. 

"Your tongue is collecting dust," Anton informed his husband. He let out a low whistle under his breath and tugged Cullen back down into his seat. "That good, huh? Do I have some competition?"

Cullen was trying to remember how his lips usually worked. "I... er..." 

But Anton just cackled and nudged the bottle closer to him. "You're not done yet, Ser Templar," he said sweetly. "Whose lips shall you capture next?" He spoke in that 'Orlesian novel' voice he sometimes used when he was teasing Cullen. It never failed to turn Cullen's ears red.

"Right. Bottle. Spinning." Cullen spun the bottle right off the table. Fenris caught it before it hit the floor and slid it back towards the templar. Anton bit his lips to keep from laughing. Clearing his throat, Cullen spun the bottle again as though that hadn't just happened, more gently this time. 

He prayed the bottle would land on Anton. When it stopped, Cullen looked up at where the bottle pointed and groaned. "Maker preserve me."

"Finally!" Izzy squealed, clapping her hands. "Oh, this is delicious. Time for some captain on captain love, is it?"

Cullen would rather kiss Anders again. He was still haunted by what he'd seen on her wall.

Isabela went over the table, again, rather than around it, settling right in front of Cullen, on her knees, which still left her taller than him.

"Izzy, move!" Cormac called across the table. "Your ass is in my way!"

"I should move? After you cheated me out of watching you make more sexy lip-time with Anders?" Isabela looked over her shoulder and laughed.

"Oh, come on, Izzy, that was a set-up, and it was a damn fine one," Cormac lied, a little too easily.

A tiny smirk crossed Anders's face, as he realised what Cormac was doing. The same thing he'd have expected Cormac to do for Artie, really -- cover the damage in public. His thumb stroked across Cormac's knuckles in silent appreciation.

"Besides," Cormac went on, "what about what Artie and I gave you? We put on an amazing show!"

"I was just doing Artie a favour. I'm sure he doesn't want to see this!" Isabela teased.

"He wants to see your ass even less," Fenris pointed out, "and I want to see this. The kiss. Not your ass. I don't really want to see any more of your ass. It's a lovely ass, but I do not need to bear further witness to its loveliness."

"Hey, Nervy? Save your boyfriend, would you please?" Varric called down the table.

"Well, at this point, he is an expert on lovely asses," Artemis replied, winking at his fiancé. "And I agree with Fenris. You're blocking the view!"

Isabela tutted and climbed off of the table to sit on Anton's lap. "Better?" she asked, angling herself towards Cullen. Anton laughed, wrapping an arm around her waist as she bent to give Cullen an advantageous view of her cleavage.

"Better," Fenris and Artie agreed, clinking their tankards together.

Cullen's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. He took a deep breath and pressed a kiss to her lips, hoping to keep this quick. Just as he was about to pull away, Isabela wrapped her arms around his neck and held him in place, making an obscene sound against his lips.

Varric applauded and laughed. "Go easy on him, Rivaini!" he called out when Cullen looked like he was about to run out of air. 

Izzy pulled back with a wet, smacking sound. "Go easy? Please. He's married to Stabby over here!" She wriggled her butt to indicate the lap she was sitting on. "I'm sure that was nothing." Isabela winked at Cullen and slipped off of Anton's lap, swishing her hips more than necessary as she returned to her seat and to the empty bottle. "Now who's next, I wonder?" she purred, toying with the bottle in her hands before letting it spin.

First Anders and then Isabela... Cullen reached down to subtly adjust his trousers, while the bottle spun, only to find Anton's hands already in his way. His eyes shot to Donnic, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and blocking any view of his lap.

"Fucking _templars_!" Cormac sighed, dramatically, leaning back against Anders, while Isabela sighted down the bottle. "Licking all my toys! Maker! What's a man got to do around here?"

Anders squinted at him. "You do know how many templars licked me before we even met, don't you?"

Cormac just sighed loudly, unable to keep a smile from tugging up the corners of his mouth.

"Looks like Donnic," Varric said, squinting down the bottle.

"Is that Donnic or Merrill?" Isabela asked. "I can't tell."

Anders leaned over to look. "No, that's Donnic."

"Looks like your lucky day, guardsman!" Isabela purred, actually slinking around the table, instead of climbing over it, this time.

"What?" Donnic blinked up. "No, no. Must be a mistake!"

"I'm pretty sure it's not," Cormac said. "Three people think it's pointing at you."

"More than three," Fenris said. Donnic shot him a scandalised look, and Fenris shrugged. "Sorry."

With one finger, Isabela tilted Donnic's face back to look at her. She straddled his legs, rested her arms on his shoulders. Everyone was so busy watching the pair that they didn't notice the armoured figure who appeared in the doorway.

" _What_ is going on? Donnic!"

Donnic jumped at the sound of his wife's voice, and he grabbed Izzy by the shoulders, pushing her to arms' length. "Aveline!" His eyes were round. "I... this isn't what it looks like, I swear!"

A flush blotted out the freckles on Aveline's cheeks as she clenched her hands into fists. 

"We were just playing a game," Varric said with a nervous laugh. "Izzy kissed Cullen before that, and Cullen kissed Anders, and Anders kissed Cormac, and Cormac kissed... Artie --"

"Shut up," Aveline growled, making a grab for Isabela. Izzy rolled off of Donnic's lap and onto the table, rolling over to the other side out of her reach. Aveline paused just as she was about to give chase, brows furrowing as she looked back at Varric. "Did you say Cormac and _Artie_? That's... _what_?"

Artemis cleared his throat and stared up at the ceiling. "Spin-the-bottle," he said. "It's... you know."

"Want to join us, Aveline?" Varric suggested. "We could use more ladies."

"Spin the bottle," Fenris concurred. "With three Hawkes at the table. It's been... entertaining."

"You have no idea how glad I was to finally spin something that wasn't one of my brothers," Cormac chimed in. 

" _That_ is disgusting. This is ridiculous." Aveline's armour creaked as she squared her shoulders. "Donnic, we're going home."

"But, it's my--" Donnic looked up at his wife and just stood up. "Yes, er, of course we are. Good to see you all. Next week, Fenris. And I'll just pass my turn to, ah..." He spun the bottle and edged toward the door. Aveline followed, looking like she was escorting a criminal.

"Or, we could stop this foolishness, and I could finish winning the last hand," Fenris suggested, as the bottle pointed directly at him.

"Afraid of kissing me again?" Cormac teased. "That's par for the course."

"I'll kiss you again," Artemis said, looking at Cormac with an exaggerated smoulder and blowing him a kiss before dissolving into a fit of cackles.

"Maker, no," Anton groaned, pressing his bottle to his forehead. "I can't deal with that twice in one night."

"Then let's not," Fenris said, setting aside the empty bottle they'd been spinning. He picked up his cards. "Now where were we? Varric, I believe it was your turn to draw."

Artie neatened the pile of coins in the middle, neatened the deck of cards as everyone picked up their hands. Varric barked out a laugh when he picked up the Angel of Death.

"Of course," Anders muttered, throwing his cards back to the table.


	188. Chapter 188

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An awful lot of snogging.

Cormac was surprised when Anders interrupted him, sliding into his lap, and blocking his view of the book he was taking notes from. Usually, this went the other way. Cormac would head downstairs, in the middle of the night, and drape himself across Justice until he got Anders back. Still, he wasn't going to complain. Much. The book had seemed like it might be useful, particularly to him.

"Am I interrupting something?" Anders asked, stretching his arms over Cormac's shoulders. "Was it terribly important?"

"I'm not hanging any Orlesians out to dry. It's not that important. It's definitely less important than the fact that you need to move your right leg, because you're crushing my knob." Cormac grinned. "Not always a bad thing, but not really a good thing in this position."

Anders laughed and shifted his weight. "What are you doing, anyway?"

"Figuring out how to turn pain into magic." Cormac leaned against the back of the chair and smiled up at Anders. "I mean, literally. And no, I'm not taking up blood magic, but the principles might be related."

"Hmm, well, I know how to turn pain into magic a little less literally, but..." Anders glanced over his shoulder, twisted to take the book from Cormac's hand. He rested his arm on Cormac's shoulder and read the book over his head, skimming through the dense writing he found there. "Huh. Learning some new tricks are we?"

"Just trying some things out. These are on my list of things I won't be teaching Artie. The last thing he needs is something that'll make the earthquakes stronger or longer. Well, the actual earthquake part, anyway. The other part, I'm always interested in helping out with that." Cormac leaned in and nibbled the side of Anders's neck. "Little early for you to be interested, isn't it? Or is it later than I think it is?" His eyes darted toward the window, where the sun was just going down.

"I'm always interested," Anders purred, which was partly true. "The clinic was empty, so I called it an early night. Your gain."  He dropped the book to the floor and wound both arms around Cormac's mage-shoulders, leaning in for a kiss. He still wasn't used to this, this kissing thing, but with Cormac, it was starting to feel natural.

A pleased hum slipped out of Cormac, and he nibbled at Anders's lip. They'd kept it simple, so far, just lips, never for more than a few seconds, but tonight felt different. Anders would tell him if he pushed too far. "Mmm, Justice isn't usually interested. Not at this hour," he muttered, flicking his tongue against Anders's lip. "But, you? You I'd believe that from." He let go and tried to put down the quill he'd been writing with, totally unable to see the desk past Anders's shoulder. "I'm feeling lucky, tonight. Exotic magic, a gorgeous magical unicorn in my lap, a night that started with experiments in pain and has progressed to kissing... I'm definitely appreciating this turn of events." He pressed another kiss to the corner of Anders's mouth.

"Feeling lucky, hmm?" Anders murmured against Cormac's lips. "And how do you feel about _getting_ lucky?" Not subtle, and he was fairly certain he'd used that line on Cormac before, but he didn't care. He nibbled at Cormac's lip, a soft press of teeth that turned into a bite, a promise of things to come.

"You're the one sitting on my knob. How _do_ I feel about getting lucky?" Cormac chuckled and kneaded Anders's ass. "I'm pretty sure I have ink on at least one of my hands. Consider it payback for all the ink you've gotten on me." He pressed his lips to Anders's again. "You going to let me stop being so careful with you? Maybe today, when neither of us has been sleeping or slamming unfortunate potions?" Morning breath and six-potions-later breath were problems for them, fairly regularly. On the other hand, they were both mages, and Cormac didn't actually care, but he let Anders put him off with whatever was handy. No sense in being difficult, most of the time.

"Maybe today," Anders agreed coyly, as though he hadn't already been thinking about it, as though that wasn't why he was here. "Though if you get ink on my coat, you better have it cleaned. Otherwise I'll never hear the end of it from Artie." Not that he minded the thought of being covered with Cormac's fingerprints, of being able to map out just where he'd been touched and how. "And you could always slam more 'fortunate' potions, if you like." Anders rocked his hips against Cormac's.

"Does that count as a potion? I'll have to drink more of it. Effects: It makes me happy. Side effects: If I drink enough, it makes you tired," Cormac joked, one hand moving up to untie Anders's hair. "Coat's mostly leather. It'll wipe off. Your hair, though... That might need washing. Feels a bit greasy, though. I'm sure it'll come right out." He laid a long, needy kiss on Anders's lips, parting his own just enough to pull a breath between. "Always wanted to kiss you, you know. Right from the moment you threatened to throw me out of the clinic, the first time we met. You were all bone and Justice, then. Still gorgeous."

Anders breathed a laugh into Cormac's mouth, lips quirking at the corners. "Still all 'bone'," he said with another rock of his hips. His lips didn't leave Cormac's. He wished he could say he'd always wanted to kiss him too, but... "I had to..." Another breath against Cormac's lips. "I think I had to say goodbye to someone, first." He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to lose himself in another kiss.

Cormac let him, lips parting as Anders pressed in, a little too hard. He caught the tip of Anders's tongue in his teeth and sucked it, licked at it, treated it as he would anything else Anders put in his mouth, which at this point included a surprising number of body parts. After a moment, he let go, not waiting for the pull, and just kept his lips in motion, fingers tangled in Anders's hair, but never quite pulling.

Anders had forgotten how good kissing could be, as a prelude to something else or even just an act on its own. And Cormac was good at this, he decided. He wished he hadn't taken so many years to find that out. Anders smoothed his hands over Cormac's cheeks, reached around to tangle in his hair, and he pulled Cormac to him like he wanted them to become one person.

Cormac made a surprised sound that might have been words, under other circumstances, but the only thing conveyed was how little he'd expected that and how much he wanted it. Which, he supposed, had really been the point, anyway. He pushed aside his wariness, how cautiously he'd handled Anders, when the issue of kissing came up -- and it had always been an issue, if one rarely raised -- and kissed Anders like he'd always wanted to, passionately, _demandingly_. If he fucked up, he'd get bit, he knew, and that would be warning enough.

And Anders lost himself in that kiss, in the feel and taste of Cormac, and for a moment, he remembered kissing somebody else, someone who didn't taste like copper, who didn't use his tongue and teeth to such devastating effect. He let out a shaky exhale through his nose, and it was the sort of sound that would have been a moan from someone else. But he couldn't hold his breath quite as long as Cormac, and he pulled back, gasping for air, hands still tangled in his hair.

"You loved him, didn't you." It wasn't a question. It never was. Cormac, as bad as he was at the idea, had a pretty good eye for that particular sort of adoration, in other people. 'Friends you do' didn't drag out like this, and he knew it. Even when he'd found out that Gantry really hadn't made it out of Lothering, it hadn't hit him like this. On the other hand, he also hadn't killed Gantry, but he'd always had a feeling about Anders and Karl -- the way they'd looked at each other in that tiny sliver of time when Karl had come back to himself. He'd never seen Anders look at anyone like that again.

And Anders couldn't roll his eyes and blow off that question -- that statement -- like he usually did, not this time. His hands slipped to Cormac's shoulders, his stare to Cormac's chest. "I... suppose I did," he admitted, finally. "As much as a mage in the Circle could love, anyway. And that was... well. You saw how that ended." He conjured a smile for Cormac's sake, though it came out hollow. Karl was gone, and it had taken him this long to come to terms with that.

"I said it then, and I'll say it again. If it had been my brother, I'd be no better." Cormac kissed Anders's cheek, unwilling to push his luck after something like this. "You still sorry we got you out?" he asked, running one hand through Anders's hair. "Because I haven't regretted it once. Not even _that_ time, I know you're thinking it, stop."

Anders squeezed his eyes shut and rested his cheek against Cormac's forehead. "No, I'm... I'm glad," he said, and he almost sounded like he believed it. "There was just... there was a part of me that kept wondering, that still wonders, what would have happened if I'd gotten there sooner. If I'd come to Kirkwall sooner, if I'd met with him sooner." Anders shook his head, rubbed his forehead with two fingers and a thumb. "But wondering doesn't change anything, does it?" He smiled weakly. "But I made him a promise that I'd come back for him. That I... that I wouldn't kiss anyone until I kissed him again. And that's ridiculous, isn't it? Terribly sappy of me, and there I went, missing out on some fantastic kissing."

"You _have_ been missing out on some fantastic kissing. Mostly Isabela's. The things that woman can do with her tongue..." Cormac grinned and shook his head, as he pulled Anders's hand down, pressing kisses to the knuckles. "Gorgeous magical unicorn, randy tomcat, sylvan. Nice to see I'm not the only one getting sappy. But, I wish you'd gotten one last kiss. It's not right. But, nothing is, I suppose. It's not right, it's Kirkwall." Cormac rested his forehead against Anders's chin, for a moment. "So, ah, sucking face with the Knight-Captain, the other night... Do I get my brother a congratulatory bottle of wine or a bottle of brandy in which to drown his sorrows? In your professional opinion, as a connoisseur of kisses and an accomplished tongue-tangoist."

"Ah, an _accomplished_ tongue-tangoist?" Anders replied, skin crinkling at the corners of his eyes. "I didn't realise my mouth-manoeuvring was so highly considered. And, I think, a congratulatory bottle of wine for Anton. Maybe some brandy for Cullen, since he won't get to kiss me again. I'm assuming. What about Fenris?" He grinned down at Cormac.

"Ask Varric." Cormac shook his head. "That wasn't so much a kiss as it was getting my face smashed into something warm and elfy." He grinned back up at Anders. "You're assuming he won't get another chance? You're not going to let him, or you think Anton's going to object?" There was a brief pause, and the grin lost some of its amusement. "Not that I would blame you if you never wanted to put so much as a finger on another templar for the rest of days. Looked like you really wrecked him, though! I'd have thought he'd be immune to that sort of thing after so long with my brother! Unless, of course, there was some extra sparkle in there, that I missed."

"No extra sparkle," Anders said, hand over his heart as though swearing an oath. "Just the normal, non-magicky sparkle I bring to every occasion." His grin broadened. "And I just assumed he'd rather be kissing your brother. By which I mean Anton. Possibly a different brother if he ever got that drunk again. So maybe a no on that brandy after all." Anders toyed with Cormac's hair. "You know, we could either keep talking about kissing or we could do some more actual kissing."

"Yeah? You want to kiss me, do you?" Cormac smiled up at the gorgeous mage in his lap. "After all these years, and all this fucking, and all the other pleasures I've given you with my mouth, _now_ you want to kiss me?" he teased, tugging at Anders's hair, which had finally started to get a little long. It wasn't even that Anders had been cutting his hair, before -- the tips never squared off -- it just hadn't been getting any longer. But, now, there was enough that it hung in a loose wave to just below his collarbone, and Cormac took a minute to appreciate the way it framed his face. "Well, my body and my bed are all yours, for the night. Possibly also my chair, considering we're still in it. So, show me your long-hidden non-magical charms, my gorgeous magical unicorn."


	189. PART XXXVI: A DAY AT THE SHORE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isabela decides it's time for a beach party, because Anders is looking a little pale. Anders, however, protests that it is perfectly natural for him to be pale and this is a terrible idea.

According to Anders, there were two reasons Isabela would visit his clinic. Both involved needing a healer, either for traipsing about the Wounded Coast or for more... personal reasons. From the way Izzy cocked her hip against the doorframe and batted her eyelashes at him, Anders's money was on option number two.

Anders ushered out his last patient, an older woman with a case of the sniffles, and pressed the fingers of one hand to his forehead. "Let me guess," he sighed. "You either have a nasty itch or it burns when you pee."

Isabela tutted and swatted his arm but didn't deny either statement. "Can't a girl just visit a friend in the... dank old dungeon he calls a clinic?"

Anders didn't let his mind wander at the word 'dungeon'. "She can, but that friend might be suspicious of her."

"Fine, so maybe I came because I need a little something from your magic fingers." Isabela flicked her hand dismissively. "But, you, my friend, aren't looking so very deliciously bright and sparkly, today. What's wrong? You and Cormac have a --"

"There's nothing wrong between me and Cormac." Anders ran through the same barrage of spells he used at the Rose. He didn't really want to know exactly what was wrong with Izzy, this time, because he just didn't need to know that much about what she got up to. He made a note to heal Cormac, later, though. Possibly sooner-- before he got anywhere near Artemis.

"Then it's this dreary hole in the ground getting to you. Where's the sass, Sparklefingers?" Isabela wrapped an arm around Anders's waist.

"I left it in my other pants. I do have more than one pair, you know." Anders started putting things away, just moving around Isabela, rather than trying to remove her. He knew that would degenerate into a slapfight, and he just didn't have the energy. "Was there something else you needed, or can I go back to work?"

Isabela watched Anders flit about, her hands on her hips. "You know what I need, Sparklefingers?" she asked.

"A boat?" Anders suggested tiredly. "Pants?"

"Yes to a boat, no to the pants. They just get in the way." She shrugged one shoulder. "But no. What I need is a day on the beach, and so do you. When's the last time you got any sun?"

"I went outside the other day!" Anders said, a touch defensively. "On the way to the Hanged Man!"

Izzy clucked her tongue. "That doesn't count! You were outside on the way to being inside!"

"Well, that's generally how it works, isn't it?" 

Isabela rolled her eyes and grabbed his hand. "You. Me. Fresh air." She tugged him towards the door, strong enough to pull him in her wake.

"But--!" Anders gestured wildly at his empty clinic. He had bandages to roll and potions to make, and a patient could walk in the door any minute.

"That's not the butt I want from you, Anders!" Isabela teased. "What do you think? Should we stop and get Artie? I think we should stop and get Artie."

"I-- but-- _Izzy_!" Anders tried digging in his heels, but Isabela, as always, had ways of making him move. "I have work! I don't need to be outside! I need to be working! I have patients! There are more empty bottles than potions!"

He continued to protest, fairly continuously, all the way upstairs and across Hightown. Isabela knocked at the door, while Anders continued to ramble about the needs of the patients in his empty clinic. She announced to Orana that they were here to collect Artemis, and Anders continued to insist he needed to be brewing and writing.

Orana glanced at Anders and gave Isabela an amused look, receiving an expressive shrug in return. She giggled and went to find the requested Hawke.

Artemis appeared in the doorway and eyed Isabela's smile and Anders's scowl. "My, this looks like a dangerous combination," he said, fingers drumming against the door. "To what do I owe the dubious pleasure?"

"I could bring you less dubious pleasures, you know," Izzy said, as subtle as always, and Artie smiled indulgently. "Or perhaps more dubious, depending on your view of horses."

Anders made a choked sound and sent Izzy a scandalised look. "What she means," Anders sighed, "is that she plans to drag me along the Wounded Coast and wants to drag you along too, perhaps disrupting whatever work _you_ were doing as well."

Artemis perked up. "The Coast? Hoping the healer can make it less 'wounded'?" Anders laughed indulgently as though he hadn't heard that before. "Or are we hunting slavers? Bandits? Dragons? Please no dragons." 

"Hunting the sunlight," Izzy said. "Sparklefingers is looking a bit pasty." She patted Anders's shoulder.

"I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to look pasty!" Anders protested. "Mage of the mountainous north? Where I lived in a town full of pasty white people? You know what's really popular up in the north? Hoods and veils. To maintain that doughy complexion."

"You'd be even more adorable, a few shades darker, you know," Isabela teased, sneaking a pinch under Anders's bottom.

Anders squeaked and looked entirely put out. "Tell me you're bringing whiskey," he sighed at Artemis, finally accepting that he was doing this, whether he liked it or not. Which he didn't. And he meant to complain until someone got sick of it and sent him home. But, if he had to go, there was going to be whiskey, and Justice could just cope. "This weather is unreasonable. It's damp. It's damp and hot, and we're not even down to the docks, yet. There is sweat running down the inside of my leg." He could handle the heat, but he was accustomed to a somewhat less soggy heat, and he'd spent fifteen years in Ferelden.

Artemis raised an eyebrow, looking more amused than sympathetic. "Hmm, you are looking a bit pasty," he said, peering closer at Anders's face. "And cranky. Sun and whiskey, then. I'll grab some whiskey, and then we'll grab some sun."

 

* * *

Anders kept up his whining all through Kirkwall and past the city gates. He brought everyone's attention to how much he was sweating, to the fact that he had a rock in his shoe, and that the humidity was making his hair frizz. Artie ended up opening the whiskey en route, just to shut him up.

It almost worked. It at least worked while Anders's mouth was occupied with the bottle, which wasn't nearly enough, and Isabela wouldn't stop dragging him along by the ring on the front of his coat.

Finally, Isabela found a spot that wasn't a cliff overlooking the sea, but a little inlet, where the water washed right up into the sand -- a popular spot for smugglers, from the assortment of rough furniture and half-empty chests stacked around the remains of a fire. She dragged out a couple of chairs, settling them firmly into the sand, and then went back to pick through the chests.

"Oh, look! We've got rum!" Isabela lobbed a bottle toward the chairs, and it sank into the sand with a light 'pliff'. "Limes... Ooh! That's journeybread! Soak it in the rum, and it turns into an amazing dessert!" She threw a few more things that weren't food any more into a box that seemed to be full of tattered pants, before grabbing another empty chest and loading it up with just the things she wanted, before dragging it out by the chairs.

"Give me some ice, Sparklefingers!" Isabela demanded, pointing at the chest. "We can have cold rum and fruit and cake!" She unpacked the bag of journeybread into a bowl and broke it up, before pouring rum over it.

Artemis eyed the chairs and food critically, unsure how he felt about taking some stranger's cast-offs, especially the more edible variety. The rum, at least, should drown out the 'essence of smuggler' that might linger on the journeybread. When Izzy offered him the bowl, Artie made a face but plucked out a piece. Before putting it in his mouth, however, he fortified himself with a swig of whiskey.

Anders was already chewing on his own piece and lounging in one of the chairs, long legs sticking out into the sand. The sun was strong, but it was pleasant, he admitted to himself. He bent to tug off his boots just so he could stick his toes into the sand.

Isabela watched him relax and smirked. "Still rather be in the clinic?" she teased.

"I don't sweat quite this much in the clinic," Anders muttered evasively.

"You'd be less sweaty in less clothes," Isabela pointed out. "Leather isn't really ideal attire for a day on the beach."

"There is a pool of sweat in my trousers, but I have no intention of airing my sweaty balls anywhere near you, given what you were just in my clinic for," Anders grumbled, casting an ice spell over the chest. The jagged sphere exploded as it dropped and struck the bottom, and he grabbed some of the ice chips and poured them down his shirt.

"And what was I in your clinic for?" Isabela asked, taking out one of her knives and slicing a lime.

And that was a question Anders hadn't actually taken the time to know the answer to. "Well, since you've stopped complaining about it, I'm assuming it was one of the things I usually fix at the Rose. Which is not something that will ever belong anywhere near my balls, sweaty or not."

"But, since you've healed it, it wouldn't be!" Isabela pointed out with a wide smile, tossing a slice of lime to Artie.

Artemis caught the slice with one hand, the other reaching up to pull his tunic over his head. Isabela wolf-whistled, and Artie gave her a sarcastic bow. "It's not a bad idea," he told Anders as he looked about, trying to decide what to do with his tunic. "Less clothing, that is. Unless you _want_ to keep dropping ice chips down your pants." He popped the lime slice into his mouth so he could fold his tunic and drape it over the back of a chair.

"Careful, Artie," Anders said. "You might give Izzy ideas."

"She already has the ideas," Artemis said around the lime. He plopped into the chair next to Anders. "I don't need to give them to her."

"The man is not wrong," Isabela said, openly ogling Artie's bare chest.


	190. Chapter 190

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isabela finally gets a look at Anders, shirtless.

"The man is not wrong," Isabela said, openly ogling Artie's bare chest.

Anders sighed and stood long enough to shrug off his coat, hanging it on the back of his chair. "There. Happy?"

"Getting there," Isabela purred, reaching over to pour more ice down Anders's shirt. "You never take that off! In all the years I've known you, I don't think I've ever seen you shirtless, and I've seen an awful lot of you. What have you got, an awful Fereldan tattoo? Some drunken bet that ended in the worst mabari the world has ever seen?"

"Ice. I've got a lot of ice under my shirt." Anders reached for another piece of sweet, drippy journeybread, which was finally beginning to soften up. "What do you care? Artie's gorgeous, and if he's not enough, you've got Cormac, when we get home. And, Maker, whatever that was you'd better not have given it to Cormac."

"You're a healer," Isabela pointed out. "What's it matter? And no, I don't think I did, because I know the sexiest, if whiniest, healer in all of Thedas, and I showed up on his doorstep as soon as there was a problem! Why wait?" She settled into a drink of rum and lime juice. "I still think you'd be sexier still without the shirt."

"You don't want to see him without the shirt," Artie said before taking a sip of whiskey. He caught Anders's eye, and Anders saw the start of a mischievous smile behind that bottle. "He has a third nipple. It's horrifying."

"He does not!" Izzy laughed, even as she gave Anders a speculative look. "...he doesn't, does he? Anders?"

Anders grabbed a fistful of sand and threw it at a cackling Artie. "No, I do not! Ass."

"No, no he doesn't really," Artemis said, brushing away the sand and schooling his expression. "He doesn't have three nipples. He has six, like a cat."

"If only," Anders laughed. "I'd mind the one less if I had five more! I'm not sure how your brother would take that, though."

"You've got a nipple that should be minded, do you? I don't remember that. I remember quite clearly two that you very much liked having pinched!" Isabela's hand flicked across Anders's chest, and he arched backward, trying and failing to push himself into the back of the chair.

"Izzy! Don't!" The chair tipped back, and he batted Isabela's hand away, before it rocked forward again.

"Oooh! Touchy!" Isabela curled up in her chair, returning her attention to her rum. "All right, Serah Mindful Nipples. I'll be over here with the limes. Give us some more ice?" She grabbed another handful of it, dropping it into the bowl of lime slices and rum. "Any other guesses about what's under that dingy tunic, Artie?"

"Oh, I know what's under it," Artemis answered, taking another piece of journeybread. "A nice stomach and a tattoo of his and Cormac's initials with a heart around them. Between the six nipples. It's quite embarrassing, even if the artistry is good."

"If I did have a tattoo," Anders said, swiping the whiskey from Artie's hand, "it would say 'don't listen to the Hawkes. They're all assholes'."

"Oh, I'm sure that tattoo would say something about Hawkes and assholes," Isabela teased, batting her eyelashes. She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, letting the sun hit her face.

"I would laugh at that," Artemis said, brow furrowing, "if I didn't have three younger siblings I don't want that applied to. And don't say it, Izzy. I know you know more about two-thirds of those siblings than I need or want to know."

"Your sister's pretty hot, but Cormac's already warned me off with threats of things I didn't want to know magic could be used for." Anders held his hands up, defensively, drink still clutched in one. "Besides, she just looks like you, but with more boobs and less stubble."

"I'm telling Bethy you said that," Isabela teased, grabbing a bit of journeybread that fell apart in her hand.

"I'm absolutely certain I won't be the first to have pointed it out." Anders grinned and stretched, before picking up the journeybread bowl and taking a swig of the rum-sludge in the bottom. "They _do_ look alike. Look at him and tell me they don't!"

Isabela leaned across Anders to get a closer look at Artie. "Oh, it's close, but she's much prettier." She leaned on Anders's thigh, and the melt from the ice in his shirt pooled around her fingers.

Artie licked rum off his fingers and matched Isabela's stare. "You're certainly not the first to point it out," he told Anders. "Any time she introduced a friend to the family, that friend assumed _I_ was the twin brother, not Carver. I tried to convince Carver I was, once. Told him he was adopted and that we were going to trade him in when we found someone who looked more like Bethy." Artemis sat back, sucking bits of journeybread from his teeth. "Bethy stopped introducing her friends to us after that."

Anders gestured at Artemis. "As I was saying about Hawkes being assholes..." He shook his head and took a swig of whiskey.

Artemis grinned and toed off his boots, kicking them towards Anders's.

"Usually I have to play Strip Wicked Grace to see this much of you," Izzy said.

"Sorry, am I showing too much ankle?" Artie asked. "I don't want to scandalise Serah Mindful Nipples."

"When have I ever been scandalised by you?" Anders asked, between swallows of icy rum. "Isn't it usually the other way around? I tell terrible stories about your brother, and you make the most delightful faces."

"Oooh! You're evil!" Isabela's fingers darted up and tweaked Anders's nipple, before she dropped back into her own seat, and he curled forward, dropping his drink and heaving everything he'd drunk so far into the sand between his feet.

"Not. The left one." Anders groaned and kicked sand over the pool as it soaked into the ground. "I'd have healed it then, if I knew it was going to end up like that, but now it's too late." Muttering something about Howe and why, he pulled off his shirt, finally, throwing it in Isabela's face, as he sat up. "A few more since the last time you were anywhere near unclothed parts of me," he muttered trying to shake the sand out of his bowl.

Artie tucked his feet under him, face twisting. "Are you all right?" he asked. "And... less important but still relevant: you didn't get any puke on my shoes, did you?" He made a note of where Anders had thrown up. Even if he couldn't see it, he wasn't about to step anywhere near it.

"I'm fine. Your shoes are fine. Stop making that face."

Isabela slipped the tunic off her face and balled it in her hands. She took in the naked torso she'd been trying to picture for years, littered with scars she hadn't pictured. "I see," she said. "So... no extra nipples, but you almost lost one? Tough luck, that."

"And no Hawke-related tattoos," Artie pointed out, still curled awkwardly in his chair. "More's the pity."

"I'm not getting your brother's name tattooed on my ass. I'm not getting any tattoos. The scars are bad enough, but I might be able to pass them off as something else. Tattoos? No one's ever going to forget those." Anders helped himself to another bit of journeybread as the sun beat down on his chest. "You know why I almost lost a nipple? Because noblemen are weird and stuck up, even when they're Wardens."

"I don't know, I thought the Hawkes were sort of the opposite of stuck up. What would you call that? Perpetually slumming?" Isabela teased. "You and Cormac have an accident in the bedroom?"

"No! ... Hah. No. It was before I got to Kirkwall. I was in Amaranthine, at the time. You remember the big thing about the Howes? Well, apparently Rendon Howe had a son, and his son was ... maybe a little less of a completely horrible individual. Still a whiny git who wouldn't admit he liked dicks, when he was sober. I pushed him a little too hard one day, and he stabbed me. It was pretty stupid."

"He stabbed you in the nipple?" Artemis asked. "Maker."

"Right?" Anders huffed. "The stupidest part was that I didn't bother healing it, mostly to piss him off. Couldn't feel it the last time you grabbed it. Definitely feeling it this time."

"And now you can throw up at will." Artie nodded. "That would have been good to know at Anton's bachelor party when you ended up so obscenely drunk. As obscenely drunk as _I_ usually get at those things. A tweak of the nipple, and off you go."

"Can we not talk about that?" Anders groaned, letting his head loll over the back of the chair. One hand cupped his scarred nipple defensively.

Isabela snickered, biting her lip. "He's like a faucet," she said. "The right nipple turns him on, and the left one turns him off."

"I don't know about that, Izzy. They'll both get you bodily fluids. One's the one you probably want. One's the one you don't." Anders had to laugh. The whole thing was ridiculous. "And Cormac does know that. I don't know why he didn't try it. But, I promise he knows. You should ask him why."

"You didn't!" Isabela looked scandalised and delighted.


	191. Chapter 191

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders is surprised by how quickly Cormac can wash and dry his hair. Artemis explains.

"His hair," Anders sighed. "Although, credit where it's due, I've never seen a man wash and dry his hair so quickly in all my life, and I spent a lot of years in a circle tower. What did you do to him, Artie? Or is this something else to blame on Carver?"

Artie's face twisted some more, expression landing somewhere between amused and grossed out. "Puke. In his hair." He shook his head. "Suddenly grateful I never... er." He gestured vaguely. "And Cormac's hair? Oh ho. No descriptions of mine could do it justice. And I'll have you know it's not so much my fault as it was my dad's, though I suppose dad didn't try to stick things in Cormac's hair half so much." He stifled a snorting laugh behind his hand. "You should try to convince him to let his hair dry naturally, just once. That is all I will say on the matter."

Isabela and Anders exchanged glances. "Well, now I'm curious," Anders said as Izzy bit back a smirk of her own.

"Your father was Rivaini, right?" she asked knowingly. "No wonder Cormac is so fussy with his hair. Oh Anders, now I want to see this. How can we make this happen?" She clutched Anders's arm.

"What...? What does being Rivaini have to do with anything?" Anders just looked confused.

"Oooh, I bet he looks just like a seer's son!" Isabela's eyes gleamed. "But, if he's using magic on his hair... Are we going to have to get Cullen's help?"

Anders looked ill. "I'd rather not bring any templars into this. Can't we just ask him?"

"We could, but then if he said no, he'd have warning. He'd be waiting for us to try." Isabela drummed her fingers against Anders's bicep. "What about you? You can stick him to the floor, can't you?"

"Such a rogue. You always assume the worst." Anders shook his head. "Whether or not I could, I'd be sleeping on the couch, if I did that. You know what else sleeps on the couch? The dog. I'm not subjecting myself to dog farts to satisfy your curiosity." Never mind that he had his own bed that only had cats in it, the principle was that he wouldn't be turning his magic on Cormac in any ways that weren't sexy.

Artemis tapped his lip, eyes gleaming like Izzy's, and Anders wondered if he should warn Cormac for his own safety. "If we could somehow get his hair wet while he's asleep and without waking him up... but that would make a mess of his pillow. Hm. Maybe we could enlist Bethy's help with this. She's good at this sort of thing."

"Should I be concerned?" Anders asked, looking back and forth between them. "I feel like I should be concerned."

"Oh, Maker," Artie laughed. "You should have seen him when we were little. It was the best way mum could tell us apart at a distance. You know what my hair looks like, but then his was just..." He gestured around his head, hands describing a round, poofy shape. "I used to stick twigs in it when he wasn't looking. But mum loved it. Said it made him look like dad when she first saw him. Broke her heart when he straightened the damn thing."

"That sounds so adorable!" Isabela cooed. "If your dad looked like Cormac, and with all that hair, your mum got a good one. I'd flee the country, if that was the prize! But, noooo. I got some greasy pirate and a half-cocked elf. The elf was pretty cute, though."

"If you're talking about Zevran, I protest that he was most definitely in possession of an entire cock, the last time I saw him, which... was in Amaranthine, but still." Anders flicked his hand and filled his bowl with ice chips, before grabbing the rum and a few slices of lime, to go with it. "And, I'm still not sure why we can't just ask Cormac. I mean, if it looked so good on your dad, it's not like his vanity's the problem. And I'm pretty sure you're not going to stick twigs in his hair... You're not, are you, Artie?" With all the talk about hair, Anders finally realised his own was starting to itch, and he untied it, scratching at the back of his head, with a relieved sigh, before he froze the sweat in a moment of brilliance.

"I make no promises," Artemis replied, taking the rum once Anders had had a few sips. "You are asking me to compromise my duty as a little brother, and you know I take that duty seriously." He waggled a finger at Anders. "And there's no way Cormac is letting you see his hair like that willingly. The last time I brought it up, he called me 'a little shit'."

"He always calls you 'a little shit'," Anders pointed out. "Usually affectionately. And the more time I spend with you, the more I understand why."

Artie inclined his head in a mockery of a bow. "If I'm a little shit, it's because he's a bigger shit."

Isabela cackled, plucking the whiskey from where Anders had set it in the sand. "Is he the only one with your dad's hair? Or does Anton do some 'magic' of his own?"

Artemis grinned, finally relaxing enough to stretch his legs back out. "Just Cormac," he said. "Though I suppose Anton could pull it off. The rest of us take after mum, though my hair does... frizz and curl a bit if left to its own devices."

"My hair's pretty boring," Anders said with a shrug, rubbing a handful of ice over his chest. "Just what you see. Bit of a wave, as it gets long. I had it long, once. Cut it all off, though. Too hard to wash." Which was almost the truth. It was too hard to wash, but he'd just been brought up from the hole, where the closest to 'washed' he'd gotten was a bucket of cold water a couple of months prior. "Maybe I'll try it again, some time. When I've secured the future of mages in Thedas, and I can lounge around and have sexy Fereldan noblemen play with my hair. That's what I want my future to look like. Mages in every village, and sexy Fereldan noblemen to spoil me stupid."

"I am very interested in your future," Isabela purred, tossing chips of ice at Artie's drink. "Especially the sexy Fereldan noblemen part. I wonder, should they all be Hawkes?"

"Don't rule out the rest of them, until you get a good look at the Howes. He's smashing and his sister's... unfortunately married, and very happy that way. Easy on the eyes, though, if maybe just a little less dead sexy than her brother. But, I might just think he was hotter because he wasn't easy at all. An amazingly difficult prick, Messere Howe."

"Well, you do have a thing for hard pricks," Artie replied. He thanked Izzy for the ice and pressed the drink to his cheek, humming at the breath of cold against his skin.

"To be fair, that's something we all have in common," Anders reminded him. His cheeks and shoulders were starting to turn red, and so were his scars. He soothed healing and ice over his skin, and the red faded.

"Mm, true," Artie admitted, nodding. "Are we Hawkes too easy for you, then? Should I tell Cormac to play hard to get?"

Izzy chuffed. "Good luck with that."

"Cormac would last all of two days," Anders laughed. "You? You might actually succeed, as long as we kept you away from the rum. But, would you want to be a difficult tease, Artie? I mean, just look at what you get, when you're not." He stretched, trousers catching on his hips, as he twisted, before dropping back into the chair.

"Why am I not getting some of that?" Isabela asked, flicking cold water from the chest of ice at Anders.

"Because I'm a lot less into contagious, since I came to Kirkwall," Anders drawled, drowning any further thoughts in booze and lime.

"But, we've already established I'm not contagious, and you never objected to my more exciting talents, before..." Isabela scooped a soggy bit of journeybread into her hand and poured it into her mouth.

"You left out the part where you were paying me, last time, and I was desperate to get out of town." Anders grinned. "Nothing personal, but it never was, and you know that just as well as I do."

"And here I was hoping to ply the generosity and wild lusts of an old friend!" Isabela peeled off her neither quite a shirt nor a dress and dipped it in the melting ice, before wrapping it around her hair.

"Izzy was paying...?" Artie started to say before choking on a laugh. "Hey, why not."

Isabela lazed back in her chair, either to get more sun on more skin or to better show off her assets. Possibly both. "This is terribly unfair, you know," she said, lower lip sticking out in a pout. "Here I am in my underwear, next to two half-naked men, and neither of you is interested."

"I'm sure my brother will make it up to you when we get back," Artemis said without sympathy.

"If it makes you feel any better, I could say it's because we're much too interested in each other. My tastes run a little more towards Hawkes, these days." Anders laughed and shoved a fistful of ice into his trousers, cheating it along the scar on his hip. "Oh, blessed is the Maker who gave me the power to do that," he groaned, stretching his dripping hand toward Artie. "You want to come steal some of the glorious chill in my pants?"

"I do!" Isabela volunteered, and Anders laid a thin layer of ice across her belly. She shrieked in surprise and bounced a lime off the side of his head.

Artemis laughed. "I think I'm fine for the moment," he said. "Unless you were hoping for an excuse to put your hand down my pants, in which case you are more than welcome to do so."

"So we're _not_ bothering with the 'hard to get' routine," Anders teased. "As tempting as that is, I'd rather not risk your fiancé rearranging my internal organs."

Isabela raised her hand. "I'll do it!"

Artie grinned. "Nice try."


	192. Chapter 192

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That is not a colour people are supposed to be, Anders.

Anders looked down the coast, to where the sun had begun to come down. "You know, it's really hot out here. And it's the gross kind of hot. I just shoved ice into my trousers. I wonder if..." He stretched an arm behind his chair and then raised it behind where Isabela sat. The sand trembled and a sheet of stone rose up, curling over them, to block some of the sunlight. Immediately, the shadow began to cool, and Anders liberally littered the ground with ice. "Oh, good. That does work," he sighed, stroking a healing hand over his skin again. The red faded out into a sickly golden colour, more like jaundice than a tan.

Isabela's eyes took a moment to adjust to the shade. "What did you just... What colour is that? A second ago, I thought you were burned."

"I'm a healer." Anders shrugged. "What good is it if I have to sit through a sunburn?"

"Yes, but you're ... that's..." Isabela fished through one of the pockets on her belt until she came up with two coins, a copper piece and a sovereign. "Most people turn this colour." She held up the copper piece. "Not this colour." She held up the sovereign.

"You're both Rivaini," Anders pointed out. "Besides, gold is worth more."

"Ooh, Sparklefingers, if we're talking bodies as currency..." Isabela said, trailing off and rubbing the coins together in her hand.

"I feel like I should be insulted by this analogy," Artemis said, blinking up at the rock Anders had summoned, squinting as his eyes adjusted. "And that's one use for rock armour. That's not gonna fall on us, is it?"

"It shouldn't," Anders answered, closing his eyes and enjoying the breeze that wafted up from the water, "provided a certain force mage doesn't start poking at it."

"A certain force mage was watching the clouds a minute ago," Artemis huffed, "and the rock is blocking his view."

"A certain force mage is going to end up with sand down his trousers if he keeps complaining," Anders replied without opening his eyes. "A certain force mage is also a decent primal mage and can move the rock out of his own way."

"I wonder what a certain pair of mages who can magically move rocks have found to do with Anton's precious garden," Isabela speculated, wringing her damp shirt and soaking it in ice water again, before putting it back around her hair.

Anders swallowed a little too soon and coughed. "Anton's garden?"

"Don't pull that with me, Sparklefingers. If I know, you know, and we both know because of Cormac, at the very least." Isabela pointed out, slicing another lime.

"Oh, but I wouldn't use magic on the stone, there." Anders conceded that Cormac was a proper reason to have been in the garden, as opposed to the reason he'd originally found it. "I might break something very expensive, and then I'd have at least two very angry Hawkes breathing down my neck for all the wrong reasons."

"I, on the other hand, have no idea what you're talking about," Artie said unconvincingly. "Gardens? What gardens?"

Isabela guffawed, peering around Anders at Artemis. He smiled innocently. "Have you and Broody been taking a romp around the gardens?" she asked. "I'm surprised we haven't all run into each other back there!"

Anders laughed weakly. "It's a big garden," he reminded her, pointedly not looking at Artemis.

"Yes," said Artie, "and the... flowers... are quite lovely." He cleared his throat and shut himself up with a pull of rum.

"Flowers. Yes. Because that's what you're looking at, back there. Are those the flowers carved into a certain set of benches, perhaps?" Anders teased, safely having no idea if Artemis had found that part of the garden, yet.

"Oh, I know those flowers. Not very much to look at, but very useful." Isabela shifted in her seat, attempting to display herself even more appealingly.

Anders reached out and held a hand over her belly. "Not that useful. We're mages."

Isabela squealed as the handful of grease splashed across her skin, and Anders continued to smile pleasantly up at the rock overhang.

"But," Anders went on, "I'm sure Artie has a good view of some of the other flowers from some of the garden's seating. Do you find the benches comfortable, Artie?"

Artemis's cheeks burned as though the sun were still on them. Cormac had shown him the trick with the benches a few weeks ago, and Artie nearly broke the one they were on. "Reasonably comfortable," he said, squirming a bit in his chair. "If, perhaps, not as sturdy as they look."

While he wasn't looking, Isabela used Anders's tunic to wipe off the grease. "I have to wonder just how many Hawkes have sat on those benches," she said.

"If I were to guess, I would think all but one. I suspect Ser Templar is perhaps not terribly interested in the finer features of the stone. Unless he hasn't realised what they're for, yet." Anders cackled, imagining it. "Do you think he and Merrill still think that's just a lovely rose garden? Do you think they've even wandered that far in?"

"You know," Isabela said, a sly look taking hold of her face, "I could make sure Merrill knows what those benches are for. I'm sure she'd find them quite funny."

"Artie? Give me a reason not to traumatise your little brother, or I'm going to encourage this idea." Anders looked gleeful at the thought of Merrill introducing Carver to Anton's delightfully obscene lawn furniture.

"I'm the last person who would talk you out of traumatising Carver," Artemis replied, covering his eyes with his hand as he laughed. He was pointedly not thinking about his other younger siblings and their... enjoyment of the garden, but the thought of Carver sitting on the benches without a clue what they were for made his shoulders shake with laughter. "Do you know Seneschal Bran complimented Anton on the garden at the wedding? 'My wife's been looking for a swing like that' he said. 'Do you know where I could get one?' Cullen looked like he was going to piss himself. It was amazing."

"Wasn't that Cullen's mother in the garden with him, though?" Isabela asked, around a slice of lime. "I'm sure that's what that was. Although, I guess the idea of the Seneschal's enjoyment might be a little much for the poor dear. He's so _cute_! Cullen, I mean. Bran's kind of a tosser. How did Anton ever manage to keep something so delightfully adorable?"

"By being devastatingly rakish, no doubt." Anders stuffed another handful of ice down his trousers. "I get the sense Cullen's got a thing for 'bad in a good way'. As opposed to good in a bad way, like certain members of his order, or _bad_ in a bad way, like some others."

"You knew him back in Ferelden, didn't you? What was he like?" Isabela rested both elbows on the arm of her chair.

"Useless. He was useless. Too scared of his own knob to cope with Solona flirting with him. Convinced that he could do good and right, and just oblivious to how much bad and wrong went on. He was a kid." Anders shrugged. "I didn't really know him. We were only both there for maybe a year or two? I had my own problems, and he didn't make himself one of them." He paused to pour a handful of ice water into his mouth. "And then Anton got to him. You see what he's like, now. All grown up and married to a cardsharp." He skipped over the ugly parts of the story. He'd missed those, and he didn't figure Cullen really wanted the worst of it getting around. And wasn't that a thing -- he actually cared what Cullen thought about anything.

"And officially part of the Hawke family, the poor sod," Artemis said, raising his drink. "I almost feel sorry for him: Knight-Captain of the Templar Order, and he unknowingly marries into the magiest family to have ever maged in Kirkwall."

"You know Varric's writing a story about it?" Isabela said, toying with one of her earrings. "Changed the names and a few details so no one gets in trouble. He says the Hawkes make great drama."

"Huh. And here I thought we excelled more at comedy," Artie said, head lolling along the back of the chair to glance at her.

"Slapstick, certainly," Anders added, "considering the number of times Cormac's been punched."

"To be fair, he usually deserves it," Artemis replied, hooking a finger in the bowl of rum and journeybread and frowning when he only found a few soggy crumbs left.

"Usually," Anders agreed. "And the rest of the time, _you_ deserve it."

"This is true."

* * *

Cormac didn't get back from the Bone Pit until late in the evening, and he was surprised not to find Anders downstairs, still working. Probably another emergency, then. He'd make a pile of sandwiches and leave half on the nightstand, he figured, so Anders wouldn't have to think about getting food.

What he hadn't expected was to find Anders _upstairs_ , passed out in his bed, with the windows thrown open, looking some truly atrocious colour. At first, Cormac wondered if it was something about the sheets, but he'd seen Anders on these sheets, before, and never quite that shade. He set the sandwiches and beer beside the bed, and then sat down.

"Hey, gorgeous?" He shook Anders's shoulder, gently.

"Mmrph?" Anders's eyes slid open. He rolled onto his back, smothering a yawn with his hand. "Hey, mage-shoulders," he replied with a lazy smile. "How was the Bone Pit? Any more deadly curses or have you strangled the Orlesian?"

Cormac groaned and reached for the beer, again. "No, no deadly curses, no giant spiders, and sadly, no strangled Orlesians. The miners are trying to figure out if they can force him to sell, though. I'm more worried about them getting fired if they try." He leaned down and kissed the tip of Anders's nose. "So, you're very yellow. I'm not sure if you're aware of this, but you look like you've been bathing in saffron."

"So I've been told," Anders sighed. He noted the sandwiches by the bed and considered sitting up. The bed was making a good argument for staying down, even if the heat made him stick to the sheets. "And it's called a tan. Maker." Anders probably did need more sun if everyone was only just now noticing this.

"No, sweet thing, it would be a tan if you were tan. You are not tan. You are yellow, and I'm a little concerned. I'm pretty sure that's not a colour people are supposed to be." Cormac took a swig of beer and set down the tankard. He rubbed Anders's cheek, petted his shoulder. "And you're radiating heat in a way that is ... unusual. It's not warm like you're usually warm -- and I swear you complain about the cold, because you're an inhuman temperature, half the time. Do I need to get you some water? I brought sandwiches and beer, but I'm not sure that's going to help."

"Mm. Water sounds good. So do the sandwiches and beer, at some point in the near future." Anders waved his hand in the direction of the food. "It's hot out, you know. Even by the beach. I shoved ice down my pants, it was that hot."

"Ice down your pants? And I wasn't there to take advantage of this sudden change? Oh, what a day for me to have gone up the mountain," Cormac sighed, grabbing the pitcher next to the bed and deciding to be lazy about it. He cast an ice spell into it and only melted about half, leaving what would likely continue to be cool water for a few hours, yet. "And what were you doing on the beach? Has the charm of sewer-living finally worn thin?"

"Thought I'd try my luck pirating," Anders replied archly. "Izzy dragged me out of the clinic, and we kidnapped your favourite brother. Although really, they kidnapped _me_ more than anything. Found some chairs... rum... It was quite lovely, actually. Aside from the sun and the yellowness, anyway. And Izzy and Artie were both shirtless, so the ice down my pants served an extra purpose." Anders sat up, moving sluggishly, and drank straight from the pitcher, icy water dribbling down his chin.

"Both of them shirtless? And this didn't end with anyone sitting in your icy-cold lap? Maybe you are slowing down with age. Andraste's tits, are you sure you're okay?" Cormac teased, reaching out to smear the water across Anders's overheated chest. "I certainly wouldn't have been sitting there, frosty-cold and all by myself. Not with that much booty to plunder, as Izzy likes to say. Not that I'd be ... Hm. Well, I suppose with the two of them, only one would actually be available to me. Remind me why you're not availing yourself of the Ass-Pirate Queen? She's been eyeing you forever."

Anders purred at the splash of cold water on his chest. "You forget that I have already availed myself of the Ass-Pirate Queen in the past. Or rather, she availed herself of me. Pirate Queen she may be, but she doesn't have the Hawke ass." He reached around to pat the Hawke ass most readily available. "And you don't know why she was in my clinic to begin with. Speaking of..." Anders twisted his fingers, and they glowed blue, magic washing over Cormac's skin.

"My brother's balls," Cormac sighed. "Again? You don't get paid enough for this. I don't get paid enough for this." He didn't stop rubbing Anders's chest, though, hand moving slowly down between the scars to settle on Anders's abs, instead. Slightly less scarred. Substantially more likely to elicit further purring. "So, what do you think? Sandwiches first, and then I'll have you for dessert? I wonder if you taste as lemony as you look, today."

"I'm more likely to taste like sweat and sand, but you're more than welcome to check."  Anders offered Cormac another lazy smile. Another long sip of water, and Anders set down the pitcher, reaching for a sandwich. He sat back against the headboard, humming at the taste of food and the feel of Cormac's hand on his skin. "You know, it occurs to me I should have healed Artie just in case."

"Don't worry about Artie. If she just came to you, today, he's fine. I'd know." Cormac grinned and shifted, kneeling across Anders's thighs as he grabbed a sandwich for himself. "And don't tell him we had supper in bed. He'll implode. Just suck right up into his mind. I'll shake the crumbs out later, and he can yell about the rug, instead." One hand continued to trace idle circles on Anders's belly.


	193. PART XXXVII: SETTING THE STAGE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris gets a letter he's been waiting for. The Kirkwall Weekly Gazette publishes an unspeakable bit of fiction.

Letters (and flowers) were usually for Artemis. That was how it worked. So when Orana approached Fenris with a bit of parchment in her hand, he barely looked up from the book he was reading -- something dreadful and Orlesian he was certain Artemis had gotten him as a joke -- and gruffly told her that Artemis was out in the garden.

But Orana shook her head. "It's for _you_ , messere."

"It's--? Oh."

Orana stretched out the parchment again, and this time Fenris took it, setting the book aside. The paper was worn and velvety at the edges and at the creases as he opened it, spreading it out across his lap. He didn't notice Orana bow her head and slip back out the door.

His eyes drifted to the bottom of the letter first, and he recognised his sister's name. It pleased him to finally be able to read her letters without Bethany's assistance. Most of the letter was the usual pleasantries about the weather in Qarinus, and how nice it was to be by the sea. She'd seen two boys fighting with sticks, in the market, and thought of him. And, yes, she was definitely going to be there for the wedding. Wouldn't miss it. There were a few lines about their mother, and how she wished their mother had lived to see this, but Fenris had no recollection of the woman. He had doubts that any of it would return, but if his sister could forgive him his memory, then perhaps it didn't matter. Perhaps she could remember enough for both of them.

A family. When had that happened? First the Hawkes, and now this forgotten sister, who would finally meet him. A wedding, with his own blood watching. That was important, he knew, even if he still wasn't quite sure what to do with the idea. He took the letter with him, and went down to the garden, to tell Artemis.

He found Artemis sunning himself by the pond, one hand tucked under his head. Artie was engrossed in some reading of his own, a news rag that proved to Fenris that something didn't have to be Orlesian to be dreadful, going by the headline: "SECRET TEVINTER RICHES UNDER KIRKWALL? Bert Quagmire investigates!" 

"Amatus," Fenris said, casting a shadow over Artemis's face.

"Hello, Fenris," Artemis said, tilting his head towards Fenris without looking away from the article he was reading. "You wouldn't believe the stuff they've found under Kirkwall! I wonder if Anders is aware of this..."

"Amatus," Fenris said again.

"And apparently Anton has been giving interviews? Should I be concerned? I swear, if he mentions the bull incident --"

"Amatus," Fenris said once more, and Artie finally looked up.

"Mm?" Fenris took the paper out of Artemis's hands and replaced it with the letter. "Oh. _Oh_. Is this from your sister?"

Fenris nodded. "She'll be here. My sister. At our wedding." He paused. "All of these words have meanings, but I am suddenly having difficulty with them. I have a sister. I'm getting married. I'm in love with a delightful mage. This is not a life I ever imagined for myself, living in a noble estate, reading letters from long-lost relatives. This is a very strange position I find myself in."

Artie's whole face lit in a smile, and he set the letter aside, reaching up for his elf. "Come here. If you're going to be in a strange position, you might as well be down here with me."

Fenris let himself be tugged down into the grass, stretching out next to Artemis.

"I can't say this is a life I ever imagined for myself either," Artie said, cupping Fenris's cheek, "not when Cormac and I were shaking fruit from the trees in Lothering." He laughed weakly, shaking his head. 

"We have come a long way from where we began." Fenris kissed Artemis warmly, lips twisting into a regretful half-smile. "I'm sorry about the house. And that I nearly killed you. ... Twice. I think it was only twice. Still twice too many times." And this fool mage was still going to marry him, which he was relatively sure didn't actually have anything to do with the goat.

Artemis chuckled, brushing the fringe back out of Fenris's eyes. "Please," he said. "If I held a grudge against everyone who almost killed me, I wouldn't have any siblings. It's like a rite of passage for this family. Plus the 'mage floors' evened it out, I think." It was something Artie could joke about now, even if a part of him still went cold at the memory of Fenris coming at him in the Fade.

"At least you disposed of those demon-manufactured sheets." An amused hum was all that escaped of the laugh Fenris held back. He supposed the mage-floors were appropriate retaliation for any harm he might have brought to his mage. And any harm he might, in the future, bring, since that was clearly something Artemis could repeat, as he'd proven with Anders's floors. "Tell me, Amatus. What's on page six, this week? Shall we read it together?"

Artie turned his answering laugh into a cough. "Oh, it's... it's a gem, this week," he said, gesturing for Fenris to wait as he grabbed up the rag and thumbed through the pages. He cleared his throat, angling the paper so Fenris could read it too. "'The Staff of Violation: a tale of the forbidden lusts between the Knight-Commander and First Enchanter'."

"I didn't think you'd be so interested in what the Knight-Commander had under her armour. You seem to be a bit more into staves, yourself. Unless this is one of _those_ stories..." Fenris looked a bit distressed at the idea, for a moment, but managed to shake it. "Will you be violating me with your staff, as we read, Amatus? Seems a bit ambitious for you," he purred nuzzling Artemis's ear.

This time Artie's laugh came out as a snort. "Well, Fen," he said, arching his neck for Fenris to kiss. "Only if you plan to play the part of Orsino... and you mean my literal staff." He cut a glance to Fenris, shoulders shaking.

"What." Fenris's eyes darted between the page and his lover. "Actual... Are you telling me this has her putting... Fasta vass! That's even more disgusting than last week! I will not be using your actual staff for ... this. Or anything like it! Nor would you, I expect. That would be extremely messy to clean up."

Shoulders still shaking, Artie pressed a kiss to Fenris's cheek and tugged a twitching ear. "No, no. I thought we could use some poetic license." He bit his lip around a smirk and gave Fenris a coy look. "What do you say we take this upstairs? You lose the pants, and I'll get the jade wand of ass-destruction."

"As long as it's not _my_ ass..."

* * *

Cullen came into the house with a copy of Kirkwall's weekly broadsheet of bullshit clenched in one hand, and barrelled smack into the cellar door, as Anders threw it open, the same broadsheet clenched in much the same way.

"Door!?" Cullen shouted, batting it back the way it had come, before checking his face for damage.

"Andraste's ass! Cullen! I didn't mean to--" Anders flicked his hand, casting a healing spell before the bruising could even begin. He spotted the rag in Cullen's hand. "Have you seen page six? Because I like page six, but that's just..."

"Just...? _Beyond_ just...!" Cullen's voice was an octave higher than it usually was. "I'd rather a broken nose than... this! Can you heal this? Can you heal my brain and make it so I never read this?"

"Maker, I wish," Anders said, massaging his temple with a thumb. "'The Staff of Violation'. I'll never unsee that, now."

"You don't have to work with either of them," Cullen muttered.

"No, but I have to work in the wake of this! What kind of voice do I have for mages as ... _people_ , when I've got this trash sexualising our oppression?" The paper crinkled in Anders's hand as his fist clenched. "And considering what you and I know actually went on in the Gallows, I find this even more disgusting than usual."

Cullen looked ill. That was, in fact, a great deal worse than having to see that staff every day or wondering what insane designs Meredith would dream up after seeing this. Which she would, he had no doubt. "I think it's a lot less disgusting if it didn't come from inside. And if it did, Meredith's going to find this poor stupid bastard, and I'd rather not consider what happens after that. I might be a little more concerned about her picking the wrong one -- or just picking someone to make an example of. She's big on examples."

"Yes, I've noticed," Anders said, his knuckles white around the crumpled paper. "I don't want someone to end up tranquil because of this... this _drivel_!"

Cullen hoped it wouldn't come to that. "I like to think Meredith isn't quite that... unreasonable," he said. But then, lately he didn't know what to think about Meredith.

"Starkhaven," Anders deadpanned. "I don't know what you know, but the mages in the courtyard talk. If you can find anyone left from Starkhaven's circle, ask them what happened when they got here. If you can find me evidence that it wasn't unreasonable, I'll hear you out, but somebody needs to tell the rest of those mages why three of them were selected seemingly at random, to 'set an example'."

"Blood magic. I can almost guarantee that's what will be in the documentation. Blood magic, consorting with demons, or inciting rebellion. Tranquil or dead?" Cullen asked, trying to remember when the mages from Starkhaven had first arrived. Years, now.

"Dead. Combine that with the fact the Gallows is nearly out of healers, and no one seems to know what happened to them. I think she's rather inclined to demonstrations." An uncomfortable look passed over Anders's face, and the irritation gave way to fear. "Do you remember what happened to that recruit... What was his name, Kerry? Kenan?"

"Keran?" Cullen's expression went blank. "You can't possibly be suggesting that the _Knight-Commander_ is an abomination."

"I don't know," Anders said, throwing his arms out wide. "But we can't rule anything out! While she's being hypervigilant about mages, who's keeping _her_ in line? Elthina?" He'd never poured so much derision into one name, except maybe Alrik's. "Please."

"I am," Cullen said with more confidence than he felt. "Or... well, at least I'm trying to. You know that."

Anders bit his tongue against saying something insulting. Cullen, at least, was a templar trying to help. "That's an awful lot of responsibility," he said carefully. "And how has that been, lately?"

Cullen opened his mouth and closed it again, muttering "Don't say 'horseshit' to the nice Warden, Captain." He looked up at Anders and gave up. "It's horseshit. And you didn't hear me say that. I don't say things like that. The level of horseshit upon horseshit in this city is on my last nerve, and if they didn't have me by the lyrium, I'd be tempted to tell the Knight-Commander where she could stuff this job! And I didn't say that either."

"Your mouth keeps moving, but where are the words?" Anders shrugged and studied a chandelier.

"But, I've seen it, and it's not supposed to be this way. I've read the history. I know the law. And this is not what the Order is for. Nearly none of this is what the Order is for." Cullen unfolded the paper in his hands and smoothed it. "I became a templar for a man who is now my brother. Just as much to protect him as to protect anyone else from him. You should have seen him, Anders. He was so afraid. And fear makes people do foolish things. We're not supposed to fight mages. We're supposed to fight fear. Sometimes that has to end in killing people, unfortunately, but I'm not seeing the deaths here doing that work. I'm not seeing people who feel safe, in or out of the Gallows."

In the back of Anders's mind, Justice paced like a caged tiger, growling his assent. "The thing about fighting fear," he said, "is that people need a symbol to pin that fear on. It's not fair, but it's a fact. You can be afraid of magic and what it can do, but you can't do much about magic, specifically. Mages, on the other hand, are an easier target." He shrugged, shaking his head. "Symbols are important," he said in that muttering-to-himself way he adopted now and then. "What we need is another symbol..."

Cullen sighed, gestured with the crumpled paper still in his hands. "Regardless," he said, "do you have somewhere we could burn these?"

Anders gestured toward the main hall, which contained a fireplace. "We should consider buying as many as we can get our hands on and sinking them in the bay. The tides will pull them out, and the paper's cheap." He paused, standing back from the fireplace and waving Cullen ahead of him. "I meant to ask... there's a mention of 'the glow of her fiery red sword', in here. Is that some metaphorical suggestion of 'swording', or does she actually have a glowing red sword? I've seen her carrying, but I've never seen her draw it."

"She has a completely bizarre sword, yes. She claims it's forged lyrium, and none of us are allowed to touch it, but I've only ever seen lyrium turn _blue_." Cullen shrugged. "I figured it was some trick of the smith's. Obviously dwarven work, if it's got lyrium in it. Why do you ask?"

The blood drained from Anders's face. He'd only seen red lyrium once before, in that Maker-damned idol Bartrand had taken from the Deep Roads. Justice had heard its song, but the notes were different than blue lyrium. He wanted to believe it was a coincidence. "Just curious," he said, gaze distant. "Do you know how long she's had the sword?"

Cullen scratched his chin, thinking back. The last few years had all been a bit of a blur, between the Qunari and Anton... "I... want to say a couple years? I'm not sure, honestly. I do remember seeing it for the first time. Or noticing it. It's this bright, glowy red. Glowy. It glows. Have you ever seen a glowing sword?" There had been a moment where he thought he'd seen the same red glow in Meredith's eyes, but he hesitated saying that.

"I haven't. I've seen some other glowing things, though. As you say, most of them are blue." Anders gestured at the fireplace, not yet willing to comment further on the idea of red lyrium. It was something to mention to Varric, though. "If you want to burn that, we're going to need fire."

"Oh, I thought you could just..." Cullen waved a hand vaguely.

"It's a talent I'm not fond of. I'd rather not." Which really didn't begin to touch on how averse Anders was to fire magic, in non-critical situations, but he thought he should leave out the 'burned down a barn' and 'melted an ancient Tevinter Magister' parts of the story.

"Ah. Right." Cullen gave Anders a curious look but didn't question. Something nagged at his memory, something from Kinloch Hold about Anders and fire. He didn't like poking at those memories and thought it best not to. Instead, Cullen poked around in a pouch at his belt for his fire steel. He laid down the paper in the fireplace, and within minutes it was on fire.

"Well, I feel much better," Cullen said, watching the flames swallow the paper.

Anders wadded up his own copy of the paper and tossed it into the low flame. He hung back from the fireplace, but his eyes never looked away. "How are the chances of Anton subtly removing this issue from existence, before the Knight-Commander ends up with a copy? Does she even read this trash?"

"I don't know if she reads it, but enough of the men do. It'll find her." Cullen shook his head and watched the papers burn. "I was just on my way to see Anton about exactly that, when you hit me with the door."

Anders sighed and watched the shadows of the trees dance across the ceiling. "If you can't find anyone else, I can be conscripted to set things on fire. I'd really rather throw it all in the bay, though. If it'll save lives, I'll burn things. Paper things. Carefully. Fire's usually less suspicious than raining indoors, which is the other plan." He squinted at Cullen. "And those are both terrible plans. I hope Anton's home."


	194. Chapter 194

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anton's got to make a living somehow! Lord Dog plays cards with his ladyfriends and some unfortunate Orlesians.

Anton had been watching Narcisse, all night. The woman was his real opponent, of the three Orlesians at the table. The mask kept her face hidden, and her offhand comments kept the other two Orlesians off balance. Her wins nearly equalled Anton's own, but the real concern was that Serendipity couldn't beat her. Hand after hand, even if they both lost, Narcisse would have the better hand. Anton hadn't had trouble like this since the last time he'd played Isabela for real stakes. Still, four hours in, she was his only real competition.

"Kirkwall..." Narcisse tapped her porcelain cheek. "Léonide, doesn't your cousin have a business venture near here, with some ..." She cleared her throat. " _Fereldan_ lord?"

"I wouldn't know," Léonide insisted, reaching for his drink again -- something exotic with too many fruits around the edge. "Mother says we had cousins, once, but no longer. They're of no concern, wherever they may have ended." But, he knew exactly which cousin and exactly which venture. Hubert had appealed to the still-noble branches of the family for assistance, when he'd originally bid on that mine. That investment would have been worth a great deal, monetarily, by now, if anyone could stand the shame of it.

Anton and Isabela exchanged a look. They maintained their expressions of polite interest but knew they were thinking the same thing: the stakes had just gotten higher.

As Isabela dealt a new hand, Anton smiled and made small-talk. "By the way, my lady, that is a striking mask," he told Narcisse.

Narcisse touched the edge of her mask with a gloved finger. 'Striking' was certainly one word for it, the way it swept up over her head like the wings of a bird. "You have good taste, monsieur," she said, eyes on Izzy's hands as they flit about the table. "I had it commissioned the last time I was in Halamshiral."

"And her face was much improved by it," muttered Gaston as he gathered up his cards. Even through the mask, he could feel the chill of her glare.

"Halamshiral? You've been?" Anton smiled easily, as he picked up his cards. "I heard it was a lovely place, before the Orlesian occupation. How's it looking these days?"

"Oh, you know, as lovely as all of Orlais, but so very full of elves. Never a shortage of servants, I suppose, but it honestly seems excessive." Narcisse cast a few coins into the centre of the table, landing them precisely. Not a one spun or rolled.

"An excess of elves?" Serendipity drawled, tossing one of her rings into the pot. "Goodness, what a dreadful thing! It might actually begin to look like civilisation. I can't possibly imagine."

"Control your whore, Lord Dog. One might begin to suspect he was never told the Maker didn't give him a mouth for _speaking_." Narcisse watched the cards and the bets, paying no further mind to Serendipity's presence.

"Both my ladyfriends have an abundance of talents of the lips and tongues, and both are, as all children of the Maker, given to speaking with those lovely appendages. And both, as freewomen of the City of Kirkwall, have every right to air their judgement in public. Particularly in this building, which I may have neglected to mention belongs to me. Any further questions about the rights and privileges of those present at the table?" Anton's smile was very subtly impolite, as he rearranged his hand and drew. "No? Excellent. Let's carry on, then."

The table fell stonily silent except for the creak of the chairs and the hush of cards sliding against each other. Anton didn't need to look up to know Serendipity was smiling that small, pleased smile of hers.

Léonide drew after Anton, and it was almost sad how easy his disappointment was to read as he looked at the new card. He changed the subject as though nothing had happened. "So what else does one do for entertainment around here?" he asked. "Our visit so far has been dreadfully dull."

"Dreadfully dull?" Isabela asked sweetly. "I think I can relate."

"Angel of Death!" Serendipity declared before anyone could reply. Gaston swore under his breath.

Anton spread his cards on the table. "Four Angels." His hand remained against the bottom of the cards.

Isabela shook her head. "Two Songs, two Serpents." She smiled down at the cards, as if they were in some way better than Anton's.

Gaston just threw his cards on the table, without a word, and Léonide did the same. Serendipity laid out her cards, but they weren't good. Three Daggers and a Song.

"Four Knights," Narcisse declared, spreading her hand. "It appears we have a draw, Dog."

"Another hand, then. Just the two of us?" Anton suggested. "Winner takes all." He removed the heavy golden cuff from his right wrist and set it on the table. "I think that would be fair."

Narcisse didn't smile, didn't react at all. "Yes, it would," she said blithely, setting another pile of coins on the table. "I'll deal."

"Be my guest," Anton said, gathering up the cards at his end of the table and handing them to her. Gaston grumbled more Orlesian into his drink, while the others sat back to watch.

And Anton watched too as she dealt, not her masked face but her hands. Even with the gloves, they were quick and graceful, like a musician's. Anton swept up his cards, fanned them out in his hands. A mediocre hand to start with, but he'd expected as much.

Anton drew first, his face a mask of polite calm, and ducked the Serpent he drew next to the one he'd been dealt.

Serendipity watched Narcisse's hands, scratching a quick assessment against the side of Anton's thigh. "Perhaps you'd play better without the distraction of _your_ whores ogling your sausage-wrapped bosom."

"I left my whores back at the brothel, where they belong. Prostitutes and business don't mix." There was a flash of a fifth card in Narcisse's hand and Anton traced a pattern against the table with one of the coins in front of him.

"One of these strapping gentlemen is your son, isn't he?" Isabela asked, batting her eyes at Gaston.

"Mmm, and his _charming_ young friend." Who was, with that inflection, anything but.

"Your son?" Serendipity asked, eyes darting between Gaston and Narcisse, pointedly. "You could have fooled me. I was certain I'd only seen looks like that at work."

Anton spun a sovereign into the pot, eyebrows raised in challenge, even as his eyes never left his cards.

"Looks of what?" Gaston sneered. "Derision?"

"Mm, I imagine you would get those kinds of looks at work," Narcisse said. She laid another coin on the table, a sovereign to match Anton's.

"You're welcome to believe what you like, sweetie," Serendipity replied, her smile wide and unfriendly. "Whatever helps you sleep at night with whatever you have under that mask."

Narcisse's hand paused for the barest fraction of a second as she plucked up another card. Isabela's foot tapped against Anton's ankle three turns. Anton tossed another pair of sovereigns into the pot.

"Have you, perhaps, considered wearing one, whore?" Narcisse replied. "You might do better business." She matched Anton's bet, and the game continued.

"Ah, perhaps that would save on the exhaustion of the wrist from waving off the unworthy and the poor. A little mystery might drive off those unwilling to take a chance, who might otherwise have been drawn in by my delightful features." Serendipity smiled easily. "Perhaps I'll try it. I could use that wrist for better things."

Léonide barely avoided choking on his drink, as Serendipity's toes slid up under the leg of his trousers.

"What about you, young and ... charming? You look handsome, rich, and daring." Serendipity went on, chattering like a magpie, layering on the flirtations as she watched cards and coin move across the table.

Anton drew two cards, instead of one, and the second disappeared into his sleeve. He held the Angel. The game would end when he wanted it to. The third Serpent went next to the other two, and he discarded the Knight, as he bet again.

Léonide looked as much in danger of choking on his tongue as choking on his drink. He squirmed a bit away from Serendipity, leg pulling away from her toes. "I... don't think a mask would suit you," he said, prompting an eye-roll from Narcisse.

"Oh, really?" Serendipity purred, shifting closer again. "You don't think I should cover my face then? No 'aura of mystery' for you? Just my naked skin?"

Léonide tugged at his collar.

The pile of coins grew higher in little towers of gold as the deck shrank. Anton was beginning to wonder if she had the other Serpent, and he knew he'd have to lay down the Angel before the deck disappeared. His eyes met Narcisse's over their hands, and he smiled sweetly, tossing one more coin into the mix.

"The Angel of Death!" Narcisse crowed, hand flicking a card onto the table.

"That's very interesting." Anton's smile could have frozen a salt lake. He reached out and picked up the remaining cards, his Angel -- actually from this deck -- sliding back into place as he spread the deck across the table. "Two Angels of Death in this deck... Who would have thought it?"

"How-- How would you know?" Gaston sputtered. "You must have been cheating!"

"Of course I was," Anton admitted. "I stacked the deck. I knew exactly where that card would be, which means that isn't it, and this is."

"So you admit to cheating!" Narcisse crowed.

"I do," Anton said, still with that chilling smile. "I stacked the deck so I could catch _you_ cheating, as I suspect you've been doing all night."

"You dare accuse--" Gaston said, half-rising out of his seat, thick neck red with pique. 

"That wasn't an accusation," Anton replied, folding his hands on the table. He knew Isabela had one hand on a knife already. "Merely a statement of fact. Or do you want to convince me this _wasn't_ cheating?" He gestured at the two Angels of Death. "Because, please, I would so love to hear your argument, _monsieur_."

Léonide was quick to interject. "They are Fereldan! What were you trying to prove?"

"I'm not Fereldan," Serendipity pointed out.

"Rivaini," Isabela volunteered. "But, _he's_ Fereldan, our Lord Dog is."

"It was in the way you moved the cards," Anton said, leaning back. "Five cards in a four card hand? A high hand every round? The way one other exceptional player at this table could never draw more than a middling hand by the end of a round? No, that's not just luck, and this is the proof."

"And I'm just to trust this second card didn't make an appearance when you picked up the deck?" Narcisse sounded outraged.

Isabela took both Angels and flipped them over, keeping them far apart on the table. "Your Angel. Lord Dog's Angel." She drew another card and placed it face down between them. "It's close, but it's not the same deck."

"Preposterous," Narcisse sniffed. "I have never been so insulted--"

"And yet I guarantee you you are not half as insulted as I am," Anton said, and that smile was finally gone. "I welcome you into my establishment. You insult my friends. You insult my home. And now you insult me by trying to swindle me and thinking I wouldn't notice." Narcisse opened her mouth to speak, but Anton continued, addressing his next question to Serendipity. "How sad is it that a trio of so-called noblemen stoop to these levels?"

"Terribly sad," Serendipity replied, shaking her head. She reached across the table to put her hand on Narcisse's arm. "Are you having trouble financially?" she asked, all concern. "If you need help, you could have just asked." Narcisse wrenched her arm away. 

"Don't touch me, whore," Narcisse hissed.

"A terrible thing when the prostitutes have better manners than the nobility, but I so frequently find that to be the case." Isabela smiled a little too sweetly. "Royalty, on the other hand, is a whole other matter."

"What matter are the manners of self-proclaimed queens?" Gaston inquired, chin still held high. "Just another of this doglord's whores, in the end."

"You sailed out of Val Royeaux, didn't you?" Isabela asked. "Good luck sailing back in."

"Oh, indeed," Serendipity chimed in. "It's pirate season. You might consider going overland, at a time like this."

"Ah, but overland, you've got the Carta. Nothing's safe, these days!" Anton sighed. "But that the world were a kinder, more polite place, and there were no need for the like of me, to uncover its grotesque underbelly." He smiled and claimed the coins in the centre of the table. "But, alas, it's not, and here I am. And you cheated, so the house takes the pot. Merelinde?"

An elegantly dressed elven woman appeared at his side. "We are a table of cheats, this evening. Get the bucket."

"But--!" Narcisse sputtered, gloved hands making an aborted move for her coins. Anton's coins. "But you cheated too! This is--! You can't just--!" 

"Mère, let it go," Gaston said, eyeing Isabela and the knife she was now using to clean under her fingernails. "I told you we shouldn't play with dog-lords."

"That's _Lord Dog_ ," Anton reminded him as he took the bucket from Merelinde. He thanked her and started sweeping away his winnings. "And what you shouldn't play with is this." He plucked up the second Angel of Death -- Narcisse's -- and dropped it in front of her. "But thank you for your patronage."


	195. Chapter 195

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carver discovers some interesting features of the garden. Unrelatedly, Artemis is offered a delightful wedding gift.

Cormac was once again at his desk, surrounded by notes and rough line-drawings. A map of the city was tacked to the wall above it, some streets traced out in blue. Obviously not the mine's finances, this time. "That doesn't make sense," he muttered, looking at another map in his hands, with red and blue lines that ran down slightly different paths than the streets in the first map. "Why would there be..."

There was a tap on his shoulder, and he turned his head right into Carver's fist. "Congratulations. That's my shield. Are you ever going to stop trying?"

"I'll stop trying when you stop being an ass!" Carver said. "So likely no." He shook out his hand, flexing his fingers.

"That'll be never. You can punch me when I'm dead, assuming the Fade will let you near my corpse." Cormac turned back around and went back to measuring lines and muttering about alignments, for a moment. "What did our brother do this time, that you imagine I'm to blame for? More elves? Terrible rumours about liaisons on the docks? Terrible rumours about Isabela? I can promise you the last one's not true at all."

"It's not about Artie!" Carver snapped, circling to lean over Cormac's desk. "Or at least it better not be. It's about your disgusting...!" Carver gestured at the window as he sputtered. "Your disgusting _lawn furniture_! I've sat on those benches, Cormac!" He looked a bit green in the face at the thought.

"Then you want to punch Anton, not me. That's his lawn furniture. And it's extremely comfortable, for being made of marble." Cormac looked up, entirely confused. "Why do you want to punch me over Anton's extremely comfortable lawn furniture?" He thought he might have a suspicion, but the very idea of it was so terrible he elected to spare himself.

Carver punched Cormac's shield again. "You know why!" he said. "I know you know why! And I know you probably use -- ugh!" His face twisted in disgust. "This is why I'm glad I don't live here anymore."

"Andraste's ass, Carver, stop that before you break another knuckle." Cormac sighed and made another note with grid coordinates and a glyph. "Do you really think any of us would let that go uncleaned? It's marble, for the Maker's sweet sake. It's no filthier than if pigeons shit on it -- which is a concern with any outdoor furniture, and I've never seen you complain about that, even when it hasn't been cleaned." He dipped his quill again and drew another tiny glyph on the map. "Oh no, Anton's extremely comfortable lawn furniture could be put to other uses. It's _Anton_. Did you really expect anything less from the man who's been keeping company with prostitutes since he was ten? And yes, I know what it's for. I paid for it. And if the flowers in the rest of the garden weren't warning enough, I don't know whose son you are, because you're not mum's."

"Well maybe I am adopted then," Carver said, throwing up his arms. "Artie tried to convince me of it often enough. Maybe it's true! And it's not just about cleanliness -- Andraste's tits, Cormac! If you and Anton are both using it, then... ugh." He shook his head, stepped back to pace around the carpet, swearing under his breath. He was tempted to say something else, something about Cormac and one of their brothers, but that was likely to get _him_ punched. "I didn't need to find out about this. I _definitely_ didn't need to find out about this from my girlfriend!"

"Oh, has she been making use of the furniture as well? I thought I saw her out in the garden with Isabela and Bethy, the other day. Figured they were just showing Izzy some more of those tricks from the wedding. Were you there for that part? That was great. We blamed it all on Anders." Cormac looked up and shook his head. "Cullen -- your boss -- smiling at magic. Completely incredible. Maybe smiling a little less when his mum wandered into the back garden with the seneschal, though. I've heard she also approves of the comfortable lawn furniture. I'm assuming that's in its usual comfortable state, rather than any of the exciting states." He paused. "And if Anton and I are both using it _what_ , Carver? Anton and I were both availing ourselves of Isabela, too."

"Augh, another thing I don't need to remember." This was just getting worse the longer he stayed. Before Cormac could say anything else, could make any other excuses or gross him out more, Carver planted another solid punch against his shield, just on principle. "And now, I'm going to pretend like that..." He pointed out the window, towards the gardens. "...doesn't exist. I'm going to pretend those benches are benches. Benches I will never use, thank you." Carver threw up his hands, shaking his head as though trying to rid himself of the thought, and stormed for the door.

"Those benches are very comfortable lawn furniture from a set that cost me half a year's take from the mine, and you're _welcome_ , Carver!" Cormac hollered after him, before returning to his work. Those channels had to lead somewhere...

"Fuck you, Cormac!" Carver hollered back without pausing or turning around.

* * *

* * *

Cormac was engaged in a further analysis of several tattered notes and maps of Kirkwall. He'd gone back up into the mountains with his sister and Varric, the week before, to copy down the dwarven inscriptions outside that infernal Warden fortress, and he was still waiting for further analysis to come back from the Merchant Guild's scholars. Hopefully, someone would be able to identify the thaig the inscriptions were connected to, but so much of dwarven history had been lost to the darkspawn.

Principally, though, there was something very wrong with this part of the Marches. Demons and worse on Sundermount. Something unspeakable bound through dwarven blood magic (and that was still a terrifying thought) a little deeper into the Vimmarks. Streets laid out in runic patterns in Kirkwall. Channels that looked like small sewers, at a glance, but didn't actually connect to the sewers. And that room full of centuries-old Tevinter books that Anders had turned up in Darktown, the month before. And someone else had begun to connect the same dots, at some point, according to the notes he'd found. Something was deeply wrong with Kirkwall and everything around it.

He was trying to determine where the not-a-sewers would have come up, on the surface, assuming they had surface inlets, at some point, when Bodhan knocked to let him know he had a visitor. Fenris wanted to see him.

"Bring him in. I wanted his opinion on this book, anyway," Cormac said, putting up his quill and reaching for one of the books Anders had brought up from below.

"Hello... mage," Fenris greeted him, trailing off distractedly when he saw the mess of books and parchment spread out over Cormac's desk. His stare caught on a few Tevene words, his eyes narrowing, before he finally looked at Cormac. "Are you busy? This can wait if you are."

"Nothing that hasn't already waited a few centuries." Cormac shrugged and handed a book to Fenris. "At some point, I'd like your opinions on that book. I don't read Tevene, but Anders read it and translated some of the important parts for me. I'm not going to tell you what he told me, because I don't want you going into it with any expectations. I honestly suspect it's non-fiction, but with a book that old, who can be sure?" He pushed a map of Darktown out of the way and sat on the edge of the desk, kicking the chair out so Fenris could sit. "What do you need me for?"

Fenris sat, setting the book in his lap, fingers drumming along the cover. One ear twitched as he considered his words. "I understand that you are planning Artemis's bachelor party. I was wondering what you had planned so far." That was a safe enough place to start, he suspected. 

"I've offered a bounty on anything leading me to more elven strippers. Jethann's in. I've got three twenty-somethings from the alienage who are just looking for a good time and easy money. Mahariel's offered, of course, and you _know_ what he wants to be paid in." Cormac laughed. "I made sure the Rose is ours for a full day, to account for any drunks who'll need to sleep it off, after, including Artie. I know he's going for an afternoon ceremony, just for that reason. And because you're distracting. His words. Anders is not allowed to drink, and we all agree on that." He counted things off on his fingers. "I made sure there would be more food than Anton managed, just in case. Anton's working on musicians and other performers. Don't stand too close to the jugglers. I promise they're all pickpockets. Why? Did you have something else in mind?"

"I... might have had a thought," Fenris admitted, a smirk curling his lips as he sat back. "A thought that would fit in well with what you already have planned, namely with the... elves and alcohol that will already be there." He cleared his throat, both ears twitching now. "You and I both know he's attracted to Jethann. Perhaps, to start, we could pay for more than a show...? And maybe not just with Jethann." His eyebrows arced as he let Cormac fill in a few of the blanks.

"Jethann will be thrilled. You know he's been eyeing Artie since we lived in Lowtown. Anders will be less thrilled, but I'll sit on Anders. Mahariel's in, without question. I don't even have to ask. I suppose we should make some arrangement for entertainment for his wife. Did you have anyone else in mind, or do you think the two will be enough?" Cormac didn't even think to question the idea that his brother wanted to get naked with more elves than just Fenris, the night before they got married. It seemed like a perfectly Artie thing to desire, right back to the first time they ever laid eyes on Mahariel.

"Actually," Fenris said, ears just shy of vibrating, "I was thinking a higher number. And perhaps a few of Anders's potions." His brows knit then, and he looked suddenly uncertain. "Or am I wrong in thinking that Artemis would enjoy that? I want to give him anything he could possibly desire. Or anyone, I suppose, in this case."

"Then we're going to want to involve Anders, at least to have a look at anyone who's even considering getting involved. That's not optional. This is my brother," Cormac said, with a shrug. "This is your idea? Not his? I'm ... a little surprised. Sounded just like something he'd come up with, but we should probably warn him. At least so he understands it's part of the plan, and you're not going to get bent out of shape about someone other than you or Mahariel sitting in his lap. We'll have to arrange a room, I suspect, but I'm sure we can just co-opt Jethann's. Unless he's got an interest in something a little less entirely private, in which case I'm going to have to rethink a corner of the main room. But, you definitely have to tell him. You can't spring this on him. He'll have a heart attack."

Fenris nodded, fiddling with the book in his hands. "I... yes, I'd rather not have him die of shock the day before our wedding," he said, looking down at Cormac's feet. "We could, perhaps, suggest it to him and see his reaction? He is more used to, er, such suggestions coming out of _your_ mouth, I think. And I plan to be an... active participant anyway. There is a reason I suggested a _few_ potions." He frowned up at Cormac. "Now when you say 'involve Anders'..."

"Hey, if he wants Anders, that's between the two of them. I just meant _as a healer_." Cormac noticed something on the Darktown map next to him and glanced at the map of Kirkwall on the wall behind him, before grabbing his quill and marking something on the Darktown map. "That we need a healer is a non-negotiable point. Twice as non-negotiable if Jethann hasn't already seen Anders that week." He paused and put up the quill again, muttering something about patterns. "You want me to suggest it to him? I'll do it, but I think we should both be there, and he should be... er, distracted. You know how he gets when he's got room to consider the extended implications of things. He'll talk himself out of it, even if he wants it."

Fenris hummed in agreement, smiling softly. "Yes, I am familiar with Artemis," he said.

* * *

Cormac knelt on the floor, with Artemis's back pressed to his chest. His hips kept a slow, steady pace of long thrusts, one hand holding Artie's hip and the other gently squeezing Artie's throat. Further in front of them, Fenris sprawled across the floor, busying his mouth with Artie's inner thighs.

"What do you think, my beloved lord of joy? Do we need more elves to satisfy your perverse cravings? Maybe your darling Mahariel? Perhaps Jethann? Both of them at once?" Cormac decided to build up the fantasy before suggesting that he and Fenris had a way to make it real.

Fenris grinned against Artemis's skin as he felt his mage shiver. "Maker, Cormac," Artemis breathed, one hand clutching Cormac's thigh. 

"I wouldn't mind watching that," Fenris rumbled, nuzzling at Artie's knob. He hadn't quite perfected Cormac's kind of dirty talk, but he could nudge Artie in the right direction. "Jethann's a prick, but he's easy on the eyes."

He felt Artemis's stomach tremble in a soft laugh. "He is," Artemis agreed, voice breathy. "Both things."

"And with Mahariel?" Fenris prompted when Artie started to fall into incoherency again.

"Yes," Artemis groaned. "Maker, yes."

Cormac ground in deep and hard. "What if I make that happen for you? A wedding present. What if I find you a fine assortment of elven gentlemen and a few of those liquid Warden potions, hmm? And you can spend the night before the wedding stretched out and enjoying elven culture. Would that please you, little brother?" He made a warm sound right behind Artemis's ear.

A whimper caught in Artemis's throat, both at Cormac's words and at that marvellous thing Fenris was currently doing with his tongue. He floated between the pleasure here and the imagined pleasure Cormac was describing, and he gripped Cormac's thigh tighter. "Oh yes! Maker, yes!" he panted.

"It's yours, Artemis. I'll make it happen for you -- make the happiest night of your life even happier. Tell me who you want, and I'll see who's interested. I know the Rose has picked up a few more elves, over the years. What do you think, my sweet young god? Two or three at a time, in Jethann's enormous bed? Or maybe you'd like it better in the middle of the party. Maybe you should wear robes and just... enjoy the company. Can you imagine that? Chatting with Aveline and Cullen, with Theron buried in you like I am now?" Cormac kept up the patter, putting more perverse and dangerous ideas in Artie's head. If nothing else, talking him into a terrible idea now meant he'd probably be inclined to trust himself with a less terrible idea, once he came back down.

Fenris could tell how much Artemis enjoyed these ideas from the way his thighs trembled, from the needy, choked off sounds that fell from his lips. 

"Oh, Maker, please," Artemis groaned, and Fenris purred his approval around Artie's knob. "Please, please. With you -- both of you -- watching me." Artie's sentences disintegrated into single words: 'please', 'Maker', 'Cormac', and 'Fenris'. Fenris felt the floor tremble beneath him, and he smiled around his fiancé, soothing a hand down his thigh.

"Oh, I won't take my eyes off you," Cormac promised, feeling the vibrations shiver up through his bones. "And when it's all done, when you're fucked raw and there's not a drop left in you, I'll lick you clean." That thought was all that had been missing, and between that, the shaking floor, and the way Artemis clenched around him, he was done for. He pressed himself as close against Artie's back as he could get, panting against the curve of neck into shoulder, and with one raw shout, he spilled into his brother's warm body.

Artemis was already shuddering, spilling across Fenris's tongue even as his brother spilled into him. He was still murmuring gibberish, sweat beading at his temples. Fenris and Cormac's hands were the only things keeping him upright.

"Oh, Maker," Artie breathed as his heartbeat slowed, one hand stroking back Fenris's hair. "You two will be the death of me."

Fenris grinned and pressed a kiss to Artemis's hip. His mage didn't know the half of it yet.


	196. PART XXXVIII: DOWN IN THE UNDERGROUND

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen is assigned an unusual task. Anders drags his favourite mages into the Undercity in search of a book.

"Ser Cullen! A word." Meredith closed the door behind her as she came in. As usual, Cullen looked overworked and exhausted, the piles of paper on his desk keeping him right where she wanted him, since these unfortunate rumours of him defending mages began. Still, she began to wonder if it wasn't all part of some campaign to discredit him, given what she'd found in the bottom of her wardrobe, the other day. She held those pages rolled in her fist.

"I have heard some dreadful rumours of late, and I suspect there may be a campaign to discredit you and all you have done for the Order. I have discovered evidence of some particularly disquieting accusations regarding your husband."

Cullen sat back, trying not to look as concerned as he felt. This wasn't about Anton's cardplaying, was it? Or -- Maker forbid -- the rest of his mage siblings? That was it, wasn't it? Meredith had found out about Bethany and Artemis too, and now she was going to shuttle the whole family off to the Gallows. "And... what accusations are these?" he asked carefully.

"This was left in my office. Planted, I believe." Meredith slammed down the wad of papers she'd been holding. Cullen reached for them warily, unfurling the pages. He read the first line, and his ears turned pink.

Oh Maker. The Arishok and Anton... Cullen had assumed Anton had taken this. "Disquieting. Yes."

"There have been rumours of you taking all sorts of questionable actions, but I turned them aside, thinking this was not the Ser Cullen I recruited out of Ferelden. And then I find this. Someone dislikes you very much, Knight-Captain." Meredith gave him an inquisitive look, hoping he might list names.

"In any organisation there will be some who think they can do better than those above them. In very few cases are they correct. In no cases in which this sort of ridiculous slander is employed are they correct." Cullen shook his head sadly, sweeping the papers into a drawer of his desk. "I'm afraid I don't know who it might be -- not yet. I might have suggested Ser Loren, but..." He shrugged. "An unfortunate end comes to a man who takes his lyrium rationing into his own hands. I'll see if I can match the writing to anything in these piles."

"I have also heard rumours that similarly disquieting stories may have been circulating with regard to myself. You wouldn't happen to have seen a particular issue of that garbage-rag, The Gazette?" Meredith asked. "I have been attempting to find a copy of the issue in question, but no one can produce it. I suspect that may be entirely false, but I'd like you to keep an eye on that paper for me."

"You don't seriously think I read such trash, do you?" Cullen asked with just the right amount of disgust. He dropped his quill and bent to pick it up, pausing to shoot a glare at Anton who sat crouched under his desk, one hand over his mouth to block out the laughter that was making his shoulders shake. "But I will keep an eye out for you, Knight-Commander," Cullen added as he straightened, replacing the quill on his desk. "I thank you for bringing all this to my attention, and I will check with my husband to see if he knows who would be propagating such rumours."

"Perhaps it is the remaining Qunari who were left behind. Or perhaps someone in the Chantry is again trying to start something. I hope I will not discover any of the mages behind this, but it would be a compelling reason to make the circle a little smaller. We are getting a bit large, here. They're just looking for an excuse to get out of hand." Meredith smiled grimly. "Thank you for looking into this for me, Ser Cullen. Let me know what you uncover."

"Yes, Commander. I'll let you know what I find." Cullen nodded, and Meredith turned away, heading for the door.

She paused in the doorway. "And Ser Cullen? It's not 'take your husband to work' day."

The door closed before he could sputter out a response.

* * *

* * *

Anders led the way down the passage from his clinic, checking the walls every once in a while. "So, to answer the question, do you remember that time those templars got kidnapped and that maleficar tried to get Cormac to stab himself? Well, she tried to apologise and sent Cormac a book written by her equally-crazy master. The one we killed. The one I, er ... Well, let's just say she definitely didn't survive that."

"He means he melted her like that Magister in the mountains," Cormac clarified.

"Not quite that forcefully." Anders actually looked embarrassed by the idea. "So, I tracked down the rest of the books in the set, and they're all ... well, she was possessed, and you can tell. Mad ramblings about power and demons and unleashing the true power of magic upon the world and killing all the templars, blah blah blah. The important thing, though, is that she references an ancient Tevinter book that's... somewhere down here. The book she got all that unwilling abomination stuff from."

"And you want this why?" Merrill asked, thinking it to be very much unlike Anders to intentionally consort with demons.

"Because she might have been all right, if she hadn't found it. It looks like she summoned the demon from the book -- one of the demons from the book -- and fell to its charms, whatever those might have been." Anders knocked on the wall and it made no sound. "I want to get to it before someone else finds it. Justice and I aren't going to be so easy, even if the demon's still standing around guarding the book or something." He stepped back and waved Bethany forward.

"That's not what you think it is," Bethany said, nodding to Cormac, who stepped forward and dispelled the shield easily.

"Interesting combination," Cormac remarked, stepping into the wall. His hand reappeared a few moments later, after a few grunts, with a couple of runes. One more, and the wall stopped looking like a wall. "Light repulsion and an illusion that basically expands whatever it's set into. A wall that's not a wall." He handed the runes to Bethany. "The illusion's a new one. I like it."

"Ooh, that's clever," murmured Artemis, peering at the runes over Bethany's shoulder. "I wonder if Fenris would let me use something like that in the house. Secret passageways, and such. Or maybe I could just set one up and not tell him and wait for the flailing."

Anders shook his head, poking his head past where the wall had been a moment before. "I just hope that ends better than the mage floors. I don't need to reset any more broken bones."

Artie grimaced, rolling the shoulder he'd dislocated on the fall down the stairs.

The not-a-wall led into darkness, which Bethany dispelled with a simple light spell, then to a tunnel and a rickety ladder that led down into more darkness. "Ah. Great," Anders muttered. "I was just thinking we weren't deep enough underground. Glad we're fixing that." Sucking in a breath, Anders led them down the ladder, followed by Bethany's light.

They landed on stone, smooth, cut stone, and Anders looked around to find himself in a tall corridor that put him too much in mind of the Deep Roads.

"This isn't Darktown any more, is it?" Cormac muttered, glancing around. "This looks a whole lot ol--" Flames shot up around him as he took a step further into the room. "Shit! Thank you, Andraste. I needed a reminder of my own mortality." Cormac caught his breath and checked to make sure none of his clothing was smouldering inside the shield. 

"Andraste's tits aflame!" Anders shrieked. "Fire? Really? I'm in a dark, demon-filled hole in the sewer, and now there's _fire_? I don't get paid enough for this. I don't get paid at all. Maybe I'd feel better about this if there were money involved, but I _really fucking doubt it_."

"I'm fine!" Cormac held his hands out. "We're fine. Everybody just back up toward the ladder. Artie? You know what to do." He crouched down and wrapped his arms around his knees, tucking his head down.

Bethany and Artemis drew back, tugging Anders and Merrill with them. "Oh," said Merrill. "I'm glad Artie knows what to do. Artie, what are you doing?"

Artemis fumbled for an explanation as he gathered magic under his fingertips. "Using my brother to set off traps? Anders, you might want to put up a rock shield just in case."

Before Merrill or Anders could comment, Artemis launched a shove at Cormac.

Cormac whooped as he flew across the floor and bounced off the far wall. "Come on, Artie! You don't have to be so gentle!" He laughed as he bounced off the walls again and again, setting off two more traps that seemed a lot older than the first one, judging from the amount of dust that accompanied the spikes. Finally, the shoving stopped and he staggered back to his feet, dizzy and coughing. "And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how the Hawkes clear a room." He took a quick bow and waved everyone forward.

"You are out of your Maker-damned mind," Anders grumbled, healing quick to his fingers as he ran his hands over Cormac. "You do know that, don't you?"

"It's not the first time that's been mentioned. Possibly not even the first time this week." Cormac grinned. "Come on, there's demons. The last thing we need is traps behind us."

"That's very true," Merrill pointed out. "Running away from demons and into traps would be terrible. I wonder if this one -- these ones -- know anything interesting. I know you probably mean to kill them, but can I ask a few questions, first?"

"I'd like to say you'd be safe if we kill them, but don't agree to anything they ask for, in return," Bethany suggested, patting Merrill's shoulder. "Sell them on answering the first question as a gesture of good faith. You'll only get one question from each of them, but you probably won't have to worry about them coming back, because they haven't gotten you to promise anything. It's politics."

"Demon politics," Artemis muttered as he followed them, watching the floor under his feet as he walked, even though he'd already swept it with Cormac. "That's fantastic. Really." He wanted to check Cormac over the way Anders was, but he didn't trust himself to touch his brother in public. Or at least in front of someone who wasn't Anders or Fenris.

Once Anders made sure Cormac was in one piece, he led them down the hall, footsteps echoing on stone. He tugged at the door he found at the end of the corridor, frowning when it didn't budge. "Hm. Maybe we should have brought Anton," he said, jostling it enough to see that it was locked, not stuck.

"Not Anton," Bethany was quick to say. "He'd pee on something and make it worse. Izzy, maybe."

"Ooh, Izzy would have been fun," Merrill agreed.

Artemis exchanged a look with Cormac and sighed. "All right, step back," he said, waving everyone aside.

"Are you going to use Cormac to knock down the door too?" Anders asked wryly even as he stepped back.

Artie was about to refuse outright. Then he gave Cormac a speculative look, only to shake his head and say, "No. I don't need to use my brother as a battering ram. Not this time." He waited until everyone was back a suitable distance and gathered a similar spell under his fingers. He put more power into this shove, pushed the magic outward from the core of his gut, and the door tore off its hinges. Or, rather, the door tore off _with_ its hinges.


	197. Chapter 197

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yet more throwing Cormac at things that might be trapped!

"Everything knows we're coming, now!" Cormac said, cheerily. "Me first!" He winked at Anders and ran down the hall, only to turn around at  the far end and run back along the other side. "I've got walking corpses following me!" he shouted, putting on a burst of speed to bring him back to the doorway long before anything could catch up. Still, the hall began to fill with shambling corpses.

"Artie? Why don't you take Anders and step to the left. About a door's width to the left. Anders, go adore my brother for a minute. You don't want to see this." Cormac waited until they'd both stepped aside, before he lit most of the length of the hall on fire and brought up a barrier that blocked the doorway, while it burned.

Bethany applauded. "Well done!"

"I figured I should see if the problem would solve itself, if I applied a little assistance." Cormac shrugged and stood back, watching the corpses break down under the flames.

Anders saw the glow of fire reflect off the wall, off Artie's skin, but Artemis smiled and distracted him with some terrible jokes. When the fires burned themselves out, Artemis nodded and told him he could turn back around. Anders saw the charred bones, still smouldering, and offered Cormac a weak smile. This had been his idea, hadn't? Coming down here? Maker, but sometimes his ideas were terrible...

Bethany looked more closely at the bones as she stepped over them. She didn't recall undead shambling around the other books. "There is definitely some old magic here," she said, more intrigued than worried. Artie looked worried enough for them both.

Merrill stepped into the hall, examining the walls under the char marks. "It looks very old, in here. Old like the ruins on the mountain, but not in the same style."

"It's probably Tevinter construction," Anders pointed out. "Kirkwall was originally a Tevinter city, and a lot of the old city appears to have been underground, although there are no records or maps of what's down here."

"Either the slaves or the Chantry. They both went on book-burning binges, when the city was sacked," Cormac reminded him. "And that's another reason it's so important to find not just this book, but anything that's down here. There's history that probably only exists down here."

"Still feels like a dungeon," Anders complained, kicking a bone into the next room. It echoed, but nothing else responded.

"When it's ours to do with as we choose, I'll get you some of those fungus-lights from Orzammar. It'll be less terrible, which is really the best you're going to get, down here." Cormac tipped his head, to pop his neck, before crouching down in the doorway again. "Let's not take chances, hm? Give it a little spin, this time, Artie!"

Anders looked like he wanted to argue, only to break off mid-syllable, shaking his head in defeat.

"Why do I have a feeling they do this a lot?" Merrill asked, turning to Bethany, brows tilted in concern.

Bethany sighed. "You have no idea."

They watched Artemis launch Cormac into the room, air rushing past them. Cormac spun and bounced around the room, shield glowing blue each time it hit a wall or a pillar. Bethany leaned in towards Merrill. "They knocked over a fruit stall doing that once. Well. Less knocked over and more tore apart. There were chunks of watermelon everywhere."

"Aaand then we left town the next day," Artemis said. "Dad was, er... not happy."

"Not happy, he says." Cormac slammed into another wall and spun out across some yet-untouched tiles. "I think it would be more accurate to sa--" He shrieked and threw a barrier as the spikes slammed down from the ceiling. The metal bent outward, but the sudden stop did Cormac no favours. "Okay! I'm fine! It's fine! Just a little ... I was expecting _fire_ , not ... that!" Blood dribbled down his face, soaking into his beard.

Anders took a step forward, looking like he meant to run to check on Cormac, but Bethany grabbed his arm and Cormac cast a barrier over the two of them.

"Don't do it! Don't get any closer! We're not done!" After a few deep breaths, Cormac lowered his own barrier. "And now, the rest of that. _Spikes_. Who the shit puts _spikes_ in a place like this?" He arranged himself for more impacts. "Let's do this quickly. I might not have had to whiz, before, but I sure do after that... I promise not to pee on any demons."

Artie readied more force magic, though he looked a bit pale. "You all right?" he asked. "Do you want healing first?" He was leaning on the balls of his feet, ready to spring forward if Cormac needed him. 

"No. No, it's just a little blood. It'll wait. I'm not stopping every time we hit something." Cormac shook his head. "I'll fix it when we're done."

"And then I'll smack you both for being this insane," Anders muttered. "Watching this is taking years off my life." Bethany patted his arm.

Shaking his head, Artie gathered his magic again and sent Cormac flying, though with less speed than last time. "Next time, let's just bring Anton," he called out to his spinning brother.

"Izzy," Bethany corrected.

"Varric?" Merrill suggested.

"Varric," Artie agreed with a nervous laugh as he watched Cormac. "He doesn't try to grope me. As much."

Cormac set off two more less-terrifying magical traps, before he was returned to the centre of the room. "We don't need no stinking rogues!" he announced, standing up and promptly falling on his ass. "I could do this all day!" Stretching out along the floor, he pressed his green-glowing hands to his face and waited for the room to stop spinning and the blood to stop dripping into the back of his throat.

"Clear?" Anders asked, shoving at the barrier around him with his foot.

"Clear!" The reply was muffled by Cormac's hands, but he finally remembered to let go of the other barrier.

Anders's magic crossed the room ahead of him, and by the time he got to Cormac, the puddle of mage was looking more like a mage and less like a puddle. "This is a terrible idea, and I don't like it."

"It's a fucking great idea, and you sound like my dad." Cormac laughed and stretched an arm up. "Help me up. We've got places to go, demons to displease."

"That's not the first time a Hawke has compared me to your dad," Anders said, taking Cormac's hand and hoisting him to his feet. "Should I be concerned?" His hands steadied Cormac's shoulders.

"It _is_ a fucking terrible idea," Artemis muttered as he trotted over. "That's why we had it." Lips pursed, he reached at his belt for a scrap of cloth and, steadying Cormac's face with one hand, dabbed at the blood. He scowled at the blood congealing in Cormac's beard.

"I think that's the best you're going to get it, Artie," Bethany said, poking him in the ribs and pulling his arm away. "I'm sure Cormac will make more of a mess before we're done."

"Great," Artie muttered, folding up the bloodied cloth into a neat square.

"It'll be fine, Artie. We'll mop the floor with whatever's between us and the book, and then I will give the book to Anders and the two of you can pour water on me until I'm sufficiently clean. Just don't rain on me, yet. I can't move right in wet robes. It's horrible." Cormac kissed his own thumb and pressed it between Artie's eyebrows. "Hang onto that for me. I have to do this hallway."

"Uh, hello?" Anders held his hands out, expectantly, until Cormac pulled him down into a long, heated kiss, in front of the rest of the mages. Anders just stood there, dazed and gaping, as Cormac sauntered into the hall.

"Artie? Make sure we don't have a problem if something bursts into flame, yeah?" Cormac made his way down the hall, sweeping a foot in front of him, before every step.

"You'd think that 'something bursting into flames' would already qualify as a problem," Artemis said, shaking his head at his brother. "But sure."

"Different kind of problem," Bethany said, reaching up to close Anders's mouth for him. "But at least Cormac isn't being used as a projectile for the moment."

"We haven't found the book yet," Anders replied, finally finding his head. "There's still time."

They waited at the end of the hall, breaths held, as Cormac scoured the hall. For a moment, it seemed like the hall was trap-free until Cormac got to the bend, foot sinking on a pressure-plate. The air around him began to swirl, and after a moment's pause, he came running back up the hall, barely ahead of a cloud. "Back! Back, back, back! Raining now would be good! I don't know what it is, but I got it on me!"

"Really?" Anders asked, calling up a small storm and feeding it into the hall to weigh down the gas. "You don't have something for this?"

"Why do you think the dog isn't allowed in my room?" Cormac snarled, mostly out of breath, as he cleared the doorway, now dripping wet. "More water."

Merrill raised a very small, very intense storm, just over Cormac's head, thoroughly drenching him in a matter of seconds. "Better?"

"Thanks." Cormac wrung out his sleeves and stared down the hall. "Well, that just put a crimp in my day."

Artemis bit his tongue against the obvious joke, about the water putting 'a crimp in his hair' when it dried. He hoped that, maybe, Cormac would be distracted enough not to notice that his hair was wet, and Anders would finally get to... experience Cormac's hair.

"I could slide you across the floor again," Artie suggested. "Use you as a mop. That would make _my_ day."

"Can we please not bounce Cormac around again?" Anders sighed. "I'd rather not be healing his bruises for the rest of _my_ day."

"Stuck here until that finishes settling," Cormac muttered, flicking his hand and freezing the water out of his robe a few times, sheets of ice crashing to the floor. Thankfully, the floor seemed to have been made in such a way that the water sank into the crevices between the stones fairly quickly.

"Books," Anders reminded him. "Books that are irreplaceable and might be on the floor. The floor that is probably now wet."

"Well, you only ran the water down to the bend, right? There's a whole other hall, down there. It's not right into a room." Cormac swept his hair out of his face and wrung it.

"It's water, Cormac. It's not just going to sit there and wait for us to walk through it."

"No, it's not, but..." Merrill pointed at the floor. 

Cormac froze his robe a few more times and then warmed it until it started to steam. "Shields," he said, to Bethany's moderately concerned look. "Still, we should probably get in there and take a look. I'm still first, because let's not be more stupid than we already are. It's safe to follow me in as far as that bend, I think."

Artemis followed close behind Cormac, still watching his feet just in case, avoiding the cracks in the stone the water seeped into. The others trailed after, Anders close to the brothers just in case. Around the bend, they let Cormac trail ahead to sweep the floors again, and Merrill readied another storm spell just in case.

"Fire, spikes, gas..." Anders shook his head. "Whoever left those traps was taking nothing for granted."

Next to him, Merrill nodded, teeth worrying her lip. "Someone clearly doesn't want anyone finding this book. Or... well, getting into the place the book is. There might be other things beside the book, other things this person didn't want us to find."

"My money's on the book," Anders replied. Because that's how his luck was.

No traps went off by the time Cormac made it to the end of the hall, and the rest of the mages followed, heading for another darkened doorway. Anders flicked a wisp into the room, ahead of them, the faint glow illuminating the fact that the place had already been stripped down, except for what looked like a pedestal of some kind, on the far side.

"Shit," Anders sighed.

"Me again," Cormac muttered, stepping forward. This time was much less exciting. There was nothing to hit, and he was just a bit dizzy, by the time his brother stopped throwing him around. "I don't like it," he said, standing up. "That's too much effort for it to suddenly be clear. Something in here is trapped. It's just not the floor."

"Well, you're the obvious choice for groping the furniture until we find what we want, aren't you?" Bethany smiled cheerily at Cormac. "Don't worry. The worst you could do is summon a demon."

"I'd rather not." Cormac rubbed his face and looked at the ceiling for a moment.


	198. Chapter 198

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demons. Why is it always demons?

"Well, at least we've found the book," Merrill said. She gestured at the pedestal, where a tome lay open, as though someone had just set it down for a minute, planning to pick it up the next. From here she could see charts, drawings, words filling the pages. She should have a closer look, she decided, only to look down and realise that she was already halfway across the room. "Oh," Merrill said, throwing her arms out as the room seemed to rock. It stilled again when she looked back at the book.

Bethany frowned, hooking a hand in Artemis's collar and holding him in place when he started creeping towards the book too. His eyes had that same glazed sheen as Merrill's.

"Mm?" Artie turned his head sluggishly to look at Bethany.

"I think I found our trap," Bethany said. She tried to hoist Artie back, but he didn't budge. Right. Force magic. She hated that, sometimes.

"What?" Anders turned around and eyed Artemis, before following his gaze... to the book. "Oh, the book..." He hurried across the room.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Cormac cast the barrier with his eyes on Anders's feet. "Three mages down. That's not just any lure, is it?" He cast another barrier as Merrill started to drift back toward the book, still facing the wrong way to get a solid look at it, himself. "If I hold them, can you solve that problem? I'd have to get close enough to pick it up, I think, and that's much too late."

"You're going to lose Anders, if I try," Bethany pointed out. "Hopefully, it won't matter, but..."

"But, don't lose the healer. Right." Cormac rubbed his face. "Well, he's not going to get far.... Anyway, if you hit him with it, isn't that going to _help_?"

"You're assuming I can do anything with it." Bethany shrugged. "If that's not just something the last mage who touched it put on it, we might be dealing with something way beyond either of us."

"And we're the last mages standing, so it's up to us." Cormac readied another barrier. "Do it. If I lose my grip, it's only going to be a couple of seconds."

Bethany nodded. It was awkward casting with one hand, the hand holding her staff, but she managed it.

"I don't understand what the big deal is," Artie rambled, eyes still on the book as Bethany's hand twisted. "It's a book. Weren't we after the book?"

The spell hit, and he stopped talking, finally blinking. The barriers fell, and Anders and Merrill took compulsory steps forward only to stop, rocking back on their heels. "Huh," said Anders, looking around. He didn't remember walking over here. He couldn't tell if the uneasiness twisting his gut belonged to Justice or himself. Or to both of them. This close to the book, the air was thick with... 'evil' was the only word that came to mind. It seeped into his skin, made it crawl and itch, and Anders stopped himself from scratching at his skin the way Artemis did when he was agitated.

"Can I let you go now?" Bethany asked Artie, one hand still fisted in his collar. "Or should I have asked Fenris if I could borrow his leash?"

Artie's ears and cheeks burned red. "You can let go," he mumbled, staring down at the floor. He didn't dare look directly at the book again, not after that. Bethany nodded and eased her fingers out of his tunic, pausing to smooth over the fabric she had crinkled.

"Well," said Merrill with a nervous laugh, "that was interesting."

"Okay, that was exciting." Cormac glanced around, still without turning around. "So, one of us should probably get the book. That's probably me. Anders, make sure it doesn't ... do that again, would you please? I can handle most things it can throw at me, but that's not on the list."

"Nor are dog farts," Bethany pointed out.

Anders kept his eyes on the floor as he cast, a greenish glow rising up under the pedestal holding the book. "It's still not going to handle demons."

"Good thing I'm not planning on summoning any of those," Cormac muttered, adding an anti-magic field just past his shields. He backed toward the pedestal, with Merrill calling out directions. "Okay, Artie? If I turn into an idiot, I'm going to need you to grab me. From over there. Don't actually get any closer to me or this book than you have to if this goes ugly."

After a few more deep breaths, he turned around and grabbed the book, eyes skating down the open pages. "Looks like it's got instructions for summoning demons. One, in particular, on this page. But, I'm not saying any of these words until I am twice-damned sure it's not going to finish something half-cast in here."

"Well, you're not drooling and lurching around," Anders pointed out. "I suspect the book's done what it's going to do."

And then Cormac stepped off the edge of the ward.

Anders felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, blue light flitting over his skin before receding. Justice stood at attention at the scent of the Fade so close. Next to the book -- and Cormac -- the Veil tore, and out stepped a demon, a desire demon judging by the horns, the tail, the curves of the body. At least Izzy wasn't here to be tempted with 'big boats'.

Artemis readied a spell, but Merrill put a hand on his arm. "Wait," she murmured. "Let's hear what she has to say."

"He," the demon corrected, looking around. "And I see this place is as cheery as the last time I was here. Oh lovely."

Artemis glared at Merrill but dropped his hand.

Cormac smiled impolitely up at the demon towering over him. The creature was taller than Anders, and that was mildly upsetting, he decided. "Have you come to fulfil our fondest desires, then?" he asked, remembering Bethany's advice. "I have to say, we were taught never to trust demons, but if you're willing to prove good faith, I might consider your offer."

Justice lit Anders's eyes, the two struggling for control. The demon was much too close to Cormac for Anders's taste, and if Justice stepped forward, Cormac would be the first to fall, he had no doubt. The shields would only go so far.

"Well! I always favour an open mind." The demon bowed. "Let us make an acquaintance, then, and discuss this gesture of good faith. I am Xebenkeck."

"And you know who I am, but you wish to hear it from my lips." Cormac's smile grew wider. "Cormac Hawke. Mage of some lesser distinction."

"Such humility. You sell yourself short. You could have been the Champion of Kirkwall. Perhaps the champion she deserved. Certainly the champion your poor brother deserves. What about your brother, then--" Xebenkeck purred, but Cormac cut him off.

"Fuck my brother. I know everything I need to about my brothers. What I want to know about is Kirkwall," Cormac replied, still smiling.

"Fuck your brother, indeed..." Xebenkeck's eyebrows lifted, and a sly smile crept across his face. His next words turned into a shout of surprise as he shot backward, back and skull cracking against the nearest wall.

"Artemis!" Bethany hissed, her eyes wide and betrayed as he readied another spell.

"Don't 'Artemis' me, Bethy," he muttered. "Fuck your demon politics. You weren't there in the Fade. I've heard enough."

"So much for civility," Xebenkeck growled, pushing off the wall and cracking his neck. "Here I am, trying to have a nice conversation with your brother about --" Another smack into the wall. Artemis felt as much as heard Xebenkeck's next growl.

"Artie, maybe we should stop smacking around the demon?" Merrill suggested. But it was too late. Xebenkeck twisted his clawed hands, and the Veil tore again. Abominations and rage demons clawed through the floor. 

Anders clutched his forehead, shutting his eyes against a blue glow.

"Into the hall!" Cormac shouted. "Don't think, just move! We're mages. Get into the hall!"

Bethany grabbed Merrill and moved. She knew better than to argue if Cormac was shouting in a room full of demons. Cormac and Artemis followed close behind them, but Anders didn't, finally losing the argument with Justice. Losing it badly, at a glance. The blue glow around him was enough to light the room, and flashes of armour appeared in the Fade-light, followed shortly by actual armour, as stone appeared around him and settled into place.

Cormac froze in the doorway. "Anders, no, what are you doing!? Move!"

Justice leaned to the side and pulled an enormous sword out of a long-dead corpse, as it started to stir, and turning, he removed the head from the abomination behind him, as it began to change forms.

The rage demons moved steadily toward the hall, and Cormac had no choice but to bring up the barrier. Merrill's vines raced across the floor, on the other side of it, dragging down anything they touched, and Bethany slapped hex after hex into the crowd. Cormac went after Xebenkeck, fists clenching at his sides, as he watched Anders -- Justice -- wield that huge sword as if he were born with it in his hand.

Artemis swore under his breath, trying to knock the abominations and demons away from Justice as best he could without _hitting_ Justice. Eventually he was forced to focus on the demons cluttering the doorway, and he moved in front of the other mages so he could throw his spells with impunity.

"Well, isn't this a lovely disaster?" Bethany muttered between hexes, trying to catch a glimpse of Justice -- Anders -- whoever that was -- between the smouldering and twisting bodies Artie was smacking into every flat surface.

Anders wanted to run to the others, to keep them safe, and he tried to tug Justice's attention in that direction, but Justice was on Xebenkeck with a burning focus, arms and feet moving faster than Anders could follow.

"You know," Cormac muttered, between walls of ice and crushing Xebenkeck, "I'm really kind of turned on, right now. You've definitely got a point about the joys of swording..."

"Oh, well, you know, Carver--" Merrill started, but Cormac cut her off.

"Don't tell me. That's my baby brother. Just ... no." Cormac slammed his fist against the barrier, eyes still on Justice and the demon. At least Xebenkeck seemed to be weakening, and the horde of horrors had nearly stopped squirming. "Anders, what the fuck are you doing?" he whispered.

For a moment, it was almost quiet, disrupted only by the sound of Justice's sword slamming into things, as the demon tried to dodge both that and the hail of spells suddenly focused on it. Then Xebenkeck's hands twisted in a familiar summoning gesture. Merrill tried to stop it, vines shooting up to wrap around the demon's wrists, but there were already more creatures clawing their way up through the floor. One, more corpse than monster, dragged a massive sword along with it. The revenant diverted the next swing of Justice's sword, and Justice leaped to the side, the creature's sword chipping off a corner of rock shielding Justice's ribs.

Xebenkeck grinned, barraging Justice with ice and fire as the revenant took most of his attention. Anders wanted to shake apart when a wall of fire washed over him, but Justice was resolute, focused on the burn of the revenant's red eyes. 

Rage demons and abominations cluttered the doorway again, blocking the other mages from sight. Artemis grit his teeth in frustration, shoving the creatures all back and away from the door. "Can anyone see Anders?" he asked, trying to keep a line of sight clear.

"Let them come, Artie," Cormac said, squeezing his brother's shoulder. "He's alone out there. Let them come to us." Without that line of sight, he couldn't hit Xebenkeck, but he could trust Justice to keep Anders alive, if he switched tactics. At least, that was what he told himself as he filled half the room and the entry to the hall with a blizzard.


	199. Chapter 199

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A variety of strange revelations, and a few statements of the obvious.

"I hate it when things are possessed," Bethany muttered, most of her favourite spells rendered useless by the demons already in play. She, too, resorted to other means, and after a few moments, an abomination exploded. A few moments more, and three others went.

Merrill looked frustrated, but kept the vines coming, and they grabbed at everything in reach, dragging it to one side. "Nothing has any blood, in there!" she complained, switching tactics, as soon as she could see Anders again. A boulder slammed down into the frozen creatures trapped in the vines, and then it was gone, leaving several of them merely smears on the floor.

And then Cormac realised he'd completely lost track of Xebenkeck. He crushed the revenant -- or tried to, anyway -- which seemed, at least, to slow its strikes, and Justice's greatsword bit chunks out of its bones.

"Where's the demon?" Bethany asked, the doorway blocking the corners of the room from sight.

The revenant was fast losing ground, and then it was losing a limb under Justice's onslaught. Its shield-arm dropped to the floor, metal and bone loud against stone, even as it continued swinging its massive sword. Justice hacked away at the newly-vulnerable, rotted flesh, until a chunk of hip broke off, sending the revenant buckling to its knee. Just as Justice was about to hack off its head, cold washed over him, layering his skin with ice and holding him fast.

"There!" said Artemis, hitting Xebenkeck with a flash of lightning and cutting him off mid-spell. On the ground, the revenant tried to hoist its sword again, but vines sprang up out of the ground to pin it down.

Cormac finished off the revenant, as Justice shook off the ice, leaving nothing but a pile of bone shards that failed to reassemble themselves. For a moment, Justice staggered, confused, as the ice fell away, and Xebenkeck looked like he might be winding up to bring in more reserves. Merrill and Cormac struck at the same time, and Bethany layered hex after hex onto the demon as it was crushed and dragged to its knees.

"Hello, brother," Xebenkeck purred, as Justice turned around. "When you spend as much time in this world as I have, do you think you'll be so pure? Look at the way you already rage..."

The greatsword glowed with a golden light as Justice raised it up, two-handed.

"Why fight it?" Xebenkeck asked, and the sword plunged straight down through his chest, his body vanishing in a flash of fire that scorched the ground around it.

Justice either had no answer or had no need to answer a dead demon -- or at least a banished one. Cormac had never been entirely clear on what became of demons struck down outside the Fade. He only remembered to dispel the barrier when he banged his nose on it, shoving past Artemis to get to Anders.

Justice looked around him, sword still in hand, and waited to make sure the battle was over. Only then did the blue light in Anders's eyes, along his skin, recede, and Anders found himself back in control, almost overbalancing from the sword's weight. "Wow, that's... heavier than it looks," he said, resting the tip on the floor. "How the Blight does Fenris lift one of these with those scrawny little elf-arms of his?"

"By the sheer might of his broodiness," Artemis replied, following his brother into the room and looking around at the carnage.

Anders had a response to that. The words were on his tongue, but he choked on them when he finally looked up at Cormac. "What in the..." He threw his free hand over his mouth to muffle the snorting laugh that tried to break free. No. He shouldn't laugh at this. That would be rude.

Artemis and Bethany had no such reservations, and they broke into matching snickers at the look on Anders's face.

"Yeah, hah, broody elf is broody," Cormac muttered, flippantly, studying Anders. "You're all right? When you -- When he--" He pointed at the sword. "I don't know if you've noticed, but that is a sword, and I just watched you -- both of you -- demolish demons with it, like you'd been doing the like forever."

"Justice was a swordsman, when we met." Anders looked at anything but Cormac.

"I've seen the two of you unleash havoc with your staff, but Andraste's glorious heaving bosom, I never expected ... that!" Cormac looked thoroughly awed.

Anders finally looked back, sure he could make the best of this, but his mouth got away from him. "And I never expected _that_!" He gestured at Cormac's head.

"What--" Cormac's eyes widened as he realised what must have happened, and his hands rose to his hair, still damp, but rising awkwardly from his head in tight curls. "... Screw you," he breathed, turning away, already casting as he walked back toward the hall. "You, your book, and all the demons I went through so you could have it."

He tried to bat Artemis out of his way, but his brother didn't actually move. Force mage. Right. "This is why not," he hissed, squeezing between Artie and the wall, to get past him.

Artie's laughter softened to a guilty smile at the look on his brother's face. "Cormac," he said, wrapping his arms around Cormac as he squeezed past, "hey." If Cormac couldn't shove him, he also couldn't pull Artemis along, and Artie held him rooted there and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"I never said it wasn't hot!" Anders gibbered, trailing after Cormac. "Just unexpected!"

Bethany and Merrill exchanged glances. "You know," said Merrill, "Pol used to try to get his hair to poof up like that, but he could never quite get it to work. Mahariel tried to tell him he didn't quite have the ears for it anyway. I don't know. I thought it was cute."

Bethany smirked. "I don't think Cormac quite has the ears for it either," she said.

"Next damned demon's going to promise me hair that does what I want it to," Cormac muttered, resting his head on Artie's shoulder, "and it's going to be damnably hard to turn it down." He still lit Bethany's toes on fire, like he used to do when they were young, and she'd start with him.

She smirked as she put out the flames.

"I'm not Carver. You're not going to make me cry." Cormac grumbled.

"I think that's a challenge!" Bethany clapped her hands. "What do you think, Merrill? Was that a challenge?"

"Oh, I'm not sure. I mean, is it really wise? It's definitely not kind."

"He just lit my toes on fire."

"Oh, yes." Merrill nodded. "Crying is probably acceptable, then."

Anders tried to get around Artie, to get to Cormac, but Artie was the proverbial immovable object, and all of Anders's fluttering had little effect. He sighed and handed Bethany the sword. "Please don't make him cry. Today has been long enough."

"Yes, please no crying," Artie sighed. "I'd rather not have his tears and snot weighing down my tunic." He pressed another kiss to Cormac's cheek and handed him off to Anders. "Here. Anders, tell my brother you find him no less doable with this hair."

"Eww," Bethany whined. Artemis stuck his tongue out at her.

Anders held Cormac's shoulders and offered him a wry look. "I find you no less doable with this hair?" he said.

"You'll be lucky if I don't let the dog into your room while you're sleeping," Cormac grumbled, casting the last spell to straighten his hair. It hung lank around his shoulders, the two plaits he'd tied it back with frizzy and lopsided, now.

Blinking, Anders looked around Cormac at Artemis. "Is that what Isabela meant by 'Rivaini hair'?"

"Well, our dad's was the same way," Bethany pointed out. "And Cormac really does look so much like dad."

Merrill leaned in and patted Cormac's shoulder. "Swording," she whispered, with a nod. "Just think of his swording."

Still close enough to hear that, Artemis cackled, throwing a hand over his eyes.

Anders cleared his throat. "Justice's swording," he said. "Though we are both talented with two-handed weaponry." He offered Cormac a sly smile.

"Speaking of," Bethany murmured distractedly, hefting the sword Anders had handed to her. "This sword is clearly Tevinter design."

"More than that," Artemis said, dropping his hand from his face and taking a step closer. "Is that...? It looks like a Blade of Mercy." He reached for the sword, and Bethany shrugged, letting him take it. The sword was old, a bit banged up but still serviceable. More than serviceable, judging by the battle they'd just finished. "Huh."

Anders twitched and his fingers clutched at Cormac's shoulders. "That's..." His arms slid around Cormac as he leaned over the now-less-fluffy mage's shoulder for a closer look. "It needs to be cleaned, but you might be right. Obviously 'a', and not 'the'." He paused. "I hope. But, I wonder if it's the real thing or a forgery. I guess it doesn't really matter. Stabs just as well, either way."

"A Blade of..." Cormac twisted around in Anders's arms. "Okay, my Tevinter history's not the best, but 'Blade of Mercy' as in 'Sword of Mercy' as in that thing that's engraved on my baby brother's armour? I don't understand."

Merrill raised her hand. "I don't either!"

"It's one of those ugly stories the templars use to justify their existence," Anders explained, shifting so his arms crossed in front of Cormac's neck, and he could rest his chin on top of Cormac's head. "It's said that when Andraste burned, she burned dead, because Archon Hessarian had mercy and struck her down with his sword. According to legend, because the Maker told him to do it. So, yes, the fire and the blade are a direct reference to that."

Cormac could hear Anders's teeth grinding, as the vibrations crawled through the top of his skull.

"It's their last mercy to a mage who's gone too far."

"A mage who's gone too far. Just like divine Andraste." Cormac laughed. "Idiots."

Artemis scratched his chin, forcing himself to focus on the form of the blade, on the pattern along its hilt, instead of the grime and blood still encrusting it. He would need to clean it, yes. Thoroughly. "Fenris has mentioned these before," he said. "Something about... how these replicas of the Sword of Mercy are given out as... well, as awards of distinction in Tevinter. I think. I might have been focused on another sword at the time." Bethany snorted, and Artemis cleared his throat. "Anyway. Er. Anders, Justice. Do either of you have any desire to hold onto this sword?"

Anders shrugged. "Not really. I'm not a... sworder, and Justice just grabbed what was available. Why? You look like you're plotting something."

"Well," Artie said, lips quirking in a half-smile. "I am in the market for a wedding present for a particular elf..."

"A sword for stabbing mages! I think it's an excellent choice. Of course it's a Tevinter magister's sword for stabbing mages, so there's some utterly genius irony in there, somewhere." And then Cormac paused and realised he was serious. "Actually, that is a really good idea. Reminds me, I've got something I want to ask you about, when we get back to the house. Make sure I'm not about to put my foot in something awful."

"Was the dog in the room?" Bethany drawled. "Congratulations. You're about to put your foot in something awful."

Anders pressed his cheek to the side of Cormac's face. "Please don't let the dog in my room. I'll let you do whatever you want with my... greatsword, all night long, but just don't set the fart demon on me. The cats will disapprove. Violently, and much like Anton disapproves. You don't really want to do that to me, do you?"

"You're lucky you're cute," Cormac grumbled, only half as annoyed as he'd been, and reached up to twist Anders's nose a bit. "You're cute and Artie would feel compelled to clean it all. Which ... honestly, that would serve you both right, but he's cute, too, and if I set the dog on you, he's going to make those heartbreaking sad faces at me for weeks."

"Who's going to make sad faces?" Merrill asked, and only then did the others realise she'd slipped away to grab up the book from where Cormac had dropped it in the hall. "Oof. This thing is heavier than it looks."

Bethany frowned down at the book in her hands. "Merrill," she said slowly, warily, "are you sure you should be--?"

"Don't worry, I made sure there were no more traps on it. Or spells. Or... invisible spikes or something. It's just a book, now." 

Artemis still took a step to the side, putting staff and sword between him and the book.

"Right," said Anders, stretching out a hand and waggling his fingers. "Mission accomplished, then. Thank you, Merrill." She handed him the book, and Anders curled back around Cormac, the book tucked under one hand.

"Anders gets a book," Bethany said, "Artie gets a sword, and all of us got to enjoy Cormac's hair. Certainly a fulfilling day."

"There has been neither 'full' nor 'filling' in my day," Cormac complained, ducking out of Anders's grip, to turn and catch him with a shoulder just above the hips. He stood and heaved the healer over his shoulder. "And I intend to go home and solve that problem, now. Come along, you great mountain savage."

"I'm not sure I need to be told to come along, if you're carrying me off," Anders pointed out, pulling the book close to his chest, not to drop it. "And I thank you for that. I have an incredible view of your ass, and I'm going to appreciate that all the way back out of here."

Cormac staggered a few steps down the hall, before leaning on the wall and settling Anders more firmly on his shoulder. "Artie's holy balls," he swore. "Have you been putting on more weight? Are you actually heavier than you were, this morning?"

"It's the book," Anders assured him, gently nibbling on one butt cheek.

"Am I going to have to watch this all the way back to the house?" Bethany complained.

Cormac failed to look over his shoulder because of the mage-ass in his way. "Not if you walk in front of me!"

"I still don't know how I feel about you swearing by my balls," Artie muttered, "neither of which is holy in either sense of the word."


	200. PART XXXIX: A 'CULTURAL' EVENT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris makes a foolish decision, in the name of love, and Anders is happy to help him do it.

When Fenris had barged into the clinic and grabbed Anders's wrist with a muttered, "Quickly," Anders had assumed the worst. The lack of blood on Fenris's hands had, at least, indicated that he hadn't killed Cormac yet, but it wasn't until they were in Lowtown and Fenris was muttering about 'wedding presents' and the 'stonecarver' that Anders had realised no one was dead or dying. 

But now, watching the look on Fenris's face, Anders had to wonder if the elf was going to survive this. Anders sidled up to him, folded his hands behind his back, and stared at the wall Fenris was staring at. "So welcome to the stonecarver's," Anders chirped. "Is it about what you expected?"

A strangled sound caught in Fenris's throat, his ears twitching at awkward angles. "There... is a whole wall. Of them. A wallful." Fenris drew in a breath. "A wallful of knobs."

And not the kind of knobs that went on a door (unless that door was Isabela's). Jutting out from the wall were rows upon walls of stone dildoes of every size, shape, and girth imaginable, all neatly presented and neatly labelled. He stood nose-to-knob with one that bore a suspicious resemblance to the Jade Wand of Ass-destruction.

Anders reached over to squeeze one spiky shoulder, half-expecting Fenris to bite off that hand. "Oh, Broody," he said. "We're barely in the door."

"Well! If it's not the Pillar of Passion!" a dwarven woman called out from the back of the shop, wiping powdered stone off her hands as she tugged the damp cloth off her mouth and nose, revealing a series of black bars from her cheeks to her jaw.

"Gytha, my dear!" Anders spread his arms, before dropping a hand heavily onto Fenris's shoulder. "I'm afraid it's just business this time."

"Just business, he says, as if it's ever anything else!" Gytha laughed and stepped around the counter that divided the front of the shop from the work area. She squinted at Fenris. "Those are some nice tattoos!"

Fenris shifted his weight, awkwardly. "They could be, under other circumstances, I'm sure."

"They're like yours, Gytha," Anders pointed out.

"But, at least his are fashionable!" Gytha laughed and patted Anders's elbow. "What can I do for you this time? Something exciting for that handsome slab you keep bringing around?"

"Something a little more specialised, this time. Can you do lyrium etching, or am I going to need to get my own engraver for that?" Anders asked.

"Lyrium? That's not something you want to put too close to any of the insertable parts. What are you thinking, engraving the rune straight into it?" Gytha rubbed her chin, contemplatively.

Fenris realised he was still staring at the wall of knobs and dropped his stare to his feet instead. He tugged at one ear, trying to get it to hold still.

"Well," Anders explained, cutting a glance at the elf next to him, "let me put it this way. These tattoos of his you were admiring? Lyrium. We're looking to make a replica for his, er, fiancé."

Gytha's eyes widened, eyebrows shooting towards her hairline, and Fenris rolled his eyes up to stare uncomfortably at the ceiling instead. The Jade Wand's twin still poked out at him in the periphery of his vision. 

"Specialised," said Gytha, nodding her head slowly. She eyed Fenris up and down, stare lingering a beat too long at crotch-level, and Fenris fought not to squirm. "Right."

"Perhaps this was a foolish idea," Fenris murmured.

"Of course it's a foolish idea!" Anders assured him. "But, think of the look on his face, when he realises he's got two of you!"

"One of me should be more than enough for anyone." Fenris twisted the tip of his ear and finally looked at the dwarf before him. "What must I do?"

"Well, the very first thing we're going to have to do is get you into a state. A state a bit different to the nervous one you seem to be in. I'm assuming Anders can help you with that? He's got some unusual talents." Gytha winked at Anders.

"I'd have brought a potion, but the way you rushed me out the door, I thought it was serious," Anders sighed. "But, yes, it's a problem I can solve, if I have to."

Fenris's ears twitched at the thought, but he knew Anders was right.

"And then you get to lie down a bit, while I take some measurements and make a wax mould. And then a bit of sketching, and then you get to go home, and come back in a couple of days." Gytha shrugged and smiled. "It's very simple, and it'll be even easier, because you're an elf. You should have seen me trying to get a mould from that hairy slab he goes around with. Man's got enough on him to be a dwarf, if he wasn't so tall."

"Yes, I am familiar with the... slab," Fenris said, expression pained. And that was a thought that wasn't going to help him get into a 'state', at least not the state he wanted to be in.

Anders patted Fenris's shoulder. "Just think of the slab's brother," he said, "who is... less of a slab and more of a pillar. More like a tree, really, though less sappy than Cormac."

"Stop mentioning Cormac," Fenris muttered.

"Right. Let's get you in back." Gytha tilted her head behind her. "That way Anders can work his magic, and then I can work mine." She winked and gestured for them to follow her.

Fenris sucked in a breath. "This is definitely a foolish idea," he muttered even as he followed.

Gytha led them to a screened-off part of the room, with an odd, low table in it, along with a workbench full of supplies, including a small pot of warmed wax. "I'll let you two do what you need to. Just call me when you're ready," she said, pressing a small leather strap into Anders's hand, before she left them, pulling the folding screen closed.

Anders rubbed the back of his neck and gestured to the table. "You should probably at least sit down. I can do this the easy way, if you want. Oh, and you probably want to have your pants down a bit."

"One assumes," Fenris agreed, studying the table. "How does this work?"

"Oh, you lie on it, face down, with your hips over the hole, and the pad up top holds your forehead, so you can still talk and breathe without throwing off the measurements. And that box goes over your knob and gets filled up with wax. It's kind of soothing, actually. Doesn't take even an hour." Anders talked about the process casually, as if it were no more strange than learning to fry an egg.

"An hour? You expect me to be able to maintain that... state for an _hour_?" Fenris's eyebrows rose. "I am no Warden."

"That's what this is for." Anders held up the strap.

"Every time you open your mouth, this idea gets more and more foolish," Fenris muttered, picking at the knots on his trousers.

"And yet, the idea was yours," Anders said with a small smile. "And it will be worth it. Trust me."

The glare Fenris sent Anders said what he thought of trusting the mage. The look would have been more intimidating if he weren't working his leggings down his hips. Once his trousers were off, Fenris picked them up with his toes and set them off to the side. He considered pausing to fold them, only to remember that Artemis wasn't here.

Fenris sat on the table, aware of the cool air on his legs and... bits. Anders watched, sucking his lips between his teeth and scratching his forehead with a thumbnail.

"Your ears are vibrating, you know," Anders said. Fenris replied with a growl, and Anders chuckled. "Yeah, I take it you know. Relax. You know it's nothing I haven't seen before. It's not even something I haven't touched before, on multiple occasions."

"If the talking is meant to help with this," Fenris cut him off, gesturing at his groin, "it isn't."

Anders snorted. "Right." He touched a spark to Fenris's knee, and the elf's breath hitched. "How about this?"

Fenris waved a hand, gesturing for Anders to keep going. The electricity would work, whether he wanted it to or not, he knew, and right now, he definitely wanted it to work. He leaned back, closed his eyes, and thought of Artemis, as Anders's hands caressed his thighs, stroking current into his body. It wasn't the same -- it wasn't the same _at all_ \-- but, he could pretend. He could imagine Artemis's hands on him, that very different spark wending through his flesh, Artemis's pretty blue eyes blinking up at him, from between his knees. Ah, that was a thought he liked.

It didn't take long at all -- in fact, it was so easy that Anders reflected he'd still have been working on Cormac, and given how easy it was to turn Cormac on... He reached up and closed the strap around the base of Fenris's knob, the elf's eyes snapping open at the touch, and glaring down confusedly at him for a moment.

"That feels tight," Fenris remarked, getting used to the sensation.

"It should. It'll keep you... upright." Anders pulled the screen open. "You should lie down, and I'll get Gytha."

As the screen fell closed behind Anders, Fenris shook his head, reminding himself where he was and how he'd gotten here, how absurd this all was. He wondered who came up with the whole system and decided he rather didn't want to know. He hoisted himself up on the table as instructed, though he disliked leaving his back exposed and his head down in a strange place. A strange place with only one exit and his sword out of reach. And this had been _his_ idea.

"Venhedis," Fenris mumbled at himself and the empty room. He wriggled until he was comfortable, or at least as comfortable as he was going to be with a strap around his knob.

He peered up when the screen pulled back again, and watched Anders hold the curtain for Gytha as she ducked into the room.

Gytha waved her callipers as she crossed the room, pulling up a short stool, beside the table. "Won't take but a minute, here, and we'll get you in the wax," she said sitting down and patting Fenris's hip. Your fiancé's going to be a terribly lucky one, aren't they."

Fenris twitched when the cold metal touched him, but he managed to hold himself still against the creeping memories -- memories he didn't have, he reminded himself -- by thinking of Artemis. He could envision the surprise, already, the way those big, blue eyes would widen and then scrunch up as Artie smiled.

"And we're done with that!" Gytha stood up with a sheet of measurements and a sketch of the pattern of the lyrium. She set her tools aside and took down a box that she snapped together in the space beneath Fenris's hips. He felt nothing until she began to pour in the wax, which was soft and warm, but not hot against his skin. If he thought about it, it felt rather like-- something he wasn't going to think about with a strange dwarf pouring things onto his knob.

"How long?" Fenris asked again.

"Oh, about five inches." Gytha laughed. "Less than an hour. I'll be back to check on you, and then we'll get that cut off you so I can get to work."

"Cut?" Fenris squeaked, as Gytha ducked out.

"Split, really," Anders said, pulling the stool out a bit and sitting down. He was much too tall, and wound up with his legs stretched out as he leaned back against a leg of the table. "Put a line in the wax and chase it in. Don't worry. The only scar I have, there, isn't from this."

"Very reassuring," Fenris grumbled. He stared at the floor, aware in the silence of the space between breaths, the speed of his heartbeat. When he found himself counting both, he knew this was going to be a long 'less-than-an-hour'. "I should have brought a book."

"Mm, I could make up stories, if you like," Anders said, crossing his ankles. "Much more fun than reading. Now, how to start..."

"I doubt I wish to hear any stories you come up with, mage," Fenris sighed. Anders's voice floated over his head.

"Just for that, this story is about a broody elf with a glowstick for a knob..."

"Mage," Fenris growled.

"Did I mention you can't move for this hour? Or less than, however long it is. Anyway, what shall we call this elf in this story?"

"I know what we can call the mage," came the dry reply.

"The elf is Tevinter so he needs a name in Tevene. Asinus. We'll call this elf Asinus."

"And the narrator is Stultus," Fenris muttered. "You're not going to blather for an hour, are you?"

"Shh, don't interrupt. Now, once upon a time, there was a cranky elf named Asinus..."

"I hate you."


	201. Chapter 201

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bawdy ballads, bad ideas, and Anton attempting to make peace with Aveline.

Almost an hour later, the screen pulled back and Gytha gazed confusedly at the two men singing angrily at each other in a foreign language. "I suppose that's one way of passing the time," she said, stepping in with a large, flat metal tool.

Fenris nearly swallowed his tongue. There were words he didn't say, in public, and most of them had been in that song, in some form. Anders, however, finished the verse.

"Do you know every bawdy ballad in Tevinter?" Anders asked, standing up and getting out of Gytha's way.

"Clearly not, since every one I can think of, you already know," Fenris muttered. He felt a firm shove and then another, and then the squeak of metal, before his knob was again exposed to air.

Gytha stood up, holding the halves of the mould. "Looks good. No bubbles. I can cast something with this, easy, and then I'll carve from the casting. Stone's rough, but not if you've got a good dwarven lathe. I'll see what I can do about getting my hands on enough lyrium to make this happen. I'm sure the Merchants' Guild is going to give me a hard time, but..."

"It's a very large, very specialised rune!" Anders declared, as Fenris twisted himself around like a cat and dropped off the table.

" _I'm_ a very large, very specialised rune," Fenris pointed out, peeling off the wax that had stuck to the strap, before he unhooked it and reached for his trousers.

"Seriously?" Gytha took a closer look. "What do you do? Er, what are you for? I mean... I've never seen that one before."

"I make sock puppets," Fenris answered dryly, tugging on his pants.

At Gytha's puzzled look, Anders added, "And he also gives evasive answers. Neither of those skills come from the lyrium, however. I think."

"In short, I am a weapon," Fenris answered. He stretched his arms to the sides and over his head, shifting until he felt his back pop. "A weapon who can wield a weapon."

Gytha chuffed. "Yeah, I know, I'm about to make a copy of it."

"That wasn't quite what I... but yes, that too."

* * *

* * *

"Mage, no. We have been over this. It is unsafe and unreasonable." Fenris took Artemis's face in his hands, looking up into those big, blue eyes he had such trouble saying no to, and said it again. "I am afraid I will hurt you. I am afraid even Anders may not be able to fix it. So, no, I will not repeat your brother's idiot full-body Fade stunt."

Every week, or so, since that night by the docks, Artie had found some way to bring up the idea, and every time, Fenris had turned him down. This time, it was before breakfast, even. Perhaps his mage had thought he might get a different answer, if Fenris was too tired to think it through, but he'd already come to the conclusion that this was a terrible idea, and no amount of questioning it was going to improve it.

"You say that like we don't do something unsafe and unreasonable on a daily basis," Artemis coaxed, cupping his hands over Fenris's. "Just once? You have so much more control than Cormac does. And you're sober. And _I'm_ sober."

And, yes, Fenris was probably right, but Artemis hadn't been able to stop thinking about it. The way Cormac had felt inside of him, a part of him, two separate hearts pounding in his chest...

"Please?"

"Mage, I said no."

Artemis pouted but nodded. "All right. I'll stop asking." He turned his head to kiss Fenris's palm, and Fenris was relieved he didn't have to keep saying no. "Perhaps we can entertain ourselves some other way before breakfast?"

* * *

* * *

The thing about Anton was that he just sort of ... appeared. One moment there was an empty office. The next moment, it was an office that contained Anton Hawke. And this was something Aveline had forgotten in the years she'd been avoiding speaking to the man. She was still avoiding arresting the man, certainly, but ... it wasn't like it used to be. He was someone else. She thought she might be, too.

But, none of that changed the fact that he was standing in front of her desk, where he hadn't been, but a moment previous, holding a flowery-looking shield. It looked, she thought, startlingly like an iris. Something clattered in the back of her head, but it had been so long since anyone had brought it up, that it just slipped by.

"Come to turn yourself in, for the good of Kirkwall?" she asked, looking up at him, utterly unamused with whatever it was he thought he was doing.

"If I were doing that, it would not be for the good of Kirkwall. I like to think it would be to the detriment of Kirkwall, but that's a point we'll never agree on." Anton held out the shield. "I saw something that made me think of you, so I got it for you."

Aveline was on her feet, in an instant, eyes blazing, but Anton just kept talking.

"I paid for it and everything. Might have haggled a little, but this was absolutely legally acquired. I wouldn't bring _you_ something that wasn't." His eyebrows raised. "I know better."

"And I know better than to trust a word that comes out of your mouth," she said. Arms folded, Aveline stared down at the shield but didn't take it. "And why, exactly, did it make you think of me? Because you need a shield to walk into my office now?"

"Should I have brought you a more literal olive branch?" Anton sighed, setting the shield down on her desk. "It reminded me of you because legend has it that it belonged to Ser Aveline, the original Ser Aveline, and I thought it should belong to the younger, still living Aveline." He shrugged. "That and it's a nice shield."

Still glaring at him, Aveline finally picked up the shield, her expression stonily neutral as she inspected it. Well. That explained why the style had looked familiar. "I was someone, once. Someone else. And since I've come to Kirkwall, you and your family talked me into a lot of things. Some of them I didn't agree with then, and I still don't, now. Some of them, I was surprised when I came to agree with. And _you_ , Anton... you pushed too hard, too far. But, that's just how you are, isn't it?"

"You, much like everyone here, keep mistaking me for an actual nobleman. I'm a gamesman like any other, if one with a purpose." Anton shrugged and leaned on the edge of the desk. "This city is wrong, Aveline. You know it and I know it. It's why you joined the guard, isn't it? To protect those with nothing else going for them?"

"And you... what? You're a thief. You're a liar and a cheat. And now, you're the 'Champion of Kirkwall'." Aveline's chin tucked in as she overplayed the last words. "And you started a war that got the Viscount killed!"

"I did not start the war. I was there to stop the war, and I failed," Anton insisted. "And the Viscount was ... a levelling influence, but hardly the man of political virtue he's made out to be. _Value_ , yes, but not virtue. I liked him, all the same, and I didn't want him dead. I didn't want anyone dead, Aveline, that's the point." He paused. "And I mostly steal from Orlesian nobles, anyway. And it's not really _stealing_. They wager and they lose. Everyone cheats. I just do it better."

"Not everybody," Aveline said. The shield clattered back onto the desk. "And you're not just a 'gamesman' anymore, Anton. You're the Champion. And that may not mean much to you, but it means something to this city. Without a viscount, you _represent_ this city to its people."

"Which says an awful lot about the state of the city, doesn't it?" Anton asked, knowing the joke would fall flat even as he made it. "If it makes you feel better, I don't think I'm any more fit to be Champion of Kirkwall than anyone else. That's just the hand I was dealt." Though technically, he supposed he cheated that too. Just not for _his_ benefit.

Aveline rubbed at the bridge of her nose, at the corners of her eyes. "I don't want to keep having this argument, Anton," she said, sounding every bit as tired as she looked. "And it's a nice shield, but it's not mine. Who is this Ser Aveline to me other than a wish my father made?" She shook her head and picked up the shield again, holding it out to Anton.

"So, stop having the argument. Do what you do. Let me do what I do. Between us, we can still drag this city back up. We need a viscount. You know that and I know that. That's something we can agree on. That's something we don't have to fight about." Anton made no move to take the shield. "And it bloody well is your shield. It's got your name on it and everything. I know no other Ser Aveline in all the Marches." He folded his arms over his chest.

"I'm not actually a 'Ser', you know," Aveline protested.

"Might as well be. More knightly honour in your left pinky than the whole of the Templar Order, who are, in fact, all the 'Ser' this town has, right now." Anton shrugged and stepped back. "You were my friend, once, Aveline. I miss you. Keep the stupid shield. It's a very nice shield and I paid quite a lot for it. And if you want to be sure that's the truth, go ask after Larkin, in Lowtown. He found a cache of Orlesian armour, in Darktown, left over from the occupation. It's a very nice, very old shield, and it's got your name on it. Made in Orlais, and waited all this time for you to come pick it up."

Aveline harrumphed, but Anton could see her wavering, could read it in the softening of the lines around her eyes. She set the shield down again, sighing as though greatly put-upon, and Anton tried not to smile. "Only you would get me something so bloody Orlesian," she muttered.

"Could be worse," Anton said, shrugging one shoulder. "It could have been the helmet of Ser Aveline, complete with plumes and moustachioed mask."

"I would have thrown it at your head."

"I would have let you."

For a moment, it was like they had settled back into old rhythms, and the glare Aveline shot him was almost warm. It made him miss her all the more. And now, he decided, it was time to make a tactical retreat while the cards were still in his favour. "So I hear I'll see you at the wedding?" Anton asked.

"I told your brother I would be there. Whether _you_ will see me is another matter," Aveline replied, huffing in annoyance, as she realised she'd have to put the shield somewhere, before she could get back to work. When she looked up, Anton was gone.

 


	202. Chapter 202

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An exchange of swords.

It was the morning before the wedding, and everything had already been arranged. There would be a celebratory supper, in the evening, leading into a rather wild party, if things went according to plan, and assuming everyone managed to get out of bed, the wedding itself would go on the next afternoon. Two straight days of revelry.

Cormac and Anders, of course, had shown up mid-morning, to try to calm Artie's inevitable panicked fluttering, which Orana told them had begun five hours earlier, when the house was still dark. Fenris was already drinking tea so strong light did not pass through it, in the dining room, she'd told them, and Cormac caught his brother's arm as Artemis dashed through the room, in search of some other invisible particle of dust.

"Artie? Breathe." Cormac caught his shoulders in both hands. "There's a party, tonight. It's not here. It's at the Rose. Nobody's going to notice if the dust of a single day has settled in here. And I swear Jethann was cleaning the bar hardware with a carver's brush, when I left. It's not even his job, but he's ... He likes you."

Artemis twisted the rag in his hands to keep from scratching at his arms. "It's not just the dust," he said, almost too fast for Anders to catch. "I'm counting. What if no one shows up? What if too many people show up? Will there be enough food? Seating? What if I've forgotten something? I know I've forgotten something."

"Blinking," Anders said.

"What?" Artemis's wide-eyed stare darted to Anders over Cormac's shoulder.

"That's what you've forgotten," Anders explained. "I haven't seen you blink since we've gotten here. Or breathe, but Cormac's already pointed that out."

"Oh." Artie blinked and took a deep breath and then another. He stopped looking like he was in danger of passing out.

"What about that sword, hm? I think it's going to be a little difficult to sneak that into the rest of the gifts. It's... kind of large. Maybe you should give that to Fenris, now." Cormac was hoping that would provide something else to focus on, for a while. "Just a little something between the two of you, before the party starts."

"Speaking of Fenris, I'm going to go check on him." Anders winked. "I should make sure he's approachable, before you bring swords into the picture." With a laugh, he followed Orana out, intent on getting Fenris's gift into presentable condition, should the elf not already have done so. Of course, it was Fenris, so 'presentable' might not have become a concern, yet.

"Come on, we'll wrap it in a sheet and tie a bow on it, or something. He'll love it." Cormac bumped the tip of his nose against his brother's. "And then, I'm sure, he'll show you exactly how much he loves it, while we ... help Orana with the cakes or something."

"Sword. Yes. That's..." Artemis took another deep breath. There was plenty he still needed to check, but he knew that there was little he could do at this stage of things anyway. The sword would be one less thing to worry about. Though now he was worrying about it. "He will like it, won't he? Oh Maker. What if he finds it offensive or something?" He continued muttering, half to himself and half to Cormac, as they went in search of the sword.

Anders found Fenris in the dining room, one hand still curled around a mug of tea while he had his face planted in the other arm, half sprawled on the table. "Morning," Anders greeted him cheerfully, leaning against the doorway.

Fenris muttered something against the table that might have been another "Morning." He tilted his head up to rest his chin on his arm and blinked up at Anders.

"You should tell me where you hid that ... er ... thing you got for Artie, the other week. Mostly because he's about to walk in here with a present for you, and I'd really rather you not be caught empty handed."

"What?" Fenris took a moment to focus. "Now? I thought that was for later!"

"It would be, but your husband-to-be is panicking all over the house. He needs a distraction." Anders glanced at the door.

"And you want me to distract him with _that_?" Fenris blinked. "That hardly seems wise."

"No, I just want you to give it to him. He'll be surprised. It'll be great. And he'll stop..." Anders flapped a hand in the direction of the door. "That."

"He has been ... ' _that_ ' all morning," Fenris admitted, taking another swig of tea. "It's impossible to hide anything in this house, the way he cleans. There's a passage behind the kitchen that leads upstairs. It's in one of the linen nooks. He doesn't know the hallway exists, so please don't tell him. He'll clean it."

"I'll be right back. Is it in a box, or do I have to--"

"Wooden box. Very pretty. Can't miss it." Fenris tipped his head back and poured tea down his throat. "And tell Orana I need a whole pot of that vile beverage."

Minutes later, the four of them convened in the dining room, where Orana had set up a whole tray of tea. Fenris considered drinking straight out of the pot, but decided that Artemis was flailing enough already. Well. He was flailing less now with that large, wrapped... something in his hands. Large and heavy, judging from the way he braced his weight.

"So," Artie said without preamble. "Presents. Or... present. As in, I have one. For you."

"It is presents, plural," Fenris replied, "since I have one for you as well." He gestured at the wooden box by his cup of tea. "Is there... any sort of Fereldan custom that goes along with this? I don't have to guess what you're holding, do I?"

"Maker, no," Artemis said, his smile finally looking less nervous, "or I would have put this in a box. A really big box, just to confuse you. I... here." Artie thrust the present at his fiancé before he could or say anything else.

Fenris accepted the awkward and large object, and began to unwrap it, with the occasional curious glance at the brothers. The shape seemed quite familiar, but he couldn't imagine that Artemis would have gotten him-- And then the hilt was visible, and he knew it for what it was. "This... Is this really?" He tugged the rest of the wrapping off and pushed his tea aside to lay the sword across the table. "This is a Blade of Mercy. How did you even... Where did you find this?" Fenris turned it over, examining the inscriptions for some sign as to whether it was a real one or a cheap replica. The metal felt solid, though, which was encouraging.

"It's... well." Artemis glanced at Cormac, at Anders. "We went on something of an expedition under Darktown and... found this as a souvenir. This and a book that is much less your taste. Anyway, I... remembered you talking about them. About swords. About this kind of sword, in particular. Do you like it?" The question came out much less casually than he would have liked.

"I never dreamed one of these would come into my hands. You found it _under_ Darktown? Is that what the maps were about?" Fenris glanced up at Cormac.

"Sort of. One of a few things. Not really important right now, but what is important is that's really probably the real thing. Not Hessarian's, but not a forgery. It's all old Tevinter passages, down there. It's a whole other city." Cormac shrugged. "So, it's a few centuries old, I'd think."

"I'll be careful with it, then." Fenris still looked amazed, as his eyes lit on Artemis, again. "Do I like it? Amatus, this is incredible." He paused and reached for the box. "I almost feel the fool having gotten you what I did." He'd felt twice the fool having it made, but he handed the box to Artemis, all the same. "I hope you enjoy this."

Artemis was just relieved that Fenris seemed to like his gift. The elf could have gotten him a toothpick, and he would have been pleased. He accepted the box with a smile, pausing to admire the fine carving along the lid before pushing it back.

Fenris held his breath, watched Artemis's eyes widen, watched him fight back the smile he'd been hoping to see. 

"Did you...? No. You couldn't have."

"I did," Fenris assured him, tugging at one ear.

"Oh, this is perfect," Artemis said, voice shaking with laughter as he pulled out the lyrium-etched dildo. "I got you a sword, and you got me _your_ sword. Maker, I love you." Fenris found himself with his arms full of mage -- his mage, thank the Maker -- and he stumbled back a step, just catching his balance as Artie kissed him.

"That's probably a good thing, since we're to be married, tomorrow," Fenris teased. "Did you have a desire to practise some swording, of either variety, before we go to supper, tonight? I wouldn't want to wear you out, before you have the chance to enjoy the evening, but..." He tilted his head back and nibbled on Artie's lower lip.

Anders fished a potion out of his bag and slid it across the table. "For him. Just in case," he told Fenris. "Don't thank me until he's standing up for the ceremony."

"And on that note, I think I need to go investigate a cake, and several other last-minute things. Don't break anything, you two. Especially don't break each other. Save that for after the wedding." Cormac grinned and put an arm around Anders. "And that's my good work for the day."

 


	203. Chapter 203

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Supper, toasts, stories about the past. Sebastian is never allowed to get that drunk again.

After a round of 'swording' and a glass of wine, Artie was much more relaxed by the time he and Fenris met everyone for dinner. They'd reserved a private room at the Rose, the room on the first floor with the long table and seating for everyone, and the kitchens served an array of Fereldan foods for the occasion, some of which Fenris poked at with a bemused look on his face. 

With his belly full and a glass of wine in his hand, Fenris sat back, an arm around his mage, and listened to the absurd stories Varric was telling at the other end of the table. The table was long, but Varric was loud, so Fenris managed not to miss a word as Varric went into detail about how he'd met the Hawkes. 

"I hope you all appreciate that that," Varric said, pointing down the table at Cormac, "was my first impression of the Hawke family, and yet somehow, I'm still associating with them all these years later."

"Proof of my eternal excellence!" Cormac declared, smacking a hand on the table, beside his plate.

"My first Hawke, too!" Anders chimed in, pouring more wine for Cormac. He was the only one at the table drinking tea, which was a bit surprising, considering Sebastian was with them. "He's got his charms, even if he's not that smashingly beautiful creature at the head of the table."

"And mine," Theron added, standing up with his glass in his hand. "The first time I met these two, it was the middle of night on some path through the woods. This great idiot, and his hilarious tattoos, and that smashingly beautiful creature, who I didn't see until Assface got his fat head out of my way. I've said it before, Fenris, but you're a very, very lucky man." He smiled sadly up the table at the two of them and raised his glass. "To Assface Hawke, who only makes his brother look better by comparison!"

"It's because you're looking at my face and not my ass, you point-eared barbarian!" Cormac laughed, tapping his glass to the left and right.

"Well, if we're comparing Hawke asses," Isabela began, raising her glass as well.

"We're not," Artie cut her off. "Nope." She grinned at him and winked before taking a drink, and everyone at the table followed suit with their glasses.

"I met Cormac first too," said Merrill as she was setting down her drink. "Didn't even know he had a brother with him for the longest time, at least not until a tree fell on my aravel."

Artemis groaned, hiding his face behind his hand, and Fenris chuckled and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"My fault, I'm afraid," Theron said with an unapologetic smile.

"Knocked over a tree?" asked Sebastian, head tilted. "What were you doing?"

Bethany made strangled sound around her drink.

"They got a little... 'enthusiastic'," Cormac choked out, with a sidelong glance at Cullen, who appeared to be trying to hide behind his drink. "All right, all right, if it's embarrassing my brother time, I'm next."

He patted Anders's shoulder and stood up. "My brother was born on my nameday, when I was probably two. It was my first nameday. The whole ceremony and everything, and then he was born that night... Don't look at me like that!" He pointed at Sebastian. "You were a nobleman, once. We were Fereldan peasants! That's how it's done if you're a peasant! Ask Cullen, he knows!"

Cullen realised he hadn't succeeded in hiding behind his wine, and took another drink, before nodding. "He's right. Two or three before you get a name, because most children won't live long enough to take it."

"But, my dad put the baby in my lap and told me he was my nameday gift, and I had to take good care of him. And I tried. Maker, did I try, and he was a trying little shit, right from the word go." Cormac grinned up the table at Artemis. "But, two years later, it was nearly my nameday again, and dad asked what I wanted, and I said I wanted to give him a name, because I was getting tired of him not having one. And dad said he'd let me, but mum reserved the right to veto anything I came up with."

"I'm just glad he didn't let you name _me_!" Anton called down the table.

"Hey, you're named after a mage, you know!" Cormac jabbed a finger at Anton, before he went on. "But, I knew dad had this book. I liked to read it when I had time. Didn't understand a lot of it, because, you know, I was four and it was a scholarly history, if one written for a more general audience. But, there was a story about a magister who married a slave, and all of the Imperium was up in arms about it -- or so the book would have you believe. But, the magister's name was Artemis, and that was the kind of bravery I wanted for my little brother, so that's the name I gave him." Cormac choked up a bit, and tried to hide it with a shaky laugh. "Mind you, the magister only survived the wedding by about three weeks, and I hope you live longer than your namesake, but hey, you're the one who always said I'd grow up to be Andraste, and I'm not on fire, yet. Nor do I have boobs. Thank any god who's listening."

Cormac held up his glass. "So, in the continuation of a story of magic and freedom, my very favourite brother is to be wed, tomorrow. And that is worth at least another three drinks!"

The party cheered and applauded, everyone's cups a little emptier when they returned to the table. Before Cormac sat down, Artie rose up and pulled his brother into a hug. He'd only known parts of that story, known that Cormac had performed his naming ceremony but not that he had chosen the name and not how. "I'm glad you don't have boobs too," Artie said in Cormac's ear, voice thick. "You darling idiot."

" _Your_ darling idiot. Always," Cormac whispered, kissing his brother's cheek, before he sat.

Artemis returned to his seat, and Fenris's arm settled back along his shoulders.

Orana rose next from her end of the table, clearing her throat primly to get everyone's attention. "If I may," she asked, looking to the happy couple.

Fenris nodded while Artemis said, "Of course."

"My apologies," Orana said with a self-deprecating laugh. "I'm used to waiting on tables like this. In fact, for a moment, when Messere Fenris asked me to come tonight, I thought he meant he wanted me to cook for everyone." She grinned at the Dalish couple next to Fenris. "Try not to look so relieved, Theron. I know your... _opinions_ on Tevinter cuisine."

"I have no opinions," Theron sniffed, "other than the fact that it's not much of a cuisine."

"Says the elf who brought pickled nuts into my kitchen," Orana teased. Theron put a hand to his chest as though struck while Kalli snorted a laugh. "But anyway. Messere Fenris assured me that I was invited as part of the family, and a greater honour I could not imagine. And yes, this is after meeting your family, Messere Artemis." She winked at Fenris. "I owe you two so much. You not only saved my life but gave me a better one." She raised her glass. "To Messeres Fartemis, the family I didn't know I needed."

Cullen wasn't really sure he had any business talking, but he supposed Artemis was his brother, now. He whispered something to Anton, who looked up and down the table, before nodding. Looking entirely unsure of himself, Cullen stood up. "Unlike most of you, Artemis was my first Hawke. We lived in a little town south of Redcliffe, then -- all of us -- my family and the Hawkes. I was young enough that I probably shouldn't remember, but I watched him become a mage. I never saw anyone look that afraid, again, until I got to Kinloch Hold. I became a templar not only to protect the world from his power, but to protect him from it. To protect him from himself. But, here we are, twenty years later, and he's done just fine without the Order." Cullen smiled awkwardly and raised his glass. "To a mage I'm proud to call my brother. May you always be so strong."

Artemis saluted Cullen with his glass before clinking it against Fenris's. Next to rise was Bethany, but she turned to address Fenris. "You know, I've lived with Artie for most of my life, and I know how... interesting that can be." Fenris chuckled, and Artemis swatted his leg under the table. "We don't even live on the same street anymore, and he still cleans my room."

"You're welcome," Artie huffed.

"And that's because my brother is a perfectionist," Bethany went on. "He doesn't accept anything less than the best. Fenris, you make my brother so very happy, and that's a difficult thing to do." She raised her glass, and the rest of the table followed suit. "But, Fenris? If you ever hurt him, I swear you'll never sleep another night in your life." She smiled sweetly. "To my new brother!"

Fenris laughed weakly and drank more than a sip.

The speeches continued, on and off, through the next course. Eventually, almost everyone got in a remark about one or both of the couple -- Isabela was disappointed she'd eternally be short one Hawke, Aveline still thought Fenris would make an excellent guardsman, Donnic was glad that Fenris won well and fairly but still had mercy, Evie remarked on their taste in flowers, Carver complained that he wasn't adopted but that Artemis made him wish he was just a little less than Cormac, and so it went, until Sebastian and Varric were the last ones left.

After a last few bites of some Fereldan dish he hoped never to encounter again, Sebastian stumbled to his feet. Perhaps he wasn't as used to the wine as he thought he should be. "Artemis, I just want you to know that when Cullen told me he was dating the 'attractive' Hawke, I assumed he meant you. Because we'd already violently est-- established he didn't mean Bethany, but you look so much like your sister. If I were ever going to betray both the Maker and your sister, it'd be for someone who looked like you."

Bethany choked on her wine, as one of the servants cleared the dishes to make room for dessert. "Nobody give him any more wine!" she cackled. "Sit down, Sebastian, you ass."

"Well he's right, Bethy! You two do look like twins!" Cormac called across the table, before getting the attention of one of the servants and whispering something, with a gesture at Theron.

"Oh Maker," Artemis muttered, downing the rest of his wine while Fenris shook with laughter next to him. Sebastian teetered, slumping back into his seat at a tug from Bethany. Dessert distracted him a moment later.

Spoon halfway to her mouth, Kalli eyed the food the servants placed in front of her husband. "What in the Blight is that?" she asked. She poked at his whipped... something with her spoon, lip curled in distaste.

Theron was too distracted by the mug in front of him to answer. He sniffed at it, intrigued, and threw a questioning look at Cormac across the table.

"Lard pudding," Cormac clarified, with a grin. "It's exactly what you think it is."

Theron's eyes widened. "I haven't had this since the last arlathvhen! Where did you learn to make this?"

"I picked it up from this Chasind family we stayed with, when I was young. The girl said they learned it from the elves." Cormac grinned and poured himself a glass of something thick and off-white, before passing the bottle across the table to Theron.

Anton groaned. "Oh, Maker, Cormac, no."

Theron poured some into his glass and swirled it. "This I don't recognise at all."

"It's blaand," Cormac told him. "it's--"

"Gross," Anton finished.

"You drink _blaand_?" Cullen asked, face twisting in disgust. " _Why_?"

"It's milk-wine," Cormac told Theron, "and I grew up in southern Ferelden, so you _know_ why I drink it. Kind of surprised you don't, Cullen. Lothering was really a little large for it."

"It's from _milk_?" Kalli said, lip curling even more. "Ew."

"And here I thought you just drank the blaand as an excuse to visit Gantry," Artemis muttered. Theron offered him the bottle, which met with a "no" and an expression much like his wife's.

Theron shrugged and set down the bottle in the middle of the table, where he and Cormac could both reach. He took an experimental sip of the blaand, tilting his head as it sat on his tongue. "Ooh." He grinned and went back for another sip. "Kalli, you need to try this."

"Not if you paid me," Kalli said, digging into her own dessert.

Cullen shook his head and sunk a spoon into his own much more recognisable fig pudding. "And that's the mage I'm not happy to suddenly be related to," he muttered.

"Nobody's happy to be related to Cormac, except maybe Artie. And even that's questionable." Anton laughed and picked Anders's pocket for a charcoal stick, scrawling something on one of the cloth napkins, before he wadded it up and threw it up the table at Artie. "That'll probably help, though."

"I'm in a league of my own," Cormac drawled, raising his glass to Theron. "To the only other person at the table who recognises proper food!"

"What about me?" Merrill asked, from next to Carver. "Don't I get some?"

Carver shot a horrified look up the table at Cullen. "If anybody asks, I'm related to _your_ family."

Cormac waved to one of the servants, and pointed to Merrill. "Sorry, Merrill. I thought Carver might have ruined you with his barbarian tastes."

Artemis threw Anton a suspicious look and smoothed out the napkin, grimacing at the charcoal dust that came off on his fingers.

"Well, if he hasn't ruined her with his swording..." Fenris muttered, tilting his head to see what Anton had written. His handwriting was a bit difficult to make out, but he could decipher a few words. "What's this about a bull?"

Artemis glared at Anton over the napkin.

"It was a long time ago," Anton reminded him, sliding his chair back a few inches in case he needed to make a run for it.

Artie handed the napkin off to Cormac... or, rather, laid it out neatly in front of him. "Excuse me, but I need to kill one of my brothers," he said, getting to his feet.

"I didn't say I did anything! I said Cormac didn't!" Anton climbed into Cullen's lap. "I'd never seen you that pissed, for that long, about anything! And he didn't deserve it! And I'm not saying I did!"

"You know Gantry told me, right?" Cormac said, leaning back in his chair. "He found out from his brother, and it didn't take much to put the rest together. In case you ever wondered exactly how it was that birds kept shitting in your drink for six months after that? _That_ was me. Never underestimate your older brother's ingenuity."

"Birds? What are you, now, some kind of bird-mage? Dad's books didn't say anything about bird mages!" Anton positioned himself carefully, so that no matter how Artie came at him, he'd have a direction to go. "And that was completely gross, by the way! Bird shit? In my drink? Every night? How did you even manage that?"

"Carefully." Cormac grinned.

Anders leaned forward and looked down the table, trying to catch Cullen's eye, over Anton's shoulder. "Cullen? Are we back in the tower? Because I'm sure I've heard this conversation before."

Cullen arched an eyebrow at Anders. "Why? How much bird shit did you drink?" He suddenly looked horrified. "How much bird shit did _I_ drink?"

"Ask Surana," Anders replied, poking at his pudding. Cullen looked the opposite of reassured.

Artemis shook his head at Anton, not even bothering to reach for him. "Why don't you save us both the trouble?" he said, beckoning his brother with the curl of a finger.

"Cullen," said Anton, eyes on Artie, "could you do me a favour and smite my brother?"

"I'm not getting in the middle of this," Cullen replied. 

"You're already in the middle of this," Anton told him. "Literally."

"Boys," sighed Bethany, "no smiting or force magicing at the table, if you please."

"I want to hear about this bull story," Isabela said.

"I don't think either of you have told it to me, either," Anders noted, contemplatively, around a mouthful of pudding. He washed it down with a swig of Cormac's blaand, amid a round of protests from Justice.

"In brief, there's this stuff that's used on cows to make them more attractive to the bulls, during a particular couple of weeks a year. And he whose magic tricks are limited to prestidigitation decided to pour some on my extremely nervous little brother. It is a very good thing I happened to be there, later that day." Cormac topped off his glass and glared down the table. "You deserved every mouthful of chickenshit you got for that, just so you know. Fifteen years later, and you still deserved it."

"I feel like you're leaving out the exciting part of the story," Varric said, pouring himself a glass of brandy.

"I feel like if I leave it to your imagination, you'll probably be something like correct."

"When was this?" Theron asked, looking between the brothers. "Was this later? I didn't hear about this!"

"This was later, yes," Artemis said, still locked in a staring contest with Anton over Cullen's head. "In Lothering. Though I didn't know at the time that's why the bull was after me.  His... attentions were an oh-so-pleasant surprise."

"I still don't get why you were so mad at Cormac," Anton said. He darted a glance at their older brother, and Artie looked at him too automatically. In that brief break of eye-contact, Anton bolted, slipping between chairs. Artie twisted his fingers, and Anton fell butt-first to the floor. Each time he tried to stand up, Artie twitched his fingers again, and he was drawn back to the floor as though magnetised. Artemis took Anton's pudding, taking his time to eat it as Anton swore at the floor.

"I was mad at Cormac for other reasons," Artemis muttered around a mouthful of pudding.

"So what animal do you get when you cross a bull and a Hawke?" Aveline asked.

"Nothing pretty," replied Varric, "even if Artie is the mother."

"Thanks, Varric."

"And for the record, he was mad at me because I was banging Gantry and he wanted a piece." Cormac laughed. It was ... almost true, he thought, even if everyone would take it the other way. "Got himself a piece of Gantry and we made up by morning."

Anders opened his mouth, took one look at Carver, and shut himself up with more pudding. "I would like to remind you all that even at the height of the Imperium, nobody was having ass-babies, from bulls or otherwise." It was safer than a remark about how this seemed to be a habit, with the two of them, sharing lovers.

Sebastian banged his knees on the underside of the table, trying to get up. On the third try, he managed. "I need to get back to the Chantry, before the night Hours begin. It's been lovely. Thank you for having me." Bulls? Ass-babies? _Mages_. He'd had more than enough of the company and the wine.

"Tell Jethann I've got a sovereign for him if he makes sure Chantry-boy gets home in one piece?" Cormac called across the room. "He can thank me later."

Artemis cleared his throat awkwardly and slunk back towards Fenris, taking Anton's pudding with him. He stopped pinning his brother to the floor, but Anton had stopped trying to get up. He was currently lying on his back and admiring the ceiling.

"A bull, hm?" Fenris murmured, pulling his mage into his lap and pressing a kiss to his neck.

"It was a traumatic day for me," Artie huffed, smiling when he could feel Fenris's chuckle rumble in his chest.

"Does it have to be Jethann?" Anders asked Cormac, stealing more of his blaand. "Honestly, him accompanying Sebastian just makes me _more_ worried for Chantry-boy than if he'd gone alone."

"Oh, it should be Jethann, because he tells the best stories. We'll get to hear all about this little trip across Hightown, all night." Cormac laughed.

"I thought you had some other plans for tonight..." Anders purred against Cormac's ear, quietly, pinching Cormac's thigh under the table.

"Not in front of the company, Anders. Even if some of them are involved." Cormac spoke without moving his lips, a habit he'd picked up after so many years in a house with Anton and Bethany.

"Gross!" Carver shouted down the table, lobbing a fairy cake at Cormac. "It's not your wedding! You don't get a pass!"

"Nobody fucking asked you, shem!" Kalli shouted back. "I like the view!"

Cormac shrugged at Cullen. "Brothers."


	204. Chapter 204

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jethann starts a friendly argument with Anton. The finer sensibilities of Anton's relatives are the first victims.

"You think you can do better, Tony?" Jethann called out into the crowd, the grin on his face a challenge. He stopped in the middle of working his pants down his hips and walked to the edge of the table to tower over Anton.

They'd left the long table and the mess of dishes and moved the party into the main hall. Artemis booed when he realised the elf had stopped stripping, at least until Fenris pressed a fresh drink into his hand. 

"Oh, I wouldn't want to show you up, Jethann," Anton said.

"That's it. Give me back my clothes and get up here, and we'll see who's better."

Carver returned from the bar to find his brother dancing on the table next to the elf, and his girlfriend cheering them both on.

Varric sat at a table a bit away from the revelry, taking notes. He caught Carver's eye. "And at his brother's bachelor party, too. Who'd have thunk it?"

"This is absurd. And disgusting," Carver protested, watching people choose sides of the table based on who they thought was better. He watched Bethany step over to Jethann's side, eyebrow raised in interest, and still wearing a gown to make the Orlesians weep. Well, at least she hadn't chosen Anton, he supposed.

The shirts came off, and Isabela caught Anton's, cheering wildly, and stepping around to his side. After a moment, Merrill joined her, but Carver was too busy talking to Varric, to notice. Behind all of them, Cormac pulled Artemis aside.

"You can watch the pretty elf in a minute. In fact, in a few minutes, you can have the pretty elf." Cormac grinned, lopsidedly. "You remember the thing we talked about? And do you remember that wall that wasn't, in Darktown? I arranged something, if you still want to go through with it."

Fenris drifted over to Jethann's side of the table, with a smug look at Anton.

Artemis made an inquisitive noise around his drink, pulling his stare away from Jethann to look at his brother. It took him a moment to understand what Cormac meant, what Cormac was saying, but then he remembered that night with Cormac and Fenris, and his eyes widened. "That's-- you-- you were serious?" He turned back to the table, this time to stare at Fenris. " _He_ was serious?"

Anton was busy working his trousers down his hips, sliding them down one inch at a time, swaying seductively. Cullen applauded, and Carver gave him a flat look. Cullen cleared his throat and composed himself. "What? He's my husband."

"Maybe I am adopted," Carver told Varric.

"If you didn't look so much like your uncle, I might believe that," Varric replied, writing down another flowery description of the way Anton's hips moved.

"There's more of your family?" Cullen looked a little horrified, even as his eyes never left Anton. He figured he'd known that, but it hadn't sunk in. The man certainly hadn't been at their wedding.

"And at least two cousins, only one of which is his," Carver went on.

"No, I know one of your cousins," Cullen reminded him. "Solona. She's not--"

"No, not her. The other one."

"It was his idea," Cormac admitted to Artemis. "He came to me and asked me if I thought you'd like it. And if I'd be willing to propose it to you. Which, I'm always glad of the excuse to propose things to you. Wait, no, I'm always glad of the opportunity to proposition you." He laughed. "But, yeah, we were serious. And Anders is here to make sure nobody breaks anything, so..."

Artemis tried to wrap his mind around that. Fenris, his Fenris, coming up with such an idea. Maker, he loved that elf. "Well, I'm in," he said, fingers fluttering over the drink in his hand. "I am about as 'in' as anybody could possibly be. But... how exactly are we doing this? I mean..." He shrugged awkwardly and leaned in even more. "Earthquakes? I'm not quite drunk enough for that to, er, not be an issue."

"I arranged the music -- well, Anton arranged the music, but I suggested that you had a standing preference for drumming. Nobody's going to notice. The floor will be shaking _anyway_." Cormac smiled slyly. "And it turns out you can see through those illusionary walls just fine, as long as you're standing at the back of the rune. So you will be able to see everyone in the room, and only some of us will be able to see you." He pointed to a table tucked in the corner.

"You... Maker, you really thought this through, didn't you?" And that was close, terribly close to the party, to all his friends and family. There were a million reasons why this was a terrible idea, but he trusted Cormac to take care of the details in a way he trusted no one else. Artie glanced back at the group as he headed for the appointed corner, but they were distracted by Jethann and Anton and -- yes, there went Anton's pants into the crowd. "I don't suppose the wall could block out Anton's dance routine?"

Anton reached for his smalls, and Carver called it quits. "I am not drunk enough for this," he announced. "I'm never going to be drunk enough for this. I never _want_ to be drunk enough for this."

Cormac shrugged at Artemis. "Look at Jethann, instead. It's not like you and I didn't both get to ignore Anton's bare ass for two years. Or if Jethann's too close, check out Theron, who is very, very much not on our brother's side of the table. I guess now that he's figured out it's not a shem thing, he's done trying." He laughed and watched Carver trying to drag Merrill away from where she was following Isabela's lead and whistling at Anton's slowly-bared bottom.

"That is my _brother_!" Carver complained, tugging on Merrill's arm.

"Of course he is! Why do you think I picked his side? He looks so much like you. Even more now that I can see all of him!" Merrill smiled up at Carver, simply pleased with the view.

"That's..." Carver considered it for a moment. It was flattering, but that was still his brother. "We're going home, and then you can look at _me_ , instead of my stupid brother."

"Oh." Merrill patted Isabela on the shoulder. "I have to go. Carver wants to show off what a good sworder he is."

"That's my girl," said Izzy. "Are you sure you don't want to stay, Carver? We could put you up there too and see how you match up if you look so much like your brother."

"Definitely leaving." Carver tugged Merrill along by the hand.

"It's not looking good for you, Jethann," Anton said, turning to give Isabela a full view of the legendary Hawke ass.

"That's because you stacked the deck, Tony," Jethann tsked. "It's your brother's party. At least now we know who in this room has good taste!"

Fenris glanced back at Artemis, where he disappeared towards the back of the room. Over his drink, Theron gave him a knowing grin.

Anders stepped over to Jethann's side, and after a moment Kalli joined him.

"I just don't get the appeal of shem," she said, shaking her head and looking up at Jethann. "No offence, but you're kind of gross and hairy, like the rest of your kind, and so's he." She gestured at Anton.

"I'm pretty sure that's the way it's supposed to be." Anders shrugged. "Even if I'm a lot less hairy than you think I am. Theron and Artemis are the weird ones, not you. And really, I prefer looking at Anton, but I'm not standing over there, because that would just be more awkward than anyone wants to deal with. And not just because of his brothers."

"Brothers? Not brother?" Kalli looked up at him.

"What can I say? I get around." Anders grinned.

Cormac stood inside the false wall with Artemis at his side. The runes were set in a table that had been flipped on its side, so that even if the runes failed, there would still be some cover. Possibly enough to dress behind, if no one looked over right away. But, Cormac wasn't sure Artemis would be getting naked, knowing how many... interesting things he'd pretended not to see, over the years. "There's the table." He pointed. "That's the only spot you can be seen from. I checked and rechecked it with Jethann, this afternoon, while we were setting it up. But, no one else can see you. As far as they know, this wall is solid, between those pillars. And it is solid, if anyone knocks."

"So no one can see us right now?" Artemis set down his drink, jumped and flailed his arms just to be sure, but no one reacted, not even Theron, who was looking over their way. "And all this for me? You and Fenris are both daft." He smiled fondly and, checking again to make sure no one could see them, Artie pulled Cormac into a kiss. Even if no one could see them, Artemis still felt exposed in a way that should not have been so thrilling.

"All for you," Cormac breathed into the kiss. "Anything you want. Tell me. I'll find a way. That's why I'm here." He dove back into the kiss, hot and demanding, and then broke it, suddenly, turning Artemis to face the crowd and holding him from behind. "You're to be married, tomorrow. Tonight, you can have anything you want. Everything you want. Because what Fenris and I want is to make you happy. And, you know, to fuck you until you can't stand up, but that's kind of secondary." He punctuated that last by grinding himself against Artie's ass.

"Luckily, right now you can do both at the same time," Artemis said, lips quirked in a breathless smile. He still expected someone to look over and see them, but he didn't pull away. Watching Jethann and the crowd around him, Artie arched back into his brother.

Theron had ended up with Jethann's smalls on his head, and he wore them like a trophy, half looped over one ear. Kalli shook her head at her husband in exasperation.

"Still don't see the appeal of shem?" Anders teased.

"You say like that I've never seen a shem with a pair of smalls over his head," she replied. "I grew up in Denerim. It was more common than you'd think."

"I've been to Denerim and I can verify this." Anders nodded. "In fact, depending on the year, I might have been one of those shem."

"If you tell me you were there in twenty-nine Dragon, I might have to knife you," Kalli said, with a thin smile. "That was the year my _first_ wedding got ruined, by a bunch of filthy shem who thought they wanted panties on their heads, until they decided all they wanted was to be spared my blade."

"I was definitely not there for that. I was, er..." Anders coughed and looked up at Jethann. "I was actually staying at the Pearl, the last time I was in Denerim. No elf weddings there, I'm almost sad to say."

"Staying there? That must've been expensive. I hope it was worth the coin." She still looked like she might stab him.

"Expensive? Wha-- no!" Anders tipped his head back and pressed a hand over his eyes. "No, not like that. I was there as a healer. After you clean up enough of what goes around in a place like that..." He left out the part where he'd spent some time on the other side of the transactions she'd assumed. If she didn't hear it from Isabela, he wasn't going to bring it up.

Kalli hummed, eyeing him as she tried to decide if she believed him. She was small, even for an elf, and she had to crane her neck back to look at him, but Anders still readied himself to run at the first indication of a stabbing. Being shorter just meant it was easier for her to stab him in his more precious bits.

"'A place like that'," Kalli repeated wryly, glancing around. "I take it that's how you know Jethann?"

Jethann, who was shaking his ass within groping distance. Theron cheered and applauded.

"That's..." Anders laughed weakly. "I wouldn't say that. Granted, I wouldn't not say that either. In fact, I'm just going to stand here, saying nothing at all on the matter."

Kalli smirked. "I see."


	205. Chapter 205

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A good time was had by many, and not necessarily with the people they'd arrived with.

Cormac leaned against the barrier, with one hand, resting his chin on Artie's shoulder. The other hand teased Artie's knob. "You should have taken my advice. This would have been easier in robes," he pointed out, with another solid thrust. "Look at all of them out there, watching Jethann. Do you think they know? Do you think they know he's going to slip away and have his way with you? Imagine the scandal. You, a nobleman, due to wed in the morning, caught getting ravished by an elven prostitute." He cupped his hand between Artie's legs and squeezed gently. "Or imagine the scandal right now. They'd all blame me, you know, for corrupting you. They'd think I forced you. Can you imagine trying to explain that?" He chuckled at the thought, forcing back the absolute terror he had of exactly that. The runes were solid, though. They'd held up for years, in their previous installation. "Or maybe you'd rather think of how it's going to feel to sit down, after we're all done with you. The way I know you're going to leak all over the inside of your trousers, while Anton and Cullen are trying to talk to you about tomorrow..."

Artemis whimpered, clutching tight to the barrier and to Cormac's words. These were all terrible, terrible images, and he had to wonder what it said about him that he loved the thrill he felt at each one. He bit back Cormac's name when it jumped to his lips, afraid to even whisper it in case someone heard or knew.

Every now and then Fenris would glance back at their corner, gaze skimming over where the barrier was but never quite landing on them. There was a part of Artie that was disappointed that Fenris couldn't see him, but just the fact that Fenris knew was enough to make him shiver, another desperate sound catching behind his teeth. "More," he begged Cormac, as if they didn't have all night, as if he didn't need to pace himself. As if the floor weren't already trembling under his feet. "Please."

Artie saw Fenris smile and wondered if his elf felt it.

Cullen applauded as Anton took a bow, still pantsless. Varric elbowed him. "Whistle a little. Show him you care!"

"Is that really... That sounds terribly rude, Varric," Cullen protested.

"Trust me. He'll love it." Varric grinned and patted Cullen's arm. "It's Anton."

Still looking uncertain, Cullen whistled, like he'd heard Isabela doing, earlier, and Anton blew him a kiss.

"You see that?" Varric said. "That's what you're looking for."

"Okay, okay," Anton called out. "I see some of you haven't picked a side, yet, but it's counting time!"

"I'm not picking sides, Stabby!" Varric called out, but Cullen got up and made his way across the room, to stand with Isabela.

Anton glanced around and shot a desperate look at Cormac and Artemis, as he saw his brothers return from... likely one of the other rooms. Artie was neurotic. They were probably checking on something. But, Cormac smirked and stood on Jethann's side, and Artemis stayed by his side. He supposed he couldn't blame them. They _were_ his brothers.

Jethann made a show of counting the people standing on his side, finger bobbing in the air over each head. "Oh dear," he said, smirking. "You're welcome to check my counting, Tony, but I think your side is looking a bit... short-staffed?"

"It's my brother's party," Anton replied, crossing his arms. "And most of your 'fans' are related to me. It was an unfair advantage!"

"You know I have my own advantages with or without your family. They're just an added bonus." He winked down at Artemis, who grinned back, looking a bit dazed and flushed. 

Anton shrugged and called out for another round of drinks, jumping from the table. Cullen was already looking about for Anton's clothes.

Theron tried to hand back Jethann's smalls, but Jethann shook his head. "They look better on you, handsome," he said, setting them back on Theron's head. Kalli gave Anders a long-suffering look.

"He is pretty cute, for an elf," Anders admitted, watching Theron sneak off with Artemis. "Pretty sure I knew the cutest elf, back in Ferelden, though. That adorable little shit was a danger to everything and everyone. I hope he didn't end up Tranquil, after I left..." And that was a terrifying thought. Wynne had gone out at the same time he had, and Karl had been sent across the sea, just after. There had been no one left who understood Surana, except maybe the First Enchanter. He thought about getting Solona to send a letter for him, just to check.

"What is 'Tranquil', anyway?" Kalli asked, watching Jethann get dressed and shake people's hands. Another elf took his place on the table. "I used to see them in the market, in Denerim, with those weird looks and the eyes that looked right through you. They were different -- never rude or angry. I figured them for some kind of religious thing. Shem problem. I didn't pay it much mind."

"It's what happens to mages who don't meet the standards of their circle," Anders said, trying not to sound as angry as he always got, talking about it. They were in the middle of a party. "The templars use lyrium to cut the mage off from their magic, which also removes most of their emotions and their free will. Very much like the Qunari do with prisoners of war, I'm told. Turns slaves into slaves who can't disobey."

Kalli's expression darkened at the mention of slaves. "Well," she said dryly. "That doesn't sound very pleasant." Which, she supposed, was a point in the Dalish's favour.

"Certainly not for mages," Anders said. Justice stirred just under the surface, uncurling like a cat rising from slumber, but Anders tamped him down. This wasn't the time or the place, and he suspected that Kalli already sympathized. "But... this is a party, and we should treat it like it. Want another drink? I'm going to go get a refill." He pointed a thumb at the bar. His own refill would be non-alcoholic, he assured Justice. Or the part of him that was Justice.

Kalli smiled and handed Anders her glass. "I'll walk with you."

Meanwhile, her husband had his hand on Artie's throat, Artie's legs tight about his waist. "How hard do you think we can make the floor shake?" Theron growled in Artemis's ear, lips and tongue playing over its round shell. Artemis merely whimpered Theron's name in answer, fingers bunching in his tunic.

"Your brother's out there," Theron teased, slamming his hips forward and grinding Artemis's back against the wall. "Two brothers and your sister, right? You want me to make you scream my name, so they all know what you're doing? Just like the first time..." He squeezed a little harder, before giving Artie just enough air to answer him. "You want Fenris to hear you when you come for me, knowing that he's going to be the very last one of us to have you?"

The groan that Artemis made filled the small space. He pleaded for mercy, from the Maker, from Theron. He didn't say how much he loved the idea of Fenris hearing, of Cormac hearing, but he didn't need to, not with the way he arched against Theron.

Fenris settled at the table nearby, angled so that he could see the rest of the party -- both parts of it -- with one glance. Jethann joined him a moment later, walking carefully so as not to spill his full mug. Beer still dribbled over the sides, and he tutted, licking the beer off the side of the mug.

"Done dancing for the night?" Fenris asked.

"For the moment," Jethann answered, eyeing what he could see of Artemis and Theron. "I think I'll watch some dancing for a moment."

On the far side of the room, Anton was introducing a dwarven percussion troupe, and the roll of the first huge drum rumbled through the floor. Isabela and Varric still sat nearly in the centre of the room, placing bets and making jokes. Varric pointed to Kalli and Anders and laid two silver pieces on the table.

"No, no. Be more specific," Isabela insisted. "I'm not taking that bet unless you name an act."

"I don't want to know enough about Blondie to name an act." Varric shook his head. "Assume an arrangement of fish and chickens in the usual manner."

Isabela cackled. "You're on." That was an elf, and there was no way Anders was going to make it fit, and she _knew_ it. "I'll be happy to take your money."

The drumming troupe drowned out Artie's shaky breaths, and he could feel the drum's low rumble in his chest, filling the spaces between frantic heartbeats. He didn't feel the earth when it started to shake, and he vowed to thank Cormac for that genius idea as he spilled over Theron's hand.

After a few more kisses and some hastily rearranged clothing, Theron slipped back into the party, looking for his wife. Kalli wasn't by the drummers with almost everyone else, even if she was shorter and harder to see in the crowd. He checked twice. And then he spotted Varric and Isabela leaning on a closed door and smirking.

"Have you two seen--"

"Shhh!" Isabela flapped a hand to quiet him, and then pointed to her ear and the door.

Theron leaned in, angling an ear to the door as well. He didn't even need to stand that close to hear what they were listening for, the door vibrating in time to the wrecked sounds of a woman in ecstasy. A particular set of sounds from a particular woman that Theron knew by heart. Ah, good. He'd found Kalli.

Theron strained to hear who was wringing those sounds from her but could hear nothing else past the rumble of drums. He wondered, for a moment, what Isabela was doing on this side of the door after the way Kalli had been eyeing her earlier in the evening.

"Who is it?" Theron whispered. "Is it that scruffy shem she was talking to?" Kalli had kept insisting he was too hairy, but Theron knew that look of curiosity all too well. If that _was_ Anders, it looked like she had no more complaints about his hairiness.

Isabela nodded. "That scruffy shem with the pole as big around as her thigh. We've got a few coins riding on that."

"Her _thigh_!?" Varric hissed, eyes wide. "You didn't tell me that! You're just trying to get me to pay up before it's actually over."

"Go ask Cormac." Isabela grinned. "He'll tell you. He'll probably tell you more than you ever wanted to know."

Theron looked back and forth between them, following the conversation. He thought about it, and then thought about it again, confusion finally settling onto his face. "You're making it up."

"Maybe a little, but..." Isabela held up her forearm and gestured at it, raising an eyebrow.

Theron leaned back a little and tugged down the edge of his tunic. "That is completely unnecessary and unreasonable, and if I were fifteen years younger, I might be willing to believe it, but I've known enough shem without trousers. That's not even possible."

"Oh, it's possible," Isabela said, gleeful at the wide-eyed look on Theron's face. "It's more than possible. But don't ask me. Ask your wife." She pointed a thumb at the door as Kalli let out a particularly enthusiastic shriek.

Theron opened and closed his mouth a few times like a fish. "That's... no." There was no way Kalli would be enjoying that. Would she?

Dwarf and pirate bent back to the door as Theron backed away. He'd certainly ask Kalli about it later, but right now he didn't need those images. Instead, he wandered over to the curly-haired gentleman hovering by the bar, watching more than participating in the party.


	206. Chapter 206

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theron makes an ill-considered pass. Anton is amused. Artemis is not going to be able to stand up in the morning. Fenris wonders at the wisdom of his decisions.

Dwarf and pirate bent back to the door as Theron backed away. He'd certainly ask Kalli about it later, but right now he didn't need those images. Instead, he wandered over to the curly-haired gentleman hovering by the bar, watching more than participating in the party.

Theron ordered a drink, casting a glance back at Fenris to see him raptly watching Artemis's corner of the room. He smirked and said, "The Hawkes certainly know how to throw a party, don't they?"

"I, er, it's... um... it's an experience," Cullen smiled awkwardly, just glad that his brother had gone back to Gwaren. He couldn't imagine Branson in a room as full of elves as this one. "Have, ah, have we met?"

Theron held out his hand. "Theron Mahariel. Call me Mahariel, everyone else does, since there's just the one of me. Of course, to hear my wife tell it there can only be one of me, or the world would end."

Cullen laughed and shook the offered hand. "One of Anton's friends, then? I'm surprised I haven't heard your name before. I'm his husband, Cullen."

"Oh, you're Anton's templar!" Theron smiled wickedly. "And no, as delightful as it sounds to be one of Anton's friends, I barely know him. Artemis and I... It was a long time ago."

Cullen remembered the toast. "Oh! Oh... That's... I mean... And you're here? With your wife?" It sounded dreadfully awkward, but he figured he'd have to introduce Anton and Solona, at some point. After all, they were related.

"Of course!" Theron said. "Where else would I be? I have only fond memories of Artemis, and Kalli -- my wife -- got along famously with Fenris. Of course, not as famously as she's getting along with Anders right now, I suspect."

Cullen thought he must have misinterpreted that suggestive arch of an eyebrow. He couldn't be implying that his wife and Anders were... no. Certainly not with such an easy smile. "Uh."

"Granted, it's rather easy to get along with Kalli," Theron said, pausing to thank the bartender as he slid him his drink. "Well. Unless you're wrong, really. Then it's rather easy to get on her bad side, but if you're there, you generally deserve it, you know?"

"I... suppose?"

Theron waved his hand as he took a drink. "Oh, but you don't want to hear about that." He glanced down at Cullen's nearly-empty glass. "So what are you drinking, Ser Cullen? I don't want to be the only one here with a full glass."

"It, er..." Cullen lifted his glass and squinted into it, as if he'd forgotten. "It appears to be some sort of pear cider." That he could answer with some amount of certainty. Whatever it was, it tasted like pear, and it wasn't cordial. He would not be drinking cordial, tonight. Not here.

Fluttering his fingers at the elf on the other side of the bar, Theron ordered another round for Cullen. "What are you so nervous about? It's a party. At the worst, someone's going to get drunk and use the accommodations!"

A flush shot across Cullen's face and he finished the drink he was holding, before picking up the next glass. "It's a Hawke party," Cullen pointed out. "That's not a 'worst', it's just an expectation." He preferred to avoid becoming part of the 'accommodations', although they were in a brothel, so there were likely more exciting things than him, upstairs. Not to mention more exciting people in this very room.

Every time the drums shook the floor, Theron noticed, Cullen would glance around the room, as if looking for something or someone. Theron considered asking him what he was looking for, just to see how dark he could make the man blush, but then Kalli staggered back out into the main room, cheeks flushed and hair tousled as she straightened her clothing. She caught Theron's gaze and sent him a grin and a wave.

Isabela and Varric had moved away from the door but stayed locked in conversation a few feet away, within spying distance. Anders waited a few minutes before emerging after Kalli, and Theron greeted him with a wolf-whistle and a round of applause.

Cullen was halfway through his next pear cider already, and he convinced himself he wasn't seeing what he thought he was seeing. "Hawke party," he muttered to himself. "Right."

Anders's face was still in his hands when Isabela grabbed him by one arm, pestering him with -- well, exactly the sort of questions he'd come to expect from Isabela. He looked right at her and licked his fingers, before swaggering off into the crowd, hoping to catch Fenris and ask how things were... progressing.

"Ha!" Isabela crowed, jabbing a finger at Varric, and then holding out an open hand.

Anton was distracted from his brief search of the room for Artemis, when Cullen's nearly glowing blush caught his eye. His brother was probably fine. His husband, however, had been cornered by the Dalish couple. "No cordial?" he teased, stepping up to the bar, beside Cullen.

"Not in front of your brother," Cullen grumbled, with a half-hearted glare at Anton.

"Ooh! Both of them!" Kalli grinned like a ravenous bereskarn, and elbowed Theron, who cast a contemplative eye on Anton.

"'Both of them'," Anton said, stepping right into the conversation without breaking stride. "The answer to the question: 'who are the most gorgeous men in the room'?" 

"Don't encourage them," Cullen muttered to him behind his glass.

"Well, at least the most gorgeous shem," Kalli said with a wink at her husband.

Theron took a breath as though to argue but looked around, noticing that a certain other Hawke wasn't in the room, at least not as far as anyone else could tell. 

Anton laughed. "Checking the room for prettier shem?" he asked. "Do I need to get back on a table?"

"Maybe I misspoke," Cullen said to Anton, "but I could have sworn I said 'don't' before the words 'encourage them'."

"Did you?" Anton asked, all innocence. "My mistake. These drums drown out all the words I don't like."

They also drowned out Anders's words to Fenris, but then Fenris was only half listening. Fenris understood that he was asking about Artie, at least, and without taking his eyes off the mage in question, he told Anders, "See for yourself."

Anders was about to protest that, but looked up and realised he could see perfectly well, if he followed Fenris's eyes. He couldn't remember the elf's name, but Anders knew he'd cured the man. He'd run the same spells on everyone coming in to the building, just to be safe. And then he'd taken a nap on a couch and told Cormac to wake him up if anyone else came in.

The elf slipped out of the alcove, first, looking like he'd come out of the door beside it, of course, and Anders ducked in, before anything else could happen. Just to make sure. 

"Artie?" Anders paused just far enough in not to be seen from any angle but the correct one. "You need anything? Healing? Potions?"

Artemis leaned against a wall, in danger of becoming a limp puddle of a mage, albeit a grinning, happy puddle. "Oh, hello, Anders! Enjoying the party?"

"You know I always enjoy a Hawke party," Anders said, stepping in a little farther to get a closer look at Artie. Anders ran healing magic over him just in case, even if Artemis didn't look to be in any pain, and the blue glow lit their small alcove. He pressed a stamina potion into Artie's hand too after seeing how shaky he was on his feet. 

"Oh, I know you do," Artemis said, words heavy with suggestion as he toyed with a feather at Anders's shoulder.

"Now, you really should rest," Anders said. "Just for a bit. Give that potion and the healing a chance to settle, and --"

"Relax, Mother, I'll be fine," Artie teased.

"Don't tease the Warden," Anders shot back, poking Artemis in the nose, "or you'll need a lot more than one stamina potion, and you'll miss half the party." He squeezed Artie's bottom, before backing out, with a wink, to rejoin Fenris, at the table.

"Are you next?" Anders asked, as his ass hit the chair.

"No, not yet. There's another prostitute, first." Fenris shook his head. "I feel like I should be much more disturbed by all of this. I understand that this is not a respectable thing to do, but... when has this relationship ever been respectable? We're upsetting half of Hightown just going to the market, together. I don't think we will ever meet expectations, but I can't help but wonder if this might not be tempting fate."

"I may not have spent much time out in the world, but according to the books I've read -- admittedly most of them were in Tevene -- consorting with prostitutes, the night before the wedding is almost expected." Anders shrugged, watching an elf make his way through the crowd, toward them. "At least among noblemen. I don't get invited to noblemen's weddings, unless we're talking about Hawkes. Lowtown weddings are different. No one can afford a party like this."

Fenris still found himself wondering at the wisdom of this idea, but that was a concern he often had around Hawkes, especially one with large blue eyes and more nervous habits than he could count. Another elf joined Artie in the alcove as Fenris watched, and next to him, Anders tried not to be obvious about watching too. To the rest of the room, Fenris, at least, looked like he was staring at Anders instead of just over his shoulder.

A flash of memory cut across Fenris's vision -- another party, other dark shapes moving together in the corner -- but it was gone the moment he blinked. He smirked into his drink when the floor trembled again.


	207. Chapter 207

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bethany saves Cullen from a very elfy fate.

Out in the middle of the room, Cormac shot another glance toward the back corner. That was an earthquake, and he could feel the difference. He thought he might check if it was Fenris's turn or if he'd lost count and had it come back around to him. But, as he took a step in that direction, Bethany grabbed his shoulders and turned him around.

"Cormac, leave him be," Bethany sighed, and Cormac froze.

 _Did she know? What was she thinking?_ The worst of everything ran through Cormac's head -- but no, if she knew, he'd be in a lot more pain. They wouldn't be having this conversation. Fenris appeared in the corner of his vision, behind Bethany, waiting for some signal that things had gone wrong.

"We all know what he's doing, but he's doing it on purpose. You know what he's like, and I just saw Anders checking on him. He doesn't need you checking on him. He's getting _married_ , tomorrow." Bethany laughed and shook her head. "Come on and get me another drink. Let's go save Cullen from those elves. It doesn't look like Anton's helping."

"Anton is never helping," Cormac pointed out, linking his arm with his sister's, and speaking loudly enough for Fenris to hear. "And you're right he doesn't need me checking on him, if Anders just did. He's just my little brother, you know? Maybe you don't. You're the youngest. I worry about him. And I promise that if I have to worry about you, before your wedding, I'll send Isabela."

Fenris gave Cormac a barely perceptible nod and retreated back to his corner in time to see the latest elf saunter out of the alcove. Fenris ducked in after him, finding his fiancé propped up against the barrier, a lovely sweat-soaked mess. Artemis's whole face brightened when he realised the elf walking towards him was _his_ elf.

"Amatus..." Fenris began.

Artie draped his arms around Fenris's neck, pulling his elf close against him, and Fenris set aside his next words in favour of a kiss. "Is it your turn, Fen?" Artie asked against his lips. "Come to remind me whom I belong to, mm?"

"You, mage, belong to no one," Fenris said, his smile soft as he brushed back Artie's sweaty hair. "But who you belong _with_ is a different matter." It was an important distinction to him, one he'd had a hard time grasping when he'd first started learning the language.

Past Artemis's shoulder, Fenris could see through the illusion into the main room, and he watched Cormac with his arm around Bethany's shoulders.

"Your brother was going to come ..." Fenris cleared his throat, "'check on you', but Bethany stopped him. They've gone to get a drink. I wonder if he'll make it back for the next set, or if we'll have to skip ahead to Theron."

Artemis's eyes narrowed. "'Stopped him'? What do you mean 'stopped him'? Did she just happen to run into him or did she know he was coming over here? Oh Maker, does she know what 'here' is and what we're doing?" He went from blissed-out mage puddle to vibrating with nerves in a matter of seconds. 

"Oh, she knows what _you're_ doing," Fenris assured him, with a teasing nuzzle against the fluff on Artemis's chin. "But, she completely misunderstood what _he_ was doing. She thought he was worried about you. She--" He couldn't help himself, and a laugh slipped out. "She told him you had to be well, because Anders was just here to see you. But, I have no question that she's sure of the rest of it. You never were subtle about your tastes, were you?" He paused. "But, she knows and she told Cormac _not to worry_."

Artemis wasn't sure if he should be relieved or horrified at this. "Oh Maker," he groaned, burying his face in Fenris's neck. That was his little sister, but she probably wasn't surprised, not after living with him for as long as she had. 

Fenris pressed a kiss to Artie's cheek. "But you should come visit with the guests soon before anyone else misses you too much."

"Am I not already terribly missed? I think I should be insulted."

Fenris chuckled and tilted Artemis's chin up, their lips meeting.

At the bar, Cullen looked like he was hoping to melt through the floor. The addition of more Hawkes had done nothing to stem the tide of flattery and flirtation, although Cormac, at least, was a good deal more tart about it.

"Oh, with those shoulders, I have no doubt he's a good swordsman, talented in his swording. I hear one has only to ask Sebastian about the truth of that! But, I've heard he's a little rough on tingling sensations and earth-shaking good times." Cormac grinned wickedly. "You've already gotten the best of the shem, at this party," he told Kalli and Theron. "Though I'll let the two of you argue over which one I mean."

Kalli turned her nose up. "I don't know what you're talking about. Shem. Tch. Why would I?"

Theron leaned back and nodded at Cormac.

"Going to play it like that, are you? I guess I'll just have to ask my brother later."

She scoffed.

"--and Anders." Cormac paused, grinning wider. "You didn't really think I missed that, did you?"

Anton's eyebrows shot up, and he darted a look at Theron, who didn't so much as blink. 

"Which one's Anders?" Kalli asked innocently. "Is he the scruffy Warden? A bit too hairy for my taste." She primly took a sip of Theron's drink.

"I don't think you were the one doing the tasting, from what I understand," Theron said, and Kalli glared at him over his tankard.

Cullen made a choked sound in the back of his throat and looked around, desperate for an exit. At least the focus was off him for the moment.

Bethany appeared beside him, distressingly quietly. "Come, let's slip away, while they argue. You can dance with me -- at least, I assume you can. You can dance, can't you?"

"I, er..." Cullen shot a glance at Anton, who was still fully engaged with the elves and his brother. "Well, I'm not _drunk_ , this time. Have we danced before? I think we have."

"Oh, my, you were very drunk, indeed." Bethany smiled warmly and led Cullen away from the bar. "Come, tell me all about what's been going on with you, lately. We barely have lunch any more."

"Blood magic. Demons. At least if you believe half the reports that come through." Cullen pulled Bethany into his arms, almost absently, and followed her lead. "I don't think half the reports come from people who would know blood magic from a butcher shop." He held her as she dipped herself, and went on. "If you know anyone in the mage underground -- don't tell me; I don't want to know -- but, if you do, would you please tell them that non-lethal methods would be just as effective. It's very difficult to correct poor behaviour in dead men. I am trying to convince my men of the same. A live mage is far more useful than a corpse." He rambled on, as she led him through the steps of the dance.

"Well, that depends on the mage and how you use the corpse," Bethany replied, chuckling when Cullen blanched, stumbling. She led him back into the rhythm of the dance and added, "That was a dark jest, perhaps, but I do so love watching your face turn all these different colours. Your point is a good one, however, not that I know any such mages myself."

Her expression and delivery were pleasant enough that Cullen almost believed her. "Of course," he said. 

Drumming filled the room and shook the floor, and Bethany spun him this time as he looked around. Over his shoulder, she watched the hidden alcove. Her brother slipped out minutes later, wrapped around his elf. Fenris smoothed back Artie's tousled hair, whispered something that made his smile widen, and Bethany thought they looked disgustingly happy.


	208. PART XL: A BEGINNING AND AN END

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Artie, stop tidying things into oblivion. You're supposed to be getting married.

The garden was decorated in subdued colours, garlands of flowers and Dalish art on the trees and tables. Everything was precise, down to the spacing of the seats, the number of glasses on each table, the way the bottles faced. People had already begun to arrive, starting with Merrill, who was strangely unaccompanied. Theron and Kalli had come in on either side of Isabela, the three of them grinning like they'd solved some great mystery of the world. Varric showed up with the woman from the dildo shop, and Fenris nearly choked on his tongue.

"Did you give it to him, yet?" Gytha asked Fenris with a wink, as Cormac and Orana parted around the four of them standing almost in the doorway, each carrying a tray from the kitchen. "This is the lucky guy, isn't it?"

Varric blinked up at Fenris, almost curious, but not enough to ask. He knew what Gytha did for a living -- everyone in the Guild knew what Gytha did. But, the elf was buying? That was going in a book somewhere. He wondered if that was some new side-effect of the lyrium, after all these years.

"I'd say we're both lucky," Fenris said, "though myself more than him." And he was lucky today overall if not in this particular moment, judging from the look Varric had just given him. He fidgeted with the embroidered hem of his tunic, missing the solid weight of his sword at his back. "And... yes, I gave it to him. I believe he was pleased." He glanced at his fiancé, the tilt of his brows almost making this a question.

"More than once," Artemis replied, just to watch Varric's face twist.

New voices echoed down the hall, and Fenris glanced back, trying not to look disappointed when the female voice he heard was Bethany's. Artie squeezed Fenris's arm. "She'll be here," he murmured, and Fenris nodded.

"Fenris!" Bethany sang out, as she swept in with Sebastian and Aveline at her sides. "Are you taking good care of my brother?" she stepped around the two of them and kissed each of the couple on the cheek, as Varric led his date out into the garden, with a wink.

"I do not see any tidying. I must be doing something right," Fenris joked, with a sly smile. He held out a hand to Aveline. "Where's Donnic?"

Aveline took his hand in both of hers, for a solid shake. "I'm going to fetch him in a bit -- not even really dressed for this, yet, and the Maker only knows what Bethany's decided I should wear."

"Oh, you'll look lovely, Aveline. You know I wouldn't put you in anything foolish." Bethany shook her head.

"But, Donnic's still on duty," Aveline said. "I can't have the city overrun with thugs, just because you're getting married."

"Andraste forbid." Fenris's eyebrows arced up.

"You're not going to do anything crazy, are you?" Sebastian asked. "I shouldn't have to ask this, but after Anton... _Hawke_ weddings..."

"Then you should be worried about him, not me," Fenris pointed out. "The craziest thing I intend to do is introduce my husband to my sister." He looked over his shoulder again. "If she ever shows up. She said she'd be here, but it's a long way from Qarinus."

"Don't worry, Sebastian," Artemis said, waving his hand, "swinging in from balconies is so last year."

"And yet, somehow, I am not reassured," Sebastian sighed. Bethany squeezed his arm.

Artemis was certain he had a response to that, but he found himself distracted, watching the guests mill about the chairs and setting them askew. "Oh come on, Varric," he muttered under his breath. "He could at least put it back correctly after knocking it over." 

Fenris wrapped an arm around Artemis's waist and turned him to face away from the chairs. "I'm sure someone will sit in that chair just the same. And then you won't have to look at it."

Aveline glanced at Sebastian. "I have a feeling he's been too busy organising things to plan anything crazy."

"You assume I'm incapable of multitasking," Artie protested.

"Being crazy while planning crazy?" Aveline arced an eyebrow. "There's a thought."

"Still not reassured," Sebastian mumbled. 

Heeled footsteps clacked against wood down the hall, and Artemis looked up, nudging Fenris in the ribs. A strange elf hovered in the hall, eyes wide and hands folded in front of her as she looked around, red hair catching in the sconces' light. 

Fenris's breath caught. "Varania?" The strange elf turned, and for a moment he saw the little girl she once was, hair in a long braid down her back, cheeks softer, eyes less guarded.

Bethany followed their stare and smiled, tugging on Sebastian's arm and pulling him towards the rest of the guests. "We'll leave you to your plotting," she told the couple, gesturing for Aveline to follow them.

"It really is you..." Varania's voice was thick with either fondness or bitterness, and from the look in her eye, even she wasn't sure which.

"I remember you..." An awed smile crossed Fenris's face. He couldn't remember _anything_ , but suddenly he remembered this. "We played in our master's courtyard, while mother worked. You called me..."

"Leto. That's your name." Varania still looked tense.

Fenris stood, stunned, for a few moments, feeling the weight of the name. "I don't remember," he admitted, sadly, after a while. "So much is gone." The corner of his mouth quirked up apologetically, and he gestured toward the garden. "You look tired from the journey. Sit. I'll get you a glass of wine and something to eat. I'm so glad you're here."

Varania glanced around nervously, again, eyes landing on, then tearing away from Artemis, after a pause.

"Don't worry. It's ours." Fenris held out an arm to his sister and gestured to Artemis, with the other hand. "This is Artemis. We're to be married, today. A husband, a house of my own -- would you ever have dreamt it?"

Varania's eyes darted back to Artemis, recognition blooming in them. "You invite your own trouble, Leto," she breathed, knowing the name from her own studies.

"Artie!" Cormac's voice drifted in from outside. "Varric keeps knocking shit over! Can I tie him to a chair? Tell me I can tie him to a chair!"

"If you're not tying him down, can I?" Gytha whooped with laughter.

"What is he knocking over?" Artemis called over his shoulder. "Is it just the chairs? I hope it's just the chairs." To Varania, he smiled and offered his hand. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Varania. Make yourself at home." He wondered if that was the best advice considering her home was in Tevinter, but she offered him a weak smile and shook his hand. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to make sure no one is making a mess. I apologize in advance for my brothers." Artie backed out of the door as he spoke. As he disappeared around the corner, he shouted, "You know the rules, Cormac! If you can catch him, you can tie him up!"

Fenris shook his head in fond exasperation. "Come out into the garden," he told Varania, ushering her towards the door. 

Leto. The name bounced around in his head. He tried to make it fit, tried to think of it as _his_ , but it was like a tunic he'd outgrown. Perhaps it had fit once, but not anymore.

Varania followed him out into the sun, eyes still a shade too wide as she looked around.

Anders approached them, as Artemis chased him from where he sat on the corner of a table. "Yes, Artie. I know. Tables are not for sitting," he called over his shoulder, before turning back to Fenris. "Is that your sister?"

"Yes, she is. By which I mean, no, you can't." Amusement spread across Fenris's face as he looked up at Anders. "Varania, meet Anders. He's a healer, which is a very good thing, as I understand it."

"Banned from flirting with sisters, still? You're merciless, Fenris. And I'd like to point out I haven't actually flirted with _anyone's sister_ , as far as I know. Or at least no one whose siblings I knew. Brothers. I'm terrible about flirting with brothers." Anders held out the hand that wasn't holding the wine glass. "I flirt with your brother all the time. It makes him crazy."

"From the stories, I thought he was crazy, anyway," Varania replied, still quiet, as she shook Anders's hand. 

"'Crazy' is relative in Kirkwall," Anders replied, giving her hand a friendly squeeze. "So I suppose I make him crazi _er_."

"He has that effect," Fenris drawled.

"It's why I get invited to all the best parties," Anders said with a wink at Varania. She replied with a small smile and looked down at his feet. "Do you want a drink?"

Varania looked back and forth between Fenris and Anders. "Do I _want_ one? Certainly. But I should probably hold off, for the moment. Perhaps after the ceremony."

In the background, Varric shouted at Cormac, from inside a barrier spell, while Isabela lounged on the top of the bubble, eating grapes. Cullen looked on in horror, as Anton tried to explain.

"It's totally normal," Anton insisted. "It's also Artie's wedding, and Varric's a little thick-fingered, today. Keeps dropping shit. So, Cormac's just trying to keep our brother from losing his mind, before the ceremony. You should ask them about the stuff they used to do to _each other_ , when we were all kids."

"This is not normal, Anton," Cullen insisted.

"If it's not, it's just because mages don't have families, under the current regime. Tell me this doesn't go on in the towers?" Anton switched his own glass with Cullen's.

"I...can't." Cullen snorted. "That would be completely normal, if we were in Kinloch Hold."

Varania arced an eyebrow at Cormac's barrier, at Anton's words. She'd heard rumours of how mages were treated in the Free Marches and Ferelden, and she hadn't expected such an open display or talk of magic.

"The towers?" she asked Cullen. "Are... are you a mage too?"

A nervous laugh barked out of Cullen before he cleared his throat, composing himself. "I -- no. No, I'm not a mage."

"He is the opposite of a mage," Anders said.

"Templar," Cullen explained. "I'm a templar. Knight-Captain Cullen." He introduced himself to Varania, and she found herself shaking another stranger's hand.

As they talked, Artemis followed Varric's path of destruction, righting chairs, neatening tables, and muttering under his breath while Bethany helped him. Off to the side, Sebastian watched, the furrow between his brow somewhere between dismayed and resigned.

Neatening glasses, Artemis looked around, counting the people there. "Where the Blight is Carver?" he sighed.

Cormac wrapped his arms around Artemis, resting his chin on his brother's shoulder. "Washing chamberpots, I bet. It's Carver. He'll be here, as soon as he gets his hands out of the bucket." He tapped a tiny spark against the tip of Artemis's nose. "Calm down. Sit down. Let me get you a drink -- just one. You look like you're about to start vibrating."

Artemis's nose crinkled at Cormac's touch. He forced himself to relax, to stop drumming his fingers against the table. "Not vibrating. Nope. Not on my wedding day." Leave it to Carver to end up cleaning chamberpots on a day like this. "I'm tossing him down the stairs for this."

"I think you should. Do you want me to ice the floor at the bottom?" Cormac laughed and gave Artie a quick squeeze, before he stepped back. "Wedding. I can't believe it. Mum would be having heart failure. Dad would be so proud of you." He grinned across a couple rows of chairs. "Hey, Anton, got any impressions of Dad, for the occasion?"

"You should be doing them. You're the one that looks like him!" Anton insisted. "But, yeah, that might be a little creepy. You're a little too much like him, sometimes." He made his way over to Artemis, patted his brother on the cheek, and fumbled a coin with that hand, catching it as it bounced off Artie's shoulder. "What's this? You've got money falling out of your ear? No wonder you can afford to have a wedding like this. Watch out for that templar, though." Anton pointed at Cullen with two fingers, and a card appeared between them -- the Angel of Death -- and he handed it to Artie. "You never know what's going through a tin bucket's tin bucket."

Cullen choked on his wine, coughing into his fist, as Anton went on.

"But, a day like this is about family, my boy. Your family, his family -- he's got a cute sister. Keep your brother away from her. Brothers. You know, maybe you should suggest a veil."

Varania pressed a hand to the side of her face, to hide a smile, as another elf came out of the house, carrying two crowns of flowers.

Orana put the first crown of lilac, lime, and crocus on Fenris's head, as she passed. "Evie's going to be late, I'm afraid, but she sent these over for both of you."

"I recognise the lime. Do I want to know the others?" Fenris asked, eyeing the other crown. "Varania, this is Orana. I'm supposed to say she's my cook, but I think it's more proper to say she's my steward. Orana, this is my sister, Varania."

"Your steward." Varania blinked, twitched an eyebrow, but otherwise didn't react.

"She keeps us both in line," Artemis said as he stooped to let Orana set the second crown of flowers on his head. "And don't worry. The flowers don't mean anything terrible."

"Reassuring," Fenris sighed, suddenly sympathising with Sebastian. Artemis fussed with his crown until it felt like it sat evenly, then kept fussing with it until Fenris chuckled and took his hand. 

Artie toyed with a lime blossom on Fenris's head. "They're good colours for you," he teased. He looked around again, still looking for a brother who wasn't there. "Maker dammit," he muttered. "Is everything set, Orana? Perhaps we should just start. Carver will get here when he gets here."

Fenris smoothed his thumb over the back of Artemis's knuckles. "There's still time," he said. "Your family should be here. Even if that family is Carver."

"I'll send a runner. If he's in the barracks, he'll be here soon. I doubt anyone's going to want to have that argument with me, if he's not." Cullen handed his glass to Anton and headed back inside. "I should only be a few minutes. Don't worry about starting without me. I've been to my own wedding. I know what one looks like."

"Yes, but your wedding ended with--" Anton started, with a glance over his shoulder.

"Anton, no! Not in front of your brothers!" Cullen called back.

"They already know I found the hottest ass in the entire Order," Anton called after him, receiving an exceptionally rude hand gesture in return.

Cullen got lost three times, trying to find the front door, but at last he made it out. Glancing down the road, he held up a coin and called for a messenger, and in a moment, a grubby child appeared. "I need you to run to the Gallows -- do you know how to get there?"

The urchin nodded, and Cullen went on. "Go up the stairs on the left, and tell the guards that Ser Carver is required in Hightown, and he knows why. Let them know the Knight-Captain sent you, and if Carver isn't here in half an hour, they'll be dealing with me."

Aveline ducked past him, clapping him on the shoulder as she passed. "I'll be back before Carver gets here. Got to go get Donnic."

"Yes, Knight-Captain!" the urchin crowed, attracting the eye of a group of men who'd been having a quiet conversation a little bit up the road. The urchin ran down the street toward the bridge.


	209. Chapter 209

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke wedding disasters, volume two. Fire and mayhem.

Back in the garden, Sebastian watched Artemis count his footsteps, muttering the numbers under his breath as he measured the distance between the chairs and where Sebastian was standing. As Artie approached, Sebastian stepped aside to give him space, but Artemis took his arms and pulled him forward. "No, stand here," he said. "This is three steps. Three is a good number. Now, step a bit to the right. No, that's too much. A bit to the left. Just a hair. There."

Sebastian didn't dare to move. He kept his feet planted where Artemis had set him and threw a helpless look at Bethany over Artemis's shoulder. He almost preferred Anton's antics to this.

Fenris watched in patient amusement, reaching out to take Artemis's hand again when his mage started counting again.

"He isn't going to do this through the whole ceremony, is he?" Varric sighed, looking up at Isabela's shapely bottom, where it perched on his protective bubble.

"Artie, my darling dearest brother," Cormac called out from where he leaned on the side of Varric's bubble, handing bunches of grapes to Isabela, so she could eat them, feed them to him, and try to throw them into the brim of Anton's hat, "you're about to be married to this apparently handsome elf who can do utterly terrifying things in bed. This is a joyous moment. A once-in-a-lifetime chance to just relax and let the rest of us worry for you. So, please stop manhandling Sebastian and come have a glass of wine. Just a little. Just to calm your nerves."

"I don't know." Bethany raised her voice to be heard from where she stood with Anton and Kalli. "I rather like watching him manhandle Sebastian! I think Sebastian should be manhandled more often."

"Kinky! Manhandling the Chantry boy!" Theron cackled, as Anders licked soft cheese off his fingers. "She's right," Theron muttered after a moment. "You are good at that."

"I am a magnificent creature," Anders declared, looking entirely smug, almost like one of his cats.

Artemis realised he was still manoeuvring Sebastian, one hand on each elbow, and he jumped back, pulling his hands away. He offered Sebastian an awkward smile. "Right. No more manhandling. Of Chantry boys or otherwise."

"You can manhandle me!" Theron called out.

"Sorry, I'm only manhandling one elf today," Artemis replied, hooking his arm through Fenris's. A drink. One drink couldn't hurt. A grape bounced off his head as approached Cormac and the drinks, his grip tight on Fenris's arm to keep from scratching at his skin. Isabela cheered when the grape caught in the flower crown.

Cormac spotted the man in the doorway, first -- realised that wasn't Cullen or Carver. He squeezed Isabela's hand, tugging her down from Varric's bubble, as she lobbed another grape in Bethany's direction. Varric looked up, as soon as the barrier fell.

"Who comes?" Cormac called across the garden, not expecting anyone else, but potentially unsurprised by the appearance of other local nobles who might have decided to pay their respects.

But, as the man stepped into the light, Cormac knew this was no one he knew. Varania stepped closer to Anders, ducking behind the tall mage.

"Ah, my little Fenris..." the man drawled, swaggering into the garden. "This _is_ a surprise. Marrying your new master, then? Is this the 'Artemis' you wrote about?" He eyed Artie, making the connection from the matching flower crowns. "Did your parents hate you, young man, to give you such a name? Although I suppose you've lived up to your namesake's legacy. The very same mistakes. Although, if you return my property to me, I may be willing to let you live. You're not Tevinter. You wouldn't have known what you were doing."

Two steps, and Artemis stood in front of Fenris, pulling his elf behind him and blocking him from Danarius's view. He had never seen that look on Fenris's face, had never seen him shrink back like a beaten dog. "I know exactly what I'm doing," Artie growled. "Do you know what _you're_ doing? Crashing our wedding, invading our home? You're right. I'm not Tevinter, but you're not _in_ Tevinter."

Fenris reached for the dagger strapped to his leg, missing the weight of his sword even more now. His mage's hand was tight on his arm, keeping him in place. This was backwards. Fenris was supposed to shield _him_ , not the other way around.

"How?" Fenris breathed. "How did you...?" He looked past Artemis, past Anders, to where his sister shrank behind him, trying to make herself as small as possible. "Varania! You led him here?"

"Now, now, don't blame your sister, Fenris." Danarius smiled almost soothingly. "She just did what any good Imperial citizen would do."

Varania continued to cower behind Anders, and Anders got the sense there was a lot more going on than Danarius was admitting to, not that it mattered. What mattered was that some asshole blood mage had walked into his friends' wedding, and started making demands. Two spells left his hands in rapid succession -- the first, paralysis, the second, anti-magic. Only the second one caught, unfortunately, but he could see Bethany thinking similar things, on the other side of the chairs. Anton had already disappeared.

"Why would we blame his sister, when we could just blame you?" Cormac asked, as Danarius took a moment to recover, slapping a barrier on him, before he could step off the glowing ward. And then the patio filled with men in platemail -- non-Templar platemail. "Well, shit."

A swirling cloud crept across the patio, and in the confusion, the clank of blades on armour could be heard. Sebastian backed toward the trees, on one side, suddenly extremely concerned that he was entirely unarmed. He supposed if there were any more Hawke weddings, he'd have to assume they wouldn't be peaceful events. After all, there were three more Hawkes, and the two, thus far, had gotten far more exciting than weddings were supposed to be -- or at least far differently exciting.

A flicker happened inside the barrier, and suddenly Danarius was no longer contained. "Stupid Fade shit," Cormac muttered under his breath, as an indigo glow crept across his skin, hopefully providing him with some equal access to the spaces Danarius was moving through. He hoped. Or this was some even weirder magic he'd never seen, and that was both extremely likely and extremely frightening.

"Now, now, there's no need for us to fight," Danarius said, hands up, palms out in a placating gesture even as magic twitched at his fingers. "I'll give you one last chance. Hand over the slave."

"He's no one's slave!" Artemis snapped. A shove of force magic glanced off Danarius's shield but still knocked him back a step. "Now get off my lawn!"

"Knew I should have brought Bianca," Varric muttered, slipping a knife from his boot and another from the cheese plate, pausing to lick it clean before adjusting his grip and slipping into the shadows.

"Do I detect a note of jealousy?" Danarius laughed as Artemis summoned a wall of rock around him and his fiancé. "It's not surprising. The lad is rather _skilled_ , isn't he?" His lips curled in a suggestive smile that made Artie's stomach twist.

"Shut your mouth, Danarius!" Fenris snapped, tattoos lighting. He phased his arm through Artie's grip to stand at his mage's side.

"The word is 'Master'."

Lightning arced through the air, forking past the stone and flaring over the shield Cormac had thrown over the couple. Fenris leaped forward with a snarl, and the ground trembled under Danarius. Behind the magister, half his men continued to battle each other, and an assortment of rogues flitted through the crowd, slicing and stabbing. Sebastian finally found a hefty knife beside a large cake, and lobbed it into the fray, missing the man he'd meant to hit, but catching the one behind him right through the eye-slit of his helmet.

"Nice one, Chantry boy!" Varric called out, between dodging and stabbing.

Theron was still looking for a weapon, when he heard his wife shouting about 'shem fuckboys' from somewhere in the middle of the melee. "Healer! My wife!" he called out, knowing she'd been hit, but not knowing who could fix it. Anders, of course -- but the thought occurred to him after he'd picked up a chair and charged the magister with it. The chair connected solidly with the ground, and Theron dropped, after it, clawing at his head and howling.

Bethany flicked a hand in the direction of the screaming, and after a few seconds it stopped. She slid another hex into the undulating mass of armour, before spotting Merrill, wrapped tightly around a tree branch, with a knife in her teeth. The roots rose up and seized Danarius, and an unearthly wail tore out of him, as his skin blistered and his blood boiled. Still, he was too quick -- seconds and gone again -- but Merrill pursued him with trees and vines.

And Fenris pursued him with dagger and fingers, both limned a Fade-touched blue. Danarius's smile started to look strained, forced, as he fended off attacks from all sides. He leaped from one side of the garden to the next, but Fenris knew his strategies and was on Danarius each time even before he reappeared.

Merrill reached down her hand. A cold light shivered over Danarius's shield before it fell, and Fenris's lips curled in an ugly smile as he launched himself forward, hand stretched towards Danarius's heart. The spray of blood that hit Fenris was Danarius's... but Fenris's hand never connected. Fenris froze against his will, muscles locked and stare focused on Danarius's smug face. Cold washed over him as he recognised the spell.

"Now, Fenris, manners," Danarius tutted. With a wave of his hand, his shields went back up, and with another, Fenris turned around, his dagger pointed at his friends instead of his former master. "That's better."

"Oh, not this again," Artemis muttered.

Cormac responded almost immediately, tossing a barrier around Fenris, before realising it probably wouldn't hold him. "Anders? Hold that!" He gestured toward Fenris, casting a negation field, at the same time. Fenris's eyes cleared for a second, but it wasn't enough. Still, the ground lit green, beneath him, and he stayed put, with a confused, if apologetic look, that seemed aimed at no one in particular.

"Tell me," Anders called out, stepping into view, with Cormac's glaive in one hand, embers dripping from the tree branches above his head, flames chasing his every step, "does the name 'Corypheus' mean anything to you?" His grin was wide and wild, and a giddy laugh forced itself between his teeth. "He claimed to have walked the Black City."

Danarius's attention shifted immediately. "Foolishness," he scoffed, fending off another hex and casually slamming Bethany against the garden wall, with a flick of his wrist, "there was one so called, but he's thousands of years dead. Am I supposed to be impressed that you've conversed with a legend?"

"No," Anders seemed utterly indifferent to the way his skin seemed to part around the blue light pouring out of him, "you're supposed to be impressed that I killed him."

Danarius paused. That was obviously impossible, but... what if it were _true_... He was only distracted for a second, but it was all the opposing mages needed to launch their next attack.

"Dispel!" Cormac shouted from behind Anders, and the anti-magic waves rushed in from one direction and then another, battering Danarius between them. Even two mages and a constant hail of dispersion didn't seem to be enough to actually stop his magic, but he suddenly appeared to be having difficulty casting anything that took more than a couple of seconds.

Fire rushed out from around the magister, a coiling inferno that cracked and blistered the chairs, scorched the grass, and singed the trees. The shields made the heat less intense for everyone Cormac could maintain one for, but he and Anders seemed untouched, both glowing blue, if different shades.

Danarius shrieked, the sound filling the gardens and likely all of Hightown, and Artemis stalked towards him, ignoring what heat touched him through the shield. "Do you have any idea how long it took to plan this wedding?" He knocked Danarius back, his spell finally connecting, and the magister barrelled back into one of his armoured henchmen, flames and all. "To build this garden? To clean up this house?" Artie's fingertips burned from throwing so many spells, but he kept pushing, shoving Danarius back and away from Fenris, knocking him into chairs, into trees, and for once not caring about the mess. "But I don't care. I don't care one bit if you destroy it all, as long as I get to wipe the floor with you for what you've done to Fenris."

Through the flames and garbled screams, Danarius's fingers twitched with an ice spell, and Artemis slammed him back again, skull cracking against the side of the house.

Fenris came back to himself in time to watch Danarius curl up against the wall of the house, flames still licking at everything. Cormac's hand clenched rhythmically, and Danarius's body collapsed a little further with each squeeze. Artemis's fingers flicked and Danarius slammed harder against the wall. "Amatus, the fire..."

Ice climbed the wall, from one of the mages, and as the spell spread, it became increasingly obvious that the flames around Anders were his own. Eyes burning blue, Anders remained motionless, as if stunned. "WHAT RIGHT," Justice demanded, at last, "HAVE YOU TO IMPOSE YOURSELF UPON THIS PLACE? NOWHERE IN ALL OF THEDAS RECOGNISES YOUR CLAIMS. YOU HAVE ENSLAVED AND TORTURED SENTIENT BEINGS. AND NOW, YOU WILL DIE FOR WHAT YOU HAVE DONE."

Merrill dropped from the tree, as the fire went out, beneath it, and she rushed to check on Varania and Sebastian, who had hidden themselves behind the tables.

Artemis kept slamming Danarius's body against the wall long past the point he stopped moving, and Fenris watched, both horrified and awed by the destruction his adopted mage family had wrought. "Amatus," he murmured, taking Artemis's hand the way he had earlier. "Amatus, that's enough."

The burning in Artie's fingertips had spread up his hands, and he almost didn't feel Fenris's touch. He blinked, turned to his fiancé and promptly folded him in his arms.

"Amatus, you're crushing me," Fenris said, voice muffled against Artemis's shoulder. He watched Danarius's corpse over Artie's shoulder, watched it twitch and compress in the grip of Cormac's magic.

"It's over," Artemis murmured in Fenris's ear. "He can't chase you anymore."

As much as Fenris could see that, he didn't quite believe it, not yet.

Around them, the garden was filled with bodies. Tevinter bodies, thankfully. Izzy helped Bethany to her feet, tutting over a tear in her dress. Kalli staggered over to them, rubbing one injured leg. "Are all shem weddings like this?" she asked. "Because suddenly I'm fondly reminded of my first wedding..."

Cormac, still glowing, wrapped an arm around Anders, the other hand still clenching, rhythmically, as Danarius ceased to be even a corpse, the exuded liquid now a pale yellow, rather than red. It had been enough years that the force he could apply to an unresisting target was unmatched, and he had some plans for this one -- plans that occurred to him as he continued to collapse the former magister into a small stone.

"Anders, sweet thing, it's over," he said, squeezing the hip of the pillar of flame, at his side.

"IT IS NOT OVER," Justice boomed. "IT HAS JUST BEGUN."

"It's my brother's wedding. We can strike out to correct the wrongs of the world, after, but this is supposed to be a joyous, glorious day. I suppose we'll have to settle for a triumphant bloody mess, in which nobody we like died." Cormac glanced around as the stone grew ever smaller, boiling the pool of blood it lay in. "Speaking of people we like, where's Cullen? And I'm still short a brother..."


	210. Chapter 210

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now, the moment you've all been waiting for... We _said_ there was a wedding in here, somewhere!

"Artie! Fenris!" Aveline's voice echoed through the house, before she appeared at the back door, on the wrong side of an enormous pile of corpse-filled platemail. "I should have come sooner. Is everyone all right? Damn it, Donnic, why did I let you talk me into this dress? We could have been here half an hour ago!"

"Forgive me," Donnic said wryly as he stared about at the devastation. "You're right. We should have been prepared for this eventuality."

"Mm, you should have come here earlier," said Varric, eyeing Aveline's blue dress, as he helped Gytha off the ground from behind a heap of chairs and platemail. "You would have slain them with those legs."

"Lech," Aveline huffed.

"It's half his charm!" Gytha laughed and draped an arm across Varric's shoulders.

Anton poked his head out the back door. "Found our missing brother," he said. "And my husband." He tilted his head towards the hall behind him. "Justice, do you think you could maybe stop Justicing for a second, so I can borrow Anders? Either Carver has a concussion or he's just being a dick on principle."

"My money's on both," Aveline muttered.

Artemis finally unwrapped himself from around Fenris, and Fenris cupped his cheek, pressed a kiss to his lips, and pointed his mage into a chair, recognising the fine tremor in his hands that said he'd overextended his magic.

The blue glow that crawled through Anders finally dimmed and sputtered out, and the fire faded away, leaving Anders looking like he'd been solidly punched between the eyes. "What?" he asked, as Cormac stopped emitting an indigo light, beside him.

"My brother's been hit in the head," Cormac pointed out. "Apparently, he's acting like a dick. I'm not sure where that's abnormal for Carver, but if you're all right, can you have a look? I'm pretty sure the worst is over, so if you just want to sit down and stare into space for a while, I can go screw his head back on."

"Maker, no, Cormac. You shouldn't be allowed to heal papercuts," Anders groaned, leaning on the glaive he was still holding, before he pulled himself together to go check on Carver.

"Ladies and gentlemen, my best friend. I 'shouldn't be allowed to heal papercuts'." Cormac shook his head and continued to compress Danarius, the stone hissing and squealing as it burned the blood and the tile of the patio. "Headcount!" he called out. "Everyone who's still standing where I can see them! Anyone who's not still standing... somebody tell Anders."

Fenris looked around at their guests, counting so Artemis wouldn't need to, though he suspected Artemis was counting anyway. But the numbers skittered away from him when he spotted Varania, pale and trembling in the corner, looking like she would have fled if Sebastian didn't have a hand on her arm.

"Fenris," Artemis said, noting Fenris's clenched fists and the object of his stare. Artie reached for Fenris, but his elf was already stepping over broken chairs and stalking towards Varania. He was fearsome sight with his blood-smeared face and flickering brands.

"I had no choice, Leto," Varania explained, trying to position Sebastian between them.

"Stop calling me that!" Fenris snapped. "How could you do this?"

"He was going to make me his apprentice, if I did. I would have been a magister. But--"

He didn't let her finish. "You sold out your own brother to become a magister?" Fenris snarled, inches from Varania's face.

"Your sister's a mage?" Merrill asked, looking at the two elves in surprise. "That's lovely! There are never enough of us."

"There are always too many of you," Fenris snapped, eyes never leaving his sister.

"You have no idea what it's been like for us, what I've had to do, since Mother died..." Varania held her ground, afraid and angry, as her brother's brands lit blue. "This was my only chance t--"

"And now you have no chance at all." One of Fenris's hands curled in the collar of Varania's dress, the other hand rising up, threateningly.

"Please don't do this!" Varania pleaded, hands leaping up, defensively, if uselessly. "Tell him not to do this," she begged of the small crowd around them.

"Don't kill your sister, Fenris," Cormac called out from where Carver had just punched him in the face -- or the shields, anyway -- the eyeroll almost audible in his voice.

"You sound just like Dad," Anton choked out, trying not to laugh.

"Fen." Artemis was on his feet again, one hand gently squeezing Fenris's raised arm. "I know you're upset, and with good reason, but... please don't kill her."

A muscle in Fenris's jaw twitched. "Why not?" he growled. "She was ready to see _me_ killed!"

"Because she's your sister?" Artemis said. "Pissing you off and getting you in trouble is kind of part of the job description of being a younger sibling. Ask Cormac. Maker, ask _Carver_."

"That is not the same thing!" Fenris said, ears pressing flat to his skull.

"Maybe not, but... Fen, look at me." One hand still curled in Varania's collar, Fenris obeyed, looking at Artemis. His raised hand lowered in inches, and Artie offered him a sad smile. "She's your family. Quite possibly the only original family you have left. Do you really want to kill her on our wedding day?"

Fenris's eyes squeezed shut. He finally uncurled his hand from Varania's collar, shoving her back. "Get off my lawn," he told her.

"I know you fought for us, to free us, to bear those marks," Varania said, stepping away, "but what did he do to your magic, Leto? How did he take that from you?"

Merrill wrapped an arm around Varania's shoulders, leading her away, quickly. "Don't be silly," she said, cheerfully, "Fenris isn't a mage."

"No, he isn't, but Leto was." Varania looked back over her shoulder, one more time, as Merrill led her out.

"You must be remembering wrong," Merrill insisted, loudly enough to be heard, and then lowered her voice. "Don't tell him that. He has a bad relationship with magic. Where are you staying? Do you need any help, now that they're all dead?"

The patter continued, low and calming, as they vanished into the house.

"I'm sorry," Cullen said, shaking his head and then wincing. "I went out to send the message, and I don't know what happened."

"Don't be sorry," Anders suggested, patting him on the shoulder. "Just be glad you're alive."

Cormac finally stepped around Carver to pick up the tiny, almost-clear gem from the pool of drying blood against the back of the house. He slipped it into a pocket, beside the amulet he'd meant to give Fenris. Maybe later. After he had the gem set in the dragon's eye, which seemed to be missing a gem, anyway.

Fenris stared at the space where Varania had been, trying to rearrange her parting words in a way that made sense. No. He wasn't a mage. He had never _been_ a mage.

This time it was Artemis nudging Fenris into an empty seat, righting the crown on Fenris's head that had shed most of its flowers in the tussle. 

Sebastian approached Bethany, tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "So much for a normal wedding," he said.

"To be fair, it wasn't a Hawke's fault this time," Bethany replied. "I promise our wedding won't be like this. But... come armed, just in case."

"Our wedding?" Sebastian repeated, a smile twitching at his lips.

"My mistake, were you not going to marry me and take me back to Starkhaven, to destroy your political rivals?" Bethany batted her eyes at Sebastian. "Pity. I was almost looking forward to that. I'm so dreadfully tired of Orlesians."

"I would like to call your attention to the fact that my amazing, brave, heroic little brother still isn't married," Cormac called across the lawn. "And since that's what we're here for, I think we should get on with it, before anything else happens, so that we can then get out and let these two get used to being married. Which no one is going to be standing up, after, because I know what Anders got you guys."

Varric cleared away what was left of the chairs, with Theron's help, and Isabela went to see if any of the alcohol could be rescued. The fire had burned hot, but it hadn't gone as far as it might have, if the day hadn't been so damp. It was never dry, in Kirkwall, and for once, Fenris was glad for it. 

"Don't worry, Artie! We'll get you a new garden!" Anton assured his brother, as Sebastian took his place, just in front of where Danarius's blood still soaked into the scorched ground. "A real garden..." Anton's eyebrows wiggled suggestively.

Artie took Fenris's hand, threading his fingers through his elf's, and the two exchanged tired smiles. "Still want to marry me even when the place is such a mess?" Fenris teased.

"Why not? At least one thing ought to go according to plan today." He pressed a kiss to Fenris's cheek, and they rose from their seats. "But first, Izzy, have you salvaged enough alcohol for a pre-wedding drink? If I have ever needed one, it's now."

"Shall I make that two?" Isabela asked, eyeing Fenris as she pulled out a wine bottle that had survived the wreckage. 

"Please. Yes."

Artemis didn't bother counting steps this time when they finally took their place in front of Sebastian. Just as Sebastian was about to begin the ceremony, he paused, a voice from inside the house cutting through the gardens.

"Oh, Maker, what now?" Artemis muttered, recognising Meredith's voice.

Cullen and Carver moved first, crossing the heap of platemailed corpses to stand in the open doors that led back into the house, and Cormac and Anders followed shortly blocking the rest of the exits into the garden.  "It's a wedding, Commander. Just let them get married. I'll explain everything," Cullen said, shaking his head.

"My brother's wedding," Cormac added. "My brother's wedding that was apparently in the way of an invading Tevinter force. A magister showed up, with slavers! Slavers! In Kirkwall!"

"I think the more concerning part is the magister in Kirkwall," Carver pointed out. "A dozen men jumped us, on the way into the house, Commander. The wedding party saved us both. Bunch of elves and my pansy brothers, mostly."

"Yeah, well, your pansy brothers just beat down a Tevinter magister and burned his corpse before the demons could come," Anders added, leaning on the doorframe.

On the other side of the couple, Aveline lunged forward, like she might have a few words for the Knight-Commander, but Donnic held her back.  "Don't get involved, pumpkin. We didn't get here until it was over."

"The pillar of flame hanging over this house caught the attention of the neighbours, and they sent for the Order. We can't just have mages unleashing forces of destruction all across this fair city, can we?" Meredith's smile was brittle as she searched the faces before her for any sign of prevarication.

"Absolutely not, Knight-Commander. But, you'll notice we've solved the problem. You're welcome to examine the bodies we haven't yet burned, once my brother has finished getting married." Cormac's smile was entirely pleasant, if one didn't look too closely at his eyes.

Meredith gave Cormac a measuring look before peering past him at what she could see of the wreckage, her stare lingering on the corpses. She must have recognised the armour as Tevinter, because she didn't argue or insist she be let inside. She listened to Sebastian speak for a moment before saying, "Very well. I will be in the hall, and I expect an explanation -- a full explanation -- when the ceremony is over."

"That's charitable of her," Anders muttered as she stormed away.

"I wonder if I should be hurt that she put in an appearance at this wedding and not at mine," Cullen muttered back. They turned back towards the gardens, still blocking the doorway just in case.

"Andraste's tits," Cormac muttered, under his breath, "can you imagine if something under the city had recognised the power?"

"I could, and I'd really rather not. I think we saw enough of the like that one time with Corypheus." Anders laughed nervously, watching Fenris and Artemis. "They look so happy, or at least, as happy as a couple's going to look in the burned out wreckage of their garden."

"You mentioned Corypheus earlier, Anders. Another magister? What was that about?" Cullen asked, eyes still on the wedding. He was so grateful, in that moment, that his own wedding had been substantially less dramatic. Hawkes, though. He'd learnt that with Hawkes, one had to expect the utterly unpredictable and absurd.

"Maker, Captain, don't ask," Carver groaned. "Worst family holiday in the history of Thedas. Started with possessed dwarves and ended in lunatic Wardens and some mouthy Darkspawn who thought he'd visited the Black City."

Cullen blinked at Carver, opening and closing his mouth a few times before landing on the right words. "You know, because it's your family, I don't doubt a single word of that." He considered prodding Anton for details later, unsure if he really wanted them.

"Except they're your family now too, Captain," Anders reminded him, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Yes. Well. Do me a favour, Cormac, and never invite me on your family holidays."

Applause filled the garden as Sebastian gave his final blessing, and Fenris pulled Artemis down into a kiss, knocking the crown on his head askew. Artie laughed against his lips, holding him close, and for a moment he forgot about the mess, about the bodies and the smear of magister left on his wall.


	211. PART XLI: DIFFERENCES OF OPINION

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris adjusts to being a brother-in-law. Tries out punching Cormac, as is the way in this family, when something goes wrong.

Cormac returned home from one of the multitude of jewellers along the road that ran between the market and Lowtown, to find Bodhan waiting for him.

"Messere Fenris for you. I've put him in the library. Do be cautious, messere, he doesn't look quite happy," Bodhan warned, twisting a kitchen rag in his hands.

"Oh, well, good. I meant to see him, today, but... He's upset? That's not right." Cormac's face looked a little ashen as he considered what might have happened to his brother that would bring Fenris here, upset. "Thank you. I'll see to it."

Cormac made his way to the library, the box from the jeweller still clutched in his hand. "Fenris! What are you doing here? Is Artie all right?"

Fenris's fist slammed into his shield. "This is your fault," he said, pinning Cormac with a narrowed glare and folding his arms across his chest.

"Is it my brother? Is he all right?" Cormac still looked more concerned than anything. "And what, are you taking lessons from Carver, now? You actually can't hit me, Fenris. You could swing all night, and all you'd get is a broken fist." It wasn't true, and Cormac knew it, but he kind of hoped Fenris wouldn't realise it. There were ways through the shields, but not unless Fenris started glowing.

"You and I both know I _can_ hit you if I want to," Fenris growled, dashing that hope. "And if Artemis weren't all right -- which he is; relax -- I would have. Possibly repeatedly." He scowled down at the rug. "I did something I shouldn't have, something that could have ended badly, because I knew he wanted it. And he wanted it because you had to put the idea in his head." He punctuated this sentence with a second punch to Cormac's shield.

"Me? What did I do?" Cormac looked confused, rifling his memories for anything he'd done that would've put ideas in Artie's head. "It wasn't that thing with the knife, was it? Or the screw-threaded... no, it couldn't have been that. I've done an awful lot of shit that people shouldn't do, and I'm never sure how much of it he knows about. I'm loud, there's Anders, Artie's a damned voyeur... Which of the hundreds of terrible ideas I've had did he decide to ask for?"

"The one where you..." Fenris swore under his breath in Tevene, trying to find the right words, preferably words that made sense _and_ didn't make his ears twitch. He gestured vaguely with his hands, threading the fingers together. "You know. The full-body glowing. You did it at that tavern in the Docks, and I was... displeased." His ears started twitching without his consent.

"So, it didn't end badly, but it could have? And you're here punching me in the face, because my already distressingly-perverse brother now has a lasting lust for something you're afraid of killing him with, but you did it anyway, and he's fine? I'm..." Cormac shrugged, still a little confused. "He's fine. That's the important part. Anders doesn't approve, either, for the record. I'm going to have to get a lot better at maintaining my control, before _I_ do something like that again, but I'm not ruling it out, if he's that into it. He wants it, I'll learn to do it safely. But, if he wants it _from you_ , that's a decision you're going to have to make. Which it sounds like you did, because you're here punching me in the face over it."

He paused and watched Fenris's face, for a moment, before flipping the jewellery box into the air, knowing Fenris would catch it. "And I got you a wedding present. Meant to give it to you yesterday, but I had to get the eye replaced."

"The... eye?"

Fenris examined the box, still looking as pleased as a wet cat. He still didn't like that he'd given in to that foolish idea and liked it less that Cormac was thinking of doing it again too. But then, for that moment, when he and Artie had melded into one person...

Fenris shook himself and opened the box, peering curiously at the amulet he found inside. "What is this?" he asked, pulling the jewellery out by the chain and holding it in the light.

"I think it's pretty obvious what it is." Cormac shrugged and watched Fenris's reactions. "But, it's not just any amulet of Dumat. That's the one Anton pried out of the smoking remains of a certain ancient magister. The dragon's eye, though... that was Danarius. A thousand years and more of dead magisters. Wear it with pride, and keep my brother out of the crossfire."

Fenris turned the amulet over in his hand, speechless. He knew he'd recognised the amulet but hadn't thought it could possibly be the same one... The eye gleamed back at him in the morning light. "This is..." He shook his head. "Thank you. I almost feel bad for punching you. Almost."

"Feel bad about it, the day you actually hit me," Cormac drawled. "Speaking of Ancient Tevinter things, can I get you to take a look at something for me, while we're standing next to my desk?" He gestured at an enormous map of Kirkwall, drawn in many colours, with the streets most obviously sketched out in black. Blue lines looked almost like runes of some sort, purple lines seemed to be passages in Darktown, with green showing some other, similar, paths that occasionally intersected. But, what stood out were the yellow lines that seemed to show starbursts, amid the brown sewer lines. "Does any of this look familiar to you? Besides the part where it's obviously a map of Kirkwall. There's something going on here, and I can't find it. Like, why would these weird sewer runoffs all come together under the Gallows? Is this something to further make the slaves miserable, with the stench of raw sewage rising up from beneath the stone, or is there some weird traditional Tevinter design element that I'm missing out on, here?"

Fenris traced the yellow lines with the tip of one finger, wishing, for a moment, that he didn't recognise the designs. "They're drains," he said. He considered the size of those drains, their scope, and looked away, feeling sick. "Like you said, it's Ancient Tevinter. Some things have not changed, like the magisters' reliance on blood magic." His lip curled. "So yes, those sewer runoffs were likely made with the slaves in mind, but not in the way you're thinking."

"Blood magic?" Cormac blinked, squinting at the yellow swirls. "How much blood would it take to need a channel that wide? That really looks a little excessive. Are you sure?" He dug through the papers on his desk, pushing aside half-finished articles until he found a table of measurements. Leaning over the desk, he held it beside the Gallows, on the map. "There's hardly five quarts of blood in a man, four in an elf... How many sacrifices would it take to require channels that size? That's ridiculous! Had to have been for show. A statement of some kind... There's just no way..."

"Clearly you've never been to Minrathous," Fenris replied. He found himself clutching the amulet in his fist. "Remember that this was the heart of the Tevinter slave trade once. More slaves passed through here than anywhere else." And he wondered what that said about him, that he fled from Tevinter only to end up here. "If the magisters were going to make a 'statement', it wouldn't have been with the sewers." But Cormac did have a point: the scale was dizzying. "They must have been planning something huge."

Cormac looked a little ill. "I need to ask Anders about some things, but I have some frightening ideas about that. Do you remember the stelai up by that fortress? Dwarven blood magic? I have to wonder if they were trying to bind a god here."


	212. Chapter 212

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family dinners are always exciting, especially when the extended family's invited.

"So good of you to come, Uncle." Cormac's smile was tight, but he tried to be polite to Gamlen. Still, those two years in Lowtown would take a long while longer to shake.

Before Gamlen could respond, the dog went running across the main hall, behind Cormac, and Bodhan's eyes widened as he edged past, presumably to contain Mintaka. And then horror lit Gamlen's face as he looked over Cormac's shoulder.

"Enchantment!" Sandal shouted, and Cormac turned around to find the young dwarf sitting on Anders's shoulders, holding on to the ridiculous antlered helm the Warden wore and pointing after Mintaka, as Anders jogged after the dog, laughing. Cormac recognised the helm, he thought, some silly thing the miners had found in the Bone Pit and sent down to him as a joke.

"A normal spring evening," Cormac said, with an unapologetic smile at Gamlen.

Gamlen shook his head, looking around the room. He hadn't been in the house, since Leandra's funeral, and the whole of it had been redone as Anton saw fit, between then and now. "My father--" he started, voice tight and sharp.

"Is dead," Cormac finished. "As are both my parents. Anton's house, Anton's décor, Anton's parties. Come, save the in-laws from your daughter. The last I checked, she was making a move on Anton's husband."

" _Anton_!" Cullen's voice echoed out from deeper in the house. "That is the opposite of helping! Maker! How did you ever convince me to marry you?"

Gamlen rubbed his forehead, resigning himself to a long evening. He followed Cormac further into the house, almost tripping over the dog still circling his ankles. Flanked by Anton and Charade, the Knight-Captain looked up at him, eyes wide and pleading. Artemis was busy straightening the furniture while Bethany perched primly in a chair nearby. Carver looked like he could list nine other places he'd rather be.

Gamlen wondered how he'd put up with this for two years.

"Hello, Uncle!" Anton greeted, rising to his feet. He pressed a drink into Gamlen's hand. "Glad you could make it. We were starting to wonder where you were."

"You know exactly where I was. Same place you spent two years letting your damn dog fart all over," Gamlen grumbled, knocking back half the drink, as soon as it was in his hand. He'd never quite had the patience for Leandra's kids. Probably because there were so many of them, they weren't his, and they were a bunch of ungrateful little nugshits. He eyed Carver for a long moment. "The two proper sons that mage gave your mother, and one becomes a templar and the other marries a templar. I knew somebody in this family would find sense, eventually."

"Don't speak so soon, Uncle," Bethany called out. "Carver's marrying an elf!"

"Ing. Will be. In the future," Carver pointed out, reaching across the table to help himself to a dumpling. "As opposed to Artemis, who already did." No one mentioned that Merrill was a mage, and Carver wondered if Cullen even knew. Probably not, and he preferred to keep it that way.

Merrill came back in from the garden, with Sebastian at her side. "Cormac, why don't you tell Sebastian about Andraste? He seems to be confused, and I just don't understand enough about the Chantry to get it all right."

"You want me to tell Chantry-boy about his own religion? I'm not even Andrastian!" Cormac shook his head. "Nope. Not getting into this. Where's Anders?"

"He and Sandal were playing with the goat." Sebastian looked somewhat uncomfortable at the informality of the occasion, as he made his way over to Bethany. "And I assure you, I am extremely aware of the scholarship surrounding Andraste. She was an Alamarri warrior, not a mage, and she did not have a mabari."

"Blasphemy!" Anton declared, eyes sparkling. "Of course she had a mabari!"

"And did that mabari fart on her uncle too?" Gamlen muttered into his drink. "Or was her dog too holy for that?"

Bethany tugged at Sebastian's sleeve until he sat in the chair he'd been hovering by, nudging a glass of wine towards him before he could start lecturing the table. "She didn't have any mabari to fart on anyone, uncles or otherwise," he said before shutting himself up with a sip of his wine, sitting up almost painfully straight in his chair.

Fenris finally coaxed Artemis to sit down. "What do you mean she wasn't a mage?" he asked, a hand to his chest in mock surprise. He twisted to address Cormac. "Cormac, have you been lying to me all this time?"

"I blame dad's books, if I'm wrong, same as I always have. It all seemed like a grand coverup, to me, like with so many mages and their axes and their spears. Of course, if we're talking about mages' spears..." A wicked grin crossed Cormac's face, as he slid into his seat.

"Which we're not." Anders swept into the room, tugging off the antlered helm and hanging it on a wall sconce, before he dropped into the seat next to Cormac, sweat sticking wisps of his hair to his pink cheeks. "It's hot, today. Have you noticed how hot it is, out there? Because it's hot."

"The first person to take the bait gets my fist for an appetizer," Carver snarled across the table, and Anders stuck out his tongue.

"Now, now, haven't you punched Cormac enough for one day?" Artemis asked. "Or punched his shields, anyway. That's how you break knuckles, Carver."

"Indeed," Anton agreed, "and _then_ who would clean all those toilets?"

Carver flashed him a rude gesture that just made Anton cackle.

"He has two hands," Fenris pointed out. "He could keep cleaning the toilets."

"I think Carver and myself would both rather he didn't need to clean the toilets," Cullen cut in before Carver could. "And could we not talk about toilets at the dinner table?"

"Please," Sebastian muttered.

Cormac pointed at Anton, with his eyes on Cullen. "He's my brother, but he's your husband. I think you've got the leverage, here."

"That's definitely an inappropriate use for your sword," Merrill chimed in, from the end of the table, hiding a smile behind a glass of wine. "You definitely don't want to be prying things wit--"

"Merrill!" Carver looked horrified.

"So, I see you've moved that apostate into the house." Gamlen raised his voice just enough to be heard clearly all the way down the table. "Just desperate to repeat your mother's mistakes, aren't you?"

"Gamlen-- _Gamlen_." Cormac leaned forward and looked down the table. "Did you forget I'm a mage? I'm also a _man_ \-- although I guess the beard might not be that obvious of a clue for a gentleman of your tastes -- so it's not like I'm going to end up with a hand's worth of hooligan children, either. I'd like to think I've learnt from mum's mistakes! Also, he's not an apostate. _I'm_ the apostate."

"Can we please stop saying 'apostate' with the Knight-Captain at the table, before someone winds up in the Gallows?" Anders suggested, winking across the table at Cullen.

"My, isn't the weather in Kirkwall _lovely_ , today?" Cullen's grin looked like a child had drawn it on with a hacksaw.

"For values of 'lovely' that include the stench bubbling up out of Darktown, from the heat, and the pitch melting between the cobblestones? Absolutely." Fenris lifted his glass and clinked it against Cullen's. "Also, I'm sure your office stinks of dead fish, facing off the water, like it does."

"So does Anton, when he visits me by climbing in through the window," Cullen replied.

Anton shot him a horrified look. "Would you rather I come in through the sewers?"

"I'd rather you come in through the front door."

Anders smirked into his glass. "There's a joke in there about back doors that Isabela would be sorry she missed."

Artemis changed the subject before Gamlen's expression could turn any more sour. "So, Uncle," he said, turning in his seat, "I'm sorry you had to miss the wedding. Then again, you were probably better off. It was certainly a, er, memorable occasion."

Gamlen grunted something as Bodhan refilled his drink. "So I hear. You're into elves, hm? Guess I don't have to ask which one of you is the girl."

Artemis patted Fenris's hand when his elf started to growl.

Bodhan cleared his throat and stood by politely until he had everyone's attention. "Dinner will be right out, messeres. There was a minor problem with the soup, but it's been sorted."

"My uncle has some difficulty comprehending the idea of same-sex partnerships, as he's already proven once this evening by insinuating Anders might get me pregnant," Cormac pointed out. "I keep telling you, Gamlen, we're all men."

"This is why you don't do family dinners, isn't it?" Anders asked, quietly.

"Oh, I don't know." Merrill's smile was enough to set half the table on the edges of their seats. "This seems just like family. I didn't have one, but everyone else's seemed about like this."

"Didn't have a family?" Sebastian asked, squinting down the table as a bowl of soup clinked onto the plate in front of him. "Don't you have an entire clan? Isn't that your family?"

"Oh, no, it doesn't quite work like that. That would be like saying your family is Starkhaven." Merrill laughed and patted Bodhan's hand as he set down her bowl. "I'm the First -- was the First -- so the Keeper is all the family I have. My parents came from another clan, and when our clan lacked... an appropriate person to take the role, I was given to the Keeper."

"She's adopted," Carver clarified, grabbing a roll and dipping it in his soup. "For political reasons."

"Oh!" Sebastian nodded like he finally understood. "We usually do that with marriages, not adoptions. Well, not ... 'we'. I suppose I'm not really a nobleman, any more."

"That's why Mum and Dad adopted Carver," Artemis said, dipping his spoon into his soup, "though it hasn't really panned out. We're hoping to trade him in."

"Still not adopted," Carver said mildly, "and fuck you."

"Can we watch our language at the dinner table, please," Bethany mock scolded, pursing her lips the way their mother used to.

"Yeah, Carver," Anton said, leaning over the table to see his brother. "Watch your fucking language."

"And fuck you too," Carver cheerfully told him. He slurped noisily at his soup in a way that seemed to pain Sebastian.

"See?" said Artemis between sips of soup. "This is why we're trading you in." Carver replied with a rude gesture, still slurping at his soup.

"Well, this is charming," Gamlen drawled, shaking his head. He wondered what his father would have to say about this. Or his mother.

"It's just like suppers in the tower," Anders said, with something that might've been a smile. "Anton, you making book on who gets punched first?"

"Cormac gets punched first. That's not even a proper wager." Anton shook his head.

Charade jabbed her spoon at Anton. "I've got twelve copper that says the next punch gets Carver."

"Put me down for a silver on Gamlen. Sorry, serah, but that mouth is going to catch up with you." Anders laughed very nearly cordially.

"There is nothing wrong with my mouth," Gamlen insisted, glaring around the table. "There's just something wrong with this family. This isn't the household my father would have wanted!"

"It's the household our father wanted," Bethany pointed out. "As to what your father wanted, I suppose I could always call him and ask..."

"Please don't!" Cullen looked pale at the very idea.

"That is... not how I'd like to meet our grandfather," Artemis replied, looking ill. "And you're one to talk, Uncle." Artie shoveled more soup in his mouth before he could say anything else, but Gamlen looked every bit as annoyed as expected.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Gamlen huffed.

"Nothing. Delicious soup, isn't it? Really very... soupy."

"He means," Anton said with a cheerful smile, "that you can't complain about the household of a house you lost in a wager. To slavers."

"I haven't had nearly enough wine to discuss this," Gamlen muttered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Qophia for helping us out of a stupid-ass editing glitch that turned into a bizarre observation on the nature of language.


	213. Chapter 213

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner, which gets worse, instead of better.

Fenris asked Bodhan for more wine, eyes on the drama unfolding at the table. This was far more entertaining than Wicked Grace. Leaning in to Artemis, he said, "I think Anders might be right about the punching. Do you think it's too late to put in my own wager?"

Artemis chuffed. "Personally, I'd rather we avoid the punching. Is anyone else going to comment on how lovely the soup is? What about the wine? Wine is good."

"The wine is excellent," Cullen agreed, "although for both our sakes I believe myself glad it isn't cordial."

"For my sake, I'm glad you're not drinking cordial," Anton laughed, one hand on Cullen's thigh, under the table.

Carver looked down the table, squinting suspiciously at Anton. "Is this gross? This is gross, isn't it. I don't want to hear about your gross sex things, in the middle of dinner. Or ever."

"Well, I can tell you you'd _see_ a lot less of them, if you learned to knock," Anton drawled, groping his husband thoroughly under the edge of the tablecloth.

"Well, it's hardly our fault you married the man with the dreamiest non-Hawke backside in all of Kirkwall!" Bethany pointed out. "Of course Carver wants a look! It's not like he got dad's ass either!"

Sebastian looked across the table at Anders. "I feel like I should be insulted by this, but perhaps I'll just be grateful I've been spared the temptation."

"I'm banned from everyone's sister, so don't look at me." Anders shook his head. "At least her brothers will let you near her."

"At least I'll let you near my brothers," Bethany said with a wicked smile.

Gamlen narrowed his eyes at her and at Anders. "Brothers? Plural? No, I don't want to know." He cut his free hand through the air, eyes squeezing shut.

As Bodhan and Orana cleared the soup bowls, Mintaka padded into the room, tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth. Anton whistled and snapped his fingers next to his chair, calling Mintaka to him, but the dog plodded up to Gamlen and sprawled across his feet, belly up and begging to be scratched.

"Traitor," Anton gasped.

"Shoo." Gamlen tried to nudge Mintaka aside with his toe, but the dog was deadweight on top of his feet. "You better not fart on me. I had enough of that when you were living with me."

Mintaka whined but could not be budged.

"Sure, Gamlen," Carver said, "blame the dog."

Anders put on his best blatant too-innocent face, sipping his wine and watching a fascinating part of the ceiling.

"What's that look?" Carver demanded. "I don't think you were ever even in that house..."

"A few times, actually," Anders replied, with a faint smile. "For your mother. But, did you ever consider where your brother got a taste for that cabbage salad?"

Anton stared down the table, pointing his fork at Anders. "I know where you sleep."

"That was the deal! If he ate my salad, he wasn't staying with me!"

Cormac leaned forward, face in his hands, and rested his elbows on the table, groaning. "Can we not talk about cabbage salad?"

"Yes, please," Artie groaned, "can we not? I'm the one who shared a room with Cormac for how long? Those are not memories I want to revisit."

No sooner had Artemis spoken than Orana and Bodhan glided into the dining room, dishes balanced in their hands. The first dish Orana plunked down was a bowl of cabbage salad, which she placed right in front of Cormac.

Anders set his drink down before he could choke on it or shoot it out his nose. Orana smirked at him as she set down the other plate in her hand, a smirk that said she'd overheard their conversation. "No," he told Cormac, picking up the bowl and setting it on the other side of him. "None for you."

Anton took the bowl and placed it even farther down the table.

Cormac eyed the bowl balefully and then turned the same look on Anders. "This is all your fault, you know. I wouldn't even know about that stuff, if it wasn't for you."

"Yes, and I found out that night that I shouldn't have introduced you to it." Anders smiled impolitely.

"South Reach lassis," Cormac shot back and Anders cleared his throat and looked away.

"Let's not bring that up at the table. People are trying to eat." Anders helped himself to a few slices of roast and a dripping pudding.

"I love South Reach lassis!" Bethany chimed in. "They're so smooth and creamy, and they're not as strong as the Chasind style."

"Let's just say they don't love Anders," Cormac choked out, trying not to burst out laughing.

"Speaking of Anders," Anders started, around a mouthful of roast, "Anders doesn't want to have this conversation. Have I mentioned how big the cats have gotten, Merrill? Assbiter barely fits on my shoulder any more."

"Purrcy doesn't even fit on Cormac's shoulders anymore," Artie said, scooping pudding and roast onto his plate, careful to keep space between them so they didn't touch, "but he still tries. Idiot furball could topple a Qunari!"

"We should let him try," Anton said between bites, "if we ever have another Qunari problem."

"I don't think Kirkwall could survive another 'Qunari problem'," Cullen sighed.

"It might, if we decide to use cats as weapons," Charade suggested. "Maybe that was the mistake we made last time."

"Don't tell Anders that," Fenris muttered, shooting her a weary look across the table, "or he'll fill the clinic with more of the fur-demons.

"Cats and mages," Gamlen sighed, stabbing his roast with his fork. "This is what my life has come to."

"Could be worse," said Carver. "The dog could still be farting in your house."

"Could be worse," said Cormac. "Carver could still be whining in your house. I never thought I'd be so glad to have a templar in the family."

Carver tried to stand up, but Merrill pulled him back down. "Dad's best friend was a templar!" he shouted at his brother.

"And of the two children he had who didn't inherit his talents, he named the older one for a mage and the younger one for a templar. How's that for fostering hope for the future?" Cormac drawled, reaching for the bowl of cabbage, without looking away from Carver. "I'll sleep upstairs," he promised Anders.

"Hey, I was named by him," Artemis said, pointing his thumb at Cormac. "And, Cormac, no. No cabbage for you." As Cormac's fingertips touched the bowl, Artie flicked his fingers and the bowl went skidding away from Cormac down the table... along with Cormac's plate and the flowers in the middle of the table. "Oops."

Charade's shout told him where the cabbage salad had ended up. Mintaka jumped up from his seat at Gamlen's feet as Charade jumped up from her chair.

"Oh, Mintaka, no!" Anton groaned, getting up to shoo the dog away from the spilled cabbage.

Artie swore, pausing to right the centerpiece before rounding the table to clean up the mess, scooping up the fallen food with his napkin.

"Well, this is familiar," Gamlen said, rolling his eyes.

Mintaka declined to be shooed, scarfing down as much cabbage as possible, while dancing around Anton's feet.

"You could have just let this go at _me_ having some cabbage salad, you know. You don't even live here, Artie! What do you care? Now you've fed the cabbage to the fart demon!" Cormac rolled his eyes and flicked his hand in a dismissive gesture, collapsing the food on Artie's plate into two small bricks -- the meat brick and the veg brick. He was a little kinder than he'd been when they were young, but not much.

"Fart demons. I'm sure those aren't covered anywhere in templar training," Cullen joked, remembering countless rounds of slightly less magical table shenanigans from his own youth. "What do you think, Sebastian? Does the Chantry have any books on fart demons?"

"If there were to be literature on such a thing, I am certain it would suggest putting the thing outside." Sebastian eyed the dog, warily.

"I imagine such creatures are from the deepest part of the Fade," Fenris said gravely, eyeing his husband who was swearing down at his plate.

"Maker dammit, Cormac!" Artemis groaned. At least his brother had made two separate bricks so his food still wasn't touching. And so that Artie had two separate projectiles to throw at Cormac's head.

"Ow!" Anders whined when the veggie brick bounced off his cheek.

"Sorry, Anders," Artemis said, sending Anders a cringing smile. "Hit my brother with that for me, will you?"

"Not if you're going to keep launching things across the table!" Anders huffed, brandishing the veg brick. "Innocents keep getting caught in the crossfire!"

Artemis handed Fenris the meat brick. "Throw this for me," he said. "Your aim is better than mine."

Barely looking up from his plate, Fenris threw the brick at Cormac, and bounced off the top of his head.

"Going to have to do better than that," Cormac pointed out, picking up the meat brick from where it had landed on the table and taking a bite. "I still have shields."

"No you don't," Bethany said, with a sweet smile across her wine, watching Cormac's face turn ashen as his magic left him.

Cormac pushed his chair back and failed to stand, as Anders hooked an arm around him and grabbed the chair.

"That's a little too far, for the dinner table, Bethy." Anders gritted his teeth against the wash of blue that sparkled across his skin.

"Oh, piffle. It's nothing I haven't--" Bethany looked up to see Anders looking at her with blue eyes. "Have I upset Justice? I'm very sorry. It'll wear off in a few minutes. He's always just as good as he ever was, after."

"Who's Justice?" Cullen asked, looking between Anders and Bethany. An abomination. Was he sitting at the dinner table with an abomination? But, demons didn't have names like 'Justice'...

"Spirit healer," Anders said, quickly. "Justice is my spirit, and he's... a little quick to offend, sometimes. He's mostly harmless. Just a little shouty, sometimes."

"I don't think I've ever met a spirit healer who spoke so easily of the spirit," Cullen looked intrigued. "So many won't speak of them at all..."

"You're a templar," Anton reminded him. "You're lucky they talk to you at all."

A pained look crossed Cullen's face, though he knew he couldn't argue with that. Anton squeezed his hand under the table.

Mintaka, meanwhile, was happily munching on the veggie brick that had fallen, forgotten, to the floor.

"You come back from the Deep Roads," Gamlen muttered, still poking at his food and grateful that he was sitting at this end of the table, "move into a fancy house, and yet you're still having the same childish fights at the dinner table."

"Careful, Uncle," Artemis huffed, "or the plate of roast will end up in your lap."

"Will it?" Gamlen replied, arcing an eyebrow. "Or will it end up on the floor?"

Artie looked at Fenris. "I'm not throwing any more food, Amatus," Fenris said between bites of roast.

"I will!" Merrill cheerfully replied, piling food onto her fork and readying it like a catapult.

"Savages, all of you. Father was right. Leandra should never have gone to Ferelden. Look at the lot of you! Barbarians!" Gamlen complained. "Barbarian children bringing your barbarian friends to supper!"

Charade rested her head in her hand, cackling madly, and one glance at Bethany set her off, as well.

"I am not a barbarian!" Sebastian protested. "My family are Marchers. I was once part of the royal family of Starkhaven!"

"Better a barbarian than a farmer," Cullen muttered around a bite of roast. "Are you hoarding the wine, Carver? Send it up the table."

"Be glad you weren't at the wedding," Cormac told Gamlen, still working his way through the roast-brick. "Either of the weddings. Very Fereldan affairs. Why, Artie's even included a duel to the death with a Tevinter magister, and how's that for entertainment?"

"Your last family holiday also included a duel to the death with a Tevinter magister," Anders pointed out. "It's really getting to be a habit around here."

"Should I expect this at all family dinners?" Fenris asked, brows knitting as he fiddled with the amulet around his neck. "Because I don't mind the idea of magister death, but I would rather not have the magisters around in general."

"Well, I don't see any magisters here yet," Merrill reminded him. "Does this count as a family occasion? I think it does."

"Can we not talk about magisters?" Artemis groaned. "It's just begging for trouble. I half expect one to show up at the door after saying that."

"Lunatics, the lot of you," Gamlen huffed, sitting back in his chair and throwing his napkin down on the table.


	214. Chapter 214

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Orsino starts some shit. Meredith objects. The Hawkes have never been very good at shutting up.

Cormac just wanted to have a word with the herbalist. That was it. Nothing exciting. And Anton was on his way down to the Gallows to sneak into Cullen's office in new and interesting ways. As they passed the stairs to the Keep, the First Enchanter could be heard shouting his displeasure with the state of the world, to the masses.

Cormac cocked his head in that direction, raising his eyebrow, and Anton nodded. It wasn't like they were doing anything particularly critical. They hung back, but stayed within listening distance.

"I know you fear us!" Orsino called across the crowd. "And Knight-Commander Meredith uses that fear to take control of your city!"

Anton spotted Artemis lingering near the edge of the crowd and elbowed Cormac, gesturing with his eyes, before heading that way and letting Cormac follow. "Fancy running into you here," he whispered to Artie. "Has he been at it long?"

"She opposes every effort to replace Viscount Dumar, and you have seen the chaos of her reign! Will you allow it?" Orsino challenged the crowd.

"She also appointed Viscount Dumar, if I'm not mistaken," Cormac pointed out, quietly, stepping into place a bit to Artie's side. "Artie. Fenris. Good to see you both. Nice day for a rally."

"Quite lovely," Artie agreed without taking his eyes off Orsino. "And he's only been at it a few minutes. It started as a heated discussion with another mage, but he turned it into a speech when he noticed the crowd gathering. I can't say I've ever seen him this worked up. And I _was_ him that one time, in the Fade. Fond memories."

The crowd started to move, bodies shuffling back and against them, making way for a familiar figure in platemail. "Return to your homes!" Meredith's voice rang out in the square, carrying more than Orsino's had. "This farce is over."

The same people who had been cheering Orsino on a moment before started to back away.

"I strongly disagree. This farce has just begun." Fenris scoffed. "I wonder if I could send a runner for roasted chestnuts, and have them return before this is all over."

"If this ends in the 'Staff of Violation' being used inappropriately," Anton said to his brothers, "I'm leaving Kirkwall and sailing for Antiva."

"Wait!" Orsino called out to the crowd. "Perhaps there are some who might disagree with you, Knight-Commander." He looked right at Anton as he spoke. Heads turned curiously, stares seeking out the Champion.

"Aw, shit," Anton said through his teeth.

"I hear Antiva is lovely this time of year," Artemis cheerfully told Anton. He patted his brother's shoulder and stepped slightly to the side to keep the focus off of him. "Whatever you do, don't turn your back on his staff."

"Oh, this should be entertaining," Fenris muttered.

"Do not hide behind the Champion." Meredith swaggered in, backed by several templars. None of them wore the Knight-Captain's notable armour, to Anton's relief. "He has no role in this."

"You know," Anton said, backing up, slowly. "I'm really not all that political. There are excellent points as to the necessity of the Templar Order. Let that never come into doubt. But, it also seems like overkill to punish every mage for the bad acts of a dangerous few. There has to be some middle ground. Some compromise. We have to remember that on all sides of this, at the end of the day, we're all just people."

"Bullshit," Fenris declared. "Would you say that to the people of Tevinter? What compromise can you propose to slaves?"

"I'm sure there's no reason for this to come to a public argument," Anton went on. "We're all adults, here. Surely we can talk this out."

"It's not an argument," Meredith insisted. "This is treason."

"I think the Champion's views would be appreciated, or do you fear what he has to say?" Orsino's chin tipped up, as he walked down the stairs to face Meredith, still a few steps up, to meet her eyes.

"I fear nothing," Meredith scoffed. "My only interest here is keeping order and protecting the innocent."

"Tell that to Karl Thekla," Fenris barked, from the back of the crowd. He remembered the name from an article he'd seen in the Gazette, about the variety of unspeakable acts from inside the Gallows that had become semi-public knowledge. He'd been there for some of those events, and had no reason to doubt most of the rest.

"What happened to Enchanter Thekla was regrettable, and the responsible parties within the Order have been dealt with. Still, the evidence remains that he met his end at the hands of the Mage Rebellion." Meredith smiled into the crowd, like an indulgent judge.

"It wasn't the 'Mage Rebellion' that made him Tranquil," Fenris scoffed, "or that treat the Tranquil as little more than slaves."

Artemis turned wide eyes and raised eyebrows his way, making sure he wasn't standing next to Anders instead. There was a time when he never thought he'd hear such words from Fenris.

Meredith's face twisted in a snarl, and Anton stepped in before this could disintegrate further. "Your measures... have become more extreme over the last few years," he said neutrally.

"And you could do better?" Meredith replied, looking down her nose at him. She stepped towards him. "How well did you guard your own mother? Did she not die at a blood mage's hands?"

"That is uncalled for," Artemis said, stiffening.

"A murderer is a murderer, regardless of his career choices," Cormac pointed out. "My father, as it turned out, was killed by the Wardens. Does it put me off Wardens, Knight-Commander? I'd think even you would know the answer to that. Do I point to the entire Templar Order as heartless murderers? ... Well, not usually, but there are moments. Overall, no, I do not. My own brother is a templar, as was my father's best friend. But, the extremes to which you have driven the Order are frankly unspeakable. There is no need to treat innocent people in a manner suited to criminals."

"But, there is your first mistake, Serah Hawke." Meredith shook her head, with a sad smile. "They aren't innocent people. They're mages. They're not really people at all, once the magic gets into them. And what follows magic, but demons? It is only by containing this unnatural power that we can hope to enable them to eke out some bare attempt at life, before the demons within can no longer be contained. Tranquility is a grace, and I wish we were able to grant all those so tormented by magic that sort of peace of mind, but it is quite costly to all involved, and only the most troubled can be given that peace."

"Don't you think if that were the case, more mages would be clamouring for it?" Cormac asked. "Come, First Enchanter, tell us what you're trying to accomplish, here."

"The people of this city need to know what is really happening!" Orsino insisted, anger bright in his eyes.

"And then what?" Meredith's condescension persisted amazingly well, and Fenris really had to credit her that much. "They tear down the Gallows with pitchforks and torches? That would be better?"

"It cannot be worse," Orsino deadpanned. "Your refusal to listen to reason leaves me no choice."

Meredith rounded on Orsino again. "What I refuse to listen to are excuses!" she said. "Perhaps you are ill-fit to your position if you cannot understand this." As her voice trailed off, her lips curled in a predatory smile.

"Ah," Anton said, rolling his eyes. "So we've moved onto threats. Do you really think that's going to help matters?"

"And what should I do instead?" Meredith snapped. "Allow this to continue?" She gestured at the square, at the crowd that had backed away but was still watching.

"What do you mean by 'this', exactly?" Anton said, determined to keep his voice civil. The last thing he needed to do was put his husband and his brother in an awkward situation by butting heads with Meredith.

"Are your arguments so flimsy," Fenris said, "that a public discussion threatens you?"

Meredith grit her teeth, eyes narrowing on Fenris, who lifted his chin in response. She stared at him as though committing his face to memory, though he knew his tattoos made him... memorable enough.

"Cold corpses speak louder than any 'discussion'," she said.

"Which corpses?" Artemis said. "There are quite a few. On both sides."

"There are no sides," Meredith corrected. "For there to be sides, this would need to be a disagreement between equals. There are only beasts and those with the power to rein them in. As long as there are wild maleficars wreaking murder and magical havoc in the streets, Kirkwall needs its templars more than it needs a new ruler."

"You say this as if these are mutually exclusive concepts, a viscount and templars. But, perhaps, to you they would be, since Dumar left no heirs." Fenris had been listening, when Cormac spoke, earlier. Assuming he was correct, Meredith wouldn't appoint a new viscount, or allow one, until she was certain it was someone she could control. "Kirkwall has a long history of alternating states of mayhem and tyranny, does it not? And you would prefer to keep it that way -- to maintain your tyranny as the golden alternative to the mayhem that might _possibly_ take hold without it."

"Better a merciless order than no order at all."

"And when will that end? When will you stop seeing evil in every corner?" Orsino demanded, disgusted.

"When it's no longer there." Meredith spoke as if the answer were obvious, condescension clear in her eyes.

"And that, ladies and gentlemen, brings us back to the Champion of Kirkwall, a force of honest good and right, who drove the very Qunari from our doorsteps!" Cormac stepped to the side and gestured at Anton. "Did I mention his role in bringing down the hideously dangerous maleficar who murdered our mother? Or that he helped me slay a dragon terrorising the miners in the mountains? I have seen him raise his blade to both demons and darkspawn! It matters not what form evil takes. Kirkwall can handle it. For magical malfeasance, we have the templars. For mundane matters, we have the guard. And for everything else, we have the Champion!"

The crowd applauded, stepping back around Anton, as they cheered for him. This was the man who had ended the Qunari threat. Whatever politics went on, the Champion would protect them.


	215. Chapter 215

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anton speaks well, but Elthina still has to come out and break things up.

"We cannot live in terror!" Anton proclaimed, hoping this would go off better than his last attempt at politics, speaking of the Qunari. Honestly, he missed the Arishok, some days. "Evil is difficult to spot in a suspicious world -- a world in which we refuse to trust our neighbours, our friends, our families! A world in which we fear those charged with protecting us! A world in which they fear us! It is only when we are good, kind, and righteous that the wrongs will shine clearly through. To behave otherwise is to punish an entire city, to punish ourselves, for the wrongs of those who have harmed us."

"Those are pretty words, Champion, but they are empty," Meredith said, voice cutting over the cheering crowd. The applause died down. "Kirkwall doesn't need speeches. It needs action, and I see no one else here willing to do what is necessary. Temptation preys on every mage, no matter how noble their intentions. Dragons are an obvious threat while a blood mage is less obvious but just as deadly."

Orsino scoffed, shaking his head. "You push us into desperate acts, and then use that as justification to press even further!"

"More excuses," Meredith sneered.

"And what excuse do you have for trying to seize control of the city?" Orsino snapped. "But never mind. I've already heard all those excuses."

"I am merely trying to keep order until there us a ruler capable of succeeding where Dumar failed."

"And if not?" Orsino replied. His hands clenched into fists at his side. "Will the templars rule Kirkwall forever?"

"We will not stand idly by while the city burns around us!" Meredith declared.

"And, yet, that is exactly what you are supposed to do. The Order is not meant to engage in national politics at this level any more than the Circle or the Wardens. There are laws against it. As Knight-Commander Guylian said, 'It is not our place to interfere in political affairs. We are here to safeguard the city against magic, not against itself.'" Cormac knew that line by heart, after reading the latest drafts of Anders's Manifesto. The involvement of the templars outside the bounds set by Chantry law had become an enormous point. Honestly, Chantry law had always been a huge point of the Manifesto, but as the city changed, the subject migrated. It was no longer only about mages, but about how the drive for control had come to a point where it put all the city, magical or not, in danger of being regarded as maleficars and so treated by the Order. "This is not Orlais, where it is accepted fact that those in charge do not follow the law, so that they can play dangerous games for power."

"And what happened to Guylian?" Meredith asked. "He was my friend. My predecessor, in this city. What happened to him, for his attitude? He was hanged in the Gallows courtyard by Viscount Perrin Threnhold, because he would not stand up and protect the city or his own men!"

"The Templar Order exists to guard the Chantry and the Circle. I suggest you let the nobility rule the city." Orsino jabbed a finger at Meredith, irately. "It is not because Guylian refused to stand, that he fell. It is because he finally agreed to stand. You and I were both there. He stepped out of line, and was brought down, as was the viscount's right -- duty even! And for all that I am pleased the city is no longer beneath the thumb of the Threnholds, it has been under yours, ever since."

"I do not need you or anyone to tell me what my duty is, _mage_."

"Clearly, you do, if you cannot even follow the laws that govern your position," Fenris called out, feeling like something of a hypocrite. In the end, neither could he, but he hadn't _failed_ in his duty, when he could do it no longer. He had walked away, and found somewhere his talents were better appreciated. "What about the Champion? Let him step in. He certainly cannot do any _worse_."

Anton groaned, quietly. He should have just sneaked into the Gallows by the sewers again. Sure, it was smellier, but there was less of a chance of crashing a political rally and having your brother-in-law try to make you viscount.

"That is not happening," Meredith said with steel in her voice, and Anton was tempted to nod in agreement.

"And why not?" Orsino asked. "Because you will it?" He shook his head at the Hawkes. "She is incapable of reason."

Orsino was expecting something of Anton, expecting him to say something. He looked back and forth between them and offered them a wry smile. "Maybe you two should wrestle," he drawled. "That's one way to solve this."

Orsino and Meredith looked equally unimpressed. Artemis and Fenris exchanged glances before looking at anything that wasn't Meredith, Orsino, or 'The Staff of Violation'.

"As delightful as mudwrestling might be to watch -- and if you were to so engage, I'd have to insist on the mud -- the fact of the matter is that the Knight-Commander has been repeatedly violating Chantry law and overstepping her position, something I encourage the First Enchanter to bring to the attention of the Divine, since the Grand Cleric seems determined to avoid doing her job." Cormac wished he'd thought to bring his glaive. After this many years in Kirkwall, he couldn't figure out what had possessed him to leave the house without it, this time, and of course, he'd walked into the middle of something that was half likely to end with him in the Gallows. "The First Enchanter is correct. The people of Kirkwall deserve to know how the children they've had stolen are treated inside the Circle."

"You are aware, Serah Hawke, that being the Champion's brother will not protect you forever, are you not?" Meredith smiled coldly. "Your persistent freedom is at my whim, and when you have become more trouble than you are worth, you and your family will be dealt with as you should have been dealt with on the docks, when you first arrived -- as the children of the fugitive maleficar Malcolm Hawke, likely all mages."

"I expect you'd know if _Ser_ Carver were a mage," Anton drawled. "That or you really need some better checks before you let a man join the Order."

"Why do I need the Champion to defend me? I can defend myself." Cormac cocked his thumb at Anton. "But, my brother's right. One of us _is_ a templar. One of us is a templar, and another is married to a templar. Neither of these being particularly magey things to do."

"Either mages or traitors, either way. And what of the other three of you, hmm? An apostate's children cannot be wholly unmagical. Were we not looking at your sister, some years past? What came of that investigation, I wonder?"

"My sister, whom your men already cleared of being a mage, who is dating a Chantry brother and writing books on the history of Nevarran architecture? Please. I think the Grand Cleric might have noticed and objected, by now." Cormac laughed. "Or my other brother, who married a mage-hating former Tevinter slave? Do you honestly think someone with such abject malice, where magic is concerned, would find it in himself to _wed a mage_?"

"Considering that he knows Enchanter Thekla's name, I think his aversion to all things magical is not so strong as you make it out to be." Meredith stalked forward, like a lioness on the hunt. "And you? How do you excuse yourself?"

"I never excuse myself. There is no excuse for me." Cormac laughed, again. He'd made a mistake trying to sell Fenris as anti-magic, like he'd been for so many years. Of course it wouldn't fly after the arguments Fenris had been making.

"My views on magic have nothing to do with the fact that slavery is a vile institution, regardless of who perpetuates it." Fenris leapt to defend himself. "And anyone who reads the Gazette knows Enchanter Thekla's name."

Meredith made a disgusted noise. "The Gazette," she scoffed. "That vile rag? It is nothing but smut and slander."

"I don't think that 'vile rag' is doing the slandering, here," Artemis replied. He fought not to fidget and to keep his hands steady. It was bad enough that she knew Cormac was a mage. If she found out about him or Bethany, she might lock up the entire family on principle. He thanked the Maker that Anders wasn't here. There was no way Justice would have stayed quiet.

The crowd shuffled around them again, and the top of a grey-haired head caught Meredith's attention as its owner weaved through the mob. "My, my, such a terrible commotion!" Elthina said as she came up beside the arguing parties. Her smile was indulgent, even condescending, as she addressed them.

"This mage incites rebellion, Your Grace," said Meredith, standing straighter as she gestured at Orsino. "I am dealing with the matter. Though certain parties are making that more difficult than is necessary." She cut a glare to Fenris and the trio of Hawkes.

"Ah, Orsino," Elthina sighed. "So frustrated. Do you think this is truly wise?"

"I..." Orsino deflated in front of their eyes, shoulders and head bowing. "No, Your Grace." Anton wondered where all the fight in him had gone.

"Of course not," Elthina said. She turned to the templars at Meredith's side, and they straightened too. "Young men, would you show the first enchanter back to the Circle? Gently, if you please." The templars inclined their heads respectfully, a set of faceless, voiceless figures who positioned themselves to either side of Orsino.

"Your Grace!" Meredith said, the very picture of indignation. "He should be clapped in irons, made an example--!"

"That's enough, Meredith," Elthina said as though scolding a child. "This demeans us all, surely you can see that? Go back to the Gallows and calm down, like a good girl."


	216. PART XLII: THE DRAGONSLAYER

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of magisters and Orlesians. A discussion of profits, with Varric.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahaha. Sorry, I passed out at my computer and didn't manage to post this, so it's a little late.

"Varric... Varric, I am going to choke the life out of this Orlesian shitmangler. You've got to help me. I need a loan or something, but I have to get the mine away from him." Cormac smacked his head on the edge of the table a few more times, and Varric poured him another drink. "Ridiculous amounts of interest are acceptable. I'm already getting stiffed hideously on this deal, and at least if I'm paying it to the Merchants' Guild, it'll be gratitude in every copper."

"Come on, Shouty," Varric said, patting him on the arm, "get a hold of yourself. Ridiculous amounts of interest are never acceptable. Look, let's rig an inspection, and see if we can't squeeze the guy, first. Maybe if he thinks the mine's getting shut down, he'll try to get out with a profit, and you can rip it out from under him for cheap."

"Let me guess, you know a guy?" Cormac asked, patting the table until he found his drink and trying to figure out how to drink it without lifting his head.

"I always know a guy. In this case, I know the right guy -- a guy who's been meaning to get a look at that break into the Deep Roads you've got up there. I got a favour, if you grant access." Varric nodded and leaned back with his own drink in hand. "We'll get you out of this. Or, we'll get Hubert out of it, anyway."

Fenris appeared in the doorway, lingering hesitantly at the edge of the room. "Varric, I need your opinion. Am I interrupting?"

"Nah, nah, Shouty just needed my opinion, too. Have a seat. Have a drink. Tell Uncle Varric what's on your mind." Varric kicked out a chair.

"I hope to Andraste it's not about my brother, if you're asking for Varric's opinion," Cormac muttered, head still on the table.

"No. My sister, actually..." Fenris inched warily into the room and took the offered seat, looking more nervous than he had in years.

"All right. Your sister." Varric nodded before pausing, head tilting back. "You only have the one, right?"

"The one who led my -- who led a magister to my door? On my _wedding_? Yes, I only have the one." Fenris clasped and unclasped his hands on the table, looking every bit like he should be holding a drink. "Fasta vass. How did you not kill your brother after he betrayed you?"

Varric was grateful to already be holding a drink. "Well, to begin with, there was a heavy metal door between us when it happened. Which was a smart move. I mean, it was an asshole move, but a smart one. You remember."

Fenris nodded. "And afterwards? When you saw him again?"

"Oh, I had every intention of punching the little shit back to Orzammar," Varric said. "But..." He squinted at Fenris across the table. "You didn't see him, did you? If you had, you wouldn't need to ask. Or you'd be asking for a different reason." He drained the rest of his drink in one draught. "Hold that thought. I'm gonna get us a round of drinks. Shouty, you want another?"

Cormac groaned and held up his thumb. "More beer. Less Orlesians."

"I'll get a couple more pitchers," Varric decided, heading out.

"For the record, shutting one's brother in the Deep Roads is not typical older brother behaviour. I mean, I shut a couple of my brothers in closets a few times, but... closets. Definitely above-ground and sans darkspawn." Cormac finally sat up and guzzled the drink he was still holding. "Which may explain how it is that Anton keeps ending up in closets, these days..."

"Let us not discuss Anton's closet fetish," Fenris said, shaking his head. "And younger sisters? Do they bring angry magisters to one's wedding?"

"Having never been married, I can't speak to that, personally, but my younger sister didn't bring any magisters to either of her brothers' weddings. Having said that, though, my younger sister did put on a magical performance in front of a room full of templars and blamed it on my... favourite Warden. Or the time Artie and I got into it over dinner, and spent half an hour screaming on the floor, because she didn't want to hear it. Sisters can be a little dangerous." Cormac shrugged. "But, it was still Anton who brought the templar into the house, and not Bethany."

"Well... she didn't need to bring a magister to Artemis's wedding," Fenris reminded him. "My sister already took care of that. I am certainly bringing my sword to any other weddings I am invited to, however. Particularly Hawke weddings." He ran a hand through his hair, brushing it back from his eyes.

Varric returned shortly after, balancing a pair of pitchers and a tankard for Fenris. "Drinks for everyone!" he said, pouring another round of drinks before slumping back into his chair. "Alcohol is a necessary part of discussing siblings. Especially siblings like yours. Double the alcohol if any Hawke siblings are involved." He tipped his drink at Cormac.

Cormac poured himself another drink. " _Triple_ the alcohol, because we're all fucking drunks, especially your husband." He pointed at Fenris.

"Yes, I am familiar with him," Fenris sighed. "Though he's slightly less of a drunk than when I met him. Slightly."

Varric chuckled, leaning his chair back to prop his feet up on the table. Fenris half-expected Artemis to appear just to scold him for it. "But Bartrand. Ancestors. What that idol did to him... He locked me, us, in the Deep Roads, but I felt sorry for _him_."

Fenris harrumphed, toying with the handle of his tankard. "I have no reason to feel 'sorry' for Varania."

"She showed up with that waste of magic. Is that not reason enough?" Cormac asked, eyeing Fenris. "She's still your sister. She's still _an elf_. I don't know enough about where you come from, but around here, that makes it a lot easier to get away with doing questionable things to someone, if they're an elf."

"She did it to become a magister!" Fenris snapped, slamming his fist on the table and sloshing beer down the side of his tankard with the impact.

"What were her other options?" Cormac asked. "I'm just playing the other side of the table, because you've said you have no reason. I'm sure I can find one, if you want one."

"What does it matter what her other options were? She used me so she could become a magister! She tried to have me killed to further her career!" Fenris managed not to punch the table, again.

"It matters if her other options did not include a neutral outcome. Perhaps her death or yours, depending on whether she agreed to be used as bait. Perhaps she trusted you to save her and yourself -- that's what older brothers are for, isn't it?" Cormac sipped at his beer.

"Then she could have warned me! Artemis and I talked to her in private before the wedding, and she..." Fenris ran out of words, at least polite ones, in this language.

Varric watched him over the rim of his tankard, waited until the worst of Fenris's temper seemed to subside. "Not for nothing, Broody," he said, "but how long did it take for you to get out from under Danarius's thumb? And how many more years did you spend in hiding? And you're a warrior. You can reach into someone and rearrange their organs in a matter of seconds. I think you know just how hard it is to say 'no' to Danarius."

"I don't need you both making excuses for her," Fenris said. "All she did was make excuses for herself." He shook his head. "I don't know why I thought..." He cut himself off. He didn't know why he thought he could have a family. "I shouldn't have written to her in the first place."

"I beg to differ." Cormac finished his drink, holding up a finger of the other hand, as he swallowed for a few long moments, before pouring himself another. "It's a good thing you wrote to her. She delivered Danarius to you on a platter, in a garden full of people who could defend you, who could help you make sure he'll never come for you again. She brought him as a wedding gift, still alive, so you could watch him die. There's really no question he's gone, is there? No chance you think he's getting back up from that?"

Cormac's grin was frankly unsettling, savage in a way Fenris hadn't seen in years, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, eyes never leaving the mage's hands. "You believe she did me a favour?"

"Whether she intended to or not, the end result is the same. He's dead. You win. And since he apparently died without an apprentice, I'm sure there's mayhem in the city -- or there will be, once someone realises what's happened. Might be a while. There were no survivors." Cormac's smile softened, even as his eyes grew sharper. "With a little bit of fortune and forgery, everything he had is yours. Or Artie's. He does have a Tevinter name. And I mean _everything_ , Fenris. A little bit of paperwork, and you could have his slaves transported, you gather?"

"The man's got a point," Varric admitted, tapping his fingers thoughtfully on the edge of his tankard. "We don't even need Artie. We just need something with Danarius's signature on it. His seal. For all anyone knows, he's still alive."

Fenris sat back in his chair, one finger tracing the rim of his cup as he considered the implications of that. He could picture how furious Danarius would have been at the very thought, and it brought a smile to his face. "There's an idea," he murmured. "I'd ask how, exactly, we'd go about doing that, but I suspect I don't want to know."

"I'll take care of it," Varric said, waving his hand. "Always happy to help out a friend and piss off some Tevinters. I know --"

"-- a guy?" Fenris drawled. "Yes, I imagine you would."

Varric winked at Fenris, clinking his tankard against the elf's before taking another drink. "And while we're on the subject of 'pissed off' and 'Tevinter'... well, are you sure Varania's your only family? Maybe you have some less murderous cousins, or something."

"I think I have my hands full with the family I already know about," Fenris muttered.

"What harm could it do?" Cormac asked. "It's not like you have to tell them where you are. Besides, these would be the family that haven't been an integral part of a trap for _years_." That gave him a moment's pause. "That is an awful lot of years. I didn't think Danarius to be so patient, from what you'd said, and the way he'd already sent half an army into the Marches after you at least once. Do you really think he waited for an invitation?"

"Who knows what goes on in the minds of madmen?" Fenris asked, waving the question aside. "He's dead. It doesn't matter, now."

"His books." Cormac pointed at Varric. "Get his books -- personal ones most of all. I want his research."

"Are you going into living runecrafting, then?" Fenris growled.

"No, but if you're the success, I want to know who the failures were. I want to know why they were failures. I want to know if they lived -- any of them -- even if it was just long enough for him to have them put to death. I want to know what he was trying to do, and what else he broke trying to do it. I suddenly have some concerns about the Veil in the vicinity of wherever he was working, if nothing else." Cormac shrugged and topped off his tankard again. "Something Anders said about the Blackmarsh..."

"Well, that sounds creepy," Varric said, nodding. "Blackmarsh. The kind of place where there are rats so big, even the demons won't go there. I'm going to have to ask him if it's as creepy as it sounds."

"Veil tears and an undead dragon, by which I mean yes. Yes, it is that creepy, and yes, you should ask him. It'd be an amazing story." Cormac grinned. "Of course, you'll end up making half of it up, because Warden secrets, but still worth the effort."

Fenris sighed and reached for the pitcher only for Varric to get there first. Varric topped off Fenris's drink and then his own. "You know," said Fenris, "there was a time when I would have heard all of those words and been concerned. But now, I'm less than surprised."

" _Mages_ ," Varric grunted in his best Fenris impression, tucking his chin against his chest and narrowing his eyes at Cormac.

"Yes, mages, and I do not sound like that. Stop smirking!"

"Sure you do!" Varric said. "So it's settled then. We'll separate an annoying Orlesian from his money and a dead Tevinter from his slaves. And possibly get Cormac some light reading." He grinned. "It's going to be a busy week for me."

Fenris nodded, only to pause, brows furrowing. "What's this about an Orlesian?"

Cormac groaned and slammed his head against the edge of the table again. "It's just Hubert."


	217. Chapter 217

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen gets sent along on an expedition to the Bone Pit, in search of the demons and blood mages Meredith expects are responsible for the constant troubles in the area. Fortunately, the Hawkes already have business up there.

Cormac opened the door right into Varric. "I was just going to come looking for you!" He looked over his shoulder. "Bethy! Varric's here! Are you good to go?"

The dwarf next to Varric looked up at Cormac and then back at Varric. "You didn't tell me your friend was human. When you said he was a miner--"

"I didn't say he was a miner. I said he owned a mine." Varric shrugged. "Either way, Cormac's good people. Cormac, this is Natia Brosca, my expert on the Deep Roads. She spent a lot of time down there. Natia, Cormac Hawke, part owner of the Bone Pit, which is a shitty name for a mine, and you should rename it, like I've been telling you for years."

"Tradition and Hubert," Cormac replied, leaning in the doorway, while he waited for his sister.

Instead of Bethany, Cullen came down the stairs, in full plate.

"Late for work?" Cormac joked.

"No, I'm going with you," Cullen sighed. "The Knight-Commander is convinced there are apostates practising blood magic up there, and that's why you're having problems."

"There were definitely blood mages. The problem is they were Tevinter and it was more than five hundred years ago. There's an actual pit of bones from the sacrifices." A toneless laugh slipped out of Cormac. "And I just took care of a nasty bout of undead, the other year, so it's probably time for something else. I just want to get up there before it happens."

"He does this," Varric pointed out. "He's fucking neurotic about that mine. Sneaks up there at least once a month to make sure there aren't arcane horrors or giant spiders."

"Or dragons," Cormac pointed out, "like that one time."

"Dragons?" Cullen asked, squinting uncertainly at Cormac. "You had _dragons_?"

"We had dragons. Anton was so pissed at me for not bringing him back a drake. Of course, we lived in Lowtown, and there was no way Gamlen was going to let a drake in the house. The dog was bad enough." Cormac spotted Bethany over Cullen's shoulder. "How is my brother, anyway? I haven't seen him in a week."

"He's warm, when I get out of bed. I haven't really seen him, either, but that pile of sovereigns on the nightstand keeps getting bigger, so I know he's getting up at some point," Cullen joked.

"The Antivan rug merchants are in," Bethany pointed out. "And, yes, Cullen, I'm coming along on this venture, because someone has to keep an eye on you. I'm sure Anton would never forgive us if we brought you back as slightly-used dragon-snacks."

"There probably aren't dragons," Cormac assured him. "We're really just going to take a look at the entrance to the Deep Roads up there. Less an 'entrance'. More a hole in the wall."

"A hole in the wall?" Cullen asked, brow quirking. Meredith's concerns aside, he was curious about the Deep Roads, though not so curious that he wanted to deal with dragons or undead or giant spiders (ugh!) just to look at them.

"That's what happens when you mine on the surface without paying attention to what's beneath you," Natia said, still sizing Cormac up.

"Blame the Orlesian," Varric told her out of the corner of his mouth as he ushered her back out the door.

* * *

They stopped by the Fartemis Estate on the way. Fenris saw the apple tarts in Bethany's hands and heard the words 'Bone Pit'. He snatched up his sword and shoved a pastry into his mouth before Cormac had finished talking.

Artemis appeared just long enough to steal a tart for himself.

"Are you coming too?" Cullen asked, eyeing Artemis's bare feet.

"Fuck no," Artie said with a cheerful smile and a spray of crumbs. "But you kids have fun."

"Artie?" Cormac grinned wickedly. "You just blew crumbs down your shirt." He reached out and pinched the tip of his brother's nose, before backing up in a hurry, before Artie could tag him for pointing it out.

Artemis whined around his next bite of tart, the kick he aimed at Cormac's crotch bouncing off his shield.

"And this is why casual magic is so important, in daily life," Cormac told Cullen, one hand clanking against a platemail shoulder. "I prefer it when my brothers can't kick me in the balls for stating the obvious."

"I can see the appeal. Although I'm not sure I would have become quite so polite without my sisters' feet in my delicates." Cullen eyed Artemis one more time, as they walked away. "There's something to be said for the role of pain in suppressing dreadful behaviour, but I've noticed it didn't seem to help Anton much."

"You can't beat anything out of Anton." Cormac shook his head. "You have to bribe him. I'm sure you've noticed that, by now."

Cullen blushed and looked away, as they made their way down from Hightown.

"Paying louts to shut up gets dangerous. There are scholars, back in Orzammar, who founded entire careers on being paid to shut up," Natia pointed out. "So, the Deep Roads, huh?"

"The Deep Roads. Which is why we don't have the healer with us. He objects to being underground, but he objects even more to the light of fungus lamps and darkspawn in the walls." Cormac laughed, but the smile didn't reach his eyes.

"Darkspawn!?" Cullen looked much less impressed with this entire idea. "I should tell the Knight-Commander it's the darkspawn. Tainted lands, blight wolves, unspeakable horrors of the Blight rising out of the earth."

"Do you think that would work?" Cormac asked, honestly curious. He'd never really gotten a grip on how Meredith thought about things.

"Probably not," Cullen admitted. "She'd decide the darkspawn were templar problems, because they were created by the magisters. Magic made it, it's evil, it must be our duty to clean it up. Except, you know, that's what the Grey Wardens are for."

"And the Legion of the Dead," Natia noted, squinting up at Cullen. "So, you're a templar? I heard they feed you guys lyrium. How's that working out for you?"

"Well, I'm not dead, so there's that," Cullen answered with brittle smile.

Natia chuffed. "Not dead because of the lyrium or despite it, templar?"

Cullen wished he had an answer for that. Instead he glanced at Fenris, at the pale blue lines etched into his skin, and the elf gave him a sympathetic look, cheeks bulging around another tart.

"And who are you?" Fenris asked, only just noticing Natia around Cullen's platemail. He offered her a tart by way of introduction.

"Natia Brosca," she said, nudging a couple of tarts aside in the box until she found one she liked. "And thanks. These aren't bad."

Varric chuckled. "'Not bad' is the highest praise I've heard you give surface food," he said.

"I like simple things! Mushrooms! Fried nug! The occasional roasted deepstalker!" Natia shrugged expressively. "The food up here is just weird!"

"You should see the things the Hawkes have tried to feed me," Fenris teased. "They're barbarians, from a land of barbarian tribes, to the south."

"Hey, I'm from Ferelden, too!" Cullen protested. "It's not _all_ barbarians!"

Varric pointed at Cullen. "And that's what the important barbarians look like," he told Natia. "Note the lack of goat stench."

Fenris choked on a tart and Cormac slapped him on the back.

"Breathe. My brother will have my balls on a plate, if I let you choke to death before we even get where we're going."

"You came from Orzammar?" Bethany asked, finally. "I thought dwarves who came to the surface couldn't go home."

"They can't. Doesn't really matter. My sister's the king's concubine, so she's taken care of, and I'm up here, where I can take care of myself." Natia looked back at Bethany and tapped a mark on her cheek. "It's not like I could do that, back home."

Bethany looked at Fenris, curiously, aware of the presence of _two_ people in the party, now, who seemed to have an aversion to their extremely obvious tattoos.

"I have known another dwarf with such... tattoos. I am led to understand they are, like mine, a symbol of an irreparable lack of status," Fenris explained, around a mouthful of tart, the crumbs falling from behind his hand.

"Like yours, huh?" Natia asked, eyeing Fenris's markings more openly now. "There's a story there, I take it?"

"I suppose there is," Fenris replied. He considered the last tart in the box and if he wanted to eat it now. "Though I'm missing a few... chapters. I would require more tarts and copious amounts of wine to tell it, however."

"We can talk about drinks when we're done with this mine business," Varric said. "What do you say? Round off the day with a drink and a hot meal after?"

Fenris hummed his assent around the last tart, while Cullen waffled. "Depends on when we get back, I suppose," he said, picturing the paperwork that would be piling up in his absence. And Meredith would be breathing fire worse than any 'drake' -- though thank the Maker the Hawkes had already cleared those out.

"I heard yes," Varric replied, patting his plated shoulder.


	218. Chapter 218

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's trouble in the mines. This is not the day Cullen wanted to have.

Jansen was standing outside the mine -- far outside the mine, with the other miners gathered around him -- as Cormac and the others came over the rise. "Boss! Oh, thank the Maker. I was going to send somebody down to get you."

"Called it!" Cormac said, sticking his tongue out at Varric. "What is it, this time? Spiders? Zombies? Ancient dwarven nightmare spirits risen from the depths?"

"You know, I think it's dragons, again. Your Orlesian doesn't think so. Told us to get back to work, when we sent word down, but... I seen dragons, Boss. I know what dragons are like." Jansen had survived the first time the miners struck too deep and hit dragons.

"Nobody tell Anton," was the first sentence out of Cullen's mouth. "If I blamed dragons, do you think the Knight-Commander would believe me?"

Jansen eyed the sword etched into Cullen's armour. "Who's your templar, Boss? I didn't think they were your type."

Fenris tried to swallow a laugh, and made an appalling strangled sound.

"Cullen's special," Bethany said, stepping to the front, batting people out of the way with the butt of her spear against their ankles. "In fact, he's our brother-in-law, and a terrible sweetheart. We take very good care of our templar."

"I'm a grown man with a large sword," Cullen pointed out. "Generally speaking, I can take care of myself."

"Please don't inspire me to ask Anton about your sword, Cullen. I don't want to know, and you don't want me to know," Varric joked, looking a little less than thrilled at the idea of dragons.

"Look, swords aside, _dragons_?" Natia actually said it. "And we're just going to walk in there and expect to not get killed?"

"We've done it before," Cormac pointed out.

Natia eyed him, head tilted, before turning that same incredulous look to the others in their group. "You're used to this sort of thing, aren't you?"

"Natia." Varric wrapped an arm around her shoulders, an arm that she let stay there for all of two seconds before swatting it away. "I'll tell you about our adventures in the Vimmark Mountains over drinks later. It's a story that has it all: blood magic, Warden secrets, an Ancient Tevinter magister..."

"Sometimes I wonder if you're making this stuff up," she sighed.

"Sometimes I think he is," Bethany replied. "But not that."

A noise echoed out of the caves, too distorted to make out, and the miners huddled farther away from the entrance.

Fenris pinched the bridge of his nose. "Cormac, do not hate me for making this suggestion, but perhaps we should just collapse the mine. How much more is going to happen in this mine? If there is a curse of some sort..."

Cullen looked less than thrilled with that explanation. "A curse," he muttered. "Great."

"If there's a curse, all we have to do is find it and break it." Cormac grinned at Fenris. "Come on, we're down two Tevinter magisters, already, and one of them was a thousand years old. I'm not sure 'can't' is even a thing for us, any more."

"I, for one, am well aware of my own limitations," Cullen protested, "and I'd really rather not be roasted into dragon crunchies in my own armour, if we can avoid that."

"Silly templar!" Bethany chided. "That's why we have Cormac along. He'll protect you from the fire!"

"Anders would do a better job, but I can keep it down to 'a little hot in here' rather than 'melting the flesh off your bones'." Cormac unshouldered his glaive and eyed the cave entrance. "I absolutely do not want to have this fight right here. There are too many people out here, and I can't keep all of them safe. Most of them, but not all of them -- and definitely not if anyone expects me to be doing anything else."

"So we go in after it," Fenris sighed. "Why can't we collapse the mine?"

"Because then you would no longer be living in the lap of luxury, nor would I. And I've got fifty men here who would be out of work." Cormac's eyes lit up and he shot a contemplative glance at Varric. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"

"If you're thinking we should feed Hubert to the dragon, I might be." Varric laughed and checked Bianca's bolts.

"I don't know what Orlesian inheritance looks like, but I bet you this drops the price. I think we can make this out to be a lot worse than it is, and he'll be just desperate to get rid of this hole in the ground." Cormac grinned. "Come on. It's just a dragon. We can do dragons."

"Just a dragon, he says," Natia groaned. "You're a Warden, aren't you? Or one of those crazy dragon hunters from that place with all the dead cults?"

Cormac cocked his head at Bethany. "She's the Nevarran in the family, and we didn't bring along the Warden. No dragon hunters here. But, we _have_ done this before. And now, we get to do it again. Might be worth figuring out what the dragons like so much and maybe setting up a little something down in the pit, instead, so they're not coming up into the mine."

"A dragon sanctuary. If there were ever a question in my mind if you were related to Anton, it has been resolved," Cullen sighed.

"Come on!" Cormac urged, backing toward the cave entrance, with his glaive in one hand. "We'll be home for supper!"

"I hate when he says that," Varric muttered to Fenris. To Cormac, he called out, "And you're buying!"

"Of course I'm buying!" Cormac laughed. "I'm going to be rich!"

Natia and Cullen followed the group, both looking up and around when they stepped into the cave. Natia eyed the set-up, the tools that the miners had dropped in their panic, and she hummed under her breath. "Not seeing much damage up here, so that's a good thing," she said. "Not that I've seen too much dragon-related destruction, but I imagine damage from clawed feet and fire breath would be easy enough to figure out."

Another sound echoed up from beneath them, a sound they felt in their bones and under their feet more than they heard it. It took Cullen a few seconds to recognise that as a dragon roar. "Sweet Maker," he breathed.

"Cormac, I don't think these are dragonlings or drakes this time," Fenris said, one ear twitching. "And now I _really_ think we should collapse the mines."

They made their way through the mine, deeper and deeper, finding nothing more exciting than the occasional lizard or nug. "What stands out to me is that we're not finding drakes or dragonlings at all," Varric pointed out, looking around. "Last time, this place was full of not-quite-dragons. And then there was the big one. This time, I'm not seeing the little ones."

"I'm going to be extremely upset if this is an undead dragon. I'm going to be even more upset if this is the undead rising of the dragon you killed last time." Fenris glanced around, uncomfortably. Dragons. This was ridiculous. Artemis would not be pleased.

Another roar seemed much closer, but not close enough to bring heat or a breeze with it.

"Grab it for me, Cormac?" Bethany asked.

"Of course." Cormac glanced around at his companions, realising how few of them had been out on something quite this... large. "Here's what's going to happen. I'm going to shield all of us, first. The shields are pretty good, but they're not impenetrable. Still, they'll turn a blow from a greatsword into a punch in the face. They'll help a lot, but don't think they'll keep you completely safe. They're also not completely fireproof, so while you're not going to burst into flames, you probably don't want to stand in fire for too long, if you don't have some amazing plan. You'll be able to move pretty much like you always do."

"You can really do that?" Natia asked. "There's six of us! I thought mages could only make little shields!"

"Cormac's a natural," Varric said, patting Natia's back. "He kept nine of us out of trouble, once, and one of us was a pillar of fire, at the time."

"That was horrible," Fenris observed. "Can we not do that again?"

"I'm going to second not doing that again." Cormac grinned and rolled his eyes. "I get the first shot, and if I get it, Bethany gets the second. Nobody hits this thing before I do. Andraste's tits, I wish Anders was here. I really need him for this. I'm a little more constrained in some ways than he is. But, Bethany needs to get a grip on it. Once she does, this entire fight's going to get a whole lot easier."

"What, exactly, does she do?" Natia squinted curiously up at Bethany.

Cullen and Fenris exchanged a look behind Bethany, who simply smiled. "Well, this is more than just decoration," she said, tapping her spear with a ringed finger.

Natia eyed the spear and the woman behind it, doubt clear in her eyes.

"Uh. Yeah. About that." Varric shrugged Bianca off his shoulder, checking the tautness of the bow as Natia turned her dubious look his way. "I think you'll see what she means in a minute." The smile he gave her was almost apologetic, and Natia's eyes narrowed.

They followed the sounds of roaring, weapons drawn and ready, and if Cullen's palm was sweaty on the hilt of his sword, he hoped the others didn't notice. Maker. Was this the sort of thing Anton faced all the time? Probably not, or they would have a pet dragon in the backyard instead of a goat.

They found sunlight before they found the dragon. "Did we get turned around?" Cullen asked. "Or does the mine have a back entrance?"

"Back entrance," Varric replied. "Where is the Blighted thing?"

Fire filled the exit as the ground shook with another roar, and Cullen and Fenris staggered back, the heat hitting them but not the flames.

"Found the dragon," Fenris said archly.

Cormac knew it was too big, that he couldn't get a spell around all of the beast, so he settled for the head, squeezing one hand shut and slamming the butt of his glaive against the ground. "Bethy?"

Bethany was already casting when the dragon shook off Cormac's spell and reared back. Cormac waved Cullen and Fenris through the opening, following close behind them.

"You're a _mage_!" Cullen hissed, trying to push Cormac behind him, as Bethany's first spell struck the dragon.

The dragon shook its head and roared, snapping at Cormac, who brought up a barrier, the dragon's face slamming against it. He grinned at Cullen, also inside the bubble. "Yes. I'm a mage."


	219. Chapter 219

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A great lot of stabbing and some very unusual magic. Perhaps not the best day to be a dragon.

Fenris took advantage of the dragon's distraction to run close along its neck, lighting up with the blue of the Fade as he passed out of its field of view. If they could keep it on the ground, he was sure he could gut it. The dragon tried to fill the cave with fire again, behind him, but Cormac's barrier kept it to an uncomfortably warm rush.

Bethany slammed hex after hex into the beast, never quite sure how many of them took. And then it looked up, focusing on something outside the range of anyone still in the cave. Fenris could see it was nothing at all. The dragon was just staring into space.

"Yes!" Bethany hissed, pounding on Cormac's barrier. "Let them out. It's going to be distracted for a minute."

Lowering the barrier, Cormac stepped aside. "Them?" he asked his sister.

"I'm not stupid, Cormac." Bethany winked, as Varric slipped out and vanished behind some stones with Natia.

Cormac nodded, raising the barrier again, behind him, and taking a deep breath as the indigo light crept across his skin. "You and me," he said to Cullen. "We keep it chasing us."

The dragon flapped its wings and roared in irritation, the sudden gusts blowing dust and bones across the cliff. Cullen staggered and Cormac slid back a few inches.

"Shit," Bethany muttered, uncorking a potion as she kept lobbing hexes. And then a skeleton assembled out of the bones and stood up.

"Shit," Natia echoed, eyebrows crawling for her hairline. After the first few spells, she'd gotten the hint that the girl was a mage, but this?

"Yeah," Varric agreed, steadying Bianca on the rock he crouched behind. A flurry of bolts followed, punching holes in the dragon's wing. Its pained shriek was deafening. Smoke billowed from its mouth as its attention whipped back and forth between Varric and Natia's bolts, the skeletons clawing at its feet, the bite of Cullen's sword behind one knee, and Fenris's behind another...

The dragon snarled, fire glowing behind its teeth as its wings pumped, propelling itself into the air, if not very far after a few more dwarf-related holes in its wing.

"Get back," Fenris told Cullen, pulling him under an overhang as fire rained down around them. Cullen cringed back, throwing his arms up over his face on instinct even as the fire washed down and over their shields.

"That really is a handy trick," Cullen said, lowering his arms.

"Yes, but don't tell Cormac that." Fenris blazed Fade-blue again and tore off after the dragon. He was there when the creature staggered back to its feet, racing and jumping through the back of one hind leg, clawed gauntlets tearing at the muscle and tendons there.

The dragon roared, lashing its tail and curling around itself to bite at the two tearing at its legs. In desperation it took a deep breath, only to choke out a stream of warm water onto the warriors.

"Did-- Is this dragon vomit?" Cullen's dismay was clear in his voice, as he dripped, sword still hacking at the dragon's thigh.

"Thank me later!" Cormac shouted across the battlefield, flicking fire near the dragon's eye -- not close enough to burn, but close enough to make it look.

Struggling, the dragon lifted off, one leg hanging uselessly. It hung in the air shakily, lashing at the warriors with its tail, before settling onto the stone above the cave entrance to consider its wounds and choose a new strategy. Trying to breathe fire at the blue and black creature who'd thrown fire in its face resulted in a belch of smoke and steam, first, and two small gouts of flame, on the second try.

"I can't see it, Cormac!" Bethany complained. "I can probably hit it, but I can't see it!"

"It'll come down," Cormac assured her, stepping out into the open, as the dragon's eyes followed him. He flashed with fire and Fade-glow, lashing ice across the dragon's muzzle. "Flank it!" he called to Cullen and Fenris, before calling down a thundering tempest on the dragon.

As expected, it rose up and came after him, all teeth and flames. Nothing the barrier couldn't handle. And then Cormac made a mistake -- or what looked like a mistake. He dropped the barrier and lunged in with his glaive, swiping at the corner of the dragon's mouth. The blade bit in, and the dragon took a piece out of Cormac's upper arm, before it threw back its head and shrieked, wings beating back the skeletons and warriors that lunged for it.

"Kill it!" Cormac howled, teeth bared and eyes wide, as the air around him erupted into pure chaos, spreading outward to surround the dragon in fire and lightning, the ground cracking open as spires of ice shot out of the crevices. Blood ran freely down his arm, and for a moment, he really regretted not having Anders along. The glaive hit the ground as the indigo glow raced down his limbs again -- he couldn't get his left hand to respond. Kill the dragon, then fix the arm. Kill the dragon first.

Varric watched the whole thing unfold. It had looked like the world erupted when Cormac got hit. It looked like Cormac had dropped his shields and stepped right into that, and then the world exploded. _Blood magic_? _Cormac_? He almost didn't notice Natia pressing something into his hand.

"Your aim's better," she told him, with a shrug. "I'm afraid I'll hit them."

"What is this--"

"In its mouth."

The dragon continued to shriek and roar, no longer able to lift itself far enough off the ground to get out of the storm.

Varric ducked out from behind the rocks with a look at Natia that told her not to touch Bianca. He had to creep closer than he'd like to get a good angle, between the storm and the way the beast's head was whipping about, but the moment he had a shot, he took it, lobbing the grenade directly in the dragon's mouth just as it inhaled, readying another breath of fire. And there was fire in its mouth but of the more explosive variety.

Natia pulled Varric back behind their shelter of rocks as the explosion blew open its jaw, the fire doing little but the force shattering bone and sending the remnants of splintered dragon teeth through the air. The noise it made was more of a wail than a roar, and Cullen and Fenris closed in as its head lolled. A flapping wing clipped Fenris's shoulder, knocking him down, but Cullen grabbed hold, using the wing's momentum to launch himself into the air, sword pointed at the base of the dragon's skull.

The dragon's last fiery breath licked at Cormac's shoulder as the beast slumped beside him, Cullen clinging to the hilt of the sword driven deep into its skull. "And that," Cormac said, looking up at Cullen, as the world stopped boiling destructively, "is why mages. Thank me later. Right now, just hand me a potion. I only have one hand."

Fenris yanked a potion out of the bag that lay along Cormac's right hip. "You're an idiot," he pointed out, uncorking it before he handed over the bottle.

"Nonsense. I believe that's a dead dragon and we're all still alive and relatively well." The shields and barriers came down as Cormac sipped the potion and sank to his knees, sprawling in the dirt as he called forth a healing spell to make sure things went back together properly, between sips of the potion. "I just need to lie down a second. I'll be fine. Still missing part of the sequence."

Bethany stalked over and kicked her brother in the hip. "Blood magic, Cormac?"

"It is _not_ blood magic!" he protested, swigging the rest of the potion before he tried to sit up and got tangled in his robes. "It's pain magic. Please. I'm crazed, not stupid."

"Pretty sure that's not a thing," Cullen muttered, still trying to wrench his sword out of the dragon's skull. He hoped he still had a whole sword after the way the neck bent on impact.

"That's because you're a templar, and you don't read books about magic. You're too busy filing reports and making my brother wash chamberpots. My other brother. Carver. Please don't tell me what you're doing with Anton. Unless you're making him wash chamberpots. Are you making Anton wash chamberpots?" Cormac started to giggle, staring up into the sky like a fool.

"Mages," Fenris huffed, climbing up the dragon's neck to give Cullen a hand with the sword.

"But, really, there's a whole school of magic based on channelling pain. I've been reading about it for a while, but I haven't really had a chance to try it out. Looks like I fucked up the last part -- the part where I'm supposed to be able to heal myself with the deaths of my enemies, but I was always kind of piss at healing." Cormac laughed again.

"You're still an idiot," Fenris said, grunting as Cullen's sword pulled free under their combined force. He blinked down at what they'd retrieved. Bent, he'd expected, but not _melted_. "...you might want to get a new one."

"Thanks," Cullen muttered, tossing the sword aside and deciding it was a lost cause. He still eyed Cormac uncertainly. He wanted to believe him, he did, but he'd never heard of such magic. The thought made his gut twist, but this wasn't the time to pursue it. "Well, we've established that everyone is alive. How about in one piece?"

"I think it singed my jacket," Varric said, thumbing a corner of his sleeve as he and Natia walked over.


	220. Chapter 220

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magical theory and the art of disassembling a dragon.

Bethany watched her brother sip at his potion, making sure the injury was healing before turning her attention elsewhere, considering the size of the dragon and the entrance into the mines. "So do you think killing a dragon just outside the mines would be enough for Hubert to rethink his... investments, or will he need more convincing?"

"If this doesn't sell him, I'm sure we can think of something." Cormac grinned up at his sister. "What did you show that dragon?"

"A drake. They only get this big if they're female." Bethany shrugged. "I flashed her some handsome guy."

Cackling, Cormac held his hands up. "Someday, you're going to do that to me, and Anders is going to laugh. Get me off the floor. I'm laying on my robe funny."

Bethany snorted and Varric reached down to pull Cormac up. "One of these days, Shouty, you're gonna get yourself killed."

"Probably." Cormac grinned and patted Varric's shoulder, before his eyes drifted to Natia. "Welcome to Kirkwall."

"No, no. I _live_ in Kirkwall. This is not Kirkwall." Natia looked around, a lopsided grin creeping across her face. "So, that was exciting!"

Fenris groaned and covered his face with his hands for a moment. "We have a dead dragon. It's very large," he pointed out, peering over his fingertips. "We also have extremely unpleasant Tevinter magic. We need to do something before those two things meet."

"You've got a sword," Cormac pointed out. "Can we cut it up and cook some and send the rest down the mountain? I'm sure nobody in Lowtown's going to turn their nose up at free meat."

"Ooh, like in the stories!" Bethany said, her grin broad.

"Cook some?" Natia said, nose scrunching. "Ancestors, if this is another one of your bizarre surfacer recipes..."

"Oh, I'm sure with the right spices, it'll be delicious," Varric reassured her. "I've heard it tastes like nug, only... smokier."

"Meat is meat," said Fenris, shrugging one spiky shoulder. "It should not go to waste." He was going to need to sharpen his sword after this. Likely after Artemis tried to clean it.

While Fenris set to work, Varric and Natia went to tell the miners that they were safe. They reappeared later with Jansen and a few other curious faces.

"Maker," breathed Jansen. "That's a dragon."

"Is it really," Natia drawled.

"Well, serah, I mean... I knew it was a dragon. We'd had dragons here before, but. Not like this. That's not just a dragon, that's a _dragon_. She could have eaten all the other dragons."

"Has anyone got something sharp?" Cormac called out to the miners, studying the gaping hole in the sleeve of his robe. "If we're all going to eat some of this thing, it would be terribly rude to leave Fenris to chop it up on his own, but it looks like we've lost a sword already today." He remembered his glaive and found it after a moment, hefting it and taking a few swings -- his arm was still sore. He'd have to get Anders to have a look, when he got home.

"The scales need to be removed," Fenris pointed out. "There is a reason some armour is made of dragon scales."

"Oh!" Jansen nodded. "That we can do. It's a mine. We've got -- I'm sure we can handle dragon scales." He looked back at the miners, nodding, and they nodded back, some looking a bit nervous at the idea of getting so close to a dragon, even if it was dead.

As a dozen miners clambered over the corpse with tools, stripping away the scales, Cullen watched Cormac, thoughtfully. Blood magic. But, most blood mages carried _knives_ , used knives. They didn't throw themselves against dragons' teeth and nearly lose an arm. And speaking of blood, he realised at last that he was sitting in a pool of it, on the back of the dragon's head, and it had begun to seep into his armour. It had definitely soaked into his crotch. He'd liked these trousers... With a sigh, he lowered himself from the dragon, eyes still on Cormac.

"Cullen, come over here," Cormac sighed. "I can see that look. How's your grip on magical theory?"

"Good enough to do my job," Cullen muttered, wishing his sword wasn't broken.

"So, you know that the power of magic is a renewable resource, in a living body, right? If you use too much too fast..." Cormac held out his hands, waiting for an answer.

"You knock yourself unconscious or die." Cullen nodded. "That's fairly basic."

"And when you relieve someone of their magic, they have to wait for it to refresh, before they can cast any more spells. Now, I haven't tested this theory, but I think I can prove I'm not a blood mage, and I really hope this works like I think it's going to." Cormac laughed and rubbed his face. "Your talents screw up the body's ability to retain the power to cast spells, for a few minutes, but not the ability to create that power. So, everything kind of fizzles away for a while. Because of the kind of magic I study, I produce that power a little faster than mages of other schools, but if you use your scary templar powers, I'm going to be just as useless as anyone else, until that clears out."

Cullen squinted curiously at Cormac, wondering exactly where he was going with this. "That sounds right, yes. That's what we're told."

"I'm going to assume that's correct. I've had it done to me a couple of times -- Lothering, and all -- and that feels right. So, I want you to do that to me, and then I want you to punch me in the chest." Cormac smiled and shook his head. "I really hope I'm right, or this is going to be horrible."

"What... exactly... is this supposed to accomplish?" Cullen was beyond baffled.

"If you punch me in the chest, I'm not going to be bleeding from it. Gauntlets on. Really just haul off and break a rib or something. I have potions, it'll be fine." Cormac laughed uncertainly and patted his bag. "But, you have to clear me out, first, or you'll never be sure. How long does it usually take someone to recover?"

"Half a minute? Usually long enough." Cullen shrugged. "You really want me to do this to you?"

"I do. And I want you to hit me hard enough and fast enough that there's no question you got me before I could possibly use my own magic." Cormac laid the glaive at his feet, so no one would imagine he was bringing a weapon to a fistfight. "And if this works like I think it should, whatever spell I'm concentrating on when you hit me should cast itself. There's overflow, with this kind of magic -- it's not even magic. It's training the body to use magic differently. It's restoring power with pain. And if the power can't be contained, usually it just passes. Kind of a tingle as it burns off. But, if it encounters something that needs power, on the way out, it'll make it work. That storm thing I did to that dragon? I shouldn't have been able to do that. Sustain it? Sure, but not cast it. Not after how fast I'd been laying down fire and ice. Sacrificed a piece of my arm to get enough power to start it up. Still not blood magic. Didn't and don't need the blood, and you're going to prove it." He cracked his knuckles and glanced at the miners working on the dragon. "Hit me."

Cullen made a fist and bent his knees but shook his head, still looking uncertain. His off-hand twisted in the air, and the Smite washed over Cormac, deadening the air, the colours all around. Cullen paused, making sure the Smite took effect, then wound up for a punch.

"If you don't hurry up and punch him, I will," Fenris offered, still sawing off bits of dragon flesh.

"Right." Cullen followed through, trying not to pull his punch at the last moment, and a gauntleted fist thudded into Cormac's ribs.

Cormac folded forward over the fist, choking on his own breath as his hands lit up in twin balls of fire, held out from his sides, not to burn himself or Cullen. The fire burned for a few seconds and then sputtered out, as Cormac sank to his knees, trying to remember how to breathe. "Remind me not to piss you off," he wheezed, grinning up at Cullen. "See? No blood." Cormac fished out a potion and drank it, just in case that was worse than he thought it was, and it was already pretty bad. "I like you. You should know that's possible. Save your life, one day."

Cullen bent over him, his touch light on Cormac's shoulder. "Are you all right?" he asked. He looked Cormac over, seeing no blood, no _fresh_ blood, and something eased in him at the sight. He would have to look into this, certainly, but now he was less worried about needing to drag Cormac off to the Gallows. "That was... Maker, I've never seen anything quite like that."

Which made sense, he supposed. That wasn't the sort of thing the Order would want mages learning.

"I think you've earned the dragon's heart for that, Cullen," Bethany said from where she perched on the dragon's knee. "Well, and for killing the beastie, but mostly for punching my idiot brother."

"Careful, Bethany," Varric tutted, "you almost sound like Carver."

"That was you, Knight-Captain?" Jansen asked. He paused to wipe his brow, wide eyes taking in the blood-soaked templar.

"Well, I... I didn't _want_ to punch Cormac -- oh, you meant the dragon." Cullen laughed weakly, self-consciously. "Yes, well. That was a team effort."


	221. Chapter 221

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The carving of a great deal of meat. Dragon meat.

Cormac staggered to his feet, again, using his glaive for balance. "Dragonslayer gets the heart!" he declared. "Just like in all those old stories. You'll understand the language of birds or something." He laughed, not really believing it. There had to be some magical component the stories were leaving out. Couldn't possibly just be eating the heart of a dragon or drinking its blood.

"I am not carving the heart out of this beast," Fenris complained. "The scales have done enough damage to my sword for one day."

"That's fine, 'cause I'm doing it." Cormac waved Fenris aside, eyeing the stripped skin down the dragon's side. He'd rather have gone in through the belly, but a dragon the size of a house was not going to be rolled. "Somebody get an ore cart. I don't want to leave entrails on everything," he said, lashing out with the glaive and opening an enormous slice down the dragon's side. Pulling, tearing, and cutting, he managed to haul a huge sheet of the dragon's skin and muscle to the ground, spilling organs across it and out onto the ground. As the miners brought the first ore cart, he began to load it with entrails.

"That's going to be a right bastard of a shepherd's pie," the miner joked, eyes widening as a blade suddenly jutted from the armful of intestines Cormac was trying to wrangle into the cart.

"Didn't you need a new sword?" Cormac asked Cullen, easing the sword out of the pile of guts. "This one looks a little less mangled than your old one."

"That... is either amazing or disgusting," Cullen replied, eyes boggling as he accepted the sword, drippings and all. "Possibly both." Not that it mattered, considering how soaked through he was already.

The miners continued to shove dragon entrails into the cart, if more carefully now that there was a chance of sharp pointy objects inside. "Hey, look," called out one miner at his next find. He held up something bowl-shaped. "Looks like a helmet. I think. Bit dented on the side here and... Maker, what is that?"

A second miner took the helmet and squinted at it, brushing aside the muck. "That? Is Orlesian," he said, cheek twitching. Part of the faceplate was visible now. Though warped and cracked, it was obviously supposed to look like a face... a face with a particularly glorious moustache. He dropped it to the ground, next to the growing pile of questionable treasure.

"Okay, that... could not have been comfortable," Natia said, cringing as Fenris plucked a morningstar out of the guts. "Seriously, how was this dragon still alive?"

"That's what dragons do," Varric said, picking his way across a field of dragon-shit and blood. "They've got a second stomach -- like chickens. Except in chickens, you find rocks. Apparently, in dragons, you find platemail and swords."

"Why do you know this?" Bethany asked, still further away than any of them. Even for something like this, she'd dressed relatively well, and had no intention of going home bloody.

"I'm a storyteller, Sunshine. I know all about dragons -- or at least what people like to say about them. Dragons, heroes, kings, battles... all of these things are my bread and butter." Varric poked at a lump with a crossbow bolt, to reveal, after a moment's stabbing and tugging, a silvery, if pitted, chestplate. "Well, that's another stomach ache waiting to happen..."

Cormac made his way back toward the dragon, checking for things they hadn't yet removed. But, the abdominal cavity was empty, and the only way to go was up. He arced the glaive under the ribs, baring the lungs, and further up between them, the heart. He took a moment to consider the situation. He was standing inside a dragon. Standing inside a dragon slain by the Knight-Captain of Kirkwall, carving its heart out to bring back to the man. A heart that was probably bigger than him, now that he considered it.

"You'll be eating heart steaks for weeks," Cormac called back, carving the lungs out of his way, but the dragon's muscles did not echo, instead swallowing the sound.

"This part is so much more heroic in the stories," Cullen said, peering into the dragon and trying to see what Cormac was doing.

"That's because a good storyteller glosses over this part," Varric said. "One moment, the dragon's dead, the next the hero is eating the heart. No one wants to hear about how the hero hacked his way through intestines and shit to get to it. Or the hero's brother-in-law in this instance."

Fenris hummed, cleaning off his sword as best he could on a nearby shrub. "And I am suddenly grateful my husband did not come along," he said.

"Mine too," Cullen sighed, "but for different reasons." His eyes widened. "We probably shouldn't tell Anton that I killed the dragon. He'd never forgive me."

"If I have to take the blame for this, you're sharing the heart steaks," Cormac shouted, trying to free the heart without opening the stomach.

Varric poked around in the intestines some more, pulling free a ring with the tip of his bolt. "Hey, Captain, you could always give him this in apology," he said, lips quirked in a wry smile. He tossed Cullen the ring. "'Sorry I didn't bring you a dragon, honey, but here's a ring that was almost dragon poop!'"

"So romantic," Cullen drawled, pocketing the ring anyway.

"Don't worry, Anton! We didn't bring you a dragon, but we brought you a month of dragon steaks!" Cormac called out, laughing, as he wrestled with the heart. "Fenris? Give me a hand? And bring the empty potion bottles. Dragon's heartsblood is one of those weird rare components for some potions, and Anders will not hesitate to stab me in the bad way, if I don't bring him some."

Fenris appeared at the edge of the ribs. "There's a good way to be stabbed?" he asked, climbing slabs of lung, until he reached Cormac.

"Maker's blessings," Cormac muttered, taking the bottles and filling them from the steady stream of blood pouring out of the heart. "Of course there's a good way to be stabbed. Ask your husband what he caught me doing with Gantry, that one time. Or that other time. So, maybe we shouldn't have been doing it in the barn, but it's not like anywhere else was reasonable!"

"Hey, Shouty? Didn't need to know!" Varric called into the dragon.

"If you can hear me that well from over there, that's on you!" Cormac shouted, tucking the bottles into his bag and hauling at the heart again, this time with Fenris's assistance.

The sound of blood shifting was the only warning they had, before the heart tipped over the lip of rolled muscle and tumbled into the abdominal cavity, atop a heap of lung chunks. Cormac and Fenris fell into each other, across the sudden gap.

"This is awkward," Cormac muttered, casting a barrier between and below them. "There. Should be safe to stand on that, but be careful, it's slick."

"Mages," Fenris huffed, stepping onto the bubble and letting go of Cormac's shoulders.

"All yours, Cullen! Come take the first slice!" Cormac called out, following Fenris back down. "I refuse to deal with the stomach until we get everything else. That's going to be even more of a mess."

* * *


	222. Chapter 222

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversation with Hubert. Also, the beginnings of a celebration!

They formed a make-shift parade on the way back to Kirkwall, followed by cheering, singing miners and carts full of dragon meat. They were all covered in filth, sweat, and blood, and they drew more than a few curious glances as they dragged the carts across cobbled streets. When Varric led the miners in a bawdy tune about a brothel that sounded suspiciously like the Rose, Cullen regretted his place at the head of this 'parade'. He also regretted not having a helmet with him to hide his blush behind.

Hubert spotted them as they crossed the Hightown Square, disrupting a busy market day, and he threw his arms out wide, his puffy sleeves ruffling at the shoulders. "What in Andraste's name...?"

"Ohh, that must be Hubert!" Natia chirped. "Is that Hubert?"

"Do you see anyone else here that disgustingly Orlesian?" Fenris drawled.

"So, a dragon attacked your mine. Again. Our mine. The mine you're about to sell me your share of," Cormac started, exhausted and still covered in blood and other questionable dragon excretions. "A high dragon." He pointed down the train of mine carts that headed past him, down toward Lowtown. "That high dragon."

Hubert stared after the cheering and singing miners. "A high dragon. A _high_ dragon? The mine--" Hubert shook his head. "I'm sorry. I cannot pay you for this. I sank all of my coin into that rotten mine..."

"That's not what your accountant says," Bethany stage-whispered.

"So, pay me with the rest of the mine. Sign it over to me, and stop pouring your coin down a dragon-infested hole. It's just that simple." Cormac smiled almost reassuringly.

"It's done. It's yours." Hubert shook his head. "I have other ventures to attend -- things more profitable than throwing coin after dogs. The papers will be in your hand by the week's end -- sooner if this barbaric sinkhole still had a viscount and offices of trade."

"You've said it before witnesses, including a templar captain. I'll expect the paperwork, or the dragon will become the least of your concerns." Cormac pulled a sliver of salted roast dragon out of a leather pouch at his hip and dropped it into his mouth, still smiling as he chewed. "I'll even give you until the start of the new week."

"Up-jumped bloody dog-lords," Hubert muttered, shaking his head and turning back to where he was packing up his wares, clearly intent on leaving Kirkwall.

"Did you just use me to effect extortion?" Cullen asked, squinting at Cormac.

"Absolutely not. I used you as a potential legal witness, should I ever need to prove the mine and all its profits belong to me and my family." Cormac's hand clanked against Cullen's back. "Come on, let's go to Lowtown. Let people see what kind of hero you are."

"Right," Cullen sighed. Luckily that would avoid the Gallows. He wasn't sure he wanted to see the look on Meredith's face.

As they walked away, Bethany flicked her fan in Hubert's direction, before using it to shield her face from idle gazes. Hubert blinked and flicked his tongue. After a quick dart around the booth, he climbed up the stack of boxes and perched atop it, belly-down, as he watched the market move, eyes unblinking.

"What did you--?" Cormac glanced over his shoulder, as Cullen moved forward to answer some question of Natia's about surface life.

"I turned him into a newt." Bethany smiled behind her fan. "He'll get better."

"I need him to sign over the mine! He'd best get better!" Cormac hissed.

"Don't be silly. It won't last but ten minutes, and he'll remember all of it, like some strange nightmare." An amused shine remained in Bethany's eyes. "They'll say it's the stress getting to him. Of course he's got to give up the mine and go back to Orlais, the poor boy, it's driven him mad."

"I should be exceedingly glad you didn't know how to do this, when we were younger, shouldn't I?" Cormac sighed.

* * *

The parade of meat and singing miners ended at the Hanged Man, where parade became party. Corff and Edwina couldn't quite pour the drinks fast enough, but the singing didn't stop, filling the bar with a roar of noise that only sort of resembled singing.

Isabela stepped across tables and shoulders to meet Cormac at the bar. "Hey, there, mage-shoulders," she said, bumping Cormac's hip with hers. "So nice of you to bring me a party. Is it somebody's birthday?"

"No," Cullen said, leaning forward over the bar to see her. He'd been too polite to refuse any of the drinks offered to him, and he lost count how many that had been. "It's somebody's deathday. Some _thing's_. Don't tell Anton." He punctuated this request with a long gulp of beer, the mug almost missing his mouth.

Cormac slid an arm around Isabela's waist and laid a sloppy kiss on her. "We killed a dragon. _He_ killed a dragon. You should get some meat. I'll freeze it for you, if you like."

"Well, as much as I want some of your meat, I like hot much better than frozen. That just sounds painful," Isabela joked, relieving Cormac of his tankard, to take a long swig.

Cormac clicked his teeth next to Isabela's ear. "Just how I like it."

Anders stumbled in, with Merrill at his heels, bedecked in cats. He scanned the room in a panic, before spotting Cormac leaning against the bar, making quite a show of his intentions toward Isabela. Shoving his way through the crowd, Anders let Merrill apologise for them, until he towered over Cormac and Isabela. "Tell me the blood's not yours," he demanded, running through the usual battery of spells for _that sort of thing_ on Isabela.

"Most of it's the dragon's," Cormac promised, as Isabela nibbled at his jaw. "Can you take a look at my left arm? I might have done something a little dumb, and I want to make sure I put it back together right."

"And he brought you some meat," Isabela pointed out, grinning, finishing the thought when Anders's eyes flicked down, like she knew they would. "That too, but look around. They're smoking some of it out back. All of Lowtown's going to be eating dragon for weeks."

"Ah, dragon. I hear it tastes like nug," Anders said, cocking his head to the side. He cast as he spoke, warm tendrils of magic smoothing down Cormac's shoulder, righting all the little mistakes he'd made, untangling a scarring knot of muscle. Even though the wound had healed, Anders could guess how much damage had been done. As much as he hated those mines, he wished he'd been there. "Just how stupid was this stupid thing you did?" he sighed. "Aside from fighting a high dragon, which is a special kind of stupid, really, but the kind of stupid I expect from you."

"We're alive," Cullen pointed out gravely, beer sloshing as he pointed with the hand holding his drink. "I'm sure that counts for something, stupidity aside." Edwina placed another drink in front of Cullen, courtesy of so-and-so at the other end of the bar, and Cullen blinked at it, brows knitting, before turning a confused look at the drink in his hand.

"All right there, Dragonslayer," Isabela laughed. She leaned over Cormac, pressing more of her bosom than necessary against his chest as she reached for Cullen's newest drink. She stole a sip from it before passing it to Anders, who took it without drinking.

Merrill pried the drink out of Anders's hand, helping herself to a hefty swig, as she climbed up on a stool and looked out across the bar. She scritched the cat on one of Anders's shoulders and got bit for the trouble, tapping it on the nose with a tiny spark. "No, Ser Nibbles, I am not dragon meat," she said, hooking a piece with her staff, to offer it to the cat.

"He answers to Assbiter, now," Anders pointed out. "Please don't drip dragon's blood on me." There was a pause and then Anders's eyes settled back on Cormac. "Tell me you--"

"Of course I did. I even poured out most of the potions you sent me out with. Dragon's blood is worth much more. And it's all heartsblood, too." Cormac smiled lazily over the top of his drink, still appreciating Isabela with his other hand.

Anders's eyes lit up as he awkwardly threw his arms around Cormac. "You brought me heartsblood! That-- that's the sweetest thing!" He choked up a bit, but recovered quickly.

Cullen squinted at Cormac, like he might ask something, but settled for grumbling, "Hawkes."

"Hey, you're one, too, now!" Cormac reminded him, as Varric wandered over, again.

"Do you see this girl?" Varric asked, cocking a thumb at where Natia sat by the fire, surrounded by shopkeepers' sons, telling what appeared to be wild tales, from the gestures accompanying them. "Straight out of Orzammar, by way of the Deep Roads, and now she's making the local boys swoon. There's going to be angry parents pounding at the gates of the guild."

"Well, that's because you have fantastic taste in friends," Anders said with a wry smile, leaning an elbow on Varric's shoulder. "And I look forward to your version of events later. How the mighty Knight-Captain slew this great and terrifying beast!"

"Yes, and how the rest of us sat back and watched him do it," Fenris said, slipping out of the shadows to wave down Corff, pointing at his empty drink.

"Hey, Broody!" said Varric. "When'd you get here?"

Fenris blinked down at him, hooking a foot over the bottom rung of Cullen's barstool. "I've been here," he said.

"Ah. Guess I assumed you'd slipped off to collect your prettier, more neurotic half," Varric said.

Fenris leaned back against the bar, arms spread wide, or as wide as he could in the crowded room. "I'm still covered in dragon filth. We're all covered in dragon filth. I doubt he would even let me near the doorway in this state."

Luckily the smell of smoke and cooking meat covered the worst of the stench, but they really were disgusting.

"I shall bring him back some meat," Fenris said. Isabela opened her mouth, but bit her lip when Fenris held up a finger. "And yes, dragon meat too."

Isabela tugged at one of the rings on Anders's coat. "Can I keep both you boys, tonight? And maybe Broody, too? I bet the three of you could show a lady some things."

Cormac laughed, before either of the others could object. "Izzy, we could show a lady some things, but you're hardly a lady. I think you taught me some of my best tricks." He rubbed his cheek against Isabela's. "Besides, the last thing Fenris wants is to see me naked."

"Pretty sure I'm not high on the list, either," Anders put in. "He's not so big on naked mages. And I'm not stripping down for you, either, Izzy."

"Why not? You just cured anything I might have had, whether I had it or not, which I didn't." Isabela grinned up at Anders, squishing Cormac's face against her cleavage, to better see over his head. "I'd have been in to see you, if I did."

"One naked mage is enough, thank you," Fenris agreed, with a subtle glance at Anders. They still weren't talking about that. Or the other that. Still, Isabela might be an enjoyable diversion, at some point other than this one, especially now that the lyrium was so much less painful. "And I should, at some point, get home to that mage, that I might cause him to become naked."

"I prefer my mages with clothes on," Cullen volunteered. "Nothing personal, Anders, but..." He shook his head. "I've seen more than enough of you to last me a lifetime."

"That's fine. I prefer your pasty-white ass with pants on it." Anders laughed.

"You two--" Isabela started to ask, but they both cut her off.

"No."

"I like _women_ ," Cullen protested, and then after a moment, "and my husband."

"Your husband looks great in a dress," Cormac pointed out, when he stopped giggling long enough to breathe, face still pressed into Isabela's breasts.

"So does mine," Fenris said with a wicked smile, one ear twitching up at the memory of Artie in that maid's outfit. The one he'd had to tear off after, sadly. "I would suggest, perhaps, that this is a Hawke trait, but I would rather not see you in a dress."

"Better undressed than in a dress," Anders replied. Fenris's face twisted as he tried to decide if he agreed. "Though that brings up an interesting thought about Carver..."

"Maker, no," Cullen groaned, resting his forehead on the rim of his tankard. "I did not need that image in my head."

"That's going into my next story," Varric said with a toothy grin. "I can see it now: 'The Templar and the Tempted'. The tale begins on the night of Ser Carver's vigil..."

"No," Anders said. "One more word, and I swear the next time you need healing you'll get a bolt of lightning up your ass instead."

"That's ... you might want to specify how much lightning, because that doesn't quite sound like a threat from where I'm standing," Cormac laughed.

"He's right," Isabela agreed. "That electricity trick is really something. Have you been teaching that to Cormac? I swear he gets better with it every time. Still not as good as you."

"No one will ever be as good as me, and you know it." Anders smiled unapologetically at Isabela.

"I don't really care how much lightning it is. Lightning doesn't go in my ass, because I am a sane and reasonable individual, unlike you lot." Varric reached between Fenris and Isabela to steal Cullen's next drink.

"I think I'm with Varric on this one," Cullen decided. "You've shown me a lot about magic, but I just don't see any circumstances in which lightning and my ass need to be acquainted."

"You should ask Carver about that," Merrill suggested, patting Cullen's elbow. "He can tell you it's a good idea."

"You and Carver?" Cullen asked Anders, horror flashing across his face.

"What? No! No, no. Absolutely no. The tally of Hawkes is two, and two is the tally of Hawkes. You beat me to Anton and the twins are off limits." Anders shook his head. "I'm pretty sure he's known some other mages, over the years, though -- and not the ones he's related to."

Merrill frowned at the two of them, wondering for a moment why Cullen has assumed _Anders_... but she wisely kept her mouth shut behind her drink.


	223. Chapter 223

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anton is not nearly drunk enough for this bullshit.

Cullen was still trying to process the thought of Carver with mages. Mages with lightning. No, he didn't need that thought either. Luckily the uncomfortable thoughts of Carver were interrupted by Anton as he pushed his way into the crowd.

"Cullen Stanton Rutherford," Anton huffed, "what's this I hear about you killing a dragon?"

Cullen turned wide, helpless eyes on Cormac and Fenris. He pointed at Cormac. "His fault."

Fenris smirked into his beer. "Technically..." he said shrugging.

"My fault. As usual. If you're going to punch me, I'll let you, but we're taking that outside." Cormac grinned and guzzled beer, finally letting go of Isabela. "A high dragon, Anton. In my mine -- which is mine, now. Mine mine." He shook his head. "A high dragon. It was her or the fifty miners depending on us. I can almost guarantee there will be more dragons. More and smaller. They're friendlier when they're small."

Purrcy leaned off of Anders's head, batting at the feather on Anton's hat, but not having a long enough reach to hit it.

"I even carved the heart out of it so your darling templar could eat it. Or some of it, anyway. That thing was massive. This is what we could haul down, today. Tomorrow I have to go back and get the frozen parts." Cormac shook his head and offered his brother a strip of roast dragon. "The Champion of Kirkwall, husband to Knight-Captain Dragonslayer. History was made, Anton. And it's got your name on it, even if you weren't there."

"Step outside so I can slap your face off," Anton insisted.

"Have a drink first!" Isabela purred, winding herself around Anton, with a tankard in each hand. "Celebrate that your extra sexy other captain didn't get his leg chewed off!"

"Your brother's arm was much more concerning than anything that happened to me," Cullen pointed out, patting the bar behind him for another drink.

Cormac shrugged, the gaping hole in his sleeve still obvious, even covered in blood and filth, like he was. "I had to see if it would work. It ... almost did."

"It?" Anton asked, eyebrow quirking. He still looked less than thrilled, but he had no qualms about taking Cullen's drink. "Does this have to do with all the books open on the library table?" Not that they were open or left out anymore. Not when he was related to Artie, even if Artie no longer lived with them.

"Leave it to a Hawke to find a new way to almost kill himself," Varric said, gesturing at Cormac. "But yeah, it did work."

"Nothing that exciting." Cormac shrugged. "Just some magical theory bullshit that's a little less bullshit than I thought. The best part is it doesn't even seem to be Tevinter. This is some old Chantry teaching, right here, from one of the Exalted Marches against the Imperium. The good parts aren't in the book, for obvious reasons, but it doesn't take much, if you know the theory, to fill in the blanks."

Anton cocked his head at his brother. "Creepy mage shit. Creepy mage shit that involved you almost losing an arm. Nope. Not asking. Lalala. Someone hand me another drink. I don't want to remember having this conversation."

Cullen went to hand Anton his drink, only to find it had already been taken. "Hm. S'weird." He patted the bar anyway, just in case one popped up out of nowhere. Anton stole Cormac's instead.

Anders, on the other hand, looked intrigued, and he straightened, finally relinquishing Varric as his arm rest. "So it worked?" he asked. "Granted, I'm not thrilled a dragon needed to bite you for you to find out, but..."

"You knew he was working on this?" Fenris asked, eyes narrowing. "Of course you did." The muttered 'mages' was said into his next sip.

"Mages," Anton agreed.

"I helped him work on this." Anders looked a little smug, until the grin split his face into outright wicked arrogance. "You know I love the way he screams."

Cormac buried his face in Isabela's boobs again, and she rested her tankard on the back of his head, before deciding it was a little higher than she needed it to be. "Can we not talk about the early experiments in front of my brother? You're welcome to tell Cullen all about it, because I'm still trying to convince him it's not blood magic, but can you not tell Anton about any of those completely amazing things I would like you to repeat, please?"

"I'm not sure I want to know, either." Cullen looked a bit green, which was an interesting contrast to his usual shades of red. "But, if there are books. I can... books. Yes."

The smile on Anders's face was less arrogant and more wicked, as he turned it on Cullen, mouth opening to say something unspeakable, but their eyes met, and he looked away, expressionless. "There are more people than drinks, and this is not an acceptable situation."

"Agreed," Fenris rumbled. "I will need at least two more drinks myself to make up for the mental images I'd rather you had not given me."

As though summoned, a harried-looking Corff slid another drink across the bar in Cullen's direction, sweat pouring down his brow. Three hands reached for the drink, none of them belonging to Cullen.

"That is just not fair," Cullen whined at Anton, the smug victor.

"What isn't fair is that I don't have a dragon steed," Anton sniffed. "I am still so very disappointed in you, husband." He consoled himself with a gulp of beer.

"Stabby, there is no way you would have been able to get your thighs around that dragon."

"You underestimate me, Varric."

Cormac looked up and glared in Varric's direction. "Okay, so you've gotten me back. Both of you. I didn't even say it, and you've gotten me back. If there was something I didn't need to think about it was my little brother's thighs around a dragon."

"Oh, Maker," Anders groaned, catching on a moment later.

Isabela cackled, dribbling beer into Cormac's hair. "You know, they've got something for that," Isabela said with a grin. "I could get you one."

Anton tried not to look contemplative. "That-- what-- No!"

Cullen muttered something about ponies into the drink he finally managed to acquire, by having Corff put it directly into his hand, and Anton spit beer, choking on it and his tongue.

Fenris leaned his elbows on the bar, shaking his head. "Why am I here?" he asked the tankard in his hand.

"Because we're good company?" Isabela said, batting her eyelashes at him over Cormac's shoulder.

"No, not that."

"Because of the free drinks?" Varric suggested.

Fenris tilted his head, considering the mediocre beer in his hand. "That seems more likely."

"It's why I'm here," Anton said, shrugging. Cullen twisted in his seat to give him an offended stare. "What? I do not support the slaying of dragons, no matter how large or cranky or how difficult it would be to get my legs around it."

"Because boobs," Cormac decided. "Which I should be a gentleman and quit hogging. After all, I believe I also have a mountain savage who is very interested in continuing our experiments in magical theory."

"A mountain savage," Anders huffed. "My people didn't give Andraste a _dog_."

"No, your people gave Andraste unprecedented control of the law," Cormac shot back, wrapping an arm around Anders's waist. "Still not holding it against you. I've got better things to hold against you. Like my--"

"Don't say it!" Anton jabbed a finger at his brother. "Do. Not. Say the words."

"He should hear the things _you_ say," Cullen muttered.

"I don't say them in public!" Anton protested.

"And more's the pity," Isabela purred, jutting her lip in an exaggerated pout, as she pushed herself away from the bar, pinched the tip of Fenris's ear, and wrapped an arm around Anton's shoulders. "I'd love to hear the things you say. Well, the things you say to Cullen, anyway. I know most of the other ones."

Again, Cullen muttered into his drink, this time something about 'ass-banditry'.

Anton grabbed the tankard from Cullen's hand. "You, my darling husband, have had more than enough to drink, and you remember what happened the last time you got this drunk!"

Cormac raised a hand. "I remember!"

"Yes, but you were still there, in the morning," Cullen slurred, wrapping himself around Anton's other side and nuzzling his neck.

"And so were the memories," Anton drawled, "at least for me. Come on, then, Captain. Let's get you some place more horizontal. At home."

"Ooh, will you be horizontal too?" Cullen asked into Anton's neck, letting himself be pulled up off the stool.

"Possibly. Possibly even in the same bed, if you're lucky." Anton kissed the crown of Cullen's head and shifted Cullen's weight against him until the templar stopped drooping towards the floor.

"All right, boys, say goodnight to the Dragonslayer!" Varric called out, raising his tankard accordingly. The words were met with a smattering of cheers and applause, and Cullen blinked, waving at the room.

"Fenris!" Cormac turned to the elf. "Come home with us. Take a bath. By yourself. Then go home to my brother before he tidies your house into oblivion."

Anders raised his eyebrows, suggestively, at Fenris, over the top of Cormac's head.

Fenris stared back, apparently unmoved. "A bath. I do require one, before ..." he gestured vaguely in the direction of Hightown. "Just a bath."

"Not... really something you have to say to me," Cormac said, holding up his hands, defensively. He pulled Isabela into a sloppy and thorough kiss, as soon as she opened her mouth to comment. "Give that to someone for me, would you?"

Grinning, Isabela stood on the bar. "Bring me a bottle! I want to play a game!"

"And that's the sound of us leaving. Have a good one, Varric, and watch that Merrill gets home in one piece." Cormac clapped the dwarf on the shoulder and led Fenris and Anders out, the two of them squinting at each other,


	224. Chapter 224

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Gazette is full of dragon stories, this week. Even Page Six.

The sound of the jar smacking onto the table jarred Solivitus out of his examination of the Weekly Gazette. "Well, well! If it's not the Dragonslayer's husband!" he greeted Anton.

"The Dragonslayer has been sleeping on the couch," Anton grumbled, still upset about the whole affair. Although Cullen hadn't been sleeping on the couch -- he hadn't made it home for three days, sending an apologetic note, each time, via messenger, and Anton considered dropping in, since he was in the Gallows. "And I'm just as pissed at my brother for letting him do it. Actually, this whole thing is my brother's fault, and I should have been there."

"Now, now, Stabby. There will be other dragons. This is the Dragon Age, isn't it?" Varric patted Anton's elbow.

"That's not the point! The point is I said _don't_ kill the dragon! Maker's balls, I wanted to put a saddle on it!" Anton complained, before pointing to the jar. "Anyway, that's dragon parts, and given the way my brother packed it, I'm pretty sure that's some kind of expensive and rare magical component. His fault. Mine now. And I'm bringing it to you. What's it worth?"

"Hmm." Solivitus made a show of folding up his copy of the Gazette, before plucking up the jar. He twisted off the top, sniffed the contents, and poked at it with a dry quill. His eyes lit. "Oh, this must be the fire gland! The fire gland of a high dragon. Maker, I never thought I'd see the day." He grinned at Anton, eyes sparkling. "I admit, I was hoping you or one of your siblings would come to me with something when I saw that article. Thought it might have been exaggerating, you know."

"Nah, the Gazette's good for honesty," Varric said. "Not that I read it much. A page or two over tea, maybe..."

"And I bet I know what page that is," Anton drawled. "So how much is the gland thingy worth?"

"It's a remarkable specimen," Solivitus replied, still marvelling at the contents of the jar. He held up one finger. "I know exactly what to do with this. Wait here."

"Wait...? What do you mean 'wait'?" Anton asked, brows knitting.

"The man says wait, we should probably wait," Varric said, with a shrug. "So, you stand here, and I'm going to step over there and get us some kebabs. I don't know about you, but I started my day with a beer, and I can feel that idea becoming a bad one."

"As long as mine is lacking in dragon meat, thank you," Anton grumbled, leaning on the table and eyeing some more of the creepy magical shit. He wasn't sure what it said about him that so much of his life involved magic and runes, but he was the Champion of Kirkwall, and that probably made it all the more practical.

Varric returned while Solivitus was still measuring, slicing, and ... Frankly, Anton had no idea what the man was doing, but he'd pulled one of the Tranquil over from another table, to help him.

"Fish and veg," Varric said, handing over a stick, the bottom part of it wrapped in a crepe. "Dragon and tomato for me. Sorry, Stabby, but I'm eating the good stuff while it's still cheap."

"That is _my_ dragon you're stuffing your face with," Anton complained, nibbling at a bit of fish.

"On the contrary, this is not your dragon, and that's what you're pissed about. It's a really delicious one, though. I can see why the Nevarrans went to such extremes to hunt them." Varric was talking with his mouth full, like he really only did around people he knew -- people who wouldn't make it known that he did things like that.

"And I hope you choke on it," Anton said mildly. He took a bite of his kebab, and while it was good, it didn't prompt him to make the obscene noises Varric was making around his.

Anton was just licking the last of the sauce from his fingers when Solivitus waved them over. "This turned out beautifully," Solivitus said, accidentally bumping into the stall with his excitement. "Something worthy of our Champion, I think." His eyes sparkled as he held up an amulet, sunlight catching on the chain. "Here. For you. I hope you can put it to good use."

Anton let the amulet drop into his palm. The talisman was curved, almost in the shape of a tooth, and it prickled along his skin in a way that reminded him of Bethany's artefacts. Varric peered at it over Anton's cupped fingers.

"That's a nice piece," Varric said.

"What does it do?" Anton asked, hesitant to put it on without some hint. "I can tell it does something -- I can feel it."

"Mage blood in your family, huh?" Solivitus noted, not really asking. "It should help with the dragons. You'll be a little harder to set on fire, with that."

Between tables, the Tranquil was talking to a templar. "I don't know. It is not my broadsheet."

Solivitus looked over his shoulder at the templar. "It's a good one, this week!" he called out. "All about dragons and the Dragonslayer. Might want to give Page Six a pass, though." He shuddered. "Pretty sure the Champion's got better taste than that. There's an urchin running around here with a stack of them, if you're looking to buy a copy. Or you can just take mine."

"Urchins," the templar sighed. "Always just these kids. The Knight-Commander's looking for the publisher. She's still pretty upset about that series about the Gallows, and that one Page Six nobody actually saw."

"It's just some harmless gossip rag," Solivitus scoffed. "If she starts taking it seriously, people are going to start thinking there's something to it!"

"You try telling her that!" The templar laughed and shook his head. "Thanks. I'll see if I can find the kid, and see where he's getting what to sell."

"She," Solivitus corrected.

"Thanks." The templar nodded and wandered out into the square, looking around.

Anton tilted his head to better read what he could of Solivitus's Gazette. He hadn't read this issue yet. "What was this about Page Six and the Champion?" he asked, thumb rubbing the amulet in his hand. Next to him, Varric ducked his head, but Anton could tell he was smirking. "Have you read it? It doesn't feature Meredith or the 'Staff of Violation' again, does it?"

"No, no," Varric said, voice tight with amusement. "It's... well, you could say it's keeping with the theme."

Solivitus offered him an apologetic smile.

"Could I borrow that for a moment?" Anton asked. He slipped the amulet into his pocket as Solivitus handed over his copy.

"I wouldn't read too much into it," Solivitus offered as Anton thumbed through the pages.

"I would!" Varric replied.

Anton found Page Six. He stared at the headline while Varric and Solivitus waited for a reaction. "'Riding the Dragon'," Anton read. He skimmed the first few lines, eyes widening. "Andraste preserve me."

* * *

"I cannot believe this town!" Anton shouted, storming into the house, still clutching Solivitus's copy of the Gazette. He stomped past Bodhan without a word, and Bethany stuck her head out of the library.

"It's Kirkwall," Bethany reminded him. "What's happened now?"

"This-- this--!" Anton gestured with the Gazette. "You are absolutely forbidden to even look at Page Six, this week. I am going to find the publisher of this filth and poison them. Maybe I'll set fire to the author, too."

"Oh, dear," Bethany sighed. "You've found this week's Gazette."

"You've _seen this_?" Anton shrilled, face contorting in horror.

"Of course I did. Isabela and I had a great laugh about it!" Bethany lifted a hand to hide a smile, as she swallowed a giggle. "It's really quite funny, once I got past the part where that's my _brother_."

Anton looked increasingly irate, disbelieving, and betrayed, in brief flickers, for a few moments, as he sputtered, trying to find words. "I can't deal with this," he said, finally, stomping off toward the stairs.

A few moments later, his voice echoed through the house. "I am going to _kill_ that woman!"

Anton stormed back through the house, the Gazette still crumpled in one hand and an obscene-looking ridged dildo in the other. He muttered something about Isabela as he popped the front door open with his knee and slammed it behind him with his foot.

* * *

Artemis was topping off Cormac's and Fenris's drinks, still wiping tears of laughter from his eyes when Anton came storming in. The slam of the door was impressively loud from someone whose entrances were usually silent. Artie hurried to hide his copy of the Gazette under his couch's cushions, only to realise mid-shove that he needn't have bothered.

"Artie, you are my last sane sibling!" Anton said, one clenched fist shaking a crumpled-up copy of the Gazette and the other shaking... oh my.

"Anton," Artemis tried, "is that...?" His face was red from holding in his laughter, and he was determined not to make eye contact with Cormac. "Be careful where you point that, Anton. Fenris might get the wrong idea."

Clearing her throat self-consciously, Orana sidled into the room, clearing away the empty bottles. She barely even blinked at the third Hawke.

"...or Orana," Artemis added once she'd fled the room.

Cormac struggled not to choke on his drink, and drank to avoid commenting. He'd just been telling Artemis about choosing that one from Gytha's stock -- he'd known she made them, because the dragon was on the list of things he'd denied Isabela. Still, he had to wonder if someone had brought the stoneworker a dead drake to cast, or if she'd just taken a wild guess. Knowing Gytha, his bets were on the former, though.

"Have you seen Page Six? Because _Bethany's_ seen it! She-- she thinks it's _funny_!" Anton complained, tossing the Gazette onto the table. "And if you haven't seen it, _don't_! It's horrifying! Dragons! And-- and-- And I am going to _bludgeon_ Isabela with this thing!" He gesticulated pointedly with the dildo. "I guess she thinks it's hilarious, too, according to Bethy, and this is just the punctuation for that sentiment!"

"They think it's funny, because it _is_ funny, Anton," Cormac pointed out. "Did we mention the dragon was female? It would have needed a dildo to do ... _any_ of that to you, really. That part about the first ridge was just breathtakingly bad. I almost blew tea out my nose."

A noise like hissing steam escaped Artemis before the laughter finally erupted from him. "A dragon with a dildo," he wheezed. "There's a thought. Sweet Maker."

Anton finally caught sight of the paper sticking out from under the cushion. As that was a very untidy place for paper to be, Anton assumed Artie had only just shoved it there. "You read it too, didn't you," he said, despairing for his lack of normal siblings. "Tell me you didn't read it."

Artemis coughed into his fist, finally composing himself. "Well, technically," he said, straightening his drink on the table. " _I_ didn't read it. But Fenris gave a dramatic reading. You should hear him, some time. His... diction is really quite wonderful now."

"My... diction," Fenris drawled. "I'm sure."

Since Anton had noticed it anyway, Artemis pulled the Gazette out from under the cushion, smoothing it out next to him. He indicated the dildo in Anton's hand with a tilt of his head. "I... well, I assume you haven't tried it yet."

"No!" Anton blurted, holding the dildo in front of him like a dagger. "The only 'trying' I'm going to do is try to bludgeon a certain pirate to death with it!"

"I'd ask why you're so sure it's Isabela's fault, but... well..." Cormac shrugged. It really was the most obvious conclusion. When there were weird dildoes, it was probably Isabela. "You should definitely show that to Cullen. I'm sure he's seen Page Six, by now. Maybe the two of you can find a use for that thing."

"I _have_ a use for it. It's an off-hand weapon." Anton considered that Cullen really might have seen the Gazette. Oh, Maker. But, then, there was that story featuring the Arishok, and they were still getting use out of that, even if he had managed to lose the original text of it. He struggled to look disgusted, instead of contemplative, and found it wasn't that difficult.

"Best be sure you do use it as a bludgeon," Fenris offered. "Knowing Isabela, I'm not certain she'd object to being _stabbed_ with it."

"For the record, I objected to being _stabbed_ with something remarkably similar." Cormac pointed to himself and took another drink. "So, if she doesn't take exception, she has officially become more adventurous than I am."

"She's slept with Tal-Vashoth," Anton pointed out. "I think she's already more adventurous than you."

"That's a matter of opportunity," Cormac replied over the rim of his glass.

"And that's yet another thing I didn't need to know about my brother!"

"Hey, you asked." Cormac looked entirely unapologetic.

"And I am unsurprised," Artemis said, toasting Cormac with his drink before talking a long draught. "I mean, with Anders, you're already halfway --"

"Mage," Fenris groaned.

Anton was definitely having less difficulty looking disgusted now. "I take back what I said about you being the sane sibling," he said, pointing the dildo at Artemis in accusation.

"And I am still unsurprised." Artie held up the bottle they were in the process of demolishing. "Want a drink? You look like you could use one. You might feel better about your new friend after."

"I don't want to feel better about my 'new friend'," Anton said. "I don't _want_ my 'new friend'."

Artemis gave the dildo in his hand a speculative look. "Well, if you don't want it..."

"No." Fenris took the drink out of Artie's hand and downed it himself.

"I don't want it, either," Cormac volunteered. "Maybe you should go apply it to Izzy. Or Cullen. You know, he does have keys. I'd think that wasn't Izzy at all, but then I remember your husband would spontaneously combust before even laying eyes on a dildo, never mind a shop full of them."

"I'd like to think he's got a bit more fortitude than _that_ ," Anton grumbled.

"Oh? Have the two of you been getting into the toys, then?" Cormac asked, grinning as Anton looked pointedly at him. "Oh... Oh, ha, you think Artie doesn't know. Who do you think told me? I know all about what's in that cabinet. He cleans your room, remember?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Anton declared, tipping his chin up and stripping his vest, to wrap it around the dildo he was still clutching. "Cullen is delightfully un-depraved. Fresh as the first flowers of spring."

"Yeah, if those flowers are _lime_ ," Cormac scoffed. "Unlike our brothers, I do still live with you. You've gotten him to make some _noise_ , Anton. Maker, I'd ask what you were doing to the man, but I don't want to know."

"Neither do I," Artemis said, grimacing. "I also didn't particularly need to know about that cabinet. Which you'll have to reorganise now that you have a new addition. Personally, I would put it next to the blue one with the--"

"La la, I don't know what you're talking about," Anton said, loudly. "I have nothing to organise. There is also no 'new addition'. I am not keeping this." Not even Fenris looked convinced. "This is ridiculous." He turned on his heel and headed out the door, resuming his quest for someone sane.

* * *

The door of his office slammed open, and Cullen woke up blinking, still clutching a quill in one hand, a piece of paper stuck to his cheek. "Did I have a meeting?" were the first words out of his mouth, as he tried to pretend he hadn't fallen asleep. He couldn't remember the last time he'd actually slept, intentionally, and he tried to push that thought away, as he peeled the paper off his face, just in time to see a ... statue of a tower slam down on his desk, making the stacks of paper jump. Anton's hand. Anton's hand holding a ... what in the world even was that?

"Did you see Page Six?" Anton demanded, as Cullen stared owlishly at the dildo between them.

"Is that--?" A flush shot across Cullen's cheeks. "Well, that seems... adventurous?" He rather hoped Anton didn't mean to use it on him, in some deranged retaliation for the whole dragon-slaying thing.

"The adventurous part was leaving this on my bed," Anton drawled.

"Should I assume Isabela?" Cullen asked. "It seems like... an Isabela sort of thing to do." He still had nightmares about that... bit of horse anatomy on her wall. And he knew he should stop staring at this bit of dragon anatomy, but he couldn't help it. Did it really look like--? No. File that under 'things he didn't need to know'. "And did you just _walk_ in here with that?"

"Well, I didn't magically summon it," Anton said. "And now I'm really hoping that isn't a spell that exists." If it did, his brothers probably knew it, and, again, that was not a thought he needed. He was having a lot of thoughts today that he did not need.

"I could ask. Almost every mage in Kirkwall is on the other side of the tower." And that was something Cullen regretted bringing up as soon as it left his mouth, although, to be fair, he had just woken up.

"Please don't. I have brothers. I don't need to -- no." Anton shook his head. "Given your reaction, I take it you _have_ seen this week's Gazette."

"It may have crossed my desk..." Cullen gestured at the piles of paperwork, as a templar walked in, fresh from one of those patrols the Knight-Commander had them on, to judge by the damp and cranky look of him, and dropped another stack of reports onto one of the piles.

"Sorry, Captain," he apologised, without an ounce of sympathy, and made his way back out.

Cullen groaned and banged his head on the desk a few times. "I can't keep doing this."

"Where's Keran?" Anton asked, suddenly. "Don't you usually keep him in shouting distance?"

"Why am I shouting for Keran?" Cullen asked, looking hazy.

"Because you've just taken an assistant, that's why, and he's going to read all of this shit, handle what he can, and summarise the rest for you. And you are going to come home and eat something and lie down." Anton didn't look like he was going to take no for an answer.

"I don't get an assistant, Anton. Meredith won't have it. This -- almost all of this -- is for my eyes and hers, and she's not actually reading any of it. She reads what I give her." Cullen shook his head. "I'm so far behind..."

"Because this isn't work for one man, Cullen. It's work for three," Anton pointed out. "Somebody has to help you, and if Keran can't, Maker help me, I can try. I've seen enough things I shouldn't already."

"I doubt Meredith would approve," Cullen said, wiping a hand over his face. Anton could hear the weakness in his voice, though, the wavering in his conviction, and pressed his advantage.

"Just for one night," Anton coaxed, resting his hip against the edge of the desk. "You're no use to the Order if you keel over into your paperwork. No use to me either," he teased gently. "I won't tell Meredith if you won't."

"Vile tempter," Cullen growled, half-rising out of his chair to press his lips to Anton's. He considered the new pile of paperwork... and the dildo still sitting next to it. "Perhaps one night," he said grudgingly. "And you can tell me just how, er, adventurous you plan on being."

Anton pointed at the dildo. "Not that adventurous."


	225. PART XLIII: BAD NEWS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric comes bearing news for Fenris. This news goes over rather like a lead brick.

Orana opened the door to find Varric on the other side of it. "Messere Varric!" She smiled at him, honestly delighted, but he didn't smile back.

"I'm here to see Broody. I don't know if it's good news for him, but I'm prepared either way." Varric held up a bottle of what looked like better whiskey than one could get at the Hanged Man.

Orana had the sense to look concerned, stepping back and waving Varric into the foyer. "Come sit in the lounge, and I'll find Messere Fenris for you. You know where the glasses are, in there, don't you?"

Varric followed Orana into a room he'd seen countless times, over the years. "By now, I feel like I live in your lounge. Have I mentioned I love what you've done with this place?"

"Every time you visit, messere." Orana winked and ducked out, leaving Varric to arrange the whiskey and paperwork.

The envelope from Maevaris was thick. He'd thought Thorold might be a shit about doing him a favour, but he hadn't expected to learn that his cousin had died -- recently, too, according to the letter. His wife, Maevaris, said she was looking for something to do, to pass the time, and his letter had been the answer to her troubles. He figured she probably had some other troubles to deal with, too, knowing the kind of shit Thorold used to get up to, and he wondered if that was what had gotten his cousin killed. He'd write back. He'd ask. Seemed the least he could do for a widow in the family -- maybe clear up some matters of dwarven politics. Still, he hadn't opened the packet of information about Fenris. He'd been tempted to get a look before he let Broody at it, but... Wasn't right. He couldn't do it. And he wondered when he'd developed a sense of ethics that went further than 'don't steal from your friends and don't leave your brother in the Deep Roads'.

Fenris appeared in the doorway within minutes, finding Varric on the couch, paperwork stacked on the table in front of him. "Varric," he greeted the dwarf with a nod of his head, stare darting to the paperwork, then to the whiskey in his hands before returning to his face.

"Hey, Broody," Varric said. He held up the bottle. "Drink? It's the good stuff. For real, this time, or I swear someone's cousin is losing a finger."

Fenris lips formed the ghost of a smile. "Will I need the drink?" he asked, sitting next to Varric and eyeing the envelope and its contents more openly. "Assuming that's what I think it is?"

"It is, and I honestly have no idea." Varric shrugged. "And forget about 'needing' a drink, anyway. What about wanting one? You should. It's better than that swill Rivaini swears by." Varric poured for him anyway and slid the paperwork Fenris's way. Fenris accepted the glass without complaint, taking a fortifying gulp before he started thumbing through the papers.

There seemed to be no explanation, just a sheaf of documents meticulously copied from official records, and a handful of observations that suggested an investigator had been involved. Of course, Fenris had paid an investigator to do the same, but a magister's secrets were always much more difficult to acquire, and judging from what he was seeing, there were secrets he would wish he hadn't known. That... couldn't be right. There was no reasonable way that made any sense at all.

"Have you read these?" Fenris asked Varric, one hand yanking at the tip of his ear, as if to reassure himself it still existed.

"Didn't seem right. Why? What'd you find?" Varric leaned across the corner of the table to glance at the page Fenris seemed troubled by. He needn't have bothered, as, after a moment more, Fenris handed it to him.

"Fastidious records are kept of blood and family, throughout the Imperium. Mage blood, for obvious reasons, and slaves, for the purposes of improving the stock -- at least where elves are concerned." Fenris's hands gripped the edge of the table, and his voice was just a little too calm. "Read the name of my father."

"Someone we--" Varric stopped, as his eyes lit on that line, darting back up to Fenris's ears. "There has to be a mistake."

"Perhaps," Fenris said dully, his face as white as his knuckles, as white as the noise in his head.

Varric looked back at the paper, scanning the line again and still shaking his head in disbelief. "He's _human_ ," he said. "Wasn't he human? I mean, I know you're not particularly elfy, but you're still too elfy to be _half human_."

"Perhaps," Fenris said again, reaching for the glass of whiskey. He downed it all in one pull.

"Shit, Broody," Varric muttered. He started flipping through the rest of the papers. The name 'Leto' dominated the top of the pile. "Were you... in some of tournament?" Varric asked. "These look like bookkeeping records."

"I don't know," Fenris said distractedly, pouring himself another generous drink. Varric was glad he brought the bottle. "I have no memory of one, if I did."

"It's fair to say you were the favourite," Varric noted, after a few minutes study, "but there's some interesting notes in here. Allegations of some very serious cheating, although they're blaming Danarius, not you. And since it's his tournament, and the prize is his to give, nobody really followed up. Just some folks complaining the fight was fixed, because they lost a bet, I'm guessing, but ... they all say the same thing, pretty much."

Varric slid a page back across the table, and Fenris read it. "Shield runes? Who in their right mind would give shield runes to a slave?" Fenris looked horrified, and then he just looked lost, like he was staring right through the table. Some nagging thought clattered in the back of his head, almost a memory -- lifting his arm and batting aside a sword. He could feel it, and sitting there, his arm followed the same path through the air, three or four times. He could feel the strike, and he knew both that it should have cut and that he'd only been bruised.

"I blocked a sword with my bare arm. That's what they're talking about. Some of it, anyway. I don't remember. I remember, but I don't remember." Fenris shook his head frustratedly. "Maybe there was a rune. This-- I lost my memory, Varric. It's there, but it's not there. All I had to do was win. I don't even know why, but all I had to do was win."

Varric thumbed through the next few pages, but that was the last mention of 'Leto'. "Shit," he said again. "Broody... what _do_ you remember? The earliest thing?" If that were too personal a question, he suspected Fenris would tell him in so many words. Or more likely without words.

As it was, Fenris didn't answer for a long moment, stare glazed and vacant enough that Varric wondered if he'd even heard him. Fenris's stare dropped to his arms, to the palms he turned face-up. He traced the lyrium lines of one hand with the fingers of the other. "Getting these," he finally answered. "Or... after. During? It's... it's hazy." But he remembered pain, remembered choking on his screams, and the skin around his markings ached in sympathy. There were holes even in that memory. "The pain... it blocked out everything before it. It was the only thing I knew for what felt like an age."

"I wouldn't be so sure it was the pain that erased those memories," Varric said.

Fenris's gaze cut to the side, and he tugged at one twitching ear again.

"I know the two of you aren't exactly the best of friends, but this sounds like something to bring up with Anders. He knows healing and he knows magic, and both of those things are part of whatever's going on here," Varric pointed out, reaching for his own drink. "And maybe talk to Daisy. I know she's been talking to your sister, lately. I know, I know, you don't want to talk to your sister, she's dead to you, but she still has her memories, as far as we know, and I bet she told Daisy a few things."

"Consorting with abominations and blood mages," Fenris drawled. "Is this what my life has come to?"

"Hey, it's up to you, but if you want to get to the bottom of this, I can't think of two better people to take it to -- except maybe actually talking to your sister, but we both know that's not going to happen." Varric shrugged and swigged his whiskey. "It's up to you. You're a free man."

"But, am I really?" Fenris asked, gesturing across the spread of papers. "Everything I knew-- I'm not even a proper elf."

"When were you ever a proper elf, Broody?"

* * *

Artemis swept into the house, already halfway through a conversation with Fenris that Fenris hasn't been a part of. "I mean, I'm glad you killed the dragon before it could eat you," he was saying, "but couldn't you have killed the thing more... neatly? Or, I don't know farther away? The mines stink of dead dragon." His rambling trailed off when he realised that no elf had come to the door. Usually Fenris greeted him with a kiss after a long day like this, until he was already drinking. "Fenris?"

Orana coughed politely into her fist and pointed at the lounge. Artie nodded in understanding. He found his elf on the lounge couch, sprawled halfway across it with a nearly empty bottle of whiskey cradled to his chest. There were papers everywhere, spread out across the table, over Fenris's legs, the floor. Artemis tutted and bent to scoop them up, sneaking a peek as he squared the edges.

"Is this Tevene?" he muttered to himself, picking up a few more sheets and finding similar lettering. "This is Tevene."

"Makes for great reading," Fenris slurred from the couch, peering at the bottle in his hand, at the way the light played across the amber liquid inside.

"Oh, so we _are_ awake, are we?" Artemis teased, swatting Fenris's cheek with the rolled-up sheets of paper. Fenris whined and rubbed his cheek, and Artie peered more closely at him. "I can't remember the last time I've seen you this drunk. Everything all right?"

"Everything is shit," Fenris declared, taking another swig, before reluctantly jamming the bottle between two couch cushions, so he could sit up. He immediately regretted sitting up as he thumbed through a stack of papers, before handing one to Artemis. "Read that. The third line, mostly. I was sober when I started reading it. Now, I'm not."

Artie took the papers from Fenris, eyeing his elf. This, at least, was in Common, and Artemis recognised two names on that list: Leto and Danarius. "This..." Artemis squinted at the paper, holding it closer to his face as though it would make more sense that way. "This can't be right. Tell me they put Danarius's name in the wrong place." His eyes were wide when he lifted them from the paper.

"That was my thought, as well," Fenris admitted, before handing over another document. "In light of this, however, it seems a great deal less likely." He paused for a moment, before remembering that Artemis couldn't read Tevene. "It's a transfer of ownership. My mother didn't belong to him, until she was pregnant, and the law strongly encourages the transfer of any slave pregnant with a magister's child into that magister's household. That's the transfer type. Somewhere near the middle of the page. The only evidence I have that he was incorrect is--" He pointed to his ear. "I cannot be half human. Half-humans don't look like I do."

Artemis sat next to him, on the other side of the bottle of whiskey, still looking over papers he couldn't read. Half-humans may not look like Fenris, but they did look like Danarius. He wondered if Fenris was what a 'three-quarter' elf looked like. Aloud, he said, "There might be some mistake." He fumbled for words of comfort and came up short. Artie set aside the papers, leaving the rest in a mess on the table, and brushed back Fenris's hair, his thumb brushing along the shell of one ear. "Where did you get these?" He tilted his chin towards the stack he'd just set down.

"Varric's cousin is a magister. Married a magister. Something. His cousin the dwarf married a non-dwarf magister, and now the magister is his cousin too." Fenris wasn't very good at words for family, sometimes, and drunk, he was particularly bad at them. "She -- the magister, I mean -- pulled some records for him. You're thinking something. I know that look. That's the look that tells me you have some terrible idea that you don't want to tell me, but it can't be any more terrible than what I already know, so just say it."

"Fen..."

"Artemis."

Artie shook his head, enfolding Fenris's hand in his. "I... I was just thinking about what you just said. About half-humans looking, well, human. So you may not be half-human, but perhaps Danarius was?" The last thing he wanted to do was argue in favour of this. What Danarius had put Fenris through was despicable enough, but to treat his own _son_ that way?

Fenris groaned. "Fasta vass. That's..." Strangely reasonable, actually, now that he thought about it. And completely terrifying in whole new ways. "I suspect I am about to owe Varric's cousin a very large favour. I have to know. The records will be clear, either way. And the question remains, if I'm only _half_ an elf, what else did he do to me? Frankly, I prefer the other option."

He kissed Artemis gently, on the corner of the mouth. "You do not love me less, now that I am less of an elf?" he teased. "I know how important _elven culture_ is to you."

"You're just the right amount of elf," Artemis said, "and still more than I can handle." He kissed Fenris back sweetly, palms cupping his elf's face. He was relieved to hear Fenris joking, at least. "Come to bed? We can forget about this until the morning, if you like. The papers aren't going anywhere."

"Or I could drunkenly have my way with you, right here, until neither of us can climb the stairs," Fenris suggested, absolutely sure there was something he was supposed to be angry about and equally sure that his mage could make him forget about it. Mages. Forgetting. He shook his head. "Did I mention that I'm very drunk? Very drunk and trying not to think about any of these papers or the fact that I have to go talk to Anders at something like a decent hour, tomorrow."

"I'm sure I could find a way to distract you," Artemis said with a mischievous smile. He put the whiskey on the table and scooted closer, nibbling at the point of one ear. "Should I be concerned about you visiting Anders? Willingly? Did you wrench your shoulder again?"

"It's ... this." Fenris waved his hand to indicate the papers heaped all over the table. He stretched out along the couch again, parting his legs around Artemis and then tugging his mage down against him. "Weren't you going to help me not think about this? Besides, I find him slightly more tolerable, since he put some notably good ideas into your head."

Artemis stretched out next to Fenris, walking sparks up Fenris's arm with his fingers. "And here I thought you preferred my bad ideas."


	226. Chapter 226

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's whiskey-serious and it's before noon. Fenris has a favour to ask.

In asking a favour like this, Fenris decided, it would be best if he offered something in return. He knew Anders's relationship to memory wasn't as tempestuous as his own, but he wasn't sure Anders was actually better for remembering any of what happened to him. And that, Fenris thought, was the root of the problem -- that suddenly, he found himself worse for not knowing, when all this time he could simply put aside what had come before, because it didn't exist, but now it mattered.

He set the bottle of whiskey on the corner of a cabinet, in the clinic, and leaned against the wall, beside it, as Anders finished up with the last few patients.

"Heatstroke and broken bones," Anders said, finally turning around, shaking out his hands, as sweat trickled down his face and sunk into his collar. "The joys of summer come early, this year." The bottle caught his eye, as he tried to rub the feeling back into his fingertips. "It's a whiskey kind of serious, is it?" he asked, at last, still not quite looking at Fenris.

"What gave it away?" Fenris drawled. Again, he was struck by how well this mage knew him in spite of all the years they'd spent at each other's throats.

Anders motioned for Fenris to sit, as though he were welcoming the elf into his lounge instead of pointing him towards a cot. It was a clean cot, at least, and Fenris abandoned the wall to sink onto it.

"A whiskey kind of serious, _and_ you're awake before noon?" Anders said, plucking the bottle off the cabinet and turning it over in his hands. He squinted up at the windows to make sure that it _was_ before noon. "Now I'm almost worried. Has someone died?"

"No," said Fenris. He paused to think about that. "Well, yes. Danarius died, but you were there for that."

Finally, Anders looked at Fenris, giving the elf a long, measuring look. "And... does Danarius's death have something to do with why you're in my clinic, bearing whiskey?"

Fenris's toes scuffed the floor. "Less his death and more his life, but yes."

Anders handed the bottle to Fenris and turned to grab a pair of clean beakers off a shelf. "Open the bottle. We're not having this conversation without a drink."

Nodding, Fenris cracked the seal and worked out the stopper, pouring for Anders, first. He suspected he shouldn't have been surprised by that response, but it never ceased to throw him off when someone considered his health or well-being, beyond whether he could swing a sword. "I have come into some papers," he said, setting the bottle between his feet after pouring his own drink, to get the papers from where he'd tucked them under his armour. "They bore unexpected news, in more than one way, and I simply do not have the recollections to trust or dispute what I see."

"And this has to do with Danarius?" Anders asked, confusion tightening his brow, as he held out a hand.

"This has everything to do with Danarius." Fenris tapped the paper on top of the stack, as he put the pages into Anders's hand. "The third line."

"... born in the city of Minrathous, on this day, blah blah... wait, what?" Anders blinked at the page and raised his eyes to Fenris's. "Seriously? That's not... You're an elf. Like, a very elfy elf. I mean, to look at, anyway."

Fenris scoffed into his drink, the beaker distorting the sound. "And Varric had just assured me that I was unelfy for an elf." His smile looked more like a grimace. "There is a possibility that Danarius was elf-blooded, which would make this far more likely."

'Possibility'. 'Likely'. As though it weren't written in ink before his eyes. The next drink Fenris took was long and deep.

"Shit," Anders breathed, which, Fenris thought, summed it up rather well. "When did you find out about this?" He looked over the papers again, as though expecting them to say something different this time.

"Last night. I am... I am still... processing, I suppose." Fenris didn't realise he'd started tugging at his ear again. "There is a shroud over my memories. Sometimes it slips, and I catch a glimmer of something. Sometimes I simply get caught in it." He struggled for a moment, searching for the words. "Is there a way to see beyond it, do you think? Could you -- _would_ you -- help me?"

"If it's already wearing thin, we can probably get past it. The question, really, is whether that's something you actually want," Anders said, sighing as he hiked himself up onto the corner of the cupboard. "Even if we can get it back, you may never be able to get rid of it, again. Look at me. I remember _everything_. Well, no, most things. Then there were the things I got drunk for, because I didn't want to remember them. But, look at yourself, Fenris. Ask yourself if you can survive what you find. Because you're probably not going to get to pick what comes back first, or what order it comes back in, or how fast."

"It is only memory. It has already passed, and I have survived it. Why would I not survive the memory of something that obviously didn't kill me?" Fenris scoffed, taking a swig of the whiskey.

"That sick feeling I can see around the corners of your eyes? Every day, for the rest of your life. Until it sucks the taste out of your food and the joy out of being touched. Can you handle that? Can you make it back from that?" Anders asked, eyes not nearly as soft as they'd been. "I'll help you. I'm sure Artemis will, too. You won't be alone, but this ..." He laughed, bitterly. "Do you know how many times I've envied you? I wish I could make it all go away. But, I can't. But, if you want it -- if you're sure you want it -- I'll help you."

" _Envied_ me?" Fenris scoffed, one ear canting out. "I am not someone who should be envied." Which was, perhaps, missing the point, but Anders's words had a way of nettling him. Or maybe he was just looking for a reason to be nettled. Long fingers drummed along the beaker in his hands as he considered -- _truly_ considered -- Anders's words. Did he truly want this? He had a home, a husband, and he was free. Did his life before truly matter so much when his present was as good as it was?

As much as Fenris tried to talk himself out of it, however, that itch was there in the back of his mind, that driving need to know. "I need to try," he said at length, "or I will always wonder."

For a long moment, Anders watched him, looking for doubt, for a hint that Fenris was anything less than certain. He sucked in a breath. "I can't guarantee anything," he said, setting his whiskey down next to him. "I'm not even sure what, exactly, Danarius did to you, but I will do my best."

"I always thought it was the pain," Fenris said, running his thumb around the top of the beaker. "I always thought I forgot because of the pain. But, the numbers don't make sense. There are years missing on the wrong side. I'm older than I thought I was. Not that I gave it much thought, but... remembering so little, I expected to be younger. Somehow he left me the pain, even when he took everything else. It looks like this wasn't the first time I ran, even if it is the only time I made it this far. Who did I know? Did anyone want to see my face again? To hear him talk, he would have been the only one. If there is something worse than I remember already, I will be extremely surprised."

"Shit," Anders sighed, pouring whiskey down his throat, before he spoke again. "If this wasn't an accident, if this was some kind of magic... I'll do some reading, see what he might have done. It's going to be hard, here. We're talking about things that have been outlawed for centuries. But, let's try something simple. Something that's not going to be difficult or involve any magic." Anders shifted forward, off the edge of the cupboard and sank to the floor, to sit. "I had a friend who thought he had no good memories of his childhood home, so I made him start telling stories, and I gave him more and more ... was it even whiskey? Might have been brandy. But, we got very drunk, and he remembered some very funny things. So... tell me a story. I promise to carry you home if you get too drunk to stand up."

A quiet chuckle shook Fenris's shoulders. That would almost be worth it for the look on Artemis's face. But the smile died on Fenris's lips as he tried to think of where to begin. Most of the memories he had from back then were of Danarius, and he didn't want to go poking at those unless he had to. But there were other memories in there, images, sounds, smells that peered through tears in the shroud.

There was Varania as a little girl, red-haired wisps working their way free of the plait down her back. In the summer, freckles dusted her cheeks and shoulders, and Fenris couldn't remember if she still had them. He kept telling himself he didn't want to think about her, but that image was startlingly clear. It was a place to start, a better place than Danarius, at least, if barely.

Anders waited patiently, nursing his whiskey. Eventually Fenris unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth and started to speak. "There was a tree," he said, "in our... in Danarius's courtyard. An olive tree. Varania and I used to climb it. It was this old, knotted thing with silver leaves." He could see it as he spoke, the greyed, sun-dappled bark rough under his fingertips. He had forgotten about that tree. Years later, it was dead and rotting, and Danarius had it removed. There was a sapling in its place now. "Varania got her hair caught in the branches once and wouldn't stop crying. Mater was so cross when..."

Fenris trailed off. Mater. Mother. She was little more than a smudge of colour in his memory, but she was _there_.

"What do you see?" Anders asked, quietly, pouring more whiskey for Fenris.

"More red. She wore brown and green. I can't remember her face. She wore her hair up, and I can see the little copper catches and the leather, but I can't see her face." Fenris sounded frustrated, now.

"Take a drink. Don't worry about what you don't see. Tell me what you do. Tell me what you smell, what you feel, what you hear... anything you remember." Anders sipped his own whiskey, eyes on Fenris's hands.

A long swallow of whiskey chased the ragged edges of frustration back. What did he remember? Brown. They wore brown and cream and green, mostly. A coarse fabric. The smell of summer -- the air full of the scent of earth and broken leaves, wet stone and cheese being made. "My hands weren't so grey. These lines weren't there. I was darker than they were, but browned, not... this." He looked at his hand. "I look like I died, now. No wonder she looked at me like that."

"What else do you remember about yourself?" Anders asked, as Fenris drifted off into some memory, smiling.

"She-- my sister -- used to tie flowers in my hair, when I wasn't looking. My hair was longer, then. Longer than yours, I think, but I don't know. Dark. Maybe black? Something changed. I looked real, once. I looked like any other child. But I didn't look like my sister or my mother? That can't be right. But we all had the same eyes." The rest of the whiskey went into his mouth in a hurry, and he held out the beaker for more. Those eyes. Danarius had said something about his eyes. 'Just like your mother's.' And something happened, there. Something wrong. Something horrible that he couldn't fit his mind around, and for a moment, the entire world shrunk down to a tiny circle between his feet.

"Fenris?" Anders's voice came as though from a distance.

Fenris blinked and remembered to breathe, though his lungs felt half the size they should be. And there was another memory, gasping for breath. The clink of chains and the bite of metal against his throat, chafing at his wrists. Danarius's serrated smile.

"Fenris." Anders's voice was stronger now, though no less kind. "Look at me. Look around you. Remember where you are."

Brown eyes were steady on his when Fenris looked up. Anders. The clinic. A hand brushing his throat told him there was no collar there, no heavy chains. Just the silver chain of a necklace, which Fenris pulled out from under his tunic. What was left of Danarius glinted in the dim light, and Anders could see the fine tremble in his hands. Anders was hesitant to ask what he was seeing then.

Fenris opened his mouth as though to say something. Instead he just downed more whiskey. Without a word, Anders filled the beaker again. Soon Fenris wouldn't be able to feel his hands, let alone realise they were shaking.  


* * *

After another couple of hours, they'd run out of both the whiskey Fenris had brought and the whiskey Anders kept in the back room, and Fenris could barely remember what day it was, never mind what he might or might not have been doing in a courtyard in the Imperium twenty years ago. Which was, he suspected, for the best, really. Anders had warned him, and he just... now he got it.

He also suddenly got the appeal of being carried around like a sack of onions, which had never really sunk in, since nobody really ... carried him around, at least not in a non-threatening way. But, Anders was quite large, really, and terribly gentle about the carrying, and Fenris appreciated that quite a bit, if only because he had absolutely no idea if he could navigate Darktown with as much booze in him as he'd swallowed. Wine, he told himself again. Whiskey tended to end in foolishness and vomit, and this was definitely foolishness.

Anders had drunk a great deal less than Fenris, entirely intentionally, though he was still a bit jolly with it, to Justice's lasting dismay. He forced a door open with his back, and spun out onto some alley in Hightown, with Fenris curled up against his chest. It was, he decided, best to make this exactly the drunken stumble it was, before the neighbours decided to take rumour into their own hands. As he staggered out of the alley, looking a good bit drunker than he was, Anders began to sing, as he made his way toward Artemis's place. "Oh, as I went home on Hopeday night, as drunk as drunk could be!"

Fenris didn't quite know all the words, but he hummed along as best he could, sloppily conducting with the arm not crushed to Anders's chest. Feathers tickled his ear and made it twitch.

Anders's questionable singing reached a crescendo as he approached Château de Fartemis, arms full of elf with no hand free to knock. He opted to used his head -- literally -- and knocked his head against the door in time to his bellowed words: "AH, YOU'RE DRUNK, YOU'RE DRUNK, YOU SILLY OLD FOOL, SO DRUNK YOU CANNOT SEE!"

This sent Fenris into a fit of giggles, and Orana opened the door on a singing Anders cradling a cackling Fenris. She ducked her head and bit her cheek against a snicker of her own. This certainly wasn't the oddest thing she'd seen since she'd started working for Fenris, even if it was barely past noon.

"Good afternoon, messeres," she said. "One moment." She turned and called into the house, "Messere Artemis! There's a delivery for you!"

Anders had started on another verse by the time Artemis appeared in the doorway. Artie cocked his head at the sight. "Well, this seems backwards," he said. "Usually I'm the drunken and drooling idiot being dropped off at the door. Anders, what did you do to my husband?" Despite his light tone, there was concern in his eyes his smile didn't quite reach.

"Why, I poured him full of the bottle of whiskey he brought to my door!" Anders grinned cheerfully, and then his eyes cleared and focused on Artemis. "He's actually this drunk. I'm not. Just didn't want to incite the neighbours to rumour. A drunken stumble is a lot less ugly than a lot of what they could've been thinking."

Fenris purred, rubbing his cheek against the feathers on Anders's shoulder as he stretched a hand out to stroke Artemis's cheek.

"He's also heavier than he looks. Where would you like me to put your drunken husband?" Anders asked, trying to stretch his shoulders without dropping Fenris.

Artemis pressed a kiss to Fenris's palm before pulling away. "The lounge couch is fine," he said, stepping back and holding the door open for the ridiculous pair. "You know where it is." As Anders shouldered past, Artemis reminded Fenris, "I'm supposed to be the drunkard, you know."


	227. Chapter 227

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Opinions are like assholes. Everybody's got one, and some of them are more foul and dangerous than others.

Carver came in to find Varric talking to Merrill, beside that blighted -- well, not _literally_ blighted, any more -- mirror, and he hung back a bit, to see what he'd walked into.

"Come on, Daisy, you've been holed up in here, for days! If you don't get some sunshine, you'll wilt!" Varric seemed concerned, and if what he was saying was true -- which Carver couldn't verify, having not been home all week -- he had a right to be.

"I'm not a plant, Varric. I'm fine." Merrill's eyes never left the glass, murky as it was.

"Just take a walk around the Lowtown market. Get some air, and I'll stop bothering you," Varric coaxed, offering some immediate returns on her actions. He'd found that usually helped people make up their minds, usually in his favour.

"I... know you mean well, but I have too much to do, right now," Merrill replied, calm, but intent -- a woman with a plan.

Shaking his head, Carver opened the door again and kicked it shut, like he usually did.

"I'll let you talk some sense into her, Junior." Varric shrugged, patting Carver's shoulder as he headed for the door. He'd tried, but... some things were better left to those closer to the problem -- which Carver was, and would always be, Maker willing.

Carver waited until the door had closed behind Varric. "The dwarf bothering you?" he asked, stepping in front of the mirror next to Merrill. He still found the thing creepy as shit, the way shadows played across it, without it reflecting the pair of them.

Merrill brightened when she saw Carver, ears tilting up at the same angle as her smile. "Oh, of course not," she said. "Varric is... very sweet. Frequently infuriating and a terrible busybody, but sweet."

"Well, I won't argue with the busybody part."

Merrill chuckled, stretching to her tiptoes to kiss Carver. "I'm glad you're here," she said, and this close Carver could better see what Varric likely had: pale cheeks and dark shadows under her eyes. "I was worried they had you scrubbing toilets again. There'll be nothing left of them by the time you're done, and then what will the templars do?"

"Shit on their shoes, Maker willing," Carver sighed. "They deserve it, the lot of them. You all right, dear heart? You look a little..." He shrugged. So many words could be accurate, there. "You're dark in the eyes."

"In the market, the other day, out of the corner of my eye... I thought I saw Tamlen. I blinked, and he was gone." Merrill stepped away, distractedly, to sit on the edge of the bed, eyes hollow and sadness plain on her cheeks. "I don't know what it means. Maybe nothing. Maybe I'm going mad. I miss them all. Even the Keeper."

"I'm sure the Keeper would like to see you again," Carver suggested, kneeling by Merrill's feet and taking her hands in his.

"I'm sure she would. She loves to lecture. I'm sure her new First appreciates that." Shaking her head, Merrill looked down at Carver, lost and unsurprisingly betrayed. "I wish I could have seen... It doesn't matter. I'm here, now."

Merrill ran a hand through Carver's hair, palm moulding to his cheek. Some of the hollowness left her cheeks when she smiled down at him. Sucking in a breath, she pushed to her feet and tugged him up after her. "Maybe Varric was right," she said cheerfully. "Shall we go out for a bit? I could use some sunshine."

Carver slipped his hand into hers. "Lunch?" he suggested. "Anywhere but the Hanged Man."

* * *

* * *

"As some of you are aware," Knight-Commander Meredith began, gazing out across the crowd of plated men below her in the courtyard, "there is a publication passing itself off as the current events of this city, by name, the Kirkwall Weekly Gazette. However, the filth put forth in this rag is of the vilest nature, both inappropriately pornographic blather and outright lies about this city's relationship to magic!"

Cullen scanned the faces below, looking for one, in particular. Two, if he was a little more honest with himself. Three, if he were a little more honest than Anton. The first was easy, given the height of the gentleman in question, and he caught Carver's eye with a quick tilt of his head, before rolling his eyes expressively enough to be seen at that distance. He watched the corner of Carver's mouth tip up in acknowledgement.

"This putrescent publication must be removed from the streets of Kirkwall, as it is an offence both to the Maker and to every resident of the Gallows! It smears the name of the Order in unspeakable and intolerable ways!" Meredith squinted across the assembled templars, looking for any sign of dissent.

Oh, there was Keran. Cullen cocked his head sympathetically at the young knight, getting a heaved sigh in return, as soon as the Knight-Commander's eyes had passed.

"It is your duty as members of the Order," Meredith said, voice ringing through the courtyard and echoing beyond it, "to find out who is responsible for this rag of lies and to bring them to justice!" She thumped a clenched fist against her palm, the clang of metal chasing her echoing words. "This is the work of mage sympathisers, possibly the link to the mage underground we've been looking for! Now is the time to be vigilant!"

Carver yawned into his fist. Cullen continued scanning the crowd but didn't see the third face he was looking for. Good. He doubted Anton could have done anything but laugh at this speech, and Cullen didn't want to clean up that mess.

Meredith prattled on about doing the Maker's work, for a bit longer, which Cullen was sure was intended to be inspirational, but he was finding it increasingly difficult to be inspired on four hours of sleep, while wearing platemail in the midday sun. Still, he jerked to attention, when his name was mentioned.

"...and bring any reports on the matter to the attention of Captain Cullen," Meredith concluded, before leading the assembled knights in a prayer, and then vanishing back into her office.

Cullen fumed, silently, through the entire prayer. 'The work of three people,' Anton had said, and now, more. He wondered if the Commander was trying to kill him, or if this was just some absurd test of his capabilities. As the templars filtered back to what they'd meant to be doing, at that hour, Cullen tried to catch up with Keran, spotting him, finally, coming up the stairs.

"I require your assistance, Ser Keran," Cullen admitted. "Walk with me. I do not wish to discuss the issue in public."

"As you wish, Captain." Keran fell in just behind Cullen, to the left, and tried to keep his curiosity off his face.

Cullen walked a bit before speaking, waiting until they were inside and their steps were the only ones that echoed down the hall. "You've come a long way, Keran," he said. "A long way from that... mess with the blood mages, however many years ago that was." Before he'd met his husband at any rate, and it was odd now to think that there was a time 'before Anton'.

"Not my favourite moment, Captain," Keran replied wryly.

"You've shown much promise."

"Thank you, Captain."

"And you've been a great help to me."

"Thank you, Captain."

Cullen slowed his steps enough that Keran walked beside instead of behind him. "Ser Keran," said Cullen, "I find myself in need of an assistant. How would you like a promotion?"

He almost felt bad for couching it in those terms, especially when he saw how devotedly grateful Keran was. The poor sod had no idea what he was signing up for.

* * *

* * *

"Bethany should do it. Kirkwall needs a viscount," Sebastian insisted, watching the flickering light of the devotional candles dance across Aveline's face.

"Have you asked her if she even wants that?" Aveline asked, looking a bit less than wholly thrilled with the idea. Certainly Bethany _could_ do the job, but Aveline had some doubts that Kirkwall was ready for a mage in a strong political position -- perhaps especially one with such Orlesian methods.

"I watched my parents in Starkhaven. When times are good, the city rules itself. Years could pass, and no one would notice who's prince. But, when there's famine, when there's war, people look to their leaders." Sebastian's eyes gleamed. "Who does Kirkwall have, beyond the Hawkes? And, of them, who could carry the city besides Bethany?"

Aveline gave up, shaking her head, as Bethany approached. "This is probably a conversation for the two of you to have," she said, passing between the two of them, as she headed for the stairs. The Hawkes were fortunate, but she wasn't sure any of them was skilled in the ways Kirkwall needed in a viscount. And for all that Bethany might be, of all of them, Aveline doubted her motives. It wasn't that Bethany wasn't a wonderful friend, but anyone who could do the things Bethany did had no business ruling a city. Even Tevinter, she was sure, would manage objections.

"You want me to be viscount?" Bethany asked, skirts swishing quietly around her legs, as she swept up to Sebastian, amusement clear in her voice and disbelief on her face.

Sebastian looked uncertain, like a child caught digging for treasure in the vegetable garden. "Andraste said the Maker is king in the heavens," he started, recovering his poise and pride, as he paced, "but it is the kings of Thedas who must recreate his worldly glory. I keep thinking about that. Who better serves the Maker? A brother of the faith or a prince who can sway a whole city?"

"Everyone serves the Maker in their own way," Bethany replied diplomatically. "But... a prince -- a good prince -- also serves the people and can help them to better serve the Maker."

Sebastian searched her face as she spoke, blue eyes looking for an answer in hers. He resumed his pacing in front of the pulpit. "Elthina is risking her life by not deserting her flock," he said, brows pulling up and together in an upside-down 'v'. "Could I do the same?"

Bethany stilled his pacing with a light touch, a hand on his. "You wouldn't be doing it alone," she reminded him. The corners of her eyes crinkled in a mischievous smile as she added, "I'll protect you."

Sebastian laughed nervously. "I have no doubt you could," he said, eyeing the spear she held in one hand. She wielded it as much like a fashion accessory as a weapon. "You mean the world to me. I couldn't have gotten through this time without you."

"Oh, don't be a fool, Sebastian. You certainly would have. You'd just have made a dreadful fool of yourself, along the way." Bethany laughed and tugged at a bit of hair behind Sebastian's ear. "Do you mean to stay with the Chantry, then, or take on Starkhaven? The Chantry's got a system that's held it up for centuries, but Starkhaven ... without a real prince, without a power on the throne, can it survive what's coming? Is your cousin going to be enough to hold the city, if the Qunari come back on the Marches?"

"No, I don't suppose he will be." Sebastian shook his head and gazed out across the carpet that stretched to the door, below them. "I have to do it, don't I? My duty to the Maker is to protect His people, to accept the responsibilities left behind by those who laughed me off, as a child. It's not that they didn't love me, it's just they never thought I'd rule. And they could be right, or I could step up and take this on."

"You'll do a fine job of it, Sebastian. You'll bring peace and honour to your city." Bethany smiled and linked her arm with his.

" _Kirkwall_ is my city," Sebastian pointed out.

"No, pumpkin, Kirkwall is _my_ city." Bethany smiled. "You're the one who wants to see me viscount."

"I do, but I worry about the Chantry, about Elthina, if I go..." Trailing off, Sebastian looked over his shoulder at the statue of Andraste that rose on the other end of the balcony. "The mages rebel, there's dangerous magic in the streets -- and there have already been threats on Elthina's life."

"You do recall that I am what the rebels wish for themselves, do you not? What's wrong with me?" Bethany asked, wholly unoffended by the implications. "What's wrong with other people getting the same opportunity to live and love and serve their community?"

"It's not you I'm worried about. It's your brother -- it's _Anders_. Have you read what he writes? Have you seen how Cormac stands by him, no matter how far he pushes?" Sebastian shook his head and studied Bethany's face. "It's you I worry for as much as Elthina. What will they bring down on your house? He goes too far, and he drags your family name down with him."

"I think you'll find our family name doesn't let itself be dragged anywhere it doesn't want to go," Bethany said, still unoffended and unaffected by Sebastian's words. "Anders is a friend. A friend with strong opinions, sure, but one who has saved my life on countless occasions." Her expression turned wry, one shoulder shrugging higher than the other. "Welcome to the world of politics, love. You can't just silence those who disagree with you. Perhaps you should bring your concerns to him? I think you'll find he's much more reasonable than you believe."

Sebastian shook his head, more frustrated than swayed. "It's not about him disagreeing with me or with the Chantry," he murmured. "It's about the lengths he'll go. I am familiar with such politics, love. And where it landed my family."

"It's just Anders," she assured him with another squeeze of his hand.


	228. PART XLIV: ANOTHER BLOODY MESS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cormac wakes up more dressed than he went to bed. And this is going to take keys to remove.

The first thing Cormac noticed, when he woke, was that he was no longer naked. It didn't make proper sense, really, since he wasn't in the habit of getting up and wearing clothes, in the middle of the night, but perhaps he'd put on some smalls, because his ass was cold, and just didn't remember it. As that filtered into his thoughts, other things began to occur to him, like the fact that smalls usually felt like cloth, not leather and steel.

He kicked the bedclothes down in a panic, to find his loins clothed in some horrific contraption that was locked about his waist. Pulling and twisting at it seemed to have no effect. This was not coming off.

Trying to remember to breathe, Cormac took his time examining the thing -- apparently, he could still piss, at least, but that was about it. Chastity belt. He'd somehow woken up in a chastity belt, and this made no sense at all, to him. Perhaps it was a surprise from Anders, although they did usually discuss mad things like this before they happened. That was it. He'd go to Anders, first. This was likely just some strange tease, to keep him interested all day.

In that light, he found himself much better pleased, with the idea. Tugging on his robes, he headed downstairs.

Anders was writing at his desk. Or, rather, trying to write as best he could with a cat swatting at his quill. Assbiter had the quill feather between his paws as he gnawed at the end. Ink smeared across the paper, and Justice grumbled in the back of his head.

"Contrary to what you might think, this is not helping," Anders told Assbiter, freeing the quill and shooing the cat. Assbiter mrowed his displeasure and scurried over to weave between Cormac's ankles. Oh. Cormac. When had he gotten there? "Good morning," Anders greeted him, one hand smoothing out the quill now wet with cat spit. "Assuming it's morning."

"Oh, it's morning," Cormac assured him, nuzzling Anders's cheek, before stealing a quick kiss. "I see you left me a present, in the night. Do you want to tell me where the keys are, or is that something I'm going to have to wait until after dark to find out?" Cormac purred and rubbed his cheek on Anders, stretching out one hand to pet Assbiter.

For a few moments, Cormac seemed to be content to wrestle with the cat, over Anders's shoulder, trying to keep the pointy little paws off Anders's work. Anders sat in silence for a time, looking distinctly contemplative, before he spoke again.

"A... present?" he asked. "One involving keys?" Anders _had_ blacked out for a little while last night, but he'd assumed Justice had spent that time working on the manifesto. He wonder what kind of 'gift' Justice would give Cormac.

A trickle of sweat ran down the back of Cormac's neck. "Well, I hope it's from you, because otherwise it's got to be Artie... or I hope so, anyway. I can't imagine..." He paused and stepped back into Anders's view, leaning against the shelves behind the desk. "Chastity belt?" Reaching down, Cormac hiked up his robes to show it off. "I did think that was a bit much, but I was hoping you had a plan that would make it all worthwhile..." There was a hint of panic creeping around the edges of his smile.

Anders stared at the belt, waiting to see if this was an elaborate joke on Cormac's part or if he was serious. As the seconds ticked by, Anders realised the joke was _on_ Cormac, not by him. "That's... lovely craftsmanship," Anders said, "but most of my plans involving you require less on your crotch, not more. I can guarantee you that spikes _there_ have not factored into any of my fantasies." He hoped they hadn't factored into Justice's, or he and his spirit were going to need to have a discussion. "Do you really think Artie would...?" Anders trailed off, peering up at Cormac. It was best not to jump to conclusions one way or another when it came to the Hawkes.

"Vibrating butt-plug," Cormac replied, deadpan. "I wouldn't put anything past my brother. But, that said... I suppose Artie generally agrees with you on how much I should be wearing at any given time. I just have no idea who could have done it without _waking me up_. You know how I sleep. And more than that, it had to be someone we know, or the dog would have destroyed them, before they even got to the stairs." He sighed and dropped the hem of his robes. "It's before midday, or I'd just get Anton to pop the locks. You want to walk down to the Hanged Man with me, so we can see if Varric's up, yet? I'd rather ask Izzy, but I'm sure she's still in bed."

"Of course," Anders said, pushing back his chair and getting to his feet. "For moral support. Not because I can't wait to see the look on Varric's face."

* * *

And that look was everything Anders had expected. Varric jaw had fallen open, sounds that weren't quite words starting in his throat. He pointed one finger at Cormac's crotch. "I am not touching that," he said. "I am not touching anything _near_ that." As he stared, shock gave way to snorting laughter. "Who did you piss off, Shouty?"

"I wish I knew," Cormac sighed, dropping his robes and rubbing his face. "I don't know what I did, I don't know who I did it to, all I know is that I'm stuck in this fuckawful thing, until somebody takes pity and pops the locks for me." He paused. "Come on, Varric. The important one's on my hip. It's not like you've never touched my hip."

"I'm not getting in the middle of whatever weirdo erotic warfare you've got going on. The last thing I need is to wake up painted in orichalcum." Varric shook his head. "No way. Maybe if you come back later, and ask the queen, she'll help you out -- and I don't want to hear a word about what she asks in payment. I don't really want to hear a scream of it, either, but I'll take what I can get."

"One lock, Varric. One lock, and you could be spared my payment screams to Izzy." Cormac grinned.

Varric paused for a moment. "No. Not worth it. Why don't you go ask Stabby?"

"Because Stabby is asleep, and I value my life," Cormac drawled, following with a terribly put-upon sigh.

"I'd say 'you had it coming'," Varric drawled, "but I'd be worried about you following up with a bad pun I didn't need."

"Guilty," Anders admitted, tone the opposite of guilty. He nudged Cormac with his elbow. "I'm sure you can live with it for a few hours. Varric, could you send us a runner when the pirate queen is taking visitors?"

"Sure thing, Blondie. Now get that monstrosity out of my room." Varric gestured loosely at Cormac. "And the belt too," he added after a beat.

"You want 'monstrous', you're looking at the wrong one of us." Cormac cocked a thumb at Anders and winked. "I'll be at my brother's. Maybe there's a way to force it open."

"He can't aim!" Anders squawked, following Cormac toward the door.

"You know if you jam the locks, it's never coming off," Varric called after them.

* * *

Orana stood in the doorway, her smile wavering as soon as she got a look at Cormac. "Messere Cormac! I'll get Messere Artemis for you. Are you quite well? You look a bit..." She gestured vaguely.

"He's just a little caught up in something," Anders said, with a smile a little too wide.

"Lounge?" Cormac asked Orana, and she nodded. "I can find it."

Artemis appeared minutes later, Fenris at his side. "Everything all right?" Artie asked, looking his brother over, eyes wide in concern. "Orana sounded worried. Did something happen? Nothing happened, did it?" Cormac looked to be in one piece, at least, but he trusted Anders to clean up the worst of his brother's stupidity.

"Nothing happened, Artie," Anders said before Cormac did. "No need to get your undergarments in a twist." He bit back a snicker at a joke Artie didn't get.

"You know, he's the only one in the room who's supposed to be wearing undergarments. You don't wear them, all of Kirkwall would know if Fenris wore them, I don't wear them _on purpose_." Cormac turned his attention to his brother. "Good morning, brother dear. You don't happen to know why I seem to be wearing steel smalls, do you? Maybe you have the key?"

"You... what?" Artemis looked down and, now that Cormac mentioned it, he could see that the line of the robes was slightly off. Eyeing Cormac, Artie reached down to trace the line the steel drew in Cormac's robes, and his eyebrows shot up. After glancing over his shoulder to make sure Orana wasn't in sight, he rucked up Cormac's robes and peered under them. "What. Is that...?"

Artemis stared a moment longer before dropping the robes, filling the room with his wheezing laughter. "Why the _fuck_ are you wearing a chastity belt? Are you into that, now?"

"And that, brother dear, is the hundred-sovereign question. Why am I wearing a chastity belt? I certainly didn't put it on myself. You know how much I enjoy the humid Kirkwall breeze against my nethers." Cormac was just that little bit too calm. "I thought maybe Anders had some delightful plans for the evening that involved me spending the day painfully appreciating his delightful figure, but alas, no. I thought perhaps this might be your doing, some wicked plan to lure me back to your lovely garden -- did I hear you'd gotten some Tevinter pieces, after the wedding? But, no, it would appear this is not your doing, either. So, here I am, with no idea why I'm wearing a chastity belt, or who could have gotten me into one, without waking me up."

"That's really the part that concerns me," Anders admitted. "You know your brother wakes up every time the stone settles. I suspect he might have been drugged."

Artie gave Anders an odd look. "Are you sure? He used to sleep through _everything_ back in Lothering..."

Cormac cleared his throat. "Well, you had enough going on. Didn't need to be worried about what I knew. You'd wake me, and I'd go right back to sleep, anyway."

Anders looked back and forth between the two of them, trying to put the rest of that together. He and Fenris shared questioning looks over Artemis's shoulder.

Artie's face turned red enough to let out its own heat. He looked at everything but Cormac. "Oh."

Fenris cleared his throat. "As to the... matter at hand," he said, one eyebrow twitching. "If you were drugged, there are worse things that could have happened. Likely this is someone who knows you, probably someone who knows how annoyingly loud you can be." Fenris made a face, ears jutting at weird angles. "So that leaves us half of Kirkwall, really."

"Only half?" Artie asked, still red in the face. "Looks like Anders needs to try harder."

"Bethany wouldn't get near my sausage and eggs if her life depended on it," Cormac pointed out, "and that's the loudest anyone gets about me being loud inside the house. Do you know she actually wrote a four-hundred-page treatise on my sex life? Just to make a point!" He shook his head. "Anton sleeps like the dead, as long as he can identify the noise, and he's got Cullen to keep his mind off what I'm doing in the other room. Really doesn't seem like Bodhan's style. Pretty sure the dog and goat together don't have enough thumbs for this, but maybe if the cats helped..."

"Isabela," Anders suggested. "You haven't seen her in weeks. You said it, yourself -- you meant to get her to pick the locks. It's a guarantee that puts you right where she wants you and at her mercy."

"Seems a little extra sneaky, for Izzy, though. She's more the type to just show up naked in my bed, and never mind the politics." Cormac shrugged, reaching out to cup Artie's cheek, firmly, for a moment. They'd have to talk about that, at some point, Cormac figured, but now was likely not the time.

"Sandal?" Fenris suggested drolly. He leaned back against the doorframe, arms folded. "Perhaps it's an enchanted chastity belt." He didn't bother keeping the smile off his face. "I will not lie; I would have been tempted if I lived in the same house." He pushed off the doorframe, approaching the brothers to wrap his arms around the one he'd married. "Perhaps it was Meredith. Templar vigilance, and all."

Artie bit his lip, cheek twisting under Cormac's hand as he smirked. He still didn't quite meet Cormac's eyes. "Meredith picking out chastity belts for all suspected mages? There's a thought. As long as I don't end up in one."

"Oh, I think you'd look delightful in one!" Cormac teased. "Especially with Fenris and I there to put all sorts of terrible ideas in your head. Can you imagine it?" He paused. "Of course, that would only be delightful if we actually had the key for it. Which, right now, we don't, and that is much less delightful."

"I've got five silver that says I can defeat the purpose of the belt, even if I can't pick the locks," Anders said, after a moment's consideration. "Someone knows just enough about you to know you get loud, but not enough to know what actually gets you going." Smirking at Artie, he chewed on his lip, contemplatively. "You want to see if I'm right?"

Artie smiled, and Fenris sighed against his mage's neck, turned his head to nibble at his ear.

"I think someone's already putting terrible ideas in your head, Amatus," Fenris murmured.

"Indeed," Artie agreed. "They _are_ my favourite kind. What do you have in mind, Anders?"

"Oh, you've got some lovely stone floor, in other rooms. It wouldn't be difficult to mop up a bit of blood." Anders gave an exaggerated shrug.

Cormac sucked a quick breath between his teeth, shifting uncomfortably. He glanced down and a smile touched the corner of his mouth. "Someone doesn't know me very well, _at all_."

Anders sighed, smiling over Cormac's head in sly amusement. "I'll fix that, when you break it, along with everything else I'm going to break."

Cormac seemed to vibrate, as his left thigh started to twitch. "You keep talking like that, and you might not have to touch me, at all." He turned an inquisitive eye on Artemis. "But, I wouldn't want to deprive my brother of the pleasure. Assuming, of course, that's something you'd take pleasure in."

Artie grinned back at his brother, shivering when Fenris's teeth worried at the shell of his ear.

"I can see to your brother's pleasure, Cormac," Fenris said in a low purr, hips tilting up against Artemis's ass in an obvious suggestion.

"That would be a fun game," Artie said to Anders and Fenris. "See just how riled up we can get him without actually touching him." He slid a smirk in Cormac's direction. "We should probably send Orana out, however."

A flicker of betrayal darted across Cormac's face, and he studied the bottles on the other side of the room. "Whatever you want, Artie. Always."

"I am in favour of whatever game involves me not touching Cormac," Fenris replied wryly. He kissed Artemis's neck and pulled back. "I shall tell her. Perhaps she can visit Evie."

Anders heard the change in Cormac's voice, how it went flat and a little distant. "Okay, I don't have that kind of faith in my abilities, so if you'd rather I didn't get blood all over the floor, maybe we should do this outside. How's the garden looking, these days? I haven't seen it since..." He coughed and rubbed his eyebrow with the back of his wrist. Since he'd set it on fire, at the wedding. Of course, given how many people were sure Danarius started the fire, he couldn't be sure it was his fault, but he certainly didn't improve the situation.

"Still growing back in," Artemis sighed, "but... serviceable. A bit like Cormac's chest hair after our last brush with a magister. But I can show you our, uh, new furniture. Which is easy to clean, of blood or... other things." He eyed Cormac as he spoke, hating the flat tone of his voice and that disappointed look in his eyes. Artie walked up to his brother, gave Cormac's beard a teasing tug, and pulled him into a kiss. "You should know when I'm teasing you, brother-dear," he murmured. "In fact, you should assume I'm always teasing you. Every word I say, a tease and not to be trusted."

In the doorway, Fenris coughed pointedly, and Artemis drew back in time to bid Orana goodbye as she made for the door.

"Are you saying the untrustworthy dick flowers were accurate? My, my... I suppose I owe Fenris an apology for offering to punch him in the teeth." Cormac shot Fenris a sly smile, around Artie's shoulder. "You should know I take you at your word, when you tell me what you want, little brother. And you should be ever so careful what comes out of your mouth, lest I actually _do it_."

"Speaking of mouths," Anders said, after a beat, "nothing goes in Cormac's until we're done here. I need to know if we screw up, and I need to know it as soon as possible. So, yes, this is going to be loud."

"Awww!" Cormac whined, stepping back to nuzzle under Anders's chin. "Nothing?"

Anders remained unmoved. "Nothing. You can put that in your mouth, later."

Fenris sighed. "Should I send away the neighbours too, then? The last thing we need is Aveline knocking on our door because the neighbours thought someone was being murdered."

"Aveline would know better," Artemis pointed out. "She knows what a screaming Cormac means. She knows what a screaming Cormac _sounds_ like."

"So does the rest of Kirkwall," Fenris muttered.


	229. Chapter 229

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Artemis finally gets to make his brother bleed for him.

Artemis winked at Cormac and led the others out into the garden. It looked less like a warzone than it had, and patches of grass Anders had last seen on fire had been filled back in and saplings had been planted in the sparser areas. Artie gestured at them and shrugged. "Not as... neat as it was," he muttered, one hand twisting in his hair, "but there it is. The pond still looks nice."

Which is where Artie led them next. Anders and Fenris pointedly did not look at each other, remembering the last time it had been just the four of them around, and in, the pond.

"The pond looks lovely." Cormac stopped and took his brother's face in his hands. "There was a war, here. An invasion. The entire garden looks lovely, now. You can hardly tell."

Anders glanced around, nodding. "It's definitely attractive, even if it looks a little less dense than before." His eyes lit on the chain hanging from one tree. "Is that a-- It is, isn't it. You've put in a sling." He turned around, slowly, eyeing the rest of the garden. "Good angle, if I'm reading that right. You'd be able to see at least three other points of interest, from there."

"What are you talking about?" Cormac asked, squinting at the tree, and then back at Anders.

"The chain. I'm pretty sure that's the release for a sling. I knew some girls in Denerim who had one like that. You pull it and the box opens and drops it down." Anders grinned at Artemis. "Am I right, or are you just using the chain as something for the roses to climb?"

Artemis coughed into his fist, cheeks and ears flaring red. He could deny it, he supposed, but he doubted they'd believe him. "That... is not a bad assumption. In fact, it is possibly the correct assumption."

"His idea," Fenris assured Anders and Cormac, pulling an ear with one hand and pointing at his husband with the other. As if there were any doubt, regardless. "I am... generally not a fan of anything Tevinter, especially of late, but... well. Artemis has convinced me of its merits."

"There are a few good things of Tevinter make," Anders said with a smile and a pointed look at Fenris.

"So, where would you like the mage-shaped green-patch in your garden?" Cormac asked, eyeing a couple of spots. "Dad used to say blood made the grass grow." And, in Lothering, he'd taken the time to prove the point, fertilising their mother's vegetable garden with waste from the annual sheep-slaughtering. It was a lot less foul, once it was worked into the dirt.

"That's _true_?" Anders sounded a little horrified. "I always thought that was some kind of superstitious bullshit."

"Of course it's true." Cormac squinted up at Anders, shimmying out of his robes. "If shit makes the grass grow, why wouldn't blood?" He stood naked, but for the chastity belt, folding his robes.

"Ah, we should have you over more often then, to help fertilise the gardens," Artemis replied, eyeing Cormac appreciatively (and trying not to laugh at the chastity belt). His smile slipped as he added, "With blood. Because you like bleeding. Not... with shit."

"I think they understood that, Amatus," Fenris assured his husband. He pulled Artemis to him by the hem of his tunic, kissing under his mage's chin as his hands slipped under the fabric. "There is a spot there, by the tree, that could use some... fertilising, if that is your goal." Fenris darted a look in that direction. "It is looking a bit sparse."

Artemis frowned distractedly as he pulled his tunic over his head. "It is, isn't it."

"It looks fine, Amatus. I was joking."

Cormac nodded and spread himself beneath the tree, looking up at the sunlight, through the branches. "Do you remember when we used to go down to the river and lie under the trees? And you kept trying to get quince to fall on my head?"

"Artemis," Anders sighed, tilting a knife into his hand from the sheath across his lower back, "don't throw fruit at your brother."

"I'm going to second that. Throwing fruit at me would not be sexy." Propping himself on his elbows, Cormac glanced around again. "Do you even have fruit trees, out here? I don't think you do..."

"Now you're making wish I'd put in some fruit trees," Artemis replied with an exaggerated sigh. "Maybe not quinces, though. I prefer apples."

"Please do not waste apples by throwing them at your brother," Fenris said in much the same tone as Anders. "Tarts. That's what apples should be used for." He paused, catching Anders's smirk. "Not that kind of tart."

"Pies?" Anders suggested.

"That too."

"Spoilsports, the lot of you," Artie huffed. He knelt down next to Cormac, leaning over him and resting his weight on his palms. He clicked his teeth in front of Cormac's nose and grinned down at him. "Comfortable?"

"Absolutely not." Cormac grinned up. "This thing's got my sausage and eggs in a death grip. Which I'm hoping to mind a whole lot less in a minute or two." He paused and looked up at Anders. "You going to open me up, or are you going to let Artie do it?"

Anders crouched on Cormac's other side, offering the handle of the knife to Artemis. "It's very sharp. Don't push hard. You want it to bleed, but you don't want the skin to pull apart."

"Listen to Anders. He knows what he's doing, and he'll stop you from doing anything I'll regret, later." Cormac laughed, looking up at Anders fondly. "I'm so lucky to have found you."

"Everyone needs their very own sewer apostate," Anders scoffed, flicking Cormac in the nose with his other hand.

Fenris leaned against the tree, eyeing the knife and the three mages. He was still less than thrilled with the image of a mage bleeding himself and all the associations that came with it, but he'd gotten used to Cormac's... proclivities.

Artemis took the knife from Anders, hoping his uncertainty didn't show on his face. If this was what Cormac wanted, he would do it, certainly, but... "Now, when you say, 'don't push too hard', define 'too hard'." He didn't want to hurt Cormac. Well. Not in a way he didn't want to be hurt, anyway. Images of him going too far, of Cormac bleeding too much, played out in the back of his mind.

"Don't overthink it," Anders said gently. "Just take it slow. I'll let you know if you're going too far." Which was highly unlikely, considering what he and Cormac usually got up to.

Cormac watched the two men talking over him with open lust in his eyes. He wanted this. He hadn't woken up this morning wanting this, or even particularly anticipating it, but he hadn't been expecting to wake up in a chastity belt, either. As the blade touched his skin, hesitantly, at first, he wondered if Anders was right -- if this would be enough, by itself.

"Just feel it," he told Artie. "You'll know. You'll feel it in your hand, when you--" The rest of the words stopped in a sharp gasp as the blade bit into his skin, briefly. A tiny cut, but one that made his toes curl. "Yes," he sighed, "just like that."

Cormac's hand drifted down, meaning to stroke his knob, but it met metal. Of course. He still squeezed the steel where it passed between his legs, taking some comfort in the grip, if nothing else.

Artie watched Cormac's face, felt the muscles shift under his hand. He remembered Cormac making a similar face for Gantry all those years ago and remembered how badly he'd wanted to be the one to put it there... even if he would have preferred other methods.

"Like this?" Artemis asked, waiting until his hand was steady enough to cut again, blade pressing, dragging over skin before biting into it. And it was simple, once he got the hang of it, once he saw just how badly Cormac wanted it.

" _Please_ ," Cormac begged, voice tight, but much louder than it had been. He tried so hard not to squirm -- after that time he'd had to tell their dad he'd had an accident with a pitchfork, he'd made an effort to control that driving need to writhe.

"I do not understand this," Fenris said, just loud enough for Anders to hear him. The entire idea -- not just potential blood magic, but the desire to be harmed -- still bothered him, in so many ways. Artemis was simpler for him to understand -- that was a matter of control, and he understood how much Artemis feared not being controlled, whether by himself or someone else, feared the damage he could do. He had a certain amount of respect for that, really, even when it went far beyond a rational concern and bled into their bedroom. But, this... This unsettled him, deeply. This wasn't just something reasonable that had gone too far.

"Neither do I," Anders said, smiling up at Fenris, as Cormac howled and dug his heels into the ground, beneath the blade. "But, he wants it."

Artemis didn't understand it either, but in that moment, he didn't care. He stroked a hand down Cormac's stomach, felt taut muscles trembling as his brother fought to hold still. Blood flowed in fine trails, and Artie tried not to think of the mess he was making. Cormac's howling was a good distraction. More than a distraction. An inspiration. Even with the blood and potential mess, Artie's trousers were getting uncomfortably tight.

Artie bent to kiss Cormac between shouts. "You're gorgeous," he murmured. With a fond smile, he added, "Insane, but gorgeous. Perhaps insanely gorgeous?"

"Just insane," Fenris muttered under his breath.

"I'm the gorgeous one, here," Anders joked, eyes never leaving Cormac's chest. He could tell, when the knife was in his hand, just from the pressure and the tension of the stroke, but watching someone else do this was going to give him grey hair, he was sure. Still, just the sound of Cormac's voice, begging for more, made that worthwhile.

Cormac caught his breath, between cuts, little half-whimpering pants that finally gave way to words. "Is this what you wanted, when you saw me with Gantry? Do I look as good, up close, as I did from across the barn?" Biting his lip, he arched, while the blade was off his skin, eyes rolling back, before he settled again. Not there, but definitely getting there. "I wish I wasn't in this ... thing. I wish you could fuck me while I scream for you. I should be able to give you that, but..."

"Then we'll just have to do this again, won't we?" Artemis purred. If it was something Cormac wanted that badly, it was worth it. More than worth it. "Well. This minus the chastity belt." He teased the tip of the knife along the edge where steel met skin. "That must be painful, by now."

Artemis paused between slices, between Cormac's shouts, to loosen the ties to his trousers. He wanted Cormac to touch him, but that didn't seem fair, not, at least, until he'd managed to push Cormac over that edge. Artie carved more lines in Cormac's flesh, letting his reactions guide him.

Anders watched them both, brushing hair out of Cormac's face, when a breeze blew across the garden. He smiled up at Fenris, between cuts -- Fenris, who still looked a bit green. "Later," Anders mouthed, and meant it. Later, they'd talk about this, and how strange it was -- how strange all of it was, really, but Hawkes. And he'd learnt that all of them were bizarre, each in their own way. Not, he supposed, that anything less could be said of himself.

Biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, Cormac reached out and grabbed Artemis by the open front of his trousers, tugging sharply, as soon as the blade lifted again. "Come here," he demanded, moving his other hand out of the way. "I'm getting a crick in my neck with you over there."

Artemis let himself be manhandled. "Oof. I'm the one with the knife, and you're the one making demands," he teased.

Cormac grinned up at his brother, who now straddled his hips. "You love it when I make demands."

"I also love when quinces fall on your head," Artie quipped, bending to bite Cormac's chest, just hard enough to bruise. He ground down against his brother and that damnable contraption.

From this angle, Fenris could see less of the knife and the blood. That combined with the way Artie's hips rocked made for a more pleasant image.

Blade pressed to skin again, and Artemis tried to keep his hips still so he could focus. "Would love to feel you inside me right now," he sighed. "We'll add that to the list of things to do 'later'."

Pressing his hand to his chest, Cormac scooped up some of his blood. The sounds from his mouth were constant, now, and between screams he whimpered and cursed, still pleading for more, as if he could no longer stop the pleasure from pouring out. He looked Artemis in the eye and wrapped his bloody hand around his brother's knob, slowly stroking. "Come for me," he begged. "Give me that."

Anders hoped that wouldn't take long, because blood was not going to be comfortable at all after a couple of minutes. His face paled and he looked away, just long enough not to look as shaken as he was. That wasn't something he needed to be thinking about. Had nothing to do with what was happening, here. They wanted this -- they both wanted this -- aside, maybe, from the part where Artie was going to complain about the blood in his trousers, later. But, that wasn't serious. That wasn't-- He was outside, and there was sunlight, and these were his friends.

Fenris caught his eye, and Anders just shrugged dismissively.

Artie didn't have the heart to point out that he'd been trying not to get blood on him this whole time, and that this was the _last_ place he wanted blood to be. He could clean it later, he told himself. This was for Cormac. "Not sure an earthquake with a knife in my hand is the best idea," he said, voice tight with pleasure as he rocked into Cormac's hand anyway.

"Give it to Anders. He can make a few cuts, while I take care of you," Cormac panted, knowing he was going to need to wash before they got anywhere near Isabela, again. He could feel the blood rolling up over his shoulders into his hair, dripping down under his arms. But, none of that was important. His brother was important.

Anders held out his hand, debating flicking Cormac in one of the smaller gouges, but not really wanting to wear the spatter. He shoved up one of his sleeves.

Artemis relinquished the knife, relieved that that was no longer his responsibility. As Anders set to work, Artie focused on Cormac's hand, on Cormac's body beneath him, on the faces and sounds his brother was making. His spine curved and his eyes fell shut, small, appreciative sounds catching in his throat.

Fenris's ears twitched at that sound. He smirked to himself, knowing he could bring Artemis over with a touch. But this was between the two of them.

After all these years, Anders had a certain mastery with the knife. His cuts were quick and sure, and a faint charge ran down the blade from his hand. Cormac's screams were desperate and deafening, as he tried to keep his hands gentle for Artemis. His hips rolled, even as his upper back and shoulders stayed pressed to the ground. Cormac was beyond desire, out into pleas and demands, screaming and sobbing for more, as Anders thumbed the tears off his cheek between slices.

Fenris took a few deep breaths and watched Artemis, his eyes mostly away from the blood and the way Cormac's face twisted in pain. Mages. _Hawkes_.


	230. Chapter 230

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An end to this bloody mess, and then a visit to Isabela.

Artemis leaned back, steadying himself with his hands on Cormac's knees as the ground trembled, leaves rustling overhead. Artie had an image of quinces falling, the harder the ground shook, and a breathless laugh was chased by a breathless moan. He ground down hard against Cormac and his chastity belt, spurting over his brother's bloodied hand.

Artie shivered, still rocking in time with Cormac as he waited for the world to right itself. "Maker, Cormac," he panted, finally looking down and trying not to grimace at the mess he'd made of his brother.

"Do I look--" The rest of the sentence was lost to another intemperate howl, as Anders carved at Cormac's skin. "Do I look as good as you remember?" he panted, bringing his hand up to his lips to lick it clean.

Anders squeezed Cormac's nipple tightly, even as his other hand drew the knife across more skin. A bright blue spark leapt from his fingers, followed by three more, in a fairly precise rhythm, and Cormac followed his brother over, screams quick to his lips, as he pulsed against the metal of that unholy contraption around him. Anders had played him just right -- anticipating the end from the instant he took the knife. Credit where it was due, he now owed Anders five silver. He hadn't thought it would be possible.

Artemis grinned down at his brother, at his face and not the matted mess that was now his chest, and shook his head in amazement. Anders looked nothing less than smug as he wiped the blade off in the grass.

"You look, you depraved bastard," Artie said fondly, "like a mess." He brushed a strand of hair from Cormac's face. He could count on one hand the number of people he would tolerate such a mess on -- tolerate being, perhaps, a strong word -- and they were all in this garden. Artie bent to kiss Cormac, twisting his body and stretching his neck so that he wouldn't get any filthier. "I can't believe you got blood on me, you ass."

Fenris was less than surprised when Artemis stood up, shimmying out of his trousers and kicking them to the side. And, suddenly, he understood why his husband had brought them over to the pond.

"Oh, I'm depraved? Me?" Cormac protested, half-sitting, before Anders shoved him flat again. "You're the one made a mess of me!" He ran a hand across his bloody chest and flicked it at his brother.

Anders shoved Cormac down, again, healing magic spreading out from his fingers. "Andraste's gloriously bouncing bosom, Cormac, stay down until I'm done with you! You're usually better about it than this!"

"You're usually on top of me," Cormac reminded him, finally giving up, until Anders let him up. He purred as he sat, carefully pressing a kiss to Anders's lips, making sure none of the blood ended up on Anders's feathered coat, which would be a nightmare to clean. "It's a strong encouragement." With a sly smile and a wink at Anders, Cormac got up and wrapped himself around his brother, before sliding down into the water, which reddened around him.

Artemis made a disgruntled sound, kicking water in Cormac's face before sliding in after him. "Ugh! Cormac!" Artie whined, paddling over to a part of the water Cormac hadn't turned red. "And yes, you're the depraved one. It was your idea!"

Fenris shook his head as Artemis splashed his brother some more. "Hawkes," he said in the same tone he usually said, 'mages'. "So who do you think put the belt on him?" he asked Anders.

"I'd really almost put coin on Izzy, at this point." Anders shook his head. "I don't know anyone else who would both conceive of that and be able to get past the dog. I mean the d--" He stopped in the middle of the word and looked at Cormac, still talking to Fenris. "The dog's Anton's. Anton could get past the dog. I keep pushing off the idea of it being one of the Hawkes, because they've been putting up with him screaming bloody murder for decades, but _Cullen_ hasn't. I bet it's Anton. I bet Cullen flipped out, and it's Anton." Anders paused again. "But, if that's the case, why haven't any of us been on the wrong end of some late-night templar powers? I know how Cullen is. He has a nightmare, and the whole house eats a barrage of smite and silence."

"Who said he was asleep for it?" Fenris asked. "I am still leaning toward Isabela, however. That particular flavour of revenge does seem to be in keeping with her tastes, though I do wonder what he did to deserve it, as certain as I am that I do not want to know.

Cormac rinsed himself clean, working clots of blood out of his chest hair. Not a mark on him -- not that he'd expected anything different, from Anders. Still-- "Hey, Artie, can you believe it? We could start fresh, already. Look at this! It used to take me days to do this, myself!"

"You're welcome!" Anders called out.

"You've bled on me enough for one day," Artemis huffed. "And for that, next time I'll carve something obscene into your chest." Artie paddled back over to Cormac now that he was suitably clean. "Maybe my name, in big letters." He eyed Cormac. "No, you'd probably let me. Fenris's name, in big letters."

Fenris heard his name and looked over from his conversation with Anders. "What."

"Maker, no," Cormac replied, splashing his brother. "You cannot engrave your elf into my flesh in any form. See? Even he doesn't want you to."

"Please don't carve my name on him, either. I don't want people getting the wrong idea." Anders shook his head. "What about Aveline? 'Property of Aveline Vallen. Please return to owner.' She'd kill us all, but it would be worth it."

"She _would_ kill you. Especially because I'm not providing any shields, if you do that." Cormac turned a baleful eye on Anders, who tried very hard to look like he wasn't giggling.

Artie didn't bother to hide his cackles. "Oh, I like that!" he said. "That's a splendid idea. Anders, could I borrow your knife again?" Artie held out his hand and waggled his fingers, his grin devilish.

"No." Cormac glared between the two of them, jaw squared. "No and no. Have I said no? Because no. I don't care how good you make it feel, the answer is still no. The answer is not just 'no', it's 'I know where you sleep'."

"But, brother-dear," Artemis singsonged. With magic under his fingers, he pulled Cormac towards him slowly.

Fenris shook his head. "I liked it better when they were talking about putting in fruit trees."

"Don't you 'brother-dear' me, you little shit," Cormac hissed, jabbing a finger into Artie's ribs. "You are not carving Aveline's name into my skin. Unlike another brother of ours, I do not belong to the Captain of the Kirkwall Guard." His fingers darted across Artie's skin, prodding and pinching.

"If Anton belongs to her, she's sure lending him out," Anders joked, before pulling a bit of bandage out of his bag and using it to wipe a few blood spots off his hands.

Artie squeaked, twisting under Cormac's hands. "Stop!" he laughed. Cormac's hands found that sensitive spot beneath his ribs, and Artemis jerked and pushed him away, more forcefully than intended. Cormac went careening back into a tree, and though no quinces fell, a few acorns plonked off his head and into the water.

Artemis cringed. "Sorry!"

Cormac coughed and staggered to his feet. "You're lucky I'm me," he said, with a laugh, lowering the shield to shake the water off himself. He ran his hands through his hair a few times, one spell after another, until it hung much as it had before he'd gotten into the water. Pausing, he looked down at himself. "Wet leather," he groaned, after a moment, knowing there was no way he could get enough of the water out of it, that close to his skin, with that much metal attached.

"Andraste's knickers, Cormac," Anders sighed, but he hadn't thought of it either -- not even after those times he'd had to put Howe back together after long, sweaty hikes along the road to Amaranthine, that summer. "I can't stop it, but I can fix it." He shrugged.

Cormac groaned again, more loudly, and then reached for his robes. "I'll take what I can get."

Fenris almost looked sympathetic. "That is going to be uncomfortable." He handed Artemis his clothes as he stepped out of the water.

Artemis was still inspecting his trousers for stains when a messenger cleared his throat at the edge of the garden. "I'm looking for a Messere Cormac?" he said, looking above their heads as Artie scrambled to pull his trousers on. How long had that boy been standing there?

"That would be this gorgeous bastard right here," said Anders, snaking an arm around Cormac's waist. "I take it Varric sent you?"

"Yes, messere. He wanted me to tell you that 'The queen has arrived'."

"Queen?" Artie asked, brows furrowed. "We were expecting a queen?"

Cormac finished straightening his robe, batting at Anders's hands, every time they were in his way. "Izzy. I need to see Izzy about the locks." He turned back to the messenger. "We'll be right there. Thanks."

Anders, whose pockets were still where he expected them to be, tossed the messenger a coin.

* * *

Izzy laughed. Not the choked off little snickers Fenris had expected -- although it had started that way -- but full-on crying gales of laughter. "Oh Maker, Cormac," she said to the mage in question, robes hiked up over his hips. Her thumb wiped at the corner of her eye. "That's a good look for you, you know. Leather and metal." She purred and threw a wink at Fenris.

"Personally, I think he looks better naked," Anders replied. "Or at least with the leather somewhere other than his crotch. I was using that."

"I'll bet," said Isabela, biting her lip against a smirk. "Though that's really less of an issue when you have a key." With a flick of a wrist, Izzy pulled a key from what looked like thin air and dangled it from her fingertips.

"I knew it!" Fenris declared, pointing at her. "So it _was_ you!"

"Me?" Isabela pressed a hand to her chest and put on her best shocked look, before she burst out laughing again. "Now, why would it be me?" A few more choked off cackles, and she went on. " _Anton_. He's very upset with you, you know."

"Me?" Cormac echoed. "What did I do!?"

Isabela didn't answer, directly, just reached into a drawer and tossed Anders a ball gag.

He caught it, figured out what it was, and dropped it. "No."

"It's not for _you_ , Sparklefingers." Isabela hefted herself onto the edge of her dresser, to sit, then cocked a thumb at Cormac. "Let's just say Cullen's been sleeping in his office, and there's a bit of sibling... rivalry? Envy? It's Kirkwall, you know. You're lucky he didn't set demons on you, _by accident_."

This time it was Artemis choking back a laugh. He coughed into his fist, composing himself, and added, "Sound carries in that house. I almost invested in earplugs once or twice while I lived there. I'm... less than surprised, now that I think about it." He didn't quite look anyone in the eye as he said that, though he could feel Fenris's wry look.

"Told you," Anders said, snapping his fingers and pointing at Fenris. "The dog. That should have been our first clue."

"But you still knew about it," Artemis pointed out, addressing Izzy.

"Of course I knew. Where do you think he _got_ the thing? Granted, I didn't know it was going on _Cormac_ , but this is much more entertaining." Isabela beckoned Cormac with the curl of one finger. "Come here, mage-shoulders. Let's unsheathe your staff, shall we?"

"I don't know how much you'll get out of that staff, after what Anders just did to me," Cormac complained, canting his hips forward, so Isabela could reach the locks.

"Are you _whining_ about that?" Anders laughed. "You were definitely not whining at the time. Whimpering, maybe, but not whining."

"Ooooh!" Isabela shivered with delight, unfastening one of the locks. "What did you do?"

"Let's just say I'm lucky I didn't get us both arrested for blood magic," Anders's chuckle was a little less proud, this time.

"Well, if you wore him out, I guess it's going to take a little longer to pay me back for this little rescue." Isabela winked at Artemis. "Maybe you want to be getting home, before I get this off him. Don't worry; I'll take good care of your brother. ... And the healer, if he'll let me."

"The healer has had this conversation with you before," Anders drawled.

Artemis cleared his throat and patted Cormac on the shoulder. "Enjoy the freedom, big brother," he said. "We'll be at home if you need us." He glanced at Fenris and, seeing the look on his face, added, "Well. We'll be home after a drink or two, since we're here." He wasn't thrilled with the Hanged Man's filth, but at least it was filth he was familiar with.

Izzy waited until they'd left before she unfastened the other lock. "Maybe I should have invited them to the party, if the healer isn't going to play," she said with a teasing pout in Anders's direction.

"The healer is going to heal," Anders muttered, dropping into the chair on one side of the room. "You first. Then don't break him too horribly."

Isabela waited as she glowed, first green, then blue, and then Anders flicked a hand at her. "I'm not sure there is a 'too horribly' with this one."

"There's definitely a 'too horrible'," Cormac replied, tossing himself backward onto the bed, "and keep that thing away from me."

Isabela laughed. "You know, there's a very nice templar who likes that very much."

"Templars. I always knew there was something wrong with templars," Cormac muttered. "You sure you don't want to join us, gorgeous?"

"Why would I join, when I can just watch, and touch far fewer questionable things?" Anders tugged at the laces on his trousers without making any move to get up. "And I'm sure I can turn you into raw meat, again, when we get home."

Cormac shivered at the thought, toes pointing.


	231. Chapter 231

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aveline's troubles continue, this time with the Templars.

Anton heard Aveline's voice before he saw her. Barked words to her guardsmen filled the barracks and echoed up the stairs as he trotted down them.

"Guardsmen," she called out, "duties for the week will be..."

Anton lingered at the landing, leaning against the wall and watching her pace in front of the lines of guards, their backs ramrod straight.

"Lowtown canvas," called out one guard. "Five on, three off."

"City perimeter by twos," said Donnic, the twitch of a smile breaking his stern expression as he caught Aveline's eye, "clear by second watch."

"Training recruits," said a third guard, "full metal by week's end."

"Anything else, Captain?" Donnic asked, his smile creeping higher.

"No," Aveline said. "Thank you."

"Well, well, if it isn't the Champion of Kirkwall." Aveline crossed her arms and glowered. "Have you come to turn yourself in for crimes against this city? That would be heroic."

"If I'd committed any crimes against this city, I might consider it. By and large, though, I empty Orlesian and Tevinter pockets back into the local markets." Anton held out a box. "Speaking of the markets, it came to my attention that these might be your style."

"You can't buy your way back into my good graces, Anton," Aveline snapped, making no move to take the box.

Anton looked hurt -- not even the dramatic face he'd put on for a good show, but actually hurt. "I'm not trying to. What, a man can't buy a gift for his oldest friend?"

That gave Aveline a moment's pause. He was right, she realised. They'd known each other longer than either of them had known almost anyone else in the city, with the exception of his siblings. They'd come up the road, together, after Lothering fell, and crossed half of Thedas, in each others' company. And he was _stupid_ , yes. But, she was no longer sure it had been a particularly malicious stupidity. That was just... Anton. Anton, the revolutionary. Anton, the _thief_. Anton, the Champion of Kirkwall, which was still just horrendously wrong.

"Fine. It better not be more fake 'Ser Aveline' junk," she grumbled, taking the box.

Anton merely gestured at the box, wise enough not to point out that she still used her 'fake Ser Aveline junk' on a nearly daily basis. "Just take a look. If you don't like them, I'm sure I can find another use for them. But they made me think of you, first."

Aveline's eyes stayed narrowed in suspicion as she opened the box, sighing as though greatly put-upon. She stilled when she saw the contents: a pair of gauntlets. The sunlight from the window gleamed off the polished steel, outlining the graceful bends and curves, highlighting the detailed etching and the embossed design of an iris on the cuff. They were beautiful but well-made, and they matched the damned shield she pretended to hate.

"What is this?" Aveline asked, schooling her face to show no reaction, not yet, not while she was still processing this. She'd seen these gauntlets before, displayed in a shop window, and knew exactly how ridiculously priced they were. She knew because she'd asked the shopkeeper about them with one hand already in her coinpurse.

"A gift," said Anton, trying not to show how anxious he was for a reaction. "I know you are familiar with the concept. Well? Do you hate it? Should I pawn them off to Carver instead and hope he likes irises?"

Aveline struggled with herself. Had he known, somehow, that she wanted them? Did he know her so well he could just tell? Or had he bought them to match the shield? Had he bought them at all? And, really, with Anton, that was always the question. "Did you pay for these?"

"You know I would never bring you anything I didn't pay for. You're the Captain of the Guard. How would that look?" Anton folded his arms, looking dreadfully insulted at the very idea. "I have never, and I'm not going to start."

"So, what, you just saw them and thought of me?" Aveline scoffed.

"You were all I could imagine, from the moment I laid eyes on them." It was true, but it conveniently left out the part where Donnic had told him she'd been eyeing them. "Look at them. Strong and beautiful, just like you."

"Knock it off, before I call Donnic back in here to punch you." Aveline set the box on her desk and took out one of the gauntlets, studying it in the light from the window.

"Oh! Not even going to punch me yourself?" Anton pressed the back of his hand to his forehead. "Oh, you wound me more than any fist could!"

"If I punched you, I'd get blood on my new gauntlets," Aveline muttered, a stripe of red settling across the tops of her cheeks. She did still want to punch him, but it was Anton -- she'd wanted to punch Anton since they met on the road. Bethany was the only sane member of that family.

Anton grinned at the threats of violence. That, he thought, sounded more like the Aveline he'd known when they'd first come to Kirkwall. "Ah, 'your' new gauntlets. Then you like them!"

"I did not say that," Aveline huffed, halfway through putting one on.

"Admit it. You'd hate to see them go to Carver."

"Only because Carver would dent them against Cormac's shields. Repeatedly." She tried not to smile at the way they fit, flexing her fingers and testing the give of the joints. They still needed to be broken in, of course, but they sat well on her hands.

"And you would much rather dent them on villains' skulls," Anton said, nodding sagely and pretending not to notice her determinedly not-smiling expression. "That is a much worthier cause, I agree."

"And I know just the villain to start with. How is my favourite villain doing?" Aveline asked, looking pointedly at Anton.

"You mean Varric? He's great." Anton grinned. "I think he's got a thing going with a girl who killed a Carta boss or something. She's been spending a lot of time hanging around his rooms."

Aveline snorted. "Varric. Of course. I couldn't possibly be talking about the master of underhanded acts currently standing in my office."

"Master? Ooh. I like the sound of that. That's even better than the Ass Bandit of Kirkwall." Anton batted his eyes and leaned against a bookcase.

"Ass Bandit of--" Aveline turned a horrified look on him.

Anton winked. "It's what Cullen calls me."

Aveline groaned, covering her face with both gauntleted hands. "Amazing. Now we have the Ass Pirate _and_ the Ass Bandit. It's a miracle there are any asses left in this city. I should arrest you both for public indecency."

"My name would be in good company! I may be the last of the Hawke brothers _not_ to have been picked up for that!" Anton looked much too amused with himself. "Really, though, Aveline. How are things? I've been trying to keep the coast clear for you, because I know how hard it is if you've only got two guards and a whole team of smugglers. You don't need to lose men to things like that."

"No, I don't," Aveline murmured, looking down at her gauntlets. Her expression softened, not quite in guilt but not quite in gratefulness either, landing instead somewhere between the two. "I imagine the smugglers have come to fear the mighty Ass Bandit, then."

"The Ass Bandit gives them good reason to." Anton smirked. "But I think they're starting to think twice before messing with your guardsmen, and not because of me. Your guards look like they could give the templars a run for their sovereigns." He tipped his head in the direction of the hall, where he'd found her issuing orders when he came in. "Though don't tell the husband I said that."

Aveline harrumphed. "Paying me compliments, buying me things... I think the Knight-Captain would come to some conclusions." Her gauntlets clicked as she opened and closed her fists. "As for my guardsmen, they've had to be that way. Without a viscount, the Order thinks they can bark at any man in uniform." She clenched her jaw. "I won't have it. The people of Kirkwall need to see themselves in their guard. Lose that connection, we're just targets."

Anton nodded. Meredith had been getting out of hand lately, but, "I'll talk to Cullen about that. You shouldn't need to put up with it."

"Thank you. I do wonder what he's been thinking. It's not the templars' place to be out on the street like this!" Aveline shook her head. "I don't want to get between the two of you, but do you know what he's trying to do?"

"Get home at night." Anton shook his head. "It's not him. It's Meredith. She's been keeping him buried in paperwork. You know she brought him on because he was mercilessly straight and by the book, but she's stepping out some, and I think she knows he might not be good for it." He paused, straightening up and then leaning against the bookcase again. "I don't know what we're going to do if he loses his job. It's not just his job. It's the lyrium. And after all the time I spent cracking down on lyrium smuggling... It just feels like a bad joke."

"If he doesn't die from it, I could always use another guardsman." Aveline wasn't sure what else to say. "Maybe he can have my job, if he's so good at paperwork." She gestured irritatedly at her desk.

Anton almost smiled. "Speaking of which, they haven't taken any shots at you, have they?"

"As much as the templars want my authority, they don't seem to want my job." Aveline laughed. "Just shows they're not ready to do what it takes."

"And thank the Maker for that," Anton replied. "Andraste help the templar who tries to cross you."

Aveline met his words with a dangerous smirk. She closed up the box, pulled off her gauntlets and laid them neatly on her desk. "I'm not sure even Andraste could," she said. She regarded the Hawke in front of her, remembering how angry she'd once been with him. "Thank you, Anton. It's good to see you, surprisingly."

"It's always good to see me. I'm a good sight."

Aveline knew that was Anton-speak for 'it's good to see you too'.


	232. Chapter 232

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The (consensual) return of the chastity belt!

Anton hadn't been home much, the last few days -- between his usual games and trying once again to weasel back into Aveline's good graces he managed to dodge Cormac entirely, until he left to head up the coast, for the weekend with Merrill and the twins. It wasn't so much that he wanted to drag Carver along as that he needed a sword and Cullen really wanted Carver out of the Gallows for a few days, before anyone else got punched.

So, Cormac was left observing the chastity belt that Anton had stuck him in, totally unable to exact his vengeance upon his brother. For a moment, he considered heading down to see Isabela, and getting her to tell horrifying stories about Anders. He was sure she'd been holding some back, even after all this time -- mostly because of the looks that passed between her and Anders, almost every time his name came out of her mouth. But, he wasn't in a good position to leverage that, after the difficulties with the belt, earlier in the week.

For a moment, he was stumped. Stumped and bored, which was an unusual situation for a man of his abundant and bizarre interests. He picked up his quill and knocked off a quick column for the Gazette -- more magical theory, just to put the idea of non-threatening magic to the general populace -- but, he couldn't stay with it. The maps tacked above his desk just irritated him. The documents Merrill had brought him looked fascinating, but... he couldn't get his head around them. This had usually been the mood in which he went over the books and wrote angry letters to Hubert, but Hubert was out of the picture, and the mine was doing rather well. A few reports from Natia's exploratory teams sat on the corner of his desk, but he'd skimmed them, and as interested as he'd be, later, he wasn't, then.

First, Cormac tried a sandwich, but the sandwich didn't solve the problem. He thought about playing in the yard with Sandal and the goat, but he just didn't have the patience. Thinking he might talk Anders into a quick romp, he took a pot of tea downstairs, only to leave it beside the desk, when he found Justice writing faster than he could blot pages.

His brother, he decided. He'd go see Artemis, and he'd bring along that steel and leather artefact, now that it was no longer attached to his person, and they could have a good laugh and a few drinks. It really was well-made, with the joints outside the leather, to avoid catching skin unpleasantly. A tool for restraint, not torment. At least, not in itself. And maybe after a few drinks, he'd have a look through the library and see if he couldn't find a spell for containing sound. There really wasn't any reason for Anton to be hearing him, and if it had come to _this_ , perhaps he'd make the effort. Not necessarily to _use_ the spell, but to have it, just in case.

* * *

Artemis thumbed through the latest issue of the Gazette, hooking his legs over the arm of his favourite chair and munching on a pear as he read, careful to catch the juice in his palm. Page 6 had been uninspiring this week, something nauseating about a pair of coquettish noblewomen, with dialogue straight out of an Orlesian romance. Not one of the usual writers, by the cadence, and Artie had lost interest by the third line.

This article about the 'Enigma of Kirkwall', however... It put him in mind of a few things he'd heard Cormac mutter over his books and maps. Orana poked her head in the door, and Artemis dog-eared the corner of the page for later reference. "Orana," Artie said, pausing to lick pear juice off his lips. "Why don't we hold off on dinner until Fenris is awake? I don't want his food to get cold, and... that's not why you popped in, is it?"

Orana smiled indulgently and stood aside to let Cormac stand in the doorway. "Visitor for you, messere," she said.

"Oh! Cormac." Artie set down the Gazette and unhooked his legs from the arm of the chair, only to frown down at the half-eaten pear and the juice it was dripping down his fingers.

"Are you having the day I'm having?" Cormac asked, nodding to Orana as he stepped around her and threw himself into a chair. "I'm having one of those days where nothing is wrong, but everything is terrible. Figured it was time to come visit my favourite brother." He set down the oddly-bulging bag he'd been carrying. "And I promised to bring you something, I believe. However good it might have looked on me, it feels like it's a little more your style than mine."

"Would messere like something to drink?" Orana asked.

"For once, I'm not here to exploit my brother-in-law's taste in wine," Cormac said, with a laugh, and Orana ducked out, with a smile. "Ladies on Page Six weren't so great," Cormac pointed out, after a moment, nodding at the Gazette. "I think they picked up a new writer. I'm all in favour of naked noblewomen, but you'd think this person's never heard a woman speak. You getting into that Mystery of Kirkwall series?" He knew damn well it was the 'enigma', but he also wasn't going to admit to being the writer. That was how the Gazette worked. You didn't tell anyone you wrote for it, and nobody knew who owned it, but there were a couple of places in town that manuscripts could be conveniently deposited for pickup.

"Was just catching up on it," Artemis said. "I wondered if you read it. Something about it reminded me of you and your theories. Seemed right up your alley." He took the last few bites of his pear, determined to finish it so he wouldn't be left holding it. As he chewed he tilted his head at Cormac's bag. "So what did you bring? You know I'm not a fan of robes, and as much as I enjoy getting into your pants, metaphorically, your literal pants would be swimming on me." He kept his voice pitched low just in case Orana was listening.

"Yeah, well... This was a beautiful fit for me, but I think it's adjustable." Cormac tossed the bag to Artie, gently, the weight obvious in the way it arced out of his hand. "Besides, we're mages. If you're into it, I'll make it fit." He hoped that was a valid offer, really, but he was relatively sure from the way the thing was assembled that some of the metal could be removed. He just hoped that wouldn't make the leather more uncomfortable.

Artemis peered into the bag and took a moment to stutter at its contents, red streaking his cheeks, before he settled on actual, recognizable words. "The... belt. Are you serious? You're serious." That ridiculous chastity belt. That Cormac had come in. And, Maker, that memory made the heat rush to more than his cheeks. "Is this you trying to tell me something?" he teased. "That I need to wear one of these?"

"Might be more effective than even your trousers of infinite belts." Cormac grinned, tugging the strand of keys out of the front of his robes. "I had the key copied. One for Fenris, of course, and one for me, in case he misplaces it. You don't want to have to negotiate with Isabela, if he loses the key." He paused, watching Artie's face. "And I wasn't saying you _need_ one. I was saying you might _like_ one. You're more into that sort of thing than I am, and Anders... well... Anders rather wanted to set the thing on fire."

Artemis rubbed the leather between his fingers as he considered. This was odd, he thought. He honestly didn't see the appeal. Stuck wearing this as Cormac or Fenris drove him mad, straining against leather and metal as they teased him to the point of begging, pleading on his knees for them to... oh. Well.

Artie cleared his throat. "This is... yes. I think I see what you mean."

Oh, Fenris would love this.

"Do you want to see if we can get it to fit you, and we can give your elf the key, after dinner?" Cormac asked, watching recognition spread across his brother's face. "If you want, we could have a bit of fun with it, just to make sure it's a good idea, before we get his hopes up..." A smile teased at the corner of Cormac's mouth.

Artemis licked his lips, darted a look at the doorway where Orana had been just a few minutes ago. "Spare bedroom. Upstairs. You remember the one." Artie had barely been in that room since that time Cormac had stayed the night. He was up from the chair and heading for the stairs without even waiting for an answer.

It took Cormac a moment to get up, but he followed without a word, pulling the door shut behind them, once they'd entered the room. He backed Artie into a bedpost and kissed him, demandingly, pressed close against him. "So... you want this?" Cormac asked, that sly smile still clinging to his lips. "You want me to make you completely unfuckable, and then tease you until you cry?" Honestly, though, he hoped Artie wouldn't cry. He'd never be able to forgive himself for that, even if it _was_ what his brother wanted.

Artemis hooked a hand in Cormac's robes and pulled his brother flush against him. "Well, technically," he purred, biting his lip and looking coyly away. "Not _completely_ unfuckable. Not unless you plan to gag me too." Which... was an interesting thought, yes, but probably too much in this particular instance.

Cormac tried to look delighted at the idea, but that one still scared him pretty badly. On the other hand, he'd watched Artie swallow more of Anders than he could ever hope to fit in his own mouth, without any lasting ill-effects. Maybe this would be okay. "Let's get this thing on you, first, and then we can worry about what I'm going to do to you, while you're in it," he suggested, tugging at the bag Artie still held.

Artie pulled the belt out of the bag and let the bag drop to the floor. For all his acting, he could tell Cormac was less thrilled about the idea than he was, and he wouldn't press the issue. "You want me to wear this through dinner?" He handed Cormac the belt so he could deal with his clothing, watching Cormac as he pulled at the laces to his trousers. "Knowing I'm at your mercy?" He pushed his pants down past his hips, eased them to the floor and stepped out, wiggling his fingers at the contraption in Cormac's hands.

Kneeling, Cormac opened the belt along the hinges, which, while they weren't unbreakable, would be more effort to break, once the belt was on, than the locks would be to pick. Still, with it off, they came apart fairly easily, and Cormac shortened the waist, before slipping the contraption between his brother's legs. He was able to fit it with minimal skin contact, despite the rather close fit of the front, which answered some questions he'd had about Anton getting the thing onto him. He felt much better, and he was sure Anton had, too. "At my mercy? Hm. That does have a nice sound to it, doesn't it?" Cormac smiled, pressing a kiss to Artie's thigh as he took out one of the keys and locked the belt. "I do want you to wear it all through dinner. After that, I think it's up to Fenris."

Artemis ran his hand through Cormac's hair and tugged him gently to his feet. This would be worth it alone just for the look on Fenris's face. "Cosy," Artie drawled, flexing his thighs and shifting his weight, judging how it would sit. For a moment, he wondered if he had agreed too readily, if this was all just some elaborate vengeance for that time Cormac had lost that bet to him. But then again, Artie hoped his brother was smart enough not to piss off Fenris in that way.

"Should I wake him, then?" Artemis asked as he pulled up his trousers, punctuating the question with a soft kiss.

"Perhaps you should." Cormac grinned and squeezed his brother's much less squeezable bottom. "This does no favours to the Hawke ass," he sighed. "Do you think we should tell him before we sit down, or should we wait until after dinner to let him in on the secret?"

Artemis bit his lip as he considered. Teasing an unknowing Fenris all through dinner was an entertaining thought, but... the alternative was Cormac and Fenris teasing him. "Why don't we tell him?" he said with a lopsided grin.

He doubted they'd make it through dinner.


	233. Chapter 233

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cormac meets one of his brother's new garden ornaments, and Artemis pleads to be pleased upon it. Fenris looks terribly smug about the whole ordeal, thus far.

At Fenris's insisting, they made it through multiple courses of dinner _and_ dessert. The improbably patient bastard. They traded touches over their plates and under the table, sometimes with Fade-blue skin against Artie's. And Artemis could see Fenris smirking around his wine every time he squirmed in his seat.

Cormac watched, mostly, seated, as he was, at the other side of the table. As foolish as it seemed, separating himself from the couple made his fond, if exasperated, glances much more believable, while Orana was in the room. And a few feet was no obstacle to a well-aimed spark. But, by the end of the meal, watching his brother squirm almost unceasingly, he was somewhat relieved when Fenris gave Orana the rest of the night off.

Untying one of the keys, Cormac tossed it across the table, to Fenris. "Well, that was my plan for an exciting evening. The rest is up to you." He'd give Fenris the option to tell him to get the fuck out. It was only fair -- he had woken up in the middle of this, and nobody asked him.

And Fenris considered doing just that for a moment, but he didn't want to see the disappointment on Artemis's face.

"Hmm." Fenris toyed with the key, walking it across his knuckles, a sly smile pulling up one corner of his lips. He pretended not to notice the way Artie leaned toward him, blue eyes equal parts pleading and eager. "You are right. This was an exciting evening. We could, perhaps, both pocket our keys and do it all over again over breakfast."

"Fen." Artemis would deny that came out as a whine.

"Or we could continue our evening upstairs. Or in the garden. There's still light enough for that, if not for much longer. We never did get to show him our new lawn furniture, Amatus."

"I'm always up for exciting lawn furniture -- provided Carver never realises what it is. Do you know he punched me for Anton's?" Cormac shook his head. "I hope you have torches, if we stay out there, though. I'd hate to think of not being able to see the result of our efforts, if we decide not to rush."

"Rushing leads to mistakes," Fenris pointed out. "Mistakes and missed opportunities. We should definitely take our time, don't you think, Amatus?" The tiniest smile settled onto his lips.

"I'd hate to make a mistake with something so precious," Cormac purred, and Fenris glared at him. "Hey, that's my brother. I get to say things like that."

"You two are terrible," Artie whined. "I shouldn't have agreed to this." As though he weren't enjoying every minute.

Fenris's smirk said he knew better. "You can't blame it on the drink this time, Amatus," he said, right in Artemis's ear just to watch him shiver. His mage never seemed to tire of hearing his voice, and Fenris was still learning all the ways to use that to his advantage. "Shall we?" Fenris hooked a finger in the waistband of Artie's trousers, thumb toying over the laces, and led his mage out into the garden, trusting Cormac to follow.

"Terrible," Artie repeated with affection.

"Awful," Cormac agreed, bringing up the rear. "The very worst. As you've said again and again." He pinched Artemis's bottom as best he could, with the belt in the way of the best parts. "So very terrible, the worst brother -- until you want something, and then I'm your favourite. This is how brothers are, Fenris. Be glad you're just borrowing mine." He rolled his eyes and wrapped an arm around Artie's shoulders, as they passed through the doors into the garden.

"Borrowing yours? I think I've done a great deal more than just borrow him," Fenris pointed out, leading the way through the slender trees and marble furniture.

"An extended loan. Let it never be said the Hawkes are ungenerous," Cormac teased.

"Indeed. Your brother is a higher quality than the rest of his family, combined," Fenris shot back.

"This is true," Artemis agreed with mock solemnity. "With his refined taste, Fenris makes a fine Hawke connoisseur. He's also very good with wine." Artemis slipped an arm under Cormac's, giving his ass a squeeze before holding his hip instead. "Though I suppose it depends on the flavour you prefer."

"And your taste in wine and food, Amatus, is as terrible as your cooking."

The sun wasn't as high in the sky as it had been the last time the three of them had ventured into the gardens (with Anders), and the trees cut longer shadows along the grass. Fenris led them to a piece of furniture that didn't look like furniture at all but more like an ornament with its detailed latticework and Tevinter-style carving. Artemis saw where Fenris was leading them, and his eyes lit.

"Your taste in Hawkes is pretty piss, too," Cormac joked. "Anton's the handsome one."

"I have seen enough Hawke ass to last me a lifetime, and none of it has been Anton's. Let us keep it that way," Fenris grumbled, hip-checking Artemis across the rounded top of the ornament. "Will you hold the grips or must I bind you?" he asked, sliding a finger up the inside of Artemis's thigh. "I would rather not have to bind you, just yet. You're still dressed."

Artemis shivered at the question, reaching down to grip the handles. "Then maybe we should change that," he suggested, rolling his hips invitingly as he found a position that was comfortable.

"Impatient," Fenris tutted, looming over Artemis but no longer touching him. "Perhaps if you asked more nicely."

"Please."

Cormac smiled and leaned on the engraved flowers at one end of the curved surface. It would be a cask, he thought, if it were hollow, and he wondered if it were. If not, that was a lot of stone and terribly heavy, and he rather hoped the earthquakes wouldn't harm it. "'Please', he says," Cormac scoffed. "I don't know about that. Where's the passion? Where's the desire?"

He dipped the tips of his fingers into the top of Artemis's trousers and held a light current through the metal of the belt -- just enough to tingle where it touched the skin without leather. "Come on, tell us what you want. Beg for it."

Artie arched into Cormac's touch, a whimper shivering past his lips. His grip tightened and loosened around the handles in time to his breathing, which he tried to keep steady. "Ass," Artemis muttered, though not like he meant it. "I want... I want you to touch me. I want your hands on my skin." He looked up pleadingly at Fenris and added, "I want your hands _inside_ my skin." Just the thought made him squirm, and it occurred to him that he was very much on display like this.

Fenris hummed as though considering, exchanging a look with Cormac over Artie's body. "That sounded less like begging and more like demanding," he said. Fingertips glowing blue, Fenris traced them over Artemis's thigh, just enough to touch through cloth but not enough to go through the skin, and another soft, aching sound caught in Artie's throat. Terrible, the both of them. And, Maker, but he didn't remember the belt being this tight...

"Please. Please touch me. I need you. Both of you. Please."

"Oooh! That's delightful!" Cormac purred, smiling slyly at Fenris. "I think we can offer a little something for that. Just a bit. Maybe a flicker..." Cormac closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths as the indigo glow poured in, from his fingertips. Reaching out, he stroked the edge of Artie's cheek, not quite forcefully enough to pass through it.

"I did wonder why you waited for the keys," Fenris said, tipping his chin at Cormac, as he traced designs along the inseam of Artemis's trousers.

"Personal reasons," Cormac said, laughing. "I'm not stable enough to risk my organs like that."

"And yet you'll--"

"I was drunk, at the time. We all were. I don't recall you making any effort to discourage me, at the time," Cormac reminded him, pressing two glowing fingers into his brother's mouth.

Fenris had an argument for that, but he pursed his lips instead. He'd let Artie talk him into something similar, so his protests were a bit hollow.

Artie hummed around the glowing fingers in his mouth, brushing his tongue against what he could of Cormac and tasting the Fade on -- in? -- his skin. His knuckles were white now on the handles as he resisted the urge to let them go, to pull Fenris and Cormac closer.

"Is this what you wanted, Amatus?" Fenris said. Fade-blue fingers ghosted over Artie's groin without pushing through fabric or leather, and Artemis whined in the back of his throat, arching hips seeking that touch. Fenris smiled and pulled his hand away.

"I'm not hearing any complaints. We must be doing something right." Cormac thrust his fingers gently into Artie's mouth, petting his tongue. "What do you think, Fenris? I think he's still wearing too much. Should we strip him bare, but for the belt, and have our way with him?"

"Moving quickly, tonight," Fenris remarked. "I thought we might make him wait a bit longer." His fingers toyed with the edges of the metal, tugging the fabric of Artie's trousers tight over it. "Although I suppose," he said, slipping his hands up to wrap around Artie's waist, the sides of both hands pressed firmly against the tops of Artie's hips, just close enough for the Fade-tinged edges to brush against bone, "we have to start somewhere."

After a bit, Cormac retrieved his fingers, stroking Artemis's cheek. "Perhaps just the shirt, first," he offered, drumming his fingers against Artemis's chest, bunching the fabric, and slowly baring a taut expanse of warm, brown skin.


	234. Chapter 234

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Artie does so delight in being tied down by his favourite teases.

Artemis watched them both with an expression somewhere between desperate and adoring. "Tease," he groaned, stomach muscles jumping at the touch of an evening breeze. He pried his hands away from the grips long enough to sit up and pull off his shirt. For once, he envied his brother's preference for robes.

Fenris's thumbs were torturous against Artie's hipbones, torturous in the best sort of way. Fenris bent to steal a kiss from his mage, with the barest sting of teeth against Artie's lower lip, before pressing Artemis back until he laid flat again.

Artemis groaned and let his head fall back, baring the long line of his neck. "I'm showing remarkable restraint, I hope you've noticed," he said, wrapping his hands back around the grips.

"Are you?" Cormac teased, leaning down to press his face to the juncture of Artie's neck and shoulder. "Perhaps you are. What is it you want so very much that you have to restrain yourself, hm?" He licked and kissed, feeling his brother's pulse against his lips. "Would it be easier if we did the restraining for you? If we just tied you down -- I'm assuming that's what those rings are for -- and took our pleasure with your flesh?"

Fenris took a few breaths, reminding himself that this was what Artemis had wanted. It wasn't that he wasn't used to it so much as that he just wasn't used to hearing it out of Cormac. Broad-shouldered, bearded mage-- he pushed those thoughts aside and dragged his blunt nails down the inside of Artemis's thighs. "I'd like to see how long he can restrain himself," he said with a teasing smile. "Why make it easier?"

"When we can just make him harder, instead?" Cormac laughed and licked a line down the centre of Artie's chest.

Artemis turned pleading eyes on Fenris, then on Cormac. He was hesitant to ask for it, at least from Cormac, even though his brother clearly knew exactly what this piece of furniture was for and exactly what he wanted. "Well, if it's harder you want me..." he said, flexing his fingers around the handles in an obvious suggestion.

"Yes?" purred Fenris, glowing fingertips still making Artie shiver. "Are you going to finish that thought, Amatus?" It was easier, he thought, when Artemis asked for things, especially things of this nature.

Heat rushed to Artemis's cheeks as he looked down his chest at Fenris, not quite scowling.

"I'm terribly curious what you're going to suggest." Cormac ran with it. He'd do anything Artemis asked, but asking was the important part. "You know how much I love to hear what turns you on." He leaned down and kissed his brother, upside down, before realising that Artemis's nose was very likely the worst place for his beard. "Tell us what you want, and we'll see what we can do."

"We're not mind-readers," Fenris teased, reaching up to drag a glowing finger back and forth along Artemis's ribs.

Cormac stepped a bit closer, putting his crotch at about eye-height, the way Artemis was bent back, and idly toyed with the nipple on the other side of Artie's chest. "You know I love to make you happy, but I have to know what you want, first. Your older brother is a little slow to pick up the hints, sometimes."

Artemis clacked his teeth in front of Cormac's crotch, knowing that anyone else would back away from that. But not Cormac. "Oh, my older brother knows exactly what I'm hinting at," Artie said. "He's just being a terrible tease."

Fenris chuffed. "I suspect that runs in the family. The Hawkes, a family of teases." He traced the curve of Artie's ribs one by one just to feel him shudder. "And that didn't sound like an answer, Amatus."

A growl turned into a whine in the back of Artie's throat. He stared at Cormac's crotch, at where Cormac's robes tented just in front of Artie's face. It would be easier, he thought, to just ask Cormac's knob for what he wanted.

"I want you to tie me down," Artemis said, need winning out over embarrassment. "Tight enough that I can't move. And then I want you to use me, in any way you like." He strained against the belt just thinking about it.

"Promise me your aim is good enough to throw me, if I hurt you," Cormac said, crouching down to look his brother in the eyes. "That's all I need to know. Don't worry about what I hit, if you do, just worry about you."

Artie rolled his eyes, but his smile was soft. "You have shields. I wouldn't worry anyway. And neither should you, brother-dear."

"I will always worry about you." Cormac cupped his brother's cheek and kissed him, gently. "Still," he said, standing, looking down at Artemis, "I'm going to bind your wrists and fuck your lovely face. What do you think, Fenris, would he be even prettier dripping white?"

"Only if the drips are mine," Fenris growled, nodding at Cormac.

"Well, you'll just have to add to the work, then, won't you? A piece of art isn't made with only one shade of paint." Cormac grinned and glanced around, looking for something to tie Artemis down.

Fenris opened a hidden compartment in the base of the piece of furniture and offered two leather cuffs and some light rope. After a moment of squinting, he swapped one of the cuffs for a different, slightly smaller one. "Antivan silk ropes," he said. "You could tie a Qunari, and it wouldn't be the rope that broke."

Cormac laughed and took the offered tools, kneeling to begin the process. "Magic. There's always a way out." He watched Artemis's face, as he buckled the cuffs on. "You know, those trousers should probably go," he called to Fenris. "I don't think my brother will be thrilled with us if we get anything on them."

"Your brother thinks you're right," Artemis said, watching Cormac's hands until they disappeared at the edge of his vision. "The less pants involved, the better, really."

"Well, Cormac at least came prepared for that," Fenris replied archly, tracing a finger down Artemis's stomach and toying with the waistband before finally reaching for the laces. Artemis squirmed underneath him, hips tilted invitingly as Fenris took his time working the trousers down his legs, revealing miles of skin he knew every inch of.

Fenris took a moment to fold the pants neatly for Artemis's sake before setting them on the ground and out of the way.

"Pull a bit," Cormac suggested, checking the tension of the ropes. "I think you're stuck right here, until we let you go," he said, with a smile, nipping the end of Artemis's nose playfully. "And I think you're going to be shamelessly pleading for us to fuck you, by the time we bother to untie you." The thought sent cold darts down Cormac's spine, but he knew how this worked. He could at least say the words, put those wicked images in Artie's head. Whether he could actually handle _doing_ that to his beloved brother remained to be seen.

He hiked his robes as he stood, baring his knob, to stroke it against the side of Artemis's face, while Fenris sorted out the ankle cuffs. "Is this what you want?" he asked.

Artemis answered by turning his head, licking his lips before wrapping them around the head of Cormac's knob, letting his eagerness speak for him. The angle was a bit awkward, but he hummed at the taste of his brother on his tongue. Maker, he would never get sick of this, the same way he'd never get sick of Fenris's hands on any part of his body.

"How's that, Amatus?" Fenris asked, hands running up Artie's calves, the back of his knees, and holding his thighs apart.

Artemis tugged at his restraints and found he could barely move. The realisation was a thrill up his spine, and Artie hummed his approval around his brother.


	235. Chapter 235

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Just a reminder of the sort of things your devotedly annoying older brother can do, when you're tied up."

Cormac inched to the side, putting himself in a better position for what was to follow. He knew what Artemis wanted, but actually doing it was harder than it looked, at least for him. He wondered if Fenris struggled with the idea, like he did. Probably not. Stroking Artemis's throat with one hand, he eased himself deeper, but only as far as the back of Artie's mouth, before pulling back to set up a slow and easy rhythm.

Trying very hard not to look too much at Cormac, Fenris watched for the signs of pleasure he knew so well, tracing the subtle lines of muscle in Artemis's thighs, as they tightened. He dipped one glowing finger into the centre of Artemis's chest, tracing tiny, gentle circles against the heart, beneath.

The lyrium in Fenris's skin burned in the most wonderful way, and Artemis shivered, exhaling harshly through his nose. The knob in his mouth warped the sounds in his throat, and his wrists tugged at the restraints, wanting to reach for either of them, to pull them closer.

Fenris watched him move, listened to make sure the sounds he heard from Artemis were the right kind. "Do you want something, Amatus?" he asked innocently, prompting another mewling sound from his mage around his brother's knob.

Artemis tilted his head back as much as he could to make the angle easier for Cormac, trying to coax him deeper with the barest scrape of teeth. It was a bit disorienting, lying like this, and the blood rushed to his head a bit, but it was worth it.

"Bite me if I push too far," Cormac said, sure he'd be able to tell the difference between this bite and the sorts he actually liked. Slowly, he worked his way in, listening to the changes in Artie's breathing, as he sunk deeper. He watched his brother swallow and gently stroked the side of Artie's neck. In and out, slow and easy, a little deeper every time. Cormac found himself, simply, utterly terrified of doing this _wrong_ , but finally willing to try.

"Is this what you wanted?" he asked, knowing Artie couldn't answer him. "Do you want me to fuck your throat until you can barely breathe and come inside you? Is this what you've dreamed of me doing?" If he was wrong, he'd get bit. ... he hoped.

Fenris studied the metal and leather of the belt, trying not to lean over the body between them and punch Cormac in the face. He knew this was what Artemis wanted -- his mage had said it enough times -- but, he still struggled, sometimes, listening to someone else say those things, _at all_. His hands caressed the spread of bare flesh before him, occasionally dipping in to toy with the edge of a bone.

All Artemis could do was focus on breathing, on the weight of Cormac in his throat, on the sparks of sensation Fenris lit along and under his skin. Like this, there was no room to think, which was exactly how he wanted it. His hips moved under Fenris, desperate for friction, and if his mouth were free he would be begging.

Fenris wrapped his hand around Artie's hip to hold him still. The last thing he needed was for Artemis to move at an unfortunate moment, with Fenris's fingers fondling his organs. "It's a good thing we tied you down," he said, because he knew it was the sort of thing Artie loved to hear, because he wanted Artemis to hear him and remember he was there.

Cormac's legs shivered, as he picked up the pace a bit, trusting Artemis to let him know if he did something wrong. For all that his brother was the 'delicate one', he was also a powerful mage whose teeth were on a rather delicate part of Cormac's anatomy, and he had some amount of faith that if anything went wrong, he'd know about it quickly. He tried to keep himself upright, as he watched Artemis's throat, the rise and fall of his chest. This could be all right, he told himself, watching Fenris's hands, for a moment. Faster and harder, and the sounds of pleasure began to spill out of him, interspersed with praise and declarations of devotion.

Looking up, slowly, Cormac caught Fenris's eye. "I think he's going to want you, next," he panted, looking back down at Artemis's neck, before he continued. "But, I think we should leave him to beg for you, first. Give him time to tell us what he really wants, before we take what we'll have of him." What he meant, of course, was that he wanted to give Artie a few minutes to breathe.

Fenris nodded, one thumb caressing Artie's hipbone, the other tracing patterns along his chest. The image of Artemis begging for him -- with the _breath_ to beg for him -- was one he always liked. "This is a good plan," he said, watching Cormac, even if he'd rather not. He could tell Cormac was getting close, and Fenris watched to make sure he wasn't about to hurt his mage by accident.

Artemis's pleased sounds came out garbled, but they were unmistakable.

Panting and thrusting, howling with need, Cormac lost his nerve at the last second, pulling almost all the way back, as he spilled. He caught himself against the marble, as his knees weakened, and for a horrible moment, all he could feel was guilt and shame. He'd failed his brother once again. Of course, that wasn't something he'd let Artemis see on him, so he pulled out and let the last weak spurts splash across Artie's face. Brotherly love at its finest.

He took a moment to catch his breath, before looking down. "Whoops. I think I got some on you." Entirely unapologetic, of course.

Artie sucked in huge lungsful of air, waiting until he had breath enough to speak to say, "Ass. Did you...? On my face?" Messy. That was messy. That was messy, and his hands were tied. He twisted to try to rub his face on Cormac's robe, but the angle was awkward.

Fenris tried not to smirk, but he couldn't help it, not with the way Artie was twisting and the face he was making. "Still glad we tied you up, Amatus?" he asked.

Artemis harrumphed.

"So sorry, beloved." Cormac grinned in a way that implied he was anything but. "Do you want me to clean that off you? Do you want me to lick it off you? I think that's an excellent idea. I can lick it off you and kiss it back into your mouth, where it should have gone." Untucking his robe from his belt, Cormac knelt to get a better look at Artemis's face. "Aside from that," he murmured, "you all right? You still want more?"

"I would like more of not getting my face sticky," Artemis replied, turning his head to arc an eyebrow in Cormac's direction. He stretched his neck, trying to rub his face in Cormac's hair instead.

"Charming," Fenris drawled.

"You're next," Artemis said, mock threateningly. He winked at his husband. "So yes, Cormac, I'm fine. And yes, Cormac, I want more. It would be unfair of you to stop now."

Laughing, Cormac tossed his hair back, and grabbed Artemis's, to hold his head still. "It's not _sticky_. Maker. What do you think goes into me?" he huffed, before liberally applying his tongue to his brother's face. A pause to study Artemis's face -- to make sure he'd gotten all of it -- and then Cormac kissed him, still awkwardly upside-down, but no less passionate and demanding, for it.

Fenris watched in mild disgust, glancing around for something that wasn't Artemis's clothing, with which to wipe off the extraneous Hawke-slobber. Nothing presented itself, but by the time he looked back, Cormac was using the bottom of his robe to wipe away the remaining smears.

Artemis was still scrunching his nose and giving Cormac a wet-cat look, but there was a smile growing at the corner of his mouth. "You are disgusting," he huffed affectionately. "Is this to compensate for my cleanliness? You had to balance it out somehow?"

"Just a reminder of the sort of things your devotedly annoying older brother can do, when you're tied up." Cormac grinned and kissed Artie's nose.

"Starting to regret this," Artie said with a melodramatic sigh. "I don't have to worry about such things when Fenris ties me up." Artemis tilted his head up to give his husband a wink, which Fenris met with a smirk. "Speaking of, what are you still doing down there?" Granted, he liked having Fenris down where his elf could reach through the belt, but he loved the taste of him too.

"He's getting demanding again," Fenris said to Cormac.

"Mmm, so he is." Cormac stood and leaned just out of Artie's reach. "What do you think, should we take our time and remind him who's in charge, or do you just want to stop words from coming out of his delightful mouth?" He was utterly sure Artemis was going to start bouncing him off of trees, if he kept on like this, but he wasn't sure he'd really mind it.

Fenris made a contemplative sound, leaning forward between Artemis's legs, one arm draped across that taut abdomen, and the other hand supporting his face. He pressed a finger into the top of one hip, to toy with the edge of bone.

Taking a deep breath, Cormac called the Fade to himself, and ran one indigo hand up Artie's chest, spread wide to ghost fingertips across both nipples. His hand lingered, fingertips sparking, at uneven intervals.

"Terrible teases, the both of you," Artemis said, and the breathy quality of his voice said that wasn't a complaint, at least not yet. He bit his lip against a needy sound when Fenris's finger slipped closer to his groin, just skirting the top of his knob before pulling away. Artie's ankles twisted in their cuffs as he flexed his thighs, trying to arch into that touch. "Please," slipped from his mouth before he realised he'd opened it.

"Please?" Fenris hummed. "I _am_ pleased. I like watching you squirm."

"Please," Artemis groaned. "Let me... More."

"Let you?" Cormac teased, dropping a stronger jolt. "Let you _wha_ t? You're still tied down. Not much you can do, from there." He winked at Fenris and tapped a spark against the metal of the belt, once the elf's hand was out of the way.

"I can still throw you into that tree behind you," Artemis said, words ending in a gasp when Fenris stroked two fingers over his pelvic bone. "And please... Fenris... let me taste you." He could still taste Cormac on his tongue, and the thought of tasting them both, of being used by them both... it was almost enough to unravel him, even in the belt.

"Oh, I suppose you _could_ ," Cormac sighed, trailing his fingers down Artie's chest as he switched sides with Fenris, each of them circling around opposite sides of the furniture. "But where would that leave you, hmm? Surely not with two of us enjoying you." His hands traced the edges of the belt, fingers testing the edges, dropping tiny sparks against the steel.


	236. Chapter 236

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Artie remains a decorative fixture on the lawn furniture, Fenris demonstrates to Cormac the correct way to handle that situation.

Fenris smirked down at Artemis, stroking his throat with one hand, gently squeezing. "Well, now that you've tempted me into moving, what will you give me for my trouble, Amatus?" He stood just out of reach. "I was enjoying the feel of your thighs. Surely I should be compensated for giving that up..."

"Oh, he does have nice thighs, doesn't he?" Cormac's hands kneaded them, electricity crackling across his palms.

Artemis smirked down at Cormac before tilting his head back to bat his eyelashes at Fenris. "Oh, I know for a fact there are other parts of me you find equally pleasing," he purred. He licked and bit his lower lip.

"Mm, like your neck, perhaps?" Fenris said, trailing glowing fingers up Artie's long column of throat. Artemis moaned, tilting his head back and surrendering to Fenris's touch. "It is a lovely neck. And I can feel your pulse under my fingers, hot and fast." The artery under his hand was thin, fragile, and Fenris kept his touch delicate. "But maybe it's not my hand you want inside your throat?"

"Please," Artemis breathed. "Please."

"You know," Cormac said, with a smile, "if we both wear ourselves out, it's going to be a while before he gets what he really wants. I suppose we'll just have to find more creative solutions."

"I already have several in mind," Fenris replied, in a tone that left no doubt of what he thought of Cormac apparently just thinking of this now. Of course, Cormac was also accustomed to the Warden using and misusing him, which didn't seem to be a situation that lent itself to those sorts of concerns.

"I suspect I may let him take his vengeance upon me." Cormac shivered, indigo hands caressing Artemis's hips as he leaned down to lick along the edges of the belt.

Fenris hummed as he considered that, the glow leaving his fingertips so he could caress Artemis's cheek as his mage bucked under Cormac's tongue. "What do you think of that, Amatus?" Fenris asked.

Artie groaned out something that sounded like "Hrrngh" in answer.

"Or shall I ask you that when you can remember how to use words?"

Artemis closed his eyes and breathed a moment before saying, "You should ask me that after you've fucked my throat raw." His wrists twisted in their cuffs, desperate to pull Fenris closer, and Artemis opened his mouth in invitation.

As Fenris slowly unlaced his trousers, stretching and looking contemplative, a hundred things raced through Cormac's head -- that listening to his brother beg to be taken was outrageously erotic, that he should be ashamed of himself that Artemis could still speak so clearly, that he should be ashamed of himself for thinking that, that he was about to be shown up by Fenris, and that really he was terrible at this high priest thing. Still, Cormac's hands sparked and clutched at Artemis's flesh, kneading and stroking, and his tongue played along the insides of Artie's thighs.

Fenris teased, first, tracing Artemis's cheek with the tip of his knob, tapping it against Artemis's lips, until finally, he shoved himself between those parted lips, slow but unceasing. He watched Artemis swallow around him, felt the wringing and the trace of cold breath against his skin.

Artemis's tongue flicked against lyrium lines, comparing texture and taste as he adjusted to the weight of Fenris in his mouth, his throat, and adjusted his breathing. All these years, he still couldn't think of an adequate metaphor for the combined taste, and he wondered, in the back of his mind, if that had anything to do with his non-existent cooking skills, but... that was off-topic. And the topic on hand was much more enticing.

Fenris held Artie's head steady, long fingers supporting the base of his skull for what had to be an awkward angle for his neck, and began with slow, shallow thrusts, eyes fluttering shut at the wet heat and the way Artemis's throat muscles squeezed him.

Artemis trembled, jerking under Cormac's touch and letting out shivering breaths through his nose.

Cormac's hands slid up Artemis's thighs, thumbs settling firmly just outside the edge of the belt. He kneaded and sparked, holding Artemis's hips still as the muscles twitched and his brother writhed. "I bet we can get you to go without taking it off..." Another arc of electricity danced between his thumbs. "And wouldn't that be something to remember? Him, there, riding your face. Me, here, between your thighs. And you spilling a mess into this contraption, just like I did."

Fenris shot Cormac a somewhat pained look. If there was something he didn't need to be reminded of right now, it was that bloody disaster by the pond. Regardless of what the mages thought, that had been utterly disgusting -- except for the part where Artemis had made that lovely face, but he could get his mage to do that without an endless amount of blood. It really wasn't the blood that bothered him. It was the blood and the mages. It was the blood as the means to that end. And if he was entirely honest with himself, it wasn't the blood at all, it was just Cormac. But, he wasn't thinking about Cormac, right now. He was thinking about his mage, about the way Artemis's throat clenched tight around him.

Artemis, however, couldn't see Fenris's face or read his thoughts or even have much of a thought in his head at all, the way he was at the mercy of the two men he loved most. Cormac's words made him shake, made him aware of his body as one throbbing pulse, made him aware of just how _tight_ that damn leather and metal contraption was.

"Amatus," Fenris breathed, losing himself to the sensation, and with his eyes closed, he could almost pretend it was just him and Artemis. The choked sounds his mage made around him were growing increasingly desperate, and Fenris considered pulling out just long enough to hear Artemis beg some more, to hear every needy little sound he made when he was too close to the edge to stop himself from making them. Instead his hips pushed him deeper, seeking more of that welcoming warmth that made the pleasure pool at the base of his spine. "Oh, Amatus. Artemis."

"Come for us, beloved," Cormac pleaded, fingers digging in a bit harder, the charge running through them just a little stronger. "Give me some sign that we have pleased you. Let me lick you clean, after you give us this gift -- let me unlock this painful prison and finish my worship of your perfection." He wondered if maybe he should stop reading Bethany's work before doing things like this, but he really had no idea how to relate to a god, even if that god was his brother, and the Nevarran spirit-summoning traditions had a lovely cadence to them that had infected the way he spoke to Artemis, in moments like these.

The image of his mage spread for his tongue was the last nudge Fenris needed, and his legs tensed, ramming him deep into Artemis's throat as he came, shivering and panting. For all that it was Cormac's idea, Cormac's promise, Fenris found himself willing to fight Cormac for the privilege... as soon as he could feel his legs again.

Metal vibrated and hummed as the furniture shook from more than Artie's writhing. It wasn't one thing that drove Artie over so much as everything at once: the way Fenris shoved into him, claiming and consuming; the way Fenris pulsed against his tongue and deep in his throat; the way Cormac's fingers twisted and sparked along his nerve endings; the image Cormac put into his head.

Artemis's whole body shuddered and tried to fold in on itself as he came, vision sparked with white and splotched with black in intervals, and Fenris pulled out, still dripping, so he could breathe. And breathe he did, great gasping gulps of it.

Cormac's hands became gentle, again, light touches along his brother's thighs and sides. "Shall we free you, then?" he asked, tugging the strand of keys out of his robe. "Shall I spread my robe in the grass and lay you on it, while I lick you clean?" He knelt, untying the ropes from the rings that he now noticed were clutched in the beaks of carven griffons.

Still trying to collect his thoughts, Fenris sank to his knees, nuzzling Artemis's ear, affectionately. "In a moment, Amatus," he promised. "When I can feel my fingers."


	237. Chapter 237

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Artemis gets his happy ending. Again. Some more.

Artemis turned his head to kiss what he could reach of Fenris. He was content to lie there bonelessly for the moment anyway, though he was sure his neck would complain about it before long. "Good?" he asked Fenris softly, almost shyly.

Fenris chuckled breathlessly. "Good," he said, nuzzling at the corner of Artemis's jaw. After a moment, he stretched to undo the cuffs around Artemis's wrist.

"You might need to carry me, brother-dear," Artie groaned, stretching his legs and pointing his toes. "But yes and yes, Maker please." He didn't want to see the mess he'd made of the belt and without being touched... that was the effect these two had on him.

Shrugging out of the first layer of his robes, Cormac spread it on the ground beside them. "Carry you? You say this like I didn't mean to do exactly that!" He chuckled and gathered Artemis into his arms, pausing for a moment, just to hold his brother. Sometimes, he missed when things between them had been simple and stupid, but that was so many years gone, now, and this was definitely better than Artie having been _weird_ for all those years in between. Kneeling, he laid Artemis gently onto his robe and leaned closer to unlock the belt.

Fenris watched, not quite willing to stumble to his feet, yet, if he didn't have to. He'd let Cormac do the hard work.

The belt pulled away, Cormac easing his brother's still-thick knob out of the tube that contained it --most of the mess stayed on the metal, thankfully; it would be easy enough to rinse. Lowering his head to that freshly-bared flesh, Cormac wrapped his mouth around the last inch of Artemis's knob, flicking his tongue under the foreskin and sucking gently.

Artemis sucked in a breath, one hand twisting in the robe, sure to leave all manner of creases after. Even after all this time, he wondered if he would ever get used to seeing his brother between his legs, if he would ever stop feeling amazed. Or guilty, for 'corrupting' his brother.

Everything was easier a few minutes ago, when thinking wasn't something he was capable of doing. But, easier or not, Artemis couldn't complain about this moment either, not with how soft Cormac's lips were on him. Artie reached down to brush the hair back from Cormac's face, tucking the wayward strands behind his ears, and his thumbs lingered on his tattooed cheeks.

Artie turned his head to see how Fenris was doing, and smiled when he saw him. "Did we tire you out?" he teased, as though they hadn't tired him out just as -- if not more -- thoroughly.

"I am just waiting for him to finish cleaning you off, so I can roll you over and finish the job." Fenris's eyes sparkled with amusement, as he crawled closer, curling up around the top of Artemis's head. "Perhaps, one of these days, we will need to choose a different piece of the garden, so we can both have you at once. I know how much you appreciate my tongue, and I'm learning that you appreciate his, as well."

Cormac purred around the flesh in his mouth, pressing his tongue against it, to pass the vibration. "I think we're bright enough to figure it out without exciting furniture," he said, lifting his head. "Roll over on your side, Artie, and bend this leg. Knee up."

"Mm?" Artemis obeyed without asking, though the look on his face was question enough. That would involve the two of them being closer than either of them usually liked, but he certainly wasn't about to dissuade them.

Fenris ran his hand through Artie's sweat-curling hair, pausing to press a kiss to the bridge of his nose before crawling over next to Cormac, careful to keep as much distance between the two of them as possible. Fenris ran a hand along Artemis's thigh and hip, pausing to squeeze at the taut ass on display for him.

"Turn the other way," Cormac told Fenris. "You'll like me better if you do."

After a moment's thought, Fenris realised Cormac was right, and that it would be easier for them not to collide but possibly forehead to chin, at that angle. Twisting himself around, Fenris rubbed his knee against the top of Artemis's shoulder, before burying his face in the only example of Hawke ass he ever wanted to get this close to.

With a wicked smirk up at his brother, Cormac licked Artemis's knob back into his mouth, gently sucking the flesh as it twitched against his tongue, considering whether it might rise again, to this provocation. He hummed contentedly, rippling his tongue against the underside of his brother's knob, and nuzzled Artie's belly.

Artemis stopped caring about the wrinkles he was making in Cormac's robe, his knuckles white as he clutched the fabric. It was too much, but he wasn't going to tell them to stop.

Fenris purred at his mage's taste, at the tortured little sounds he was making that Fenris could now hear clearly. The edge of Cormac's beard brushed his forehead, and Fenris tilted his head to avoid it. For a moment, he wondered what the bit of fluffiness felt like on Artemis's end, if it felt like anything at all, but he didn't let the thought linger.

Purring and humming, Cormac kept his tongue tight against Artemis's knob, judging the vibrations by how they felt against the roof of his mouth. He moaned warmly at the faint twitches he got in response, as he listened to the sounds his brother made. This was something Cormac had needed -- just to have the time to taste, to run his hands over Artemis's skin -- to be able to devote his attention entirely to worshipping Artemis's flesh. Not that he didn't figure Fenris did it on a regular basis, but he needed it for himself, to know that he could give this, that it would be welcome, that it would be wanted. That everything between them wouldn't always be pain and blood, dominance and strangulation -- which was great, but this was his brother. And still, that affected every word, every touch, between them.

Artie's head was still wonderfully fuzzy in the afterglow, and the contrast between tongues was enough to keep him from thinking of any words that weren't Fenris or Cormac's names or pleas for mercy. 'Too much' sensation became pleasant became an ache, sparks shivering down his spine all the while.

Fenris pulled back for air and to rest his tongue, mouthing instead at the hole in front of him, fingers gentle on Artemis's skin. He couldn't see what Cormac was up to from his angle, but he could sense the man's movements, could tell when he was doing something Artemis particularly liked by the way his mage's muscles clenched and by the sounds spilling from his throat. Fenris planned to take credit for a few of those sounds, his touch just as gentle, as reverent as Cormac's. It was the sort of touch Artemis craved after their rougher lovemaking, and Fenris found himself looking forward to moments like these.

After several more minutes of the same, Cormac slid his lips slowly off his brother's still-soft flesh, pausing for a moment to tease the tip with his tongue, before he let go. He kissed his way up Artemis's body, keeping himself far enough back not to surprise Fenris with any unexpected body parts, and finally pressed his lips to Artemis's, swallowing the next few sounds. "I adore you, my beloved god, but my tongue is killing me," he apologised, with a chuckle. "Credit to your elf, and his incredible Tevinter talents."

Artemis hummed and nuzzled under Cormac's chin. He could feel Fenris's lips curl in a smile, no doubt a smug one, and Fenris pulled back after giving Artie's entrance one last kiss. "I didn't acquire those talents in Tevinter," he said before running hands and lips up Artemis's back, lingering at his nape, in an echo of what Cormac had just done. Artemis smiled lazily and tried to pull them both close now that he could reach them.

"Tongue fortitude not part of your extensive bodyguard training? Not doing push-ups with your tongue to prove your strength?" Cormac laughed again. "Maybe I can learn to keep up, after all."

"With the rate at which words exit your mouth, I'd have expected your tongue to be better accustomed to hard work," Fenris drawled, his face pressed close against the back of Artemis's shoulder.

"Now, now, boys," Artemis murmured against Cormac's throat. "I happen to approve of both tongues and their application. It's as much about teamwork as practice."

Fenris snorted against Artemis's neck, wrapping his arm more tightly around him, hooking a leg over Artie's shins. He was more off of Cormac's robes than not. "It's getting dark," he pointed out. "And we haven't lit the torches." He suspected one of the mages could do so without getting up, but this garden had already suffered one fire.

"Do we need the light, or are we showing off for the neighbours?" Cormac asked, squinting into the increasing dimness, until he spotted a nearby torch. The ones he could see definitely looked like they were designed to highlight the garden furniture, when lit.

"I believe the wall is high enough to discourage the neighbours," Fenris pointed out. "And we have trees."

"If I can hit a dragon in the eye," Cormac muttered, flicking a hand toward a torch. It lit, and the nearby tree did not. He lit two more and then groaned and cupped his brother's cheek. "Can I stay right here, for a while? I'm feeling terribly lazy, today."

Artie hummed sleepily. "Why not? You two make a nice blanket."

Fenris sighed but supposed he could share his mage for a little while longer.


	238. PART XLV: NOT JUST MARKETDAYS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirkwall: a love affair with crisis. Anton is on the job, whether he wants to be or not.

Anders sat on the edge of the table, a tankard of beer in his hand, despite Justice's protests, as he regaled Varric with stories of his time in Amaranthine -- when Justice had still been someone else. In fact, he thought he might tell the story of how he met Justice, originally. "If you think that was bad, I should tell you about the Blackmarsh!"

Varric chuckled and reached for the bowl of garlic-dusted bread ends. "See, when you say things like that, Blondie, it just makes me glad I didn't know you sooner." He took a bite and washed it down with beer. "Who goes to a place called Blackmarsh on purpose? Now, if they called it Beermarsh... No, still doesn't work."

"You've got a point." Anders nodded, contemplatively, sipping his beer. "The marsh part does cancel out anything else. Flowermarsh? Kittenmarsh? Nope. No good."

Varric was still cackling as Anton appeared at his shoulder.

"Ah, you've got company," Anders told Varric, toasting Anton with his tankard as he pushed off the table. He considered getting a refill, but Justice started grumbling again. Maybe not, then. "I'll see you later."

"Kittenmarsh?" Anton asked. "Is that Anders's new name for the basement? The kitten part I understand..."

"Hey, I don't ask questions, Stabby," Varric said with an exaggerated shrug. "So. What can I do for you?"

Anton perched on the edge of the table where Anders had just been. "What was Anders doing here?"

Varric shrugged. "Only place in Kirkwall he can get a decent drink. Blondie comes by here, and I put him on my tab. He's got some stories about his days in Ferelden that sound implausible even to me."

"Oh, I bet Justice is thrilled with that arrangement," Anton said, eyebrows arcing up.

"Justice can stuff it," Varric muttered, over the top of his pint. "The fact that Anders doesn't start glowing blue when he says some things about that guy suggests they're true things, and if those things are true, he's cordially invited to stuff it. I'm surprised Anders doesn't drink more, just from putting up with that shit. Still, he's not bad for a mage. Crazy, but that's most everyone in this city."

"Not bad for a mage," Anton scoffed. "You don't live with him. And if you're putting people on your tab, I could go for a pint."

"I should make you buy the drinks, O Champion of Kirkwall!" Varric laughed and Anton did too, after a moment.

"Yeah, you should." Anton leaned back out the door and tossed a coin to a kid who was running down the hall. "Run down and grab us a pitcher. Keep the change."

With a whoop, the kid grinned and made for the stairs.

"Bouncy little fucker, isn't she?" Anton shook his head and turned back to Varric. "So, what's the word in Lowtown?"

Varric gave another shrug and lounged back, taking a swig before resting his tankard on the arm of his chair. "Nothing you don't know already," he said. "The viscount's departure. A vacuum of power. Trouble's brewing. And you know trouble."

"We're acquainted."

Varric sighed into his drink. "Get rid of one threat and another appears. I'm starting to think this city is in love with crisis. Hope you're ready for it, Stabby. I'm keeping Bianca close."

"You always keep Bianca close," Anton said, though the grin didn't quite reach his eyes. All he could think of was the Arishok, the mess the city had only just recovered from.

"A lot closer than I keep your brother, whatever he might think." Varric laughed and picked up another bread end. "You know he was in here, the other week, trying to get me to pick the locks on a chastity belt for him? A chastity belt. On Shouty. You'd think it would do more good on Nervy."

"You... didn't, did you?" Anton inquired, as the kid returned with their beer. He took it and slipped her another copper piece, this time pretending to pull it out of her ear.

"What? No. I'm not getting that close to your brother's junk, unless it's an actual emergency." Varric shook his head and took a bite of the bread. "There are secrets in this town I do not need to know, few though they may be."

"Good, good," Anton replied, absently, pouring more beer into the tankard Anders had left behind.

"You know something about how he ended up in that thing? He seemed pretty upset about it." Something about Anton's reaction wasn't right, and Varric couldn't quite place what was going on.

"He should be upset. Maybe he'll think twice about not using a gag. You've heard him." Anton tipped his head back, swallowing about half of what he'd put in the tankard, as he went. "I don't want to hear him. I'm married, my husband is sleeping on his desk, and I have to listen to my brother scream for more and harder all night, almost every night. I don't even want to know why he can still walk in the morning."

"Because it's the healer making him scream," Varric reminded him. "Things okay with you and Curly?"

"When I see him? Things are fantastic." The smirk Anton gave Varric over his beer told him just _how_ fantastic. "I'm more concerned about him and Meredith, at this rate."

"I think everyone's concerned about Meredith," Varric grumbled. "Just hearing her name gives me heartburn."

"In fairness, that might just be the beer," Anton said. "But like you said: trouble. Brewing. I just wish it would brew somewhere else, so that I could actually _see_ my husband. I'm starting to forget what he looks like."

"Just remember, he's the templar with the noodle hair. Hard to miss."

* * *

* * *

Noodles. Varric had said it, and now Anton couldn't stop thinking it. Less that his husband's hair might or might not look startlingly noodly and more that he actually wanted noodles for lunch. Breakfast, technically, but the respectable parts of Kirkwall were eating lunch by now. He stopped in the market to grab a bowl of those barley noodles with the hazelnut-hot pepper sauce -- two bowls, on second thought -- and headed down to see Cullen. He'd have to come through the front door, carrying as he was, which was a bit saddening, but he was sure it would be good for a few bawdy comments from the templars, which would no doubt make it back to Carver. And Carver, being Carver, would proceed to punch Cormac for it, which, Anton had no doubt, Cormac had coming, if not for these reasons.

Cullen's door was, as usual, open, which lasted about at long as it took Anton to assess the room and kick the door shut behind him. "Keran gone to lunch, then? Good thing I brought yours."

Cullen peered up from his desk, the lines on his forehead and the corners of his eyes smoothing over at the sight of his husband. "Oh, you're a much better sight than paperwork," he said, sitting up to stretch his back, cringing at the pull of sore muscles. "You too, Anton," he teased, stretching out a hand for one of the bowls.

Anton pulled the bowl back, just out of reach. "Should I leave you and the noodles alone for a bit then?"

"I would much rather you join us," Cullen said, smiling warmly, if tiredly. "Come here." He stood out of his chair to plant a kiss on Anton's lips.

"Mm, hungry for my noodle too?"

"You are incorrigible," Cullen laughed, nibbling at Anton's lip, "and insatiable."

"You wouldn't have me any other way." Anton leaned to the side to set one of the bowls on Cullen's desk. "Although, perhaps we should eat, before we get too far, or we'll end up canoodling in the noodles, and that would be a terrible stain to get out."

Cullen rubbed his cheek against Anton's, before he let go and sank back into his chair like a sack of wet flour. "Noodle puns? Noodle puns." He picked up the bowl and fished in his desk drawer for a fork that he knew he'd put there, after the last time he'd gotten himself into a position where he was eating millet salad by drinking it from the bowl. "You're lucky I like you," he said, pointing the fork at Anton, who had managed to get a mouthful of noodles using only his knife. Show-off.

"I hope you like me! You did marry me!" Anton looked down into the bowl. "Kind of mild, today. Still good."

"Don't worry. I'm sure your noodle is spicy enough on its own."

"It is," Anton agreed, expertly twirling the noodles around his knife. "But then it's more horseradish than noodle, isn't it?"

Cullen snorted a laugh, and already his cheeks hurt from smiling so much. Maker, he loved this man. "I suppose you want me to say that it's delicious either way?"

"It would be the honest thing, yes," Anton said gravely. He perched on Cullen's desk just to the side of him, careful not to sit on whatever document Cullen had just written on but close enough that their legs brushed.

"I do like spicy Fereldan horseradish," Cullen admitted. "And yours is delightful." He tipped his head from side to side, as if considering the issue in depth. "But, as far as 'delicious', better with a splash of hibiscus syrup."

"Git." Anton shoved the side of Cullen's chair with his foot. "And now I'm just curious about the combination of hibiscus syrup and actual horseradish. I wonder if I could make a sauce out of that..."

"As long as you don't get your horseradish sauce on my lunch, we'll be fine." Cullen raised an eyebrow, pointedly.

"Horseradish sauce is definitely a dessert food." Anton nodded, sagely, and wiped the bottom of his boot against the top of his other boot, before resting his foot in Cullen's lap.

A chuckle rumbled in Cullen's throat, and he let Anton have the last word just so he'd have a chance to eat his noodles. Half because he was hungry and they tasted good, and half because he was looking forward to 'dessert'. Even with Keran, he'd been swamped, and he was starting to forget what the world was like outside his office.

Anton's boot shifted, and Cullen nearly choked on the noodles in his mouth. Anton faked innocence and watched Cullen over his bowl. "If I choke on my lunch, I won't be able to have dessert," Cullen reminded him.

Anton smirked as he scraped up the last bits of noodle, pushing them to the edge of the bowl with his knife before slurping them up. "It's not my fault you eat too slowly."

"I like to savour my food," Cullen muttered with his mouth full, "even more now that it's the only sign of life outside this room that I have."

"Oooh, Captain, does that mean you'll be savouring dessert as well?" Anton purred, licking off his knife, as he set down the empty bowl. The knife vanished into his belt, somewhere, as he stood up and swung himself around the back of Cullen's chair, sliding his hands down Cullen's chest. "Should I have brought you something sweet to go with all the horseradish sauce?"

"I love your saucy horseradish, even when it's not sweet. Even when you're not sweet. I don't think I've ever heard you not saucy, though." Cullen finished the last of his noodles and put the bowl aside, even as he chewed. Swallowing, he reached up and turned his head, pulling Anton into exactly the sort of kiss that shouldn't have been happening in his office. Of course, given all the other things that had happened in his office, a kiss, no matter how delightfully complicated, would hardly rank.

They ended up a tangle of limbs in Cullen's chair, the armrests digging into Anton's thighs, someone's shoulder knocking against someone's elbow. All these years, Cullen wondered why he hadn't replaced the damn chair with a more spacious one. Or perhaps not a chair at all. Cullen wondered what Meredith would say if he replaced his desk chair with a loveseat.

Cullen was too focused on Anton's sighs and pleased hums to notice the tell-tale sound of platemail coming down the hall until it stopped just inside his door. Before he looked up, Cullen hoped that Keran was under that platemail. Or Carver.

Meredith cleared her throat. "Hard at work, I see, Captain," she said. Her scowl twisted when the double meaning in her words hit her, and it was the closest thing to embarrassment Cullen had ever seen from her. From what he could see over Anton's shoulder.

The next sigh in Cullen's ear was less pleased and soon followed by a muttered curse.

"We were just having a bit of lunch," Anton insisted, looking over his shoulder with a smile, as he gestured to the two bowls on the desk. "This office really needs another chair. The seating arrangements are a little tight."

Meredith's lips tightened as she dodged that pun, as well. "It's just as well you're here, Serah Hawke. There has been an incident in the Gallows. A number of phylacteries were destroyed, and several mages took the opportunity to escape. Though we've recovered most of the fugitives, I require your assistance in tracking down the last three. Perhaps it will keep you from distracting the Captain, while he is at work."

"If he were ever home, I wouldn't have to resort to distracting him at work," Anton laughed. "And certainly he'd be much less distracted by a bowl of cheap noodles from the Lowtown market."

"If you wanted a husband who came home at night, you wouldn't have married a templar," Meredith pointed out.

"Don't argue, please," Cullen whispered in Anton's ear. Nettling Meredith tended to just make things worse.

Reluctantly, Anton turned so that he was sitting with his back to Cullen's chest. "All right. How did the phylacteries get destroyed, anyway?"

"An insurrection," Meredith said, her eyes cold. "Several of my own templars orchestrated the escape, presumably out of sympathy for the mages." Her lip curled as Anton kept his expression neutral. He wondered if Anders had anything to do with this. "They turned their backs on their duty and endangered their charges, as well as the city. Thankfully most who escaped fled to their families and offered no resistance. The last three are proving more... difficult."

Anton sat up, looking around the room exaggeratedly. "And, what? All the templars magically disappeared? Is that why you need _my_ help?"

Meredith gave him a flat look. Or, rather, gave it to Cullen, who smiled weakly over Anton's shoulder. "The apostates," she said, "are being sheltered by their families. Some have been reluctant to talk to templars, but you are another matter." Her smile was anything but friendly. "These families can better relate to you, I'm sure."

"Ah, because I'm such a people-person." Anton nodded. "It's good to know you've finally noticed my charms. I was getting concerned I'd lost my touch!"

Cullen looked utterly appalled, and Meredith raised an eyebrow at him, as if to say, ' _Well, you married the man._ '

"The people of Kirkwall trust you, Champion. They are more likely to be honest with you, than with us." Meredith couldn't bring herself to acknowledge that Anton had spoken.

"Ah, so you expect me to exploit their trust in me, to further your agenda! How cunning." Anton did not sound amused, in the least.

"Is it so different to what you already do for money? At least you can use your talents for the greater good!" Meredith shot back.

Anton bit his tongue. He was not to tell the Knight-Commander that she wouldn't know the greater good if it sank its pointy teeth into her desk-sitting ass. "I can use my talents to betray the people who make it possible for me to run a business in this town. That doesn't really sound all that profitable, in the long run."

"I can make it worth your while, in coin. I can also avoid doing away with your apostate brother." Meredith smiled bitterly.

Cullen froze, hands clenching around Anton's hips, and Anton's eyebrow arced up.

"Well played, Commander." Anton's smile was sharp and his eyes carefully blank. "I'll see what I can do."

"As Champion of Kirkwall, you have shown once again that you are on the side of justice." Meredith couldn't resist a final taunt.

"Justice. Yes. You have no idea how _very much_ I am for Justice." Anton's smile remained unmoved.

"Good. Then you will find these mages before they do harm," Meredith said, chin tilting up. She leaned over Cullen's desk so that she was eye to eye with Anton, and Anton would almost believe the look of sympathy she gave him if he didn't know her. "I know you, of all people, understand the danger such apostates pose."

Wood creaked as Anton clutched the arm of the chair. Cullen clutched his arm in reply, steadying him.

Meredith straightened, half-turning towards the door. "Speak to my assistant, Elsa. She can tell you whatever you need to know about the fugitives. I'm sure Cullen can point you in her direction."

Cullen cleared his throat. "That's -- yes. Yes, I will, Knight-Commander."

Meredith nodded. "I bid you good day, Champion. Knight-Captain, I expect those reports on my desk within the hour."

She took her leave. Cullen rested his forehead against Anton's shoulder and groaned. "Dammit," he sighed. "Sorry, love. How about we pick this up later, him? I'll even supply the noodles, if you like."

"Mmm, as long as you supply your noodle, I'm interested." Anton kissed his husband's forehead as he got up. "Do you think you'll make it home, tonight? I don't have any Orlesians to relieve of their extra travelling weight, this evening."

"Maker willing, I'll be there. I'd say don't wait up, but I know when you sleep." Cullen reached out to rub Anton's divinely-crafted bottom, before he realised what he was doing and picked up his quill, again. "I expect it will be on me to sort out these ... 'discipline problems'. I hope, for all of our sakes, that your brother wasn't involved."

"Whether he was or not, someone's going to point that way. Carver has a talent for pissing people off, and those people are probably going to grab onto this opportunity." Anton shrugged. "If you need me to extract him, just let me know."

"I suspect I can work it out, but thank you." Groaning, Cullen looked down at the papers in front of him. "Now, please get out of my office, before you distract me even further."

"Oh, we wouldn't want _that_." Anton let himself out, swishing his hips just so, as he walked. He fancied he could feel Cullen's eyes on him right until he pulled the door shut.


	239. Chapter 239

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anton gets some help with his latest problem from the one mage he's fairly sure can actually provide it. Justice attempts to object, but is brought around.

It was a slow day in the clinic, for which Anders was grateful. Slow days meant he could eat his lunch sitting down. And slow days meant spotting someone when they first walked in the door, even if that someone was a Hawke with soft-soled shoes.

"Hello, Anton," he said. He didn't quite manage to keep the surprise off his face, even if he'd been expecting a different Hawke. "What brings you here? You're not bleeding that I can see, which is always good. You didn't catch anything, did you? Was it Izzy? Dammit, Izzy."

Anton cringed as he laughed. "Surprisingly, I am not here for my own health. Not directly, anyway."

"Ominous," Anders said, arcing an eyebrow. He took another bite of his apple and gestured for Anton to continue.

Anton strolled through the clinic, looking about surreptitiously to make sure they were alone. "I assume you know about what happened at the Gallows? Mages escaping, templars helping, fire and mayhem everywhere?"

"Perhaps a little bit less fire and mayhem than described in templar circles, but I may have heard something of the sort. Misplaced phylacteries, as I understand it? One really must keep better track of those. The potential for blood magic is astonishing," Anders drawled, as if he didn't know that blood magic was exactly what phylacteries were.

"I'm not here about the blood magic. No, I am here about the blood magic. Kind of. Mostly." This was a dangerous subject to breach with Anders, and Anton knew it. "The Knight-Commander has threatened to, I quote, 'do away with' Cormac, if I don't bring back the last three of those mages, who are, of course, accused of blood magic."

Anders looked up, and his eyes were no longer their usual soft gold. Streaks of blue darted across his face. "THE TIME FOR PLAYING BY THE RULES IS OVER. THE RULES ARE UNJUST."

"Shit," Anton sighed. He hadn't even considered that Justice might become an issue. He hadn't really spent much time with Justice, outside of the Deep Roads, which was, all in all, a terrifying experience, both times. "When have you ever known me to play by the rules? The stakes are hers. The game is mine. My game, my rules. Not her rules."

The blue didn't leave Anders's eyes, but he looked less likely to dart out of his seat and march straight for the Gallows. "AND WHAT RULES ARE THOSE?" Justice asked, eyes narrowing.

"They involve not condemning innocent mages to the Gallows," Anton said, hands out in a placating gesture. Those hands turned outwards, palm up. "You don't honestly think I'd do that, do you?"

"Define 'innocent'." The blue streaks remained, but the voice was Anders's. "Not that I don't trust you, Anton. But I'm sure there's a reason you came to _me_ with this news."

This was delicate. Anton was on Anders's side, and he hoped Justice remembered that. "Meredith wants three mages, and I have no choice but to bring her three mages." He held up his hand when Anders's eyes flared blue again. "Or what she _thinks_ are those three mages. But I need to find them first to make sure they don't screw it up."

"And... you think I know where they are," Anders said. Slowly, the blue faded.

"It would make my job easier, yes. And I would really like to get this done so I can go back to my lunch."

"Your lunch." Anders squinted at Anton. "Meredith interrupted your lunch." After a moment, recognition flashed across his face. "Please don't tell me how much templar you had in your mouth, when she found you, or I swear I'll start talking about Cormac."

"I was not doing any such thing!" Anton protested. "I was just considering it. Strongly."

"I still don't know where they are," Anders said, with a shrug. "An inside job, and I had nothing to do with it -- and more than that, if I had, I still wouldn't know. Anyone with any sense would have left town."

"Not to be rude, but when was the last time you met a circle mage with sense?" Anton asked.

Anders pointed at himself. "Hey, I got out, didn't I?" He didn't mention the part where it took him seven tries, or that the first five, he hadn't covered enough ground to be other than obvious.

Anton gave him a wry look. "And eventually ended up here, in my basement, surrounded by Hawkes. If you're the definition of a 'sensible' mage, then you are proving my point." Anton tilted his head back and sighed at the rafters. "But I suppose that makes my job a little more difficult." Lunch was starting to look like a distant memory. "Thanks for your help anyway, Anders... Justice..."

Anton turned to go, but the scrape of Anders's chair against the floor made him pause. He turned back to see Anders gathering up his staff and potions, half-eaten apple in his mouth. At Anton's questioning look, Anders pulled the apple out of his mouth long enough to say, "Oh, I'm coming with you. Mages. The Gallows. Justice isn't going to shut up unless I do."

"Said the sensible mage," Anton teased, gesturing Anders through the door in front of him.

* * *

"Did you say you were looking for Evelina?" Anders asked, as they headed for the stairs. "I know where she used to live, before the Circle took her back. She was trying to get the Chantry to help the orphans, down here; that's why she turned herself in, in the first place. Hoping to buy help from the inside." He shook his head. "Didn't help, of course. Never does. Not enough money, they said. Needed to spend it on lyrium for the templars."

"Andraste's ass, really? They wouldn't-- well, no, I expect you're right. There's not any abundance of young Chantry brothers, up top, and things look about like they've ever been, here." Anton glanced around. "So, where are we going?"

"Over there." Anders pointed to a teenage boy playing with a younger boy in a wide spot in the tunnels. "Hey, have either of you seen Evelina? There's trouble, and I need to check on her. Templars are coming."

"Again? Templars already came, Anders," the boy shouted back.

"Yeah, again. They're still looking. I really need to make sure she's all right, so if you see her..." Anders shrugged, still heading in that direction. "These are her kids," he told Anton. "She takes care of as many as she can, but it's hard. Harder, since she's been locked up, but... I guess they take care of each other, now."

"We just want to help her," Anton told the kids, exaggerating his Fereldan accent just enough to make it obvious where he was from. "If you know Anders, you know that."

The older urchin shook his head, the image of weariness as his shoulders sagged. "No one can help her," he said. His friend, who was a foot shorter and easily half his size, stood just behind him, peeking around his shoulder.

"The templars made Evelina angry," said the younger boy, finally ducking out from behind his friend. He looked at Anders, eyes pleading for him to understand. "They made her change..."

Anton and Anders exchanged a quick glance. That didn't sound good. "Change?" Anders asked gently. "What do you mean?"

"It wasn't her fault!" the younger boy rushed to say. "When it was over, she was ashamed. She ran into the tunnels and hid."

"Shut up, Cricket!" the older boy hissed, grabbing his shoulder. "Don't tell them that!"

Anders wished he could pretend he didn't know what that meant.

Anton's expression was carefully neutral as he said, "So she's in the sewer tunnels."

"You can't go there!" the older boy pleaded. "She'll know we told you, and she'll be angry at us!"

"Angry? I didn't like when she got angry. We have to hide!" The younger boy, Cricket, looked terrified. He took a sharp breath and took off running.

"Cricket!" the older one shouted after him, but Anders caught his arm before he could follow.

"She's sick," Anders said, because it was easier than telling the boy about the demon he anticipated. "I'll try to help her, but... Something like this, I don't know if I can save her, and I'm sorry. You know my door's always open if you need something."

Uncertainty flickered across the boy's face. "Do what you can. We've made it this far," he said, before running after the younger boy.

"I don't like this," Anders said, quietly, to Anton. "I knew her, back in Ferelden. She was sweet and kind and--" He waved after the kids. "You heard them. Now, she's got a demon."

"Anders, don't take this the wrong way, but are you sure it's a demon?" Anton asked. "Have you seen yourself when you get angry? You swear Justice isn't a demon, and I believe you, because I don't think Cormac would tolerate you if he was, so, I'm just saying... are we sure it's really a demon, and not just terrifying?"

"Not going to know, until I talk to her. I have to see her. Justice has to see her." Anders studied the tunnels around them. "Probably that one," he decided, pointing in a direction nearly opposite to where the kids had gone. "Either way, we'll be on the right level. I just don't want to spend more time slogging through piss, shit, and corpses than necessary."

There was still more slogging involved than either of them would've liked. After a bit of wandering and a few false starts, Anders stilled, body going rigid and skin flickering blue for the barest moment.

"Problem?" Anton asked, testing his grip on his daggers.

"Demon," Anders said. Justice itched just under his skin, eager to take the reins and sniff it out.

"Well, this _is_ Kirkwall," Anton pointed out. "Might still not be her." He didn't sound particularly hopeful. Anders didn't believe him, but he nodded anyway.


	240. Chapter 240

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things do not go as well as either Anton or Anders hoped. Another Marketday in Kirkwall.

They followed where Justice wanted to go until they turned a corner and found their way blocked by a pair of familiar figures.

"What are you doing here?" Anders asked, and both boys jumped as they turned around.

"I... I thought if we warned her about you," the older boy stuttered, eyes wide and darting, "she wouldn't be angry. But then she --"

"Walter..." a woman's voice singsonged, the name echoing through the tunnel in a way that made the hairs on the back of Anton's neck stand on end.

"She's coming!" the older boy -- Walter -- said to Cricket. "Run!"

They turned and ran -- right into her. On the surface, at least, Evelina still appeared to be human, but the way Walter and Cricket shrank back from her was something Anders had never seen.

"There you are. Don't run from me, Walter. You know those are the rules." Evelina's voice made Anders's skin crawl in ways he'd hoped never to feel again.

"Funny... in my house, we always felt running away from violent madwomen was a good thing," Anton threw in. "Especially when they were my sister."

Evelina's eyes lit on Anton. "These are _my_ children. You and your kind abandoned them. You're Fereldan, like us, but you feast on sweetmeats, while your people starve in the undercity."

Anton blinked at her and then blinked at Anders. "Does she-- I don't think you do. Do you know who I am, lady? I'm _Lord Dog_."

"You're the one who sends the dwarves down to fix things!" Cricket crowed, face lighting up.

"I rob the Orlesians to feed my people. If I'm not doing what you think needs to be done, then you need to tell Anders. If there's not enough food coming down, that's my brother's problem, but you need to tell Anders." Anton pointed at Anders. "He tells us what you need, but he can only do it if you tell him."

Anders waved, a faint blue glow flickering across his skin. "Circle not work out the way you planned?" he asked, trying to pretend he couldn't feel the demon trying to crawl out of her.

"Where were you, when I needed you?" Evelina demanded, turning on Anders.

"Right where I always am. I'm not that hard to find." Anders's voice echoed in strange ways, as Justice surged forward. "If I'd gotten word, I'd have been there. If anyone had bothered to tell me this was going on, do you really think I'd have let so many get taken back in?"

"What do I think? I think the templars say jump, and here you are." It wasn't Evelina's voice, any longer. Her body bloated and twisted, turned inside-out until the creature in front of them no longer looked human. The children shrank back in horror. "Kirkwall should be mine!" said the abomination, its voice deep and resonating in way that set Anders's teeth on edge. "Then my children will have a whole city to play in."

As the creature was speaking, Anton waved the children aside with the point of his dagger, sidestepping to stand between them and the abomination. Anders's eyes crackled an electric blue as he gathered magic through his staff. Later. He would mourn Evelina later.

Right now, he would focus on dodging her -- it -- as it lunged for him, claws curled towards his face. He half expected those claws to bounce off a shield, but Cormac wasn't here. He reached for a glyph, but Anton was too close. Flicking his hand, instead, he brought up a plate of stone, and the thing's claws grated and squealed against it. At least he still had his reflexes.

"My face? Really? Is my beauty so offensive to you? Is that what that was about, back in the tower?" Anders raved, lighting up the floor, as Anton leapt back. "Andraste's knickers, pour my guts on the floor, but leave my face out of it!"

"You were a trap!" the demon roared, tearing itself off the glyph, as Anton lunged again. "You gave yourself to them. How many of us did you trade them, to buy your way into their graces?"

"Their _graces_?" Anders boggled as he lashed out, trying to stun the thing. "I gave myself so they wouldn't take anyone else -- you, or Solona, or Jowan, or even Godwin, that shithead -- turned out he had his own thing going with them." Or Karl. Or Fen'Din. But, even now, he wouldn't mention those names. He'd failed them both. He just hoped Fen'Din was still there, still alive. He'd get back there, one day, but Kirkwall, first. He needed one success, before he could show his face again, but maybe Solona could check, for him. Maybe Solona could conscript--

The claws slammed against Anders's staff, as Justice pulled them back, then surged forward, irrepressibly. "WHAT YOU DO IS NOT RIGHTEOUS. IT IS NOT JUST. REMEMBER YOURSELF AND DO AS IS IN YOUR NATURE," Justice scolded, ramming a fist into what remained of the abomination's face.

Bone snapped and crumpled under Justice's fist. The air shifted, rushed inwards towards the abomination in a way that reminded Anton of Artie's magic, and he darted back out of range. "Anders!"

The air rushed back in a fire-red burst, knocking Anders skidding back along the floor. Rough stone tore at his jacket, at his hands as he tried to catch himself.

"What in the Maker's name?" Anton muttered, squinting at the abomination and the fiery halo of light surrounding it as it twisted again, throwing distorted shadows across the wall. The figure regained a woman's shape, and for a moment, Anton wondered if it had turned back into Evelina. The twisted horns and flickering tail would say otherwise. "Hey, who said you could do that?" he said, pointing a dagger at the demon.

Justice couldn't figure out what Anton was talking about. This was battle. Of course the demon had struck out, even if he hadn't quite been expecting _that_. He could hear the whispering starting in the corners, the low thrum of lesser demons taking an interest in what was happening, here. A hail of ice and stuns flew out from his hands as Anders seized control of their body again, hammering at the demon before them. Justice found it far more sad than anything. This thing might once have been a friend -- either the woman or her occupant, or even both. But, now, they had to go. She had to die, and it would ... actually Justice had no idea if the demon would also die. He'd given it a great deal of thought, since passing through the veil, but generally found himself unwilling to experiment, since the only way to get an accurate answer would be to sacrifice Anders and see what happened to himself. But, they'd already been through that, once, and neither of them had died, which was very unlike what seemed to happen with demons.

As Justice speculated in the back of his mind -- quite loudly, in fact -- Anders just kept slapping the demon with spell after spell, keeping it from ever quite focusing on Anton, who darted in and out of the shadows with his blades. As the shades closed in around them, mostly keeping to the same shadows as Anton, Anders realised he could hear them, like Justice did. Desire, greed, envy -- they all wanted things they couldn't have. They'd all come to watch this one who'd taken a host go down, and then they'd see who would be lucky, next. Unfortunately for them, it would be none of them.

The demon fought ice with ice, and this was not something Anders wanted to deal with at all. If it was throwing ice back at him, the only correct reply was-- Justice answered for him, the blue glow reasserting itself as the air around the demon suddenly burst into flame.

Anton swore, colourfully and loudly. "A little warning, Anders?" he said, eyeing Anders -- Justice -- to make sure that fire was theirs. The last thing he needed was a demon that could summon its own fire moat.

The shriek the demon made was inhuman. More light pulsed as it tried to shift, limbs folding and twisting, but the fire was relentless, clinging to its shifting shape as it crumpled to the ground.

Shades crowded Anton in the shadows. He kept an eye on Evelina's burning remains to make sure none of it came back up even as he darted under the reach of the nearest shade, dagger cutting through its smoky lower half. "Justice, we have more friends!" he called out cheerfully.

"THEY ARE NOT FRIENDS," Justice said, even though he knew, by now, that Anton didn't mean that literally. The blue glow intensified, lighting half the room, easily, and the shades' attention shifted to Justice. They drifted toward him, burbling and hissing with temptations Anton couldn't hear.

Anton took advantage of the distraction, slicing into as many of what appeared to be the important parts of the shades as he could reach. The numbers thinned, and those that remained still focused on Justice, who shone like a beacon.

The shades clawed at Justice, but plates of stone rose and fell against their pawing. They seemed fascinated, almost hypnotised, as Anton continued to work is way through the last of them. Not one turned on him, before it fell.

"New spell?" Anton asked, as the last one vanished in a puff of black smoke.

Justice shook his head. "I AM CLEAN. THEY ARE DRAWN TO THE SOUND."

Anton just stared blankly for a long moment. "The... sound. Of your cleanliness. Creepy fade shit. Right. Like creepy magic shit, but less casting. Got it." Anton nodded slowly, deciding it was in his best interest to avoid asking. He could play games where the rules changed in every round, but magical theory just gave him a headache.

But Justice was more focused on Evelina's charred and twisted remains than on Anton. "Do you see this?" Fissures of blue still opened up his skin, but the shaking voice was Anders's. "Do you see what the Circle does? Templars condemn mages for turning to demons, but they're the ones who push us to that edge!" A year in the dank and dark, nothing but his tormentors -- human or demon -- for company. How many times had he been pushed to that edge, only to claw his way back? How many times had Evelina been pushed, and why, oh why, hadn't she just _come_ to him?

Anton rubbed his forehead. "You're preaching to the choir." 'Lunch' was regrettably far from his mind now. Meredith would just see this as proving her point. He could hear her now: " _If even 'good' mages can fall to demons, then what recourse do we have?_ " What she didn't understand was that it usually had less to do with having a good or a bad heart and more to do with having something to lose. Or gain.

"Come on, Glowy," Anton sighed. "How about we head up out of this muck? I'll dust off the good brandy, while you drown your sorrows in kittens."

He really hoped the other two didn't go like this.

Slowly, the glowing faded, skin closing over striations of blue. Anders nodded. "Brandy and kittens. I could go for some brandy and kittens." And possibly Cormac, but he'd spare Anton that image. Cormac didn't need to end up in another chastity belt. "But let's find those kids, first. I want to make sure they're all right."


	241. Chapter 241

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anton's troubled about the day he's had, and Cullen interrupts his love affair with the tailings of a bottle, clearly not the first of the evening.

"Oh the bodies of drowned sailors and dead mages," Anton sang, taking another swig of brandy between lines, "flounder upside down beneath the rolling waves."

Cullen could hear his husband singing, loudly and drunkenly, long before he reached the door of their room. Drinking to that sort of excess wasn't something Anton usually undertook alone, but given what he was singing, Cullen had some suspicions about how the afternoon had gone. Opening the door, he found Anton sprawled across the bed, with a bottle in his hand, where he'd been since Cormac had gotten home and Anders had decided to do something about that fact.

"And the sea is so much deeper than the grave," Anton finished the verse, holding out a hand to Cullen. He stopped singing and squinted, trying to focus on his husband. "Just so you know, I don't think I like your boss very much."

"Maker, Anton, how much have you had to drink?" It took an awful lot to get Anton maudlin, Cullen knew.

"Not enough." Anton laughed bitterly. "Ooh, wait! Weren't we going to do spicy Fereldan horseradish, for dessert? I could drink horseradish sauce, instead."

"I'm not sure that would... um." Cullen wasn't sure how to finish that thought, not now when he could see the resemblance between Anton and Artie when his husband was like this. He pushed that uncomfortable thought aside and took the bottle from Anton's lax fingers.

"Did something happen?" Cullen asked as he sat next to Anton.

Anton hummed and nodded. "Somethings happened." He lifted his hand as though to take a drink, only to blink at his hand, only just realising it was empty.

"Is everyone all right?" Cullen asked when all Anton did was frown and turn his hand this way and that.

"No. Well. The important people are. No, that's terrible. She was important to someone too."

"She?"

"Mage. That mage. The one Meredith wanted back. Or... one of them." Anton nodded solemnly to himself as though that explained everything.

Cullen wiped a hand over his face. 'She'. Only one of the three mages had been female, and he remembered her. "Evelina? Shit." He remembered the day he'd met her, the way she walked right into the Gallows, wide-eyed and shaking but her head held high. She'd been one of the good ones.

Anton let his hand fall flat to the bed again as he stared up at the ceiling. "She had kids, you know. Adopted, but hers." Suddenly Anton was looking at Cullen again, his stare unsettlingly sharp for someone so drunk. And Cullen realised that the 'you know' was more than rhetorical.

"I didn't know," Cullen said softly.

Anton wasn't sure if that was better or worse than not knowing. "Come here," he insisted. "Make it right."

That was unfair, and Cullen knew it. More than that, he knew Anton knew it. He wasn't sure if anything would ever be right again, and he wondered if Meredith was trying to break up his marriage. "I'm right here," he said, laying a hand on Anton's chest. "How much more here should I be?"

"You should be the kind of 'here' that isn't wearing pants. You should be the kind of 'here' that I can pull the blankets up over both of us and pretend we're the whole world. Seems to be working for Anders. He took the other bottle downstairs when my brother got home. Can't hear the cellar from all the way up here, thank the Maker." Anton reached up and started picking at the buckles along Cullen's sides.

Cullen didn't even try to argue. He set the bottle aside and unfastened his own buckles, platemail stacking on the floor, as he let himself out of it. "How did--"

"A demon. She made a deal to protect the children. And she said some really nasty shit about Anders that I didn't want to know, and what he said back I wanted to know even less." Anton struggled out of his shirt, tossing it somewhere he'd find when he was less drunk. "They just want what we have. Mages. They just want to have families and the freedom to go to the market for noodles. They just want to be people under the law -- humans, under the law, I should say, since it's not like being an elf has much going for it. Can't even defend yourself, as an elf. And that's not right either. Fenris and Merrill are people, too. So are my brothers, my sister, and Anders -- of course, Anders is a Warden, so he's people anyway."

"Under the law, he is, but I've come to understand it was a series of illegal events that brought him to Kirkwall, most of them not actually his doing." That still upset Cullen horribly. Here was the order he'd pledged his life to, sacrificed his own freedom to, not just malignantly avoiding its duties but actively subverting its very purpose, in a return to the barbaric mage-slaughtering roots that preceded the Nevarran accord. He had, of course, some sympathy for the templars who had been following the orders they were given -- the Order provided little recourse or room for dissent, with the way the lyrium hung over them all -- but the whole was no less horrifying.

"That's it," Anton said. A melodramatic sigh followed. "The whole world is shit. Come on, help me hide from it under the sheets. Pantless."

Cullen helped him undo the laces, then helped him with the rest when Anton ended up wriggling around the bed while trying to kick them off. "Pantsless is a good way to hide from the world," Cullen said with a fond, if small, smile. "And generally not the best way to face it."

"Speak for yourself," Anton mumbled, slithering under the blankets as Cullen pulled off the rest of his plate.

"I just did. But apparently the Hawkes live by a different motto. At least the elder three." He poked the lump in the blanket he assumed to be Anton's knee.

Anton hummed sleepily. "Yes, Carver always did prefer a pants-on approach."

"And thank the Maker for that." Cullen pulled up the blankets and crawled in next to his husband, bending for a peck on the lips before pulling him into his arms. "There. Now it's just you and me, pantsless, against the world."

"Something under the pillow," Anton grumbled, not remembering having put it there, himself, much earlier in the day. "You and me and a lumpy pillow against the world. Maybe I should campaign for more opportunities for pantslessness, next. Champion of Kirkwall, defender of man's right not to wear pants!"

"Not sure how I'd feel about you flashing your bits to the whole of Kirkwall," Cullen teased, one hand moving down to cup those bits protectively.

"First off, how much of Kirkwall was intimately familiar with my bits before we ever met?" Anton asked, with a wink, nuzzling in closer to nibble Cullen's lip. "And next, I said pantsless, not nude. I grew up with mages. There might be something to this robes thing. Namely the part where I think we could get a lot more involved in your office, with a lot fewer comments from anyone walking in."

"Maker, Anton, you're terrible." Cullen huffed a laugh and kissed his husband soundly.

"Is that a complaint?" Anton asked, winding his leg around Cullen's. "That sounded like a complaint."

"It's not a complaint. It's a statement of fact. Anton Hawke is terrible, and that's just the way I like him."

"Is it just liking me now?" Anton teased. "And here I thought you--"

"Anton Hawke is naked, and that's just the way I love him," Cullen replied, nuzzling Anton's ear. "That a bit more what you were hoping for?"

"Mmm, tell me what you think of me when I'm naked and terrible, and then I'll figure out why this pillow's lumpy."

"You don't have a dagger under there, do you?" Cullen asked. "Pantsless, drunk, and in bed with a dagger might not be the safest combination."

"Mm, yes, I prefer being pantsless, drunk, and in bed with your sword," Anton purred, reaching down to fondle said sword.


	242. Chapter 242

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anton proves there's at least one dragon he can fit between his thighs.

Cullen nipped at Anton's earlobe in reply, reaching under Anton and the pillow himself. He fumbled a bit before grasping... something. His fingers folded around what he assumed was a hilt, though that didn't feel like leather. He sighed in Anton's ear. "Love, please don't put daggers where one of us is likely to cut ourselves in our sleep." He pulled the object out from under the pillow. He blinked, sat up to peer at it better. "...that is not a dagger."

Anton twisted back to see what Cullen was gaping at. "Oh, that's right!" He took the dildo from Cullen's lax grip. "Forgot I put that there." He waved it in Cullen's face, grinning. "I believe you've already met."

"That was... dragon... you _kept_ it?"

"It was a gift! The sort of thing you put on the mantelpiece to give the right impression to the wrong sort of company." Anton nodded and grinned. "And maybe I wanted to prove once and for all that my thighs would fit around a dragon. A little of that page six we're both pretending we didn't read..."

Cullen turned a brilliant shade of red. "You-- you expect me to-- to-- _use this_? On you? Anton, that's -- It's got _ridges_ , for Andraste's sake!"

"Isabela says the ridges are a good idea. Anders agrees with her. I don't know if I trust either of them, but I'm a little curious." Propping himself up on his elbow, Anton nibbled at Cullen's shoulder. "And I trust you enough to put that in me."

"Do I want to know why you were discussing ridges with Anders?" Isabela was a given. It wasn't like it would have been possible to keep her from saying something on the subject.

"Izzy brought it up in front of him. He just pointed and nodded, while she talked." Anton shrugged. "It's not like I asked either of them, really. Well, no, I asked Izzy, but not about that. I asked her why she'd given me that thing, which she still insists she didn't, and she gave me the very very extended list of reasons why someone might have."

"Was the list longer than this thing?" Cullen asked, with a gesture at the dildo.

"By quite a bit. Apparently, she has one. Yet another thing she couldn't talk my brother into, for which I am eternally grateful." Anton shook his head. "But, she talked me into it. Just not with her."

"This is..." Cullen shook his head, looking more dazed than horrified now, but his face still a vibrant red. "You realise this just makes me wonder about your infatuation with dragons now."

"Please," Anton huffed. "It's just a toy. It's not like I would actually 'wrap my thighs' around a _real_ dragon."

Cullen gave him a dubious look.

"What? I wouldn't!"

Cullen shook his head and chuckled, leaning in to kiss Anton's nose. "All right. Give me the damned thing." He took back the dildo and tried not to eye it distrustfully.

Anton chuffed. "It won't bite you. That's not the part of the dragon that bites. Or breathes fire." At least, he hoped. He'd never been close enough to a drake to find out.

"Yes, I know that," Cullen said, a bit of a stutter sneaking into his voice as he stretched an arm out, rooting around in the end table drawer.

Anton propped his cheek on his fist and grinned at his husband. "You've never used one of these before, have you?"

"An imitation dragon's penis? No, I can't say I have," Cullen drawled with remarkable poise, as he came up with the bottle he was looking for.

"A dildo of any sort." Anton pinched his husband's thigh.

The flush on Cullen's cheeks deepened, as he attempted to figure out how to oil the thing, without pouring oil all over the bed.

"Oh? Have you? That looks like a story." Anton lowered himself to the bed, again, leaning in to nibble at Cullen's ass, which got him a sharp flick on the ear.

"Not... technically, no." Cullen shifted to hold the dildo between his thighs as he poured oil into his hand and set the bottle aside.

"Not _technically_?" Anton bit harder and Cullen squeaked.

"It was a turnip, all right?" The flush was such a deep red that Anton wondered how long Cullen would remain conscious. He was starting to look a little whiffy. "After we-- Before you-- I was thinking about you the whole time, all right?"

Anton's eyes glazed as he pictured that, and then he rolled onto his back, cackling like a loon. "Was it a Fereldan turnip?" he asked, voice strained and shaking with laughter. "And here I thought you would have preferred a horseradish."

Cullen swatted Anton's thigh with one oil-wet hand. "I considered it, but I didn't want to betray the other horseradish in my life." He narrowed his eyes and shook the dildo at Anton. "Keep laughing at me, and I might ask Bodhan if we have any turnips and have _that_ for dessert instead." His face crinkled. "Metaphorically. That would be a terrible actual dessert."

"I'm not laughing," Anton said innocently, lips pursed with the effort. "Not even slightly. In fact, I find the image rather inspiring. Though far be it from me to keep you from your turnip." Anton sidled closer as he spoke, trying to pull Cullen close with one leg hooked over both of his.

"You-- you really want me to... With this?" Cullen asked again, all thoughts of turnips brushed aside as he noticed what he held in his hand.

"You slew my dragon. Now you get to make it up to me." Anton's grin seemed entirely self-satisfied, but that wasn't so unusual.

"You're lucky I love you..." Cullen sighed, eyes moving slowly down the length of Anton's body, considering how this would be most effective.

"I am _so_ lucky you love me," Anton agreed, without even a second thought, rolling onto his back and lifting his knees, invitingly.

Cullen failed to look impressed by this proposal that seemed to leave his sword wanting.

"You must be getting tired. I'd have thought you'd figure this one out without my help," Anton teased, pinching Cullen's thigh again.

Shifting to place himself between Anton's legs, Cullen genuinely hoped Anton wasn't so drunk as to take his pleasure and pass out immediately. He might not be above scrounging a turnip -- or perhaps something a little less frightening from the bedside cabinet -- in that event.

"Knees up here, Captain." Anton pointed to the sides of his face. "Did you think I'd expect you to do all the work for nothing?"

"Well, I didn't expect you to keep this either, but I've been wrong before," Cullen teased, holding up the dildo before obeying his husband, shuffling his knees until they flanked Anton's head. Cullen peered between his legs at Anton's grinning face.

"I've missed you," Anton said, and Cullen wasn't sure if that was directed at him or his knob. He supposed he'd take either.

Stretching forward and bracing himself on one arm, Cullen considered... things... from this angle. Not that he hadn't seen this particular view at this particular angle before, but not while... he was so armed.

Wet lips and a tongue interrupted Cullen's concentration, and he squeaked, thighs jumping.

"Just pretend it's your knob," Anton said, one hand stroking Cullen's side. "You know. If your knob had ridges." Anton punctuated this with a kiss to Cullen's ridge-free knob.

"Oh, ha ha," Cullen said. He ran the oiled dildo teasingly down Anton's knob, watching his husband's stomach muscles twitch.

"You tasted the dragon's heart, didn't you? I think we still have some of it frozen in the cellar." Another benefit to mages in the family -- food almost never turned. "Doesn't that make you part dragon, now? I heard eating raw dragon heart changes a man. Gives weird powers and stuff. Means I'll always be able to fit at least one dragon between my thighs. Not sure how I'd feel if it changed you like that, though, tempting as it sounds."

Cullen continued to tease with the dildo, as he slipped two fingers into Anton, feeling the accompanying gasp against his skin. "Don't even joke, Anton. I am not turning into a dragon for your deranged pleasures."

"Well, not a whole dragon. And you wouldn't be a real dragon, anyway, you'd still be you. A real dragon-- no. I-- no." Anton laughed, breath making Cullen squirm.

"That's a relief. My husband isn't interested in real dragons, just artificial ones. Just turning me into half a dragon, so he can have his depraved way with me." Cullen shook his head and crooked his fingers. "Maker, Anton, you have no shame."

Anton gasped and squirmed as those fingers pressed into him in new ways. "Weren't you the one who decided we shouldn't have secrets?"

Cullen turned his head to nip one taut thigh. "These weren't the kinds of secrets I was expecting. Do you have anything else under your pillow I should be concerned about?" This last word rose in pitch as Anton wrapped his lips around the tip of Cullen's knob. Anton took a moment just to taste, humming deep in his throat, and Cullen choked off a soft sound at the slide of Anton's tongue.

Anton let Cullen slide out of his mouth with one last lick. "Perhaps you should check for turnips."

Cullen choked a laugh, glad Anton couldn't see him blush from this angle. He twisted his fingers in punishment and grinned at the warm sounds they inspired. He stroked Anton's insides some more while Anton's hands kneaded his thighs and rump, waiting until Anton begged for more to pull his fingers free.

Cullen nuzzled the knob in front of his face. "Ready, love?" He heard and felt Anton's breath quicken at the question.

"Very," Anton purred. "Come on, Dragonslayer."

With a slow and uncertain breath, Cullen pressed the tip of the oddly-shaped stone into Anton. The reaction was immediate, Anton's hands tightening against his thighs, a low moan reverberating through his knob, where Anton's lips wrapped around it. His own hips twitched, and Anton pulled him down, tongue flicking against his knob. As Anton's hips tipped up, chasing more of the slick stone, Cullen slipped it in, slowly, watching the ridges vanish into his husband's body. For all that he wanted to be disgusted, it was an inspiring sight. Or maybe that was just the echo in his bones from when Anton swallowed around him. Either way, his reservations began to leave him, as Anton pressed back against the dildo with almost enough force to twist it out of his hand.

The sounds Anton made were muffled by Cullen's knob, but they were still definitely pleasured sounds, pleased sounds, as he tipped his head back and leaned up for more. Cullen's hips began to rock, but they stayed high, letting Anton control how deep he could get.

"Maker, Anton," Cullen breathed. Even after all these years, Cullen hadn't yet figured out what he'd done to deserve this man, dragon-related deviances and all. Anton purred around him in answer, and Cullen just focused on keeping up with him, on matching the rhythm of his hips with the slide of the toy. He shifted his grip, and the change in angle made Anton's hips shiver.

"Anton," Cullen sighed. "Anton."

It took him a moment to realise that the answering name wasn't his. Or from Anton.

" _Carver, no!_ "

" _What? I wasn't doing anything!_ "

Cullen stilled. That had been right outside their door. Carver was standing right outside their door. Carver was standing right outside their door while Cullen worked his brother's ass with a dragon dildo. Maker.

" _You were thinking it!_ " Anton recognised his sister's voice, and Cullen's knob stifled his chuckle.

" _I just wanted to ask Anton--_ "

" _Do not open that door! Ser Cullen was lowing like a stabbed ox, not five minutes ago, and you do not want to know why!_ "

Anton choked and Cullen buried his face in Anton's crotch with a horrified groan, his cheeks flushing at the thought of Bethany having heard any of this. "Anton," he whispered, lifting his hips, "I don't sound like an ox, do I?"

As soon as his mouth was free, Anton answered that question loud enough for his brother to hear, at least, and possibly his sister as well, voice still thick with spit. "Dragon noises! He was making _dragon noises_!"

Cullen's hips dropped as he tried to shut Anton up again, pressing his knob against Anton's face as the man cackled beneath him.

" _Anton, I have heard dragons. I have fought dragons. I have also heard an awful lot of oxen in an awful lot of conditions, and that was not a dragon noise. That was the sound of an ox being stabbed, or potentially_ stabbed." Bethany shouted back. " _He still sounds better than Cormac!_ "

" _Oh, Andraste's blazing, punctured heart on a_ stick! _Enough! From all of you!_ " Carver howled, and the dog sang along. " _I'm going to the pub, so I can drink until I've completely forgotten this entire conversation!_ "

"I wish _I_ could forget this entire conversation," Cullen groaned, ducking his head against Anton's leg. The bed shook with Anton's laughter.

"Really. Carver should know to knock by now," Anton said. "Especially after last time. I thought we'd frightened him off for good with that."

Cullen tried to burrow deeper against the inside of Anton's thigh. "Thank you. Another memory I'd rather not have. The... Carver-walking-in part. The rest was pretty fantastic as far as memories go."

Anton pinched Cullen's rump, grinned at the way his muscles jumped under his hand. "But weren't we in the middle of making another 'pretty fantastic' memory?"

"We were," Cullen said, kissing the skin in front of his face. He stoppered any 'ox-noises' as they built up from his chest, but Anton was merciless, applying his mouth in ways that definitely resulted in whimpering and heavy breathing, as Cullen tried not to moan. Chewing his lip, Cullen thrust the dildo in harder, every time he thought he might, and Anton's mouth, Anton's stifled moans as they reverberated through his flesh, worked him into a rhythm.

Anton's hips rolled, grinding him down onto the fake dragon inside him. He was definitely starting to understand what Izzy meant about the ridges. It felt incredible, and any concerns he might have had about his younger siblings listening in vanished into nothingness, as Cullen's tongue dragged over his knob.

The sensation of Anton sucking, warm fluids rising around Cullen's knob, and then Anton's fingers stroking across his wet skin, were the only warning Cullen had before those fingers plunged into him. This time, Cullen might have been willing to admit the sound he made was ox-like, but he was trying very hard not to think about that, driving the dildo into Anton in the same rhythm Anton's fingers worked inside him.

But Anton's fingers twisted, and Cullen's rhythm stuttered. It took all his focus to keep his hips still, to keep from driving into that wicked mouth. Anton felt the shift, felt Cullen's muscles tremble and bunch under his free hand, and Anton stretched up to pull Cullen deeper, letting the desperate sounds in the back of his throat speak for him.

Upstairs, Bethany turned the page, shaking her head at the sounds that echoed up to her. "And he complains about Cormac," she said to Mintaka, switching her quill to her other hand to scratch behind his ear. Mintaka dropped his head into Bethany's lap, whole body heaving with a sigh.

At last, Anton and Cullen laid panting against each other's sides, each damp, but satisfied, and far too exhausted to move far. "We're laying on the blanket," Anton pointed out, and Cullen groaned against his thigh, reaching across them both to tug at the other side of the blanket, the part they weren't laying on.

"Your leg is pillow enough for me," Cullen muttered as he dragged the far corner of the blanket across their ribs and hips. "Good?"

"Amazing. You keep on like that and I might forgive you for slaying that dragon instead of bringing it home," Anton purred, squeezing Cullen's bottom.

"Am I dragon enough for you, then?" Cullen joked, nipping at Anton's thigh.

"Mm, with a little help from your new sword," Anton teased, nudging the dildo with his knee. "My sexy drake."

Cullen managed to cringe and laugh at the same time. "Please don't call me that."

Anton hummed contentedly, stretching his toes. "I'm sure my brother will call you worse things later."

That didn't stop Cullen from cringing, but he was too wrung-out, limbs too loose for him to care. "Poor sod," he mumbled, eyes drifting shut. "But, Anton?"

"Mm?"

"Maybe we should get a lock on that door just in case."


	243. Chapter 243

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anton ventures forth to rescue another apostate. Hopefully. Anders learns things he never wanted to know about Carver.

The next afternoon, Anton was a little slow out of bed. He'd spent so much of the preceding day drinking, after meeting with that poor mage, _killing_ her. Cullen had distracted him for a few hours, but once Cullen had fallen asleep, he'd picked up the bottle again. He had lands and money and a will to do right. Why couldn't he help these people? And now he had a terrible hangover, and he hoped Anders was in better shape, if they had to go to the alienage, today, and he knew they did. The faster this was finished, the sooner he could be sure he'd done everything he could -- both for these mages and for his family. Not for the first time, he considered letting the Knight-Commander meet with an unfortunate accident, but there was no guarantee that would solve this problem or even help with it. Cullen was the obvious choice for Commander, but the Chantry might not see it that way. And really, he couldn't be sure Cullen would ever forgive him -- not for ending Meredith, but for making him Knight-Commander.

Anton staggered into Anders's clinic in the early afternoon, looking a little worse than he even felt, and Anders's bitter, knowing chuckle did nothing to help, even if the healing that washed over him made things substantially better. Taking the glass Anders held out to him, Anton sank onto the nearest flat surface and poured it down his throat.

"Do you understand, now?" Anders asked.

"More than I did," Anton admitted. "They're as dangerous as she says, if they've all actually fallen to demons, but she made them dangerous."

"It's not just Meredith, but she's certainly not helping the problem." Anders took his time washing his hands and getting his coat, as Anton settled into a less hung-over state. "I tried. I'm still trying. I've written to the Grand Cleric, spoken to the Grand Cleric, but she insists the Maker works in his own time, and it's to us to suffer until he makes his move. I sent copies of her responses to the Divine, signed my complaint as a Warden, expressed my concerns about the situation here. But, I never heard back. I don't even know if the Divine reads her own mail. I'm trying, Anton, but where is the Chantry when the people need them? Why are all these people hungry and living in the sewers? Why am I the only healer working with the poor? Why is Meredith permitted authority far beyond what the Templar Order should ever have, by law?"

"The Chantry back in Lothering wasn't like this," Anton said, after a moment. "The Mother and Sister Leliana were always there to help. The village gave what they could to the Chantry, and the Chantry gave back, when people were in trouble. It was the templars who stayed behind to defend the town and the refugees who couldn't get out in time, when the darkspawn came. Whatever I think of the system they work for, they tried to save us."

"I lived in a place like that," Anders said. "Mother Anneliese always had time for the children, and I'm sure we made her crazy. The whole village would descend on the Chantry once a year for the naming, and it didn't matter who could bring food, everyone ate. It was a festival, and Mother Anneliese made sure no one went without."

"Village? I thought you were from Kassel." Anton popped his neck and tried standing. It was a much more agreeable condition, without the hangover.

Anders wobbled a hand before he picked up his staff. "Kind of. It's near there, but Kassel's the place people have heard of. It's like if you were from Honnleath, but you told people you were from Redcliffe, because none of them were from Ferelden."

Anton nodded. "I can see it."

"Who do we need to talk to, today?" Anders asked, waving to one of his assistants as he stepped out the door.

"Name's Huon. He's an elf. They got him older, I'm told. He was already married, and his wife works for a dressmaker in Lowtown." Anton shook his head. "This isn't going to be pretty, but we can probably get them both on a ship. Assuming he's not..."

Anders winced. "I'd hesitate to say, if they got him old enough to marry. I was twelve, when they took me. I was already old, for that. Those of us who had lives were always so much more likely to fight it." He paused. "What do we do for proof, if we send them away?"

"We find a corpse, take the ears, and say we found him dead." Anton shrugged. "It's the best I've got. They can't tell it's not him, can they?"

"Not without a phylactery, no. As long as it looks roughly like him and hasn't been dead longer than he's been out, you can probably get away with it."

Body parts aside, it was the happy ending Anton hoped they'd get this time. Two nights in a row of heavy drinking was bad for the liver.

* * *

On the Alienage steps, they ran into Merrill on her way home from the market, a basket balanced in the crook of her arm. She tutted as she inspected her basket, pushing produce aside. "Elgar'nan, did I forget to get turnips? Where is your head, Merrill?"

Anton choked on his 'hello' at the mention of turnips. He was finally sober enough to remember that conversation with Cullen. And, Maker, how could he have forgotten it?

Merrill turned and bumped right into Anders, who reached out to steady her and her basket. "Oh! Pardon me, I --! Anders?" She had to crane her neck back to blink up at him. "What brings you here?" She stepped back and checked her basket again to make sure she hadn't dropped anything.

"Him, mostly," Anders sighed, pointing a thumb at Anton, who waved.

"Meredith, actually," Anton sighed. "I'm looking for an elf named Huon. Mostly I want to get a good look at him and get him out of town. The Knight-Commander has informed me if I don't bring him back, dead or alive, she's going to dispose of Cormac."

"Creators... That seems like you'd want to bring him to the Gallows, not put him on a ship," Merrill said, heading for her door. She could look for the turnips once she unpacked the basket.

"And that is why the obvious choice is to do nothing of the sort. As long as he's not endangering people by being out, I want to get this guy out of Kirkwall. I won't sacrifice innocent people for my family, but I will absolutely pretend I've done so." Anton took the basket as Merrill fumbled for her keys.

"Oh, that's an excellent idea. I like it very much!" Merrill smiled and stumbled into the house as the door finally stopped sticking. "Have to get Carver to fix that," she muttered, taking back the basket.

"Fix what?" Carver swaggered to the door of the bedroom, and leaned against the doorframe, naked. And then his eyes lit upon his brother, behind Merrill. "Damn it, Anton!"

"Oh, Maker! Carver! Wear clothes!" Anton covered his eyes and looked away.

"Merrill likes me just fine without any! What are you even doing here!?" Carver shouted, leaning back to grab a sheet to wrap around himself.

Merrill clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her giggles. "Oh, Carver, I wasn't expecting you for another couple of hours!" She set her basket down on the table -- which no longer wobbled thanks to Carver -- and stretched up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, beaming.

"And I wasn't expecting him at all!" Carver whined, flipping a hand in Anton's direction, his other hand holding the sheet in place. "Or him!" he added, finally noticing Anders peeking over his brother's shoulder. Anders waved. "Andraste's dimpled ass, I don't need an audience!"

"They're here about Huon, ma vhenan," Merrill said, placing a hand on his chest, just over his heart. "Nyssa's husband."

Carver's scowl softened before twisting into a look of confusion instead. "Yeah, I know him. One of the escaped mages. I already talked to Nyssa about it, but she hadn't heard anything." He shrugged. "Probably out of the city by now. I already reported this. Why are _you_ here about that?"

Anton and Anders exchanged a look, stepping properly into Merrill's home so they could close the door. "Because these mages escaped with help from templars," Anton told him. "I'm not going to ask if you were involved or if you know who was involved. I don't want to know. But Meredith is dealing with some trust issues regarding her templars right now, and we're here to... check your work."

Carver sent Anders a dubious look.

Anders shrugged. "Ostensibly."

Carver muttered several vile things about Cullen under his breath, and then immediately regretted thinking them. _Ox noises_. He was never going to unsee that.

"That is absolutely not true," Anton protested. "He's--"

"I don't want to know!" Anders volunteered. "Yes, hello, totally unrelated party in the room. Not sleeping with any of you. Do not tell me your husband's thoughts on dragons or oxen or anything else that just came out of your brother's mouth, thank you."

"I think I forgot the turnips," Merrill murmured, after a moment. "I'm just going to go introduce them to Nyssa and get some turnips. Don't start wearing pants in my absence."

"Only if you promise me you're not bringing my brother back with you, again. Any of my brothers." Carver scowled in Anton's direction again.

"Or your sister, I assume," Anders added. "Unless Merrill has added a second Hawke to your tally... Have you, Merrill? Izzy would be so proud."

"Don't bring him back either!" Carver called after them.

"Still hasn't said anything about Bethany," Anders pointed out to Merrill, to Anton's dismay.

Merrill gave him a devious smile as she tugged the door closed, pulling the handle three times to make sure it was properly shut. "Well, in that case, I suppose it's Nyssa, turnips, and Bethany."

"Are you speaking Elvish?" Anton asked, talking over them both. "Because I didn't hear that. Nope."


	244. Chapter 244

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things do not go as well as Anton hoped.

Merrill grinned, patting Anton's arm as she passed. "Nyssa works the stall just over here," she said. "She's usually here this time of day, but..." It looked empty. Merrill stepped closer, peering into the stall and finding Nyssa crouching on the ground, tying her shoes. "Ah, there you are! Good morning, Nyssa. It is still morning, isn't it?"

"Merrill? What are you doing here?" Nyssa asked, as she rose.

"We're here about Huon, Nyssa. This is my friend Anton, and he'd like to help the two of you get out of Kirkwall." Merrill beamed, patting Anton's elbow.

"Oh." Nyssa stepped out around the edge of the stall. "When the templars came, I told them the truth -- that I hadn't seen Huon in ten years. But, after they left, he came to me. He wanted me to hide him." She looked nervous, glancing around, before she sat on the edge of the counter. "I used to dream of him returning. But, not like this. He's changed, and I don't know him any more. I sent him away."

" _How_ has he changed?" Anders asked, leaning over Anton's shoulder. "Excuse me. Healer, here. Anders. I don't think we've met."

"I've heard of you," Nyssa admitted, with a nod. "But, he was obsessed with showing everyone 'true elven power'. He frightened me."

"Did you see him use any magic, while he was showing off?" Anders asked. "Anything in particular stand out?"

"I... I don't know. I don't think he used magic on me." Nyssa looked equal parts concerned and afraid.

"So, until he showed up, you hadn't seen him since he left you?" Anton asked, picking back up when Anders ran out of questions.

"He didn't leave me. He was taken," Nyssa corrected, firmly.

"Really, Anton, you know better." Anders nudged him.

"When the templars heard he was a mage, they chained him and dragged him from the alienage. In front of everyone." Nyssa paused, struggling for the next words, and Anders tipped his head down, trying to catch his breath.

"Anders, are you all right?" Merrill whispered, resting a hand on his arm.

"It's how they took me. My mother--" Anders shook his head, still looking pale, and a trace of blue flickered across his face. "Later. Put a lot of wine into me, and I'll tell you later."

Merrill's hand stayed on his arm even when she turned back to Nyssa. "He didn't hurt you, did he?" she asked gently. "I know you said he didn't use magic, but..." But Nyssa still looked terrified, hands shaking as she clasped them.

She shook her head. "Only broke my heart," she said in a voice that was barely there.

"Do you know where Huon went after you sent him away?" Anton asked. He had a feeling he was going to be getting drunk tonight too.

Nyssa shook her head again, brows knit. "I don't know," she said. "He... disappeared." She swallowed, lips trembling as she continued, "B-but Huon said he would return to take me away from here forever. I don't know what he means, and I am afraid of him, messere."

It was like those urchins all over again. "Nyssa, why don't I stay with you?" Merrill offered. "Do you know when he's coming back?"

"He said he would come to the alienage at nightfall," Nyssa said, wringing her hands and nodding to herself. "Would you stay? I would be so grateful."

"Of course! I... oh. I just need to go back to the market and fetch some turnips, but that shouldn't take long."

Anders nudged Anton. "Do you think someone should tell Carver to put some pants on?"

"Carver doesn't need pants. I'm not going back in there." Anton shook his head and glanced around the market. "You're a dressmaker?" he asked Nyssa. "Talk dresses with me. I have a sister, and her nameday is coming up."

"What sorts of things does she like?" Nyssa asked, glad for the new subject.

"Nevarran cuts. She prefers blue and rose, with metallic accents -- blue like my eyes. It's a good colour on her." Anton rattled on about Bethany's taste in dresses for a few moments, and Nyssa pointed out some fabrics and sketched designs on the backs of old receipts.

After a time, Nyssa asked. "Are you going to arrest my husband? I think he needs help. Maybe the Circle will be able to heal what troubles him."

Anders looked pointedly away from the conversation, and Anton considered his reply, carefully. "I suspect the Circle _is_ what troubles him. If help is what he needs, he won't find it in Kirkwall."

"It's what happens when the templars take us from our lives. It's different for the kids, but for us..." Anders shook his head. "I was only twelve, but it was already too late."

"You were in the Circle?" Nyssa asked. "Here?"

"No, no. In Ferelden." Anders smiled, sadly. "Before I became a Grey Warden, Andraste's blessings on Commander Solona Amell."

"What does a Warden have to do with this kind of thing? It seems like a Circle problem." Nyssa studied Anders, taking in the coat and the stains on his fingers.

"You've heard of me," Anders reminded her. "I think I'm the only healer in this city, sometimes. Definitely the only one in the parts that need one. I'm here to make sure no one gets hurt if it's not absolutely necessary, which I really hope it's not."

Anton nodded. "A precaution," he said. "I'm sure it will be fine." That wasn't the worst lie he'd told this week.

Nyssa fidgeted with her wares and made small-talk with Anton while they waited for Merrill. Anders wandered over to the vhenadahl, stepping over its roots.

Then Nyssa stilled, fabric swatches dropping from her fingers as a breath caught in her throat. "Huon," she breathed, and Anton looked up sharply, following her line of sight. An elf in a ratty tunic stood in the shadows, blank stare fixed on Nyssa.

"Shit," Anton muttered, one hand twitching for a dagger just in case. So much for 'nightfall'. "Is that him?" he asked, looking back at Nyssa's wares and pretending they were still talking about dresses. "Nyssa?"

But she didn't reply, strangled noises catching in her throat as she stepped out of the stall and towards her husband. He spread his hands and something swirled around him.

"Hush, love. Don't be afraid." Huon's voice was so quiet that only Merrill heard it, coming down the stairs much closer to him, as he put his arms around Nyssa. "Your blood will bring new life to our people."

Merrill's turnips bounced off Huon's head, as she raced toward the couple, too late to stop the knife from sliding under Nyssa's ribs.

"She was so beautiful," Huon said, softly, lowering Nyssa to the ground, her blood soaking into his clothes.

"She was your _wife_!" Anton sounded more anguished than angry, as he wondered if the safety of his siblings would ever come between him and Cullen. If that would end like this.

"Her sacrifice will lead me to my destiny." Huon's face was expressionless -- not cold, but as if he'd run out of emotions, and just couldn't find them any more. "The humans keep us down, because they're afraid of the magic within us." Rage finally gripped his face, but not his eyes. "Look at the magic Nyssa held within her. She was just afraid to use it."

The knife flashed, and blood splashed across his face. Behind him, wild-eyed, Anders started to cast, trying to close the wounds. If the blood travelled like that, Anders knew, Nyssa wasn't dead. Huon had missed her heart.

As the shades rose up at Huon's sides, Anton looked a lot more upset than he had any business being. "Twice in as many days. Maker, what is _wrong_ with this city!?"

Nyssa's life poured out of her faster than Anders could heal, and when shades closed in around him, he had no choice but to let her go. A sheet of stone shot up from the ground to block the claws angled for his chest, then another to block the claws swiping for his back. Justice clamoured in the back of his mind, reminding him how they'd handled this the day before, and Anders sucked in a breath, pulling Justice forward and letting him take the reins.

Seams of blue light parted Anders's skin, and the shades turned, like flies to a flame. Lightning from Merrill's fingertips lit up the shades closest to Anders, while Anton darted around them, blades finding openings as he made for Huon. The elf watched him approach with glassy eyes, but as Anton swiped at his stomach, the air rippled, and suddenly he was gone.

"What?" Then Anton lurched, the familiar creep of an ice spell starting at the small of his back and crawling outward, freezing him in place.

"Anton, no!" Merrill cried out, most of her attention still on the shades. He'd be fine. It was the first hit he'd taken, she told herself.

"Find him, Merrill," Anders called out, voice neither quite his nor Justice's. "That's blood magic!"

Merrill understood that was Anders's way of telling her to use it to even out the fight. The difference, of course, being that she would never use someone _else's_ blood. That was disgusting and horrific, and here was a man who'd just killed his wife for the power of her blood. A subtle flick of her fingers, and she pierced the tips on a spike on her staff, squeezing out the blood as she gripped it. The ground beneath them knew where Huon was, and it spoke to her as vines sprung up and chased after him.

At almost the same time the vines darted into the alley after Huon, Carver threw open the door of Merrill's house, wrapped in a sheet and clutching his sword. "Andraste's dripping knickers, Anton! My girl goes out for turnips, and you turn it into a battle with a _blood mage_?" He watched the vines and caught a flicker out of the corner of his eye. Huon had jumped again. "Back!" he shouted, sweeping one arm toward Merrill and Anders, before he breathed deeply and brought his sword around toward Huon, the Silence following the blade.

Finally, an emotion registered on Huon's face as that blade came for his neck: fear. Blood spattered Merrill's sheets, and Huon's head hit the ground before his body.

Beneath Justice's blinding glow, Anders felt sick. Two mages. Two _good_ mages reduced to this. Two families destroyed. The last shade went up in a blaze of fire he told himself was from Merrill.

"Maker, I hate that spell," Anton groaned, stretching and twisting and brushing off the last of the ice on his clothing. "At least when it's used like that. On a hot summer day? It's brilliant. In moderation."

Carver huffed, wiping the blood from his face with the corner of the sheet. "Yes, because you know Cormac and moderation," he muttered. Standing over what was left of Huon, he shook his head. "Shit."

"Shit," Anton agreed.

Finally Anders stopped glowing. He looked around the courtyard to find it deserted where it had been full of people before, doors and windows shut and likely barred.

"Carver." Merrill inched toward him, trying not to surprise her templar, before she wrapped her arms around him. "Carver, he killed Nyssa."

"What?" Carver blinked at the wreckage around them, blood and ashes, and spotted the other body. "Shit. I liked her. That what this is about?"

Anders nodded, sinking down to sit on his heels. "We came to talk to him, and he killed his wife and used her blood to raise demons. We just came to see if it was true, and... I guess he had to prove it."

Still not letting go of his sword, Carver pulled Merrill closer to him, resting his chin on top of her head. "Why?" Carver asked. "Why does this keep happening? You know my brothers. Do I need to be concerned? Is the Commander right? Is it inevitable?"

"No," Merrill sobbed against his chest, before catching her breath and trying again. "No."

"It's not," Anders assured him. "This is what the tower does to people. The Circle exists to produce magical weapons, essentially, but the mages are those weapons, and we're punished for being too powerful or not being powerful enough. Imagine that every time you had a friend, they were sent to another city. Imagine never being alone -- really never. Imagine living in fear of accidentally pulling the wrong book off the shelf, because the tag on it is wrong, and you'll be locked up and tortured if you're caught with that volume in your hands. _That_ is what makes this happen. Terror breeds revolution, and demons are the only thing the Order can't control, inside the tower."

"Lunacy," Anton muttered, shaking his head and smoothing back his hair. "Absolute lunacy. I swear, if the third mage is like this, I'm selling everything I have and becoming a pirate."

"What about Cullen?" Anders asked, his smile thin.

"He'll join me on the Seven Seas, plundering booty," he said, though the joke came out strained.

"I doubt he'd be too thrilled with that," Carver said.

"Well, then he should have thought of that before marrying a pirate." Anton crouched over Huon's corpse, checking the pockets. "Carver, I think you should be the one to bring this back to Meredith. That should put you in her good graces. Try not to mention the part where you were wearing nothing but a sheet and comforted your mage girlfriend after." He stood, finding nothing of use. "Merrill, I'm sorry about Nyssa. And the turnips."


	245. Chapter 245

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anton is, sadly, not done, however done he might wish to be right now. Fortunately, he has bottles to empty and companions to distress.

Anton went to the Hanged Man, first. It didn't require effort. It was between him and anywhere else he could have wanted to go. Anders stayed for a couple of drinks, before Justice got the better of him, and Anton was left to himself. Varric already had a game going, upstairs, and he couldn't face the idea of that many people right now. Isabela ... Maker only knew where she'd gotten to, at this hour. It was just him, at a somewhat grimy table in the back, with far too many drinks in him.

But, Anton decided it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough. It wasn't going to be enough until he couldn't remember the last two days at all. What was the world coming to? Was Anders right? Was this all the Circle's fault? Or was this just some innate failure of mage-kind? But, then, his father had lived a full life with no demons in it, as far as he knew. After what had happened with Sebastian's friend, he suspected it would have been extremely obvious if his father had been consorting with demons. The worst his house had was his older brothers, who were more like twins than his actual twin younger siblings.

Artemis, he decided. He'd go to his older brother and pour his heart out and hopefully pour some more brandy into its place.

How Anton managed to wobble all the way to Hightown, he had no idea. But it was a good thing he and his siblings had helped clean up the streets or even his status as King of the Ass-Bandits wouldn't have protected him.

Anton didn't so much stop in front of Artie's door as fall against it, fist pounding against the wood. "Artie!" he called. "Artie, I need booze!"

The door opened, and Anton managed to catch himself before falling onto the entryway rug. "You are not Artie," he told Fenris, who held open the door, a bemused look on his face.

"And neither are you, and yet..." Fenris gestured vaguely at Anton. "I'm starting to see the family resemblance." Sighing, Fenris pulled Anton inside, muttering something about the 'Champion of Kirkwall'.

Orana hovered at the edge of the hall, surprised Fenris had gotten to the door before her. She took in the blood stains on Anton's clothes. "Messeres, are you--? Should I send for Messere Anders?"

"Anders is busy," Anton slurred. "Left me in the Hanged Man, to go finish his _Manifesto_. Finish." He scoffed. "He's never going to finish it. There's too much wrong."

Fenris caught Orana's eye and tipped his chin toward the stairs. "I didn't realise you were such a critic of his writing," he drawled, wrapping an arm around Anton's waist, to support him, as Orana went to get Artemis. "Let's go sit in the lounge, and you can expound upon how terrible it is."

"It's not his writing that's wrong," Anton insisted, as he staggered along with Fenris. "It's everything. There's too much shit -- shit on piles of shit -- to fit in one volume." He laughed a little too loudly, hand clenching on Fenris's shoulder.

Fenris wasn't sure how to handle this. He could throw alcohol at the issue -- whatever the issue was -- like Anton wanted, but it seemed like Anton had had enough. He set Anton down on the couch and took the chair next to him, leaving the other spot on the couch for Artemis.

"Did something happen?" Fenris asked. He couldn't recall ever seeing Anton like this.

Anton scoffed. "Somethings. Somethings happened. Two nights in a row. Maker's ball sac."

Artemis shuffled into the room, a bathrobe thrown on over his pyjama pants and one hand rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He looked his brother over, eyebrows creeping towards his hairline. "Orana, would you mind fetching us some water?" he asked. He would worry about whatever stains Anton was leaving on his couch later.

"That is the wrong liquid," Anton pointed out, watching woefully as Orana disappeared.

"Why are we drinking so much?" Artemis asked conversationally as he sat next to his brother. "Did I miss a birthday? A funeral?"

"Demons," Anton sighed. "I'm worried about you."

"I can assure you my husband is not possessed by demons and that I would not stand for it if any were to try," Fenris said, squinting curiously at Anton. "Your brother had two exceptionally bad days, everything is wrong with the world, and Anders left him in the Hanged Man to go work on his manifesto," he explained to Artemis. "I am still not sure what any of these things have to do with each other, but I sincerely hope he's not here because Anders wouldn't take him to bed."

"I don't need magic that close to my junk," Anton grumbled. "The Knight-Commander is my problem."

"The Knight-Commander has a talent for making herself everyone's problem," Fenris pointed out.

"She threatened Cormac. Sit down, Artemis. I'm handling it." Anton rubbed his face. "She wanted me to collect some escaped mages. I told her where she could stuff it. She strongly implied what she'd do to Cormac if I didn't. Found two of them. Both blood mages. Both working with demons. Not even together, like it's a cult or anything." Anton sighed. "Worried about you. Not nearly drunk enough."

Artemis forced himself to sit back. Force shoving Meredith off of the Gallows was not a viable option, no matter how much he enjoyed thinking about it. "You're worried about me?" He rubbed his forehead. "Giving in to demons? You know that's not going to happen." Still, Artemis thought of that time in the Fade, the sloth demon's words he hadn't quite managed to keep out of his head.

"No? Can you promise that?" Anton looked at him unwaveringly. Or as unwaveringly as he could with that much alcohol inside of him. "You wouldn't make a deal to keep Fenris safe? Or Cormac?"

Artemis wasn't so quick to answer that time. He fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve, smoothing out a crease with his thumb.

"These were good people, you know," Anton went on. "Evelina just wanted to take care of her damned kids. And you? You're a good person. What am I supposed to do if you turn into that?"

Artemis looked at Anton sadly. "That's not going to happen," he said again, squeezing Anton's shoulder. He was beginning to agree with Anton on the 'not drunk enough' assessment.

"It will not be your brother," Fenris agreed, looking away, as Orana returned with the water. "He has been tempted. You were not there, but I was. From what I understand of the matter, it would not be wrong to say that both he and Cormac have been Harrowed, without the assistance of the Circle."

Anton had always wondered if Anders had been joking about that. The idea that mages would intentionally be subjected to demons, just to see if they would give in seemed dangerously stupid, but then, when Anders talked, almost everything about the Circle seemed dangerously stupid. "How can you be so sure?"

"Neither of them gave in. Again and again, and neither of them gave in." Fenris cleared his throat and poured a glass of water for Anton. "Your brothers prevented the Ass-Pirate and I from making some terrible mistakes, in that place. I would fear for the continued well-being of any demon who made an attempt upon a Hawke, if I were the sort to be concerned with the well-being of demons. And if one of your brothers falls, the place you belong is behind me, because I will not stand for it." He glanced at Artemis, fondly. "I will not let them keep you, Amatus."

Artemis smiled softly back. That eased a fear he didn't know he had. Fenris would protect his family from him, if it came to that. As for Cormac... he wasn't going to think about what it would take to tempt _him_.

"Drink that," he told Anton, pointing at the water. "I'll be right back. I don't know about Fenris, but I'm much too sober to be sitting next to you while you're this drunk. I'm going to fetch some wine." Artemis squeezed Fenris's shoulder as he passed.

Anton saluted him with his glass of water before taking a sip. "One more day of this," he muttered.

"Of drinking?" Fenris asked archly. "That seems excessive, even for a Hawke."

"Of this mage-stuff." Anton gestured vaguely with one hand. "Three mages escaped. I've found two. That's two-thirds of the mages I need to find."

"And at least two-thirds of them were blood mages?" Fenris asked, though he looked anything but surprised. "If the last third is too, will you be drinking yourself into a stupor?"

"The chances are good," Anton replied with a shrug as Artemis returned with a bottle.

* * *

Anton once again found himself with second thoughts on his own wisdom. The preceding days were still mostly clear in his head, along with fragments of memory from what happened after the drinking began. He thought he might have gotten drunk enough to flirt with Fenris, the night before. He sincerely hoped that was Fenris, otherwise this was going to be whole other kinds of awkward. Just one more day. One more mage.

"You wake," Fenris noticed, looking up from his book. "Did you want to eat, before we go after this last mage?"

Anton's stomach lurched at the idea of food. "Breakfast is overrated. What do you mean 'we'?"

"Obviously, I mean that you will not be going after this last mage, alone. My husband would be very upset if I let you be eaten by a demon, because you were too hungover to dodge." A hint of a smile touched the corner of Fenris's mouth.

"My husband wouldn't be thrilled, either," Anton conceded. "But, Anders is coming with me. Can't do Circle mage things without Anders." It was the most sense he was able to make on the subject within the first few minutes after opening his eyes. And maybe Anders could help with the headache. Maker.

Fenris eyed Anton over his book, marking his place before setting it aside. "And he'll be in much better condition after last night, will he?" he drawled. "Very well. We shall stop to get Anders. Fetch the mage before catching the mage."

Anton sat up, moving as though his whole body creaked. Rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, he sifted through fuzzy thoughts for the name of the last mage. Right. "De Launcet." He huffed. "One of the de Launcets. Maybe we should bring Cormac instead and see if Babette is still interested in his manly charms."

"I don't need to think about Cormac's 'manly charms', not this early in the morning." Fenris stood and stretched. "Come. Let's get this over with."

Anton whined and made a point of dragging his feet as Fenris ushered him out the door.

* * *

Anders, as it turned out, was not only in much better condition, but elbows-deep in patients, when Anton and Fenris arrived. He helped a young man up, shook his hand, and finally looked up. "Give me an hour? Part of a wall slid in. I've got six more people who were hit with falling debris, but it doesn't look like anything serious."

"Is there anything I should be doing?" Anton asked, thinking of the accusations Evelina had levelled at him.

"Put in to the Merchants' Guild for a structural engineer?" Anders suggested, shrugging as he closed a gash on a girl's leg. "Maybe run up and get Cormac? He doesn't want us going out without him, this time -- as if he has any choice in the matter." He shook his head, thinking of the conversation he'd had with Cormac, the night before, when Justice finally let him up from the Manifesto. Something about not charging headlong into demons without backup. Not that Anders thought he needed backup, where demons were concerned -- that was what Justice was for -- but it was still sweet.

By the time he'd worked his way through his patients, Anton was back, this time with less of a hangover and more of Cormac, who looked grim in that way only Cormac could -- with tight hands and a lazy smile.

"Anton tells me we're looking for one of the de Launcets. Just what we need! I hope the brother is less horrifying than the sisters, but they're all Orlesian, so I'm not holding my breath," Cormac joked, sliding a hand up the back of Anders's neck and dragging him down into a kiss. "You got up early. Can't be going for so long without sleep, pretty thing. It'll kill you."

"I slept last week," Anders said with a wave of his hand, "but I'll take that under consideration." He went to grab his staff and a few potions.

"So," Anton said around a yawn. "De Launcets. Visit their place, see if they know anything? They may be Orlesian, but I don't know if they have the brains to hide something like this, if they know where Emile is."

They went to Hightown by means of the cellar, and Anton offered Sandal and Bodhan a wave on his way out. "Mind the goat for me, will you?" he asked Sandal.

Sandal grinned and nodded, and Anton was less than reassured.


	246. Chapter 246

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ladles and jellyspoons, Emile de Launcet.

The four ended up spending most of the afternoon waiting in the comte's foyer, their way blocked by a servant with his nose in the air. After sending word of their presence, he stepped aside for the comtesse to greet them.

"Good evening, comtesse," Anton began, with a graceful bow.

"Oh!" Her hand fluttered up to her chest, in what was likely feigned surprise. "The Champion of Kirkwall! This is marvellous! You honour this household." She waved the four of them into the house, proper. "I will call for refreshments," she said, as they followed her into another room. "Talia!"

A moment passed with no response, and then another. The comtesse sighed. "She is so slow, this girl. Come, let us chat, while we wait."

"Thank you for your hospitality, comtesse." Anton smiled as warmly as he could manage, while Cormac kept his face turned away, trying not to be too recognisable. "I've come to speak with you about Emile."

"Hospitality? This? This is a disgrace! If you had just sent a message to say you were coming!" The comtesse fluttered, flustered, but still pulled out a chair for Anton, before she sat. "I haven't seen Emile since he was taken to the Circle. He was just six. You can tell the templars not to worry. I am sure Emile will turn himself in soon. He is a good boy."

"Dulci!" a voice called down the hall. Anton turned and recognised the comte as he appeared in the doorway, his moustache bristling. "What have you done?" he said to his wife when he spotted her. "You should have told the boy to throw himself at the mercy of the templars!"

"Guillaume, darling--!" Dulci said, eyes wide and curls bobbing as she shook her head.

Anton cut a look to Cormac.

"Don't 'darling' me, Dulci!" the comte said, fists clenched as he stormed over. "He's been telling people he's our son, that you gave him gold!"

"Guillaume, darling," Dulci tried again. "We have guests."

Guillaume paled, finally noticing the Hawkes and their companions. Anton smiled sweetly. "Oh, don't let me interrupt! Do go on. Comtesse, I believe you were just telling me how you haven't seen your son since he was six?"

Dulci's hands fluttered about her as she tried to contain the situation. "Well... maybe I did see him. Just the once. I just forgot to mention..."

"I am sure," Anton said, still with that friendly smile. "But now that you've remembered, you realise that I am your son's best chance at getting mercy from the templars."

"Mercy?" Dulci asked in a trembling voice while Guillaume wiped a hand over his face. "They wouldn't really hurt him, would they? Oh, you should've seen his face -- it just broke my heart!"

Anders looked like he might have something to say about all of this, but Cormac grabbed his hand, firmly. As much as he might like to put the fear of any number of things into the de Launcets, now was not the time.

"I gave him some money. Not too much," Dulci went on. "He said he wanted to start a new life."

Squeezing Cormac's hand, Anders looked away, swallowing a hundred bitter thoughts about wealth and privilege. If he'd had a rich family, if he'd been anywhere near home... But, no, there'd been no help, when he needed it.

"New life?" Guillaume breathed, in disgust. "His new life is spent in Lowtown taverns, getting drunk on cheap wine! It's a wonder the templars haven't found him yet." He looked to Anton. "Help us, please, Champion. Emile is not a blood mage, just a foolish boy. Do not let the templars kill him."

"Blood mage!?" Dulci leapt to her feet. "Oh, Guillaume, don't say that!"

"Please, save my son's life," Guillaume begged.

Fenris put a hand on Anders's other arm, with a sympathetic look. Family was a loaded word, for both of them, and scenes like this just piled more ballast into an already-sinking ship.

"If there is a way to help Emile, I will find it," Anton replied, standing.

"Thank you, Champion." Guillaume nodded deeply. "An acquaintance of mine spotted Emile in the Hanged Man, not long ago. He should still be there."

"The Hanged Man!?" Dulci pressed a hand to her face in horror. "Oh! But that place is filthy!"

"I hope he doesn't play cards," Anders drawled, "or the only new life he'll find is clearing tables to get out of debt."

"You assume he'd lose to Varric," Cormac pointed out. "I'm certain Isabela could find other uses for him."

"Can we not discuss what Isabela does to people who lose at Wicked Grace?" Anton looked over his shoulder at his brother and rubbed a hand over his face. "Don't worry," he said, looking back to Guillaume. "I have friends at the Hanged Man."

"Please see to him, Champion," Guillaume requested, putting an arm around his wife. "Come, Dulci. Perhaps you should lie down." He led her off, leaving the servants to show their guests the door.

Anton really hoped they wouldn't have to deal with a blood mage in the middle of the Hanged Man. Granted, it would be convenient for how drunk he'd want to get after...

"Oh! The Hanged Man is so filthy!" Anders mocked as they walked out the door. "Now I know what Artie would sound like with an Orlesian accent."

Fenris looked horrified at the thought.

* * *

The Hanged Man was full of its usual patrons, including a certain Ass-Pirate, who waved at them from the bar. "Hello, boys!" she called out, waving them over. "Anton, Anton. There's still some light out. What are you doing up this early? Is there a party no one invited me to?"

"Oh, Izzy, you know the party doesn't start without you," Anton said, looking around as he sidled up to the bar. "Speaking of parties, seen any drunk Orlesians?"

Isabela tilted her head, flagging down Corff and signalling for a round of drinks. "What, in general or are we looking for a specific drunk Orlesian?"

"One Orlesian, in particular," Anton began, only to be cut off by a very drunken Orlesian accent from the vicinity of Fenris's hip.

"Wow... Are you... are you a mage?" slurred the Orlesian sitting alone at that table. "Because you just magicked my breath away."

Fenris blinked down in annoyance, before turning his gaze on Anton. "Why does everyone always think _I'm_ a mage?"

"One, he's hitting on you," Anders pointed out. "And two, you smell like lyrium. It's a miracle you don't have every templar in Kirkwall begging for a taste."

"No, somehow I've escaped that from the _templars_." Fenris's eyebrow arced up, before he looked back at the Orlesian. "You wouldn't happen to be Emile, would you?"

The Orlesian stared for a long moment, blinking as Fenris's voice sank into his consciousness. "You... you are not a beautiful woman, are you?"

"No. I am not. Are you Emile de Launcet?" Fenris looked entirely unimpressed. In the background, Cormac and Anders leaned on each other like a couple of drunks, trying to stifle their laughter without dropping their staves or falling down.

The Orlesian squinted up at Fenris as though still trying to match the voice with the face. He swayed in his seat. "My name is de Launcet," he said. "It comes from a part of Orlais known for our _stout lances_." He grinned up at Fenris. "Are you sure you're not a woman?"

"Last time I checked," Fenris drawled. "And please don't show me your 'stout lance'."

Izzy nudged Cormac with her elbow, darting a look at Anders before snickering. "Now this?" she said, leaning in. "This is what lack of sex does to a person. I can only watch in horror."

"Found him," Fenris told Anton, gesturing at the drunk Orlesian still looking up at him adoringly.

Anton cut his cackling short, coughing into his fist. "Yes. Right." He didn't _seem_ like a blood mage, thank the Maker, but then neither did Merrill.

"A round of drinks on me!" Emile declared as Anton approached, standing to the other side of him and folding his arms across his chest. Emile didn't seem to notice him. "I'm Emile," he told Fenris. "And you are?"

"Feeling very sorry for you," Anton said, making Emile straighten and turn in his seat.

"He's lived in the Circle all his life," Anders said softly, from behind Anton. "He can't function in the real world."

"I'm also engaged by the templars to bring back a mage by the name of Emile de Launcet," Anton went on. "And here you are."

"Oh, bugger me," Emile swore, standing up and coming around the table to speak to Anton. "Listen, I-- I know what this is about. I'm not a blood mage, all right? I-- I started that rumour because I thought it would make me sound dangerous! A-- and, eh... suave."

"Do you have a death wish?" Anders asked, looking like he might assist with that problem. "You grew up in the Circle. You know what the templars do to blood mages."

"I've only told people in the tavern. And _only_ women." Emile looked desperately over Anton's shoulder at Anders, and then back down at his feet. "You don't understand. I've been in the Circle since I was six! Six! For twenty years I was locked up. I-- I never had a drink or cooked something for myself. I never stood in the rain or kissed a girl!"

Anders looked ill, for a moment, but it vanished into a mask of amusement. "The Ferelden Circle was more fun. Everyone was kissing everyone. Though, that was _before_ the abominations."

"I just wanted to live a little!" Emile sighed, shaking his head. He sucked in a breath and squared his shoulders. "If you're going to kill me, do it. I'd rather die drunk."

Anton rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Did you really escape the Circle just to kiss a girl?" he asked, almost sounding impressed.

"Well, not just that," Emile said, ducking his head. "I've read so much about other things you can do with girls."

Anton tried not to think of Cullen's books and hid his smirk behind his hand.

Fenris shook his head in amazement. "This is an act," he said. "The mage makes himself out to be harmless."

"No, I think he's really that pathetic," Anders replied.

"I just don't want to die a virgin!" Emile pleaded.

Anton bit his lip to keep from laughing. "Well, Isabela?" he asked. "Want to help him with that? Or do you still prefer Fenris, Emile?"

"Not happening," Fenris growled, ears twitching.

"What?" Izzy looked at Anton in wide-eyed alarm. "You don't mean...?" Emile saw her and smiled at her the way he'd smiled at Fenris earlier. "No! He's revolting! I do just fine whoring myself out without your help, thanks."

"The comtesse gave you the money so you could get out of Kirkwall," Fenris pointed out, trying to get the subject off anything that might involve him wearing less pants. "Stop wasting it."

"You will let me go?" Emile's surprise was audible.

"I can tell the templars you're dead," Anton said, nodding. "Anders, he's not...? Is he?"

"Stand in front of me, and I'll check," Anders said, sitting down as he eyed Emile. "But, I really doubt it."

With his friends blocking him from the room, Anders called Justice to the fore, bright blue lines winding down his arms and across his face. He grabbed Emile's hand, and the Orlesian mage squealed as current lanced up his arm.

"No," Anders said, as the blue faded, and he healed the damage done to Emile. "He's not. It wouldn't have stood for that."

"Then you have to leave now," Anton confirmed to Emile, who sputtered in relief.

"I think there's a ship leaving port tonight. I'll find my way onto it." Emile's gratitude spilled across his face. "Thank you. _Thank you_! But, ah... it's still afternoon. The ship will be in port for many hours, yet. There is a girl, Nella. She agreed to lie with me. I even paid for a room! But, I will be on the ship before it leaves the harbour."

"Just one girl?" Anton asked. "My companion just confirmed you're not consorting with demons, which is a first for this week. I feel like I should congratulate you. If I send down a couple of friends from the Rose to take care of you and make sure you get on the ship, after, which room do I send them to?"

"And you probably won't catch anything, either. I'm very thorough, thanks for _asking_ , Anton." Anders laid a level glare on Anton.

"I didn't ask you, because I don't actually give a shit." Anton grinned.

"I-It's upstairs, the first room on the left," Emile stammered, looking dazed. "Thank you. I'll find some way to repay you. I promise!"

Anton waved a hand. "Just make sure you're on that ship, please."

Emile nodded, still grinning in relief as he stumbled his way up the stairs.

Fenris shook his head in amazement. "He'll be lucky if he isn't robbed blind within a week," he said.

"He's lucky that we're the ones who found him," Anders muttered.

"And about to be _getting_ lucky," Izzy added, reaching down to squeeze Cormac's bottom through his robes, and her wink said that Emile wouldn't be the only one.

Anders rolled his eyes. "You claiming dibs, tonight?" he asked.

"Only because you won't play," Isabela laughed, sidling between Anders and Cormac, one hand on either of their bottoms.

"Are we fighting over me? Can we not?" Cormac wrapped an arm around either of them. "I think we should take this back to _my_ bed, and the two of you can take turns doing whatever you like to me."

"Whatever I like, hmmm?" Isabela smiled like she was already making plans.

"Except that. Or the other that. In fact, none of the 'that's that involve things made to look like they came from animals." Cormac shot her a look from the corner of his eye.

"Aw, you're no fun," Isabela sighed.

Anton tried to force the flickers of Cullen and that dragon dildo out of his mind. "Can you not talk about my brother like he's meat, _in front of me_?"

"I'm sure we could, but where's the fun in that?" Anders teased. "Do you have any idea what you said in front of me, the other night, or were you too drunk to even remember talking?"

"If it helps, I could talk about your other brother like that," Fenris joked.

"You mean, the way Emile wanted to talk about you?" Anton shot back, grinning.

Fenris's face twisted, ears twitching. "Let us not speak of that again. Ever."

"Oh, on the contrary," Anders said. "I plan to speak of that often. At least once in front of your husband." At Fenris's growl, Anders stepped behind Isabela and grinned at him over her head.

Edwina appeared at Anton's elbow with the pitcher and cups Izzy had ordered. "Sorry, Fenris," said Anton, who didn't sound sorry at all. "But I'm just glad he's not a blood mage."


	247. PART XLVI: SUSPICIONS OF DRAGONS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anton reports to the Knight-Commander. Fenris loses a bet he shouldn't have made.

Anders insisted on going with Anton, when he reported back to Meredith. At the least, Anton shouldn't be alone for this, and Anders knew it. Still, no one had yet mentioned to Cormac that the Knight-Commander had made threats, and if Anders had his way, no one would. The last thing they needed was Cormac deciding he needed to make a statement on the subject, which would likely involve entirely non-magically taking Meredith's head off. Not that it would be bad for Kirkwall, but Anders couldn't imagine it would end well for Cormac, who was, at this very moment, once again availing himself of Isabela's finer qualities. Anders had begun to consider letting the two of them talk him into the same -- he _had_ healed her, after all, and she wasn't paying him for it, this time, although he might feel better about it if she were.

"Will you be able to find your own way out?" Anton asked, as they passed the door of Cullen's office. "I was thinking I might make a stop, after we're done here."

"An early lunch of sausage and cream?" Anders asked, with half a smile. "I can get myself out. I can get myself _in_ , never mind out. I think we both have some familiarity with a certain means of entry."

"And I'm sure you don't mean the window." Anton yanked his cuffs, exacting a sharp pop from each sleeve, before he opened the door to the Knight-Commander's office.

Meredith turned away from the window at the sound of the door, and Anton wondered if she made a habit of staring broodily out into the courtyard.

"Knight-Commander," he greeted her cordially.

"I am led to believe that both Huon and Evelina are dead," was her greeting as Anders and Anton let themselves in. "Unfortunate, but necessary." She didn't even both to pretend to be saddened by the news, and Anton grit his teeth. "It seems, however, that we have still heard nothing from Emile de Launcet." Meredith leaned over her desk and pierced Anton with her stare.

"Emile was killed," Anton answered her regretfully. "We found his body in a Lowtown alley, his pockets turned out. Three mages, and I failed to bring them back. I am sorry." And he was sorry, at least about Evelina and Huon.

Meredith continued to stare him, expressionless, as she pushed off from her desk to circle in front of it.

"Yet I have not seen the body?" she said. "No witnesses? Most curious." Meredith eyed him for a moment longer as Anton held his breath. "Regardless, your part in this is done."

"The blame for everything these mages did can be laid firmly at your feet." Two days of being hung over had done nothing for Anton's politesse. "Look at the way you treat them. Is it any wonder they're so desperate?"

"I have heard this argument often. 'Maybe they are not corrupt.' 'Maybe they deserve leniency.' 'Maybe they can be saved.'" Meredith turned away and leaned on her desk, for a moment, providing an excellent view of the sword at her back. "There are maybes enough to fill half the graves in Kirkwall. I will not add more to the pile."

Anton opened his mouth, but Meredith cut him off. "Enough. I have not the patience to argue this with you further."

"And I have not the patience to sit back and watch you relentlessly abuse your charges, yet, here we are," Anders snapped, trying to keep a grip on Justice.

"Be very careful, mage. Your friendship with the Champion protects you only so much," Meredith replied, locking eyes with Anders as she stepped forward.

"Do you really want to explain that to Weisshaupt?" Anders asked, with a thin smile. "That's Mage- _Warden_ , to you."

Anton slipped between them. "Don't piss off the Wardens, Commander. Anders, don't ruin my marriage. Excuse us Ser Meredith. We have to go."

Anton took Anders by the arm and led him out before he started to look blue around the edges. The door shut behind them. "All right?" he asked Anders.

"Irritated," Anders replied. An understatement, to be sure, but he didn't need to lecture Anton on mage rights or point out all the things that were wrong with that conversation. "Three mages dead on her watch, as far as she knows, and she doesn't even bat an eye. They are not her 'charges', they are her prisoners!" The words slipped out of him anyway.

"I know," said Anton, grimly. "Believe me, I do." He started towards Cullen's office, and Anders walked with him. "Are you still fine to leave on your own? You're not glowing yet, but you look like you're about to."

Anders waved aside his concern. "No, I'll be fine. Justice knows now's not the time."

* * *

* * *

This was an unusual situation. In fact, it was so unusual, Fenris was wholly certain it had never happened before. "Have you been taking lessons from Isabela?" he asked his husband, spreading his losing hand on the table. "What _has_ she been asking in return?"

He struggled with the idea, first, that Artemis had beat him at diamondback. And then with the idea that he'd gotten so lazy with his wagers that he'd started betting 'anything you want'. It wasn't like he was going to lose -- well, not until he did, clearly. The years in Tevinter had been good for something, at least, and the stark terror he felt never crossed his face, although one ear determinedly twitched in annoyance.

Artemis stared at Fenris's hand, then his own. He wished he could claim he'd used some devious strategy or even some sleight of hand to win, but the truth was that it had been dumb luck.

"I won? Er, I mean. Yes. Of course I won. And I'm not telling you my secrets, Fen, whether you give me those puppy eyes or not."

Fenris muttered something about not having puppy eyes, and Artie reached over to tug his twitching ear. It occurred to Artemis that winning meant he won the bet, Fenris's 'anything you want'.

"And now what do I do with you, hmm?" Artemis asked, stroking a finger along Fenris's jawline. "Too bad we still don't have the Orlesian maid's outfit." He wasn't actually interested in seeing Fenris in it, but it was worth Fenris's wide-eyed look.

"Anything you want," Fenris growled, the panic slowly setting in. He'd bet himself, his freedom, like a fool. On the other hand, this might not be quite as terrible as losing such a bet to anyone else in Thedas, considering the sorts of things he'd watched Artemis do to Cormac in similar situations. He was relatively sure Artemis wouldn't hurt him, intentionally, but ... mage. He was still justifiably afraid of the result of his stupidity, and he would not be making this mistake again, assuming he ever got the opportunity.

Artemis was stymied, but he didn't let it show on his face. Cormac was usually good at this sort of thing. He knew how to come up with the worst ideas, especially when they involved different uses for Anders. Or different places, if Artie believed his stories. The most recent story involved the Chantry and a broom closet, and somehow the Grand Cleric hadn't heard Cormac screaming for Anders's knob.

But there was Cormac, giving Artie bad ideas even when he wasn't around. Artemis bit his lip and considered his husband and his adorably twitchy ears. He grabbed up the bottle of whiskey. "Want to go for a walk?"

"A walk? To where? And what will we be doing, on this walk?" Fenris reluctantly stood, tension in every line of his body. His eyes stayed low, studying the cards. A walk involving a bottle of whiskey. This would either end surprisingly well or horribly in ways he didn't much want to consider, and he wasn't sure how much he liked the idea of Artemis getting that drunk in public, these days.

Artemis spotted the tension in his shoulders and curled a finger under Fenris's chin, gently tilting his head up until their eyes met. He wasn't used to that look in Fenris's eyes, not any more. "It's just me," Artie reminded him gently. "And you, serah, won't be doing anything to me that you haven't already done." He kissed Fenris sweetly. "But if you don't want to..."

"Just you, hmm?" Fenris lifted an eyebrow, but didn't quite manage to look up. "And where will I be repeating things I've already done to you, Messere Hawke?" His voice was a low, teasing drawl, and finally his eyes came up, wary, but amused. "I suspect this walk does not end in our bedroom. Is there anything you would like me to bring along for this venture?"

"Just your glorious bottom," Artemis replied. "As for where..." He bit his lip around a grin. "Not far. Still in Hightown. I'll tell you if you guess." He wrapped one hand around Fenris's and tugged him towards the door.

Fenris let himself be led, paying little mind until the steps. The steps of the Chantry. "This is the Chantry, Amatus. What--? Surely there are people here. I cannot imagine Sebastian would approve of this, if you are thinking what I expect you are."

"Sebastian would not approve of many of the things you and I do," Artemis replied before stealing another kiss. "And there's no one here at this time of night. What's the harm?" This was a terrible idea, and that was exactly why it was appealing.

"The only harm I foresee is the Granny Cleric catching you with your trousers around your ankles," Fenris laughed, far more amused at the idea than was wise. He had no idea what the punishment would be for defiling a Chantry, but he was fairly certain one of the two of them could talk their way out of whatever it was. Probably. At the very least he could punch someone, and then they could run. He pulled open the heavy door, which swung very easily, for its size.

Artemis slipped an arm around Fenris's waist. "Then we'll just have to not get caught," he purred, nuzzling Fenris's ear before nibbling at the tip. He grinned when he felt his husband shiver and that ear twitch.


	248. Chapter 248

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An earthquake against Andraste's ankles.

Inside, the Chantry was dark, lit only by the glow of votive candles, which gleamed off the bronze sculpture of Andraste. Artie held his breath, but it did indeed look empty.

This was utterly mad, and Fenris had no doubt of that, but the idea did have some appeal, most of it currently nibbling at the tip of his ear, as he glanced around. At least it was late enough that everyone seemed to be abed, and for a moment, he wondered at the living accommodations for the clergy and apostles, in this grand building. Still, the main hall did not lend itself to the sort of privacy one tended to expect for the sort of thing they were about to do, and he wondered if he would object on other principles, if he were even as religious as the average human -- if he believed in the divinity of the bronze-cast woman gazing down at them from the altar.

All the same, as much cover as they seemed to provide, from certain angles, he'd need to encourage Artemis away from the support pillars. The earthquakes might bring the building down on their heads, even if it was ancient Tevinter construction, and therefore half-likely dwarven-made. He gestured at what seemed to be a closet door, to one side of the entry, raising his eyebrow. A moment passed, and he studied the altar more thoroughly. Was there space behind that statue? The altar was only accessible via the stairs, which made it much harder to sneak up on, but also much harder to escape from, if anything went wrong. On the other hand, the closet had only one door, however close to the exit it might be. Still, there was always the option to punch someone and run, he supposed, though he'd really prefer not to _need_ to do anything of the sort.

Artemis smiled against Fenris's ear, noticing the way he was taking stock of the room. The room with the vaulted ceilings and wide open, echoey spaces. He considered the closet as the most obvious and safest option, but the way Fenris eyed the sculpture of Andraste speculatively made him reconsider. He remembered the first time he'd walked into this Chantry, a mage in a city run by templars, and how he couldn't even look that statue in the eye, as though he feared Andraste would come alive and expose him if he dared.

"What do you think?" Artie murmured, indicating the statue with a jut of his chin. "How much do you think Sebastian would disapprove?"

"Sebastian had best never discover this has occurred. I would prefer to avoid an arrow in the eye from across Hightown, for the crime of blasphemy." Fenris wasn't sure if he was joking, really, but he took Artie's hand. "You won the bet. If you wish it, we will do it. And if this goes poorly, I will do my best to get you out of here, unseen." He thought on it for a moment, as they approached the stairs. "Please don't actually remove any clothing. That might become more difficult. I'm sure we're creative enough to work around it."

He was, he thought, a godless heathen about to deface the temple of a living religion, with his knob. He wasn't quite sure how he was supposed to feel about that, but it did put a tiny smile on his face, all the same. There were no gods left in the world. And if he was wrong, he'd find out the hard way.

Artie's laugh was a bit breathless and a bit thin. He had a feeling this was one of those things he would regret in the morning, but right now, with Fenris at his side and the threat of discovery looming, he _wanted_. At the top of the stairs, Artemis pulled Fenris to him, still walking backwards. "Te ardeo," he said against Fenris's lips between one hungry kiss and the next.

"Yes, well, watch where you step or that may become more literal than either of us would like," Fenris murmured, backing Artie through the candles, carefully. There was a small passage behind the statue, presumably for maintenance, given the scaffolding in it, but there was definitely space enough for what Fenris had in mind. He nipped sharply under Artemis's chin, pressing him back against the legs of the statue. "And here you are, about to mark Andraste, herself, with your seed. I thought you weren't into women," he teased. "But how, exactly, would you like me to help you do that, hmm? Would you like me to throw myself on your mercy, or should I take the strings from your trousers and bind you to the scaffold bar behind your shoulders? Perhaps you have something else entirely in mind."

Artemis choked off a groan low in his throat at Fenris's words, Fenris's _voice_ , in his ear. "Tie me," he growled, even as he tried to pull Fenris close enough to crawl inside his skin... which was something he could actually do if Fenris let him. "Please." He was already aching, pulse pounding in his ears. Being tied up would make escaping more difficult if it came to that, but the danger was half the thrill.

Artie bent to set down the bottle he'd all but forgotten, setting it just out of the way, before pulling Fenris close again, lips chasing the lines of lyrium on his neck.

Fenris pulled the laces out of Artemis's trousers, before realising that wasn't nearly enough for both wrists. He tied the one and then picked open his own trousers, binding Artemis's other wrist with that lace. It wouldn't matter, really. His trousers would stay on even without that, if perhaps in a slightly less ... trouserly way. One tended to expect trousers to cover one's bits, which they did not, when unlaced. Still, if it came to it, he had a dagger in the small of his back, and he was sure the laces could be removed in seconds.

Pressing his mouth to Artemis's, Fenris allowed himself to be thoroughly distracted by the warmth of the bound body in his hands. His hands slid down, pushing Artemis's trousers out of the way, before he sank to his knees, holding the kiss as long as he could, before their lips parted sloppily. After sucking his fingers, he drummed the tips against Artemis's hole, as he wrapped his lips around the head of Artie's knob, sucking and licking with a passion he would frankly be embarrassed if anyone witnessed.

"Fen," Artie breathed, flexing his wrists and twisting them so he could grip the laces. Even loosely tied, if he pulled, they wrapped his wrists more tightly than the cuffs he was used to, but they were something to focus on as Fenris's long fingers teased him, as Fenris's mouth wrapped hot and wet around him. And this was something Fenris only did for him. "Maker, you're gorgeous. You know that?"

Fenris just smiled smugly up at Artemis, for a long moment, his tongue flicking at just that spot that drove Artie mad. "Am I?" he asked, finally, pulling back until he held just the edge of Artemis's foreskin in his teeth. "And I thought you were the pretty one." His fingers faded out and pushed further in, stroking in ways, in places no one else could touch. It slowly occurred to him that the earthquake that would surely follow was going to wake people up. They likely wouldn't have time to finish what they started.

"What if," he proposed, taking a moment to mouth at the tip of Artemis's knob, "I were to bring you off, right here, and then carry you home, before we're caught, and throw you across the bed to finish taking my pleasure of you?"

The way Artemis's breath shivered out of him told him exactly what Artemis thought of that. "Anything," he groaned. "Whatever you wish." The irony of that promise occurred to him a moment later. "I am at your mercy, messere," he said with a crooked grin, a grin that parted around a gasp a moment later. Fenris's fingers pressed deeper than they should go, and Artemis's toes curled in his boots. "Oh, fuck. _Please_."

"Please?" Fenris teased, gazing up, slyly. "Please have mercy? But, you don't like it when I'm merciful..." With a last, long lick along Artemis's knob, Fenris pulled himself up, slowly sliding his fingers out. He spit into his hand and slicked himself, just far enough back that Artemis could watch. "You like it when I'm savage. When I take what I want of you and leave you pleading." With his other hand, he lifted one of Artemis's thighs, hooking it over his hip, as a suggestion to do the same on the other side. When Artemis's legs had wrapped tightly around him, he rubbed the tip of his knob teasingly against Artie's spit-slick hole. "Is this what you want?"

"Please," Artie panted, heels digging into the small of Fenris's back. "I need it. I need you. _Please_." He squirmed, looking every bit as desperate as he sounded, and stretched his neck forward to nuzzle under Fenris's chin. "Take me. Let the world know I'm yours. Let Andraste know," he added, feeling wicked just for saying it, never mind doing it.

"I will..." Fenris paused, feeling more the fool. He was getting better at this, but dirty talk was still one of his weak points, as much as Artemis loved it. What would Cormac say? What would Theron say? He busied himself with action, instead, shoving relentlessly in, as he clutched Artemis closer to him with one arm. "Let the world know? I will fuck you until you know no world outside me, and I will know everything of you." That was probably good. He was fairly impressed with himself, really. He pulled back just enough to watch the words sink in, as he rocked his hips, working his way toward the devastating rhythm Artemis craved.

Artemis clenched his teeth against the sounds he wanted to make. Not here, not with these high ceilings and stone walls, sharpening every sound they made. He wondered if the slap of skin on skin echoed and how far. "You _are_ my world," he panted, because it was the only thing in his head, because Fenris's knob knocked all sense out of him. "Maker," he choked out before wondering if he should, with the Maker's wife at his back.

"Why appeal to the Maker, when you could appeal to me, instead?" Fenris purred, grinding in hard and deep as he nipped at the skin just below Artie's ear. "What use is a distant god, when I am right here, inside you?" The pace picked up, after that, as Fenris drove himself in, hard and fast, Artemis's body slamming back against his arms. He tried his best to support his mage, in this position, thinking that the scaffold bar and his knob might not be support enough. The last thing they needed in the middle of a foolish stunt like this was a dislocated shoulder. But, that thought fled from him as he pounded into Artemis's warm body. He still struggled with the idea, sometimes, that a mage would not only give him pleasure, but had surrendered to him in ways that were occasionally terrifying. His mage. By choice.

Artie writhed and shivered in Fenris's arms, every thrust of his hips jarring an anguished sound from the mage's lips. "Fen," he groaned. " _Fen_." His knuckles were white around the laces tying his wrists. And in that moment, Fenris truly was his world, filling and surrounding him, hot breath and growled words in Artie's ear. "Touch me. Please. _Fen_."

Fenris curled the fingers of one hand gently into Artemis's back, missing the spine, reaching for-- there. His fingers brushed against the throbbing curve of Artemis's heart. "Like this?" he asked, the impacts of his hips breaking up even his own words. "You hold my flesh inside you. I hold your heart in my hand. None as close as you and I." Which was an outright lie, and he knew it, but Cormac wasn't here to dispute the point.

Artie's heart pounded against Fenris's fingers, eyes popping wide before rolling back in his skull. He didn't have breath in him to respond, no thought in his head except for Fenris and how _perfect_ he felt. Fenris's fingers slid out as the ground trembled underfoot, his hand solid again as it clutched Artemis, but Artie was already gone, legs gripping Fenris tight as he spurted over them both.

"Amatus," Fenris breathed into the crook of Artemis's neck, slowly trying to extract himself. "Amatus, we have to go, now. They've surely been woken by that." He eased himself out, still throbbing regretfully, and forced his knob back down along his thigh, before picking at the knots around Artemis's wrists. He didn't really bother to lace their trousers, but tied a couple of quick knots and trusted in the length of their tunics to hide the gaps. Sweeping Artemis into his arms, he checked for anyone who was supposed to be there, before dashing out and down the stairs. He made it halfway down the pillared arcade on the left, before doors slammed open above and behind him, the clamour of voices louder as they spilled out into the main hall.

Fenris froze, then ducked into the shadow of the nearest pillar. "Venhedis," he muttered.

The mage in his arms, on the other hand, had a hand clapped over his mouth, face red from holding in his cackles. He motioned for Fenris to put him down, at least for the moment, and Fenris obliged, watching the befuddled crowd milling about the Chantry nave. Many had the wild look of someone woken from a sound sleep.

Artemis peeked around the column, trying to count the heads. He was in a Chantry, now full of people, with his trousers mostly undone and questionable stains on his everything. This was ridiculous.

"Tie your trousers properly," Fenris hissed, addressing his own laces. "We're going to be here a little while."

While Artie fiddled with his trousers as subtly as possible, Fenris watched the crowd circulate behind them. And one more turn... He tossed Artemis over his shoulder and darted to the next pillar and repeated the process, until they'd made it to the very end. This would be the difficult part. They were far enough out not to be as obvious, but the entry was long and along the centre of the room. Waiting until all the attention was on what he assumed must be the Grand Cleric's approach, he made for the door, swinging it open easily and letting it drift shut behind him, as he dashed across Hightown.

By the time they made it back home, Artie was cackling like a loon. He wiped the tears from his eyes and said, words broken with laughter, "I wasn't planning on leaving the whiskey behind as an offering to Andraste, but I suppose that's only fair." He pictured the Grand Cleric finding the bottle and looking terribly puzzled.

"I do not know where the whiskey ended up. It toppled and rolled off somewhere, and I did not take the time to look. Although, I suppose, it's only fair. We did not invite her to join us." Fenris chuckled and dropped Artemis on the bed hard enough to bounce. "I cannot wait to hear what they imagine about this sudden earthquake. Dwarven tunnelling, again, perhaps?" He tugged the strings on Artie's trousers with his teeth. "But, perhaps we should return to elven tunnelling, and see how many more times you can make the earth shake, tonight?"

Artemis purred and laid back, arching his hips up in invitation. "I do so love a good elven tunnelling," he said. "Plan to plunder my Deep Roads?" Fenris's hot breath against his knob was a lovely distraction from the mess he'd have to clean off his clothing. "And tell me, Ser Elf, how does it feel to lose a bet? As terrible as you expected?"

"I am extremely pleased you did not elect to resort to some things I have watched you do to your brother. I am not certain I could have handled those, and it is very good of you to have considered my ... delicate constitution, in your plans for the evening." Fenris hid a sly smile in the curve of Artemis's hip, before standing up again, to strip the already-spattered clothing from his mage, before dealing with his own.

"Although, I think I have recovered enough of my stamina to continue to entertain you a while longer. Shall I continue to pay off this wager? Though, I admit, the idea of bringing lyrium _to_ the Deep Roads seems opposite to the way things usually go." He lit a finger and pressed it against Artemis's breastbone.

Artemis's chuckle ended in a gasp at the brush of lyrium against his bones. "Perhaps," he purred, pulling Fenris down on top of him, wrapping long legs around Fenris's waist, "but the Deep Roads is where the lyrium belongs, isn't it?" He stretched up to kiss Fenris before he could take the analogy any further.


	249. Chapter 249

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word of the Maker's wrath striking the Chantry has spread. Dwarves and dragons are suspected, in the aftermath.

By morning, word of the Maker's wrath had spread. Whatever that had been, it had shaken the walls of the Chantry straight down into the vaults, and left no trace. Some said it was the Maker expressing his displeasure with the state of Kirkwall. Others blamed the dwarves. The dwarves thought it might be an ancient dragon's nest stirring after centuries dormant. Either way, the vaults were being cleared into the Viscount's Keep, until whatever structural difficulties the Chantry had could be sorted.

Anders heard the rumours from his patients all morning, and by the time Cormac brought down lunch for half of Darktown, he'd had a while to consider it. "So, you don't think the Chantry thing's more dragons, do you?" he asked.

"I almost hope it is." Cormac had heard of it, in the market. "Dragons, I can deal with."

"He hopes it's dragons," Anders deadpanned to the woman rolling bandages at his side. "You don't think it might have been a certain apostate with a talent for earthquakes doing terrible impressions of Andraste and Shartan, do you?" He wouldn't come out and say it -- not in front of all these people -- but he'd definitely be willing to suggest it.

Cormac laughed. "What? That's-- every time the ground rattles is not the fault of mages gone wild." It couldn't possibly be his brother. Artemis would never ... well... There was that one time. And that other time. And the time they both got arrested. But, no. In the _Chantry_? Artie nearly imploded when he'd run his mouth about how he and Anders had left a mark on the place. Several marks. Several dripping marks.

Despite how quickly Cormac denied it, Anders could see his mind moving as he thought about it. "Not always," Anders agreed, "but in my personal experience..." He shrugged meaningfully. Artie and Fenris lived close to the Chantry. What were the chances of an earthquake in Hightown _not_ caused by a certain apostate? "But perhaps we should ask someone who lives in the area. Perhaps after lunch. Earthquakes and the Maker's wrath aside, it has been quiet today."

* * *

Fenris looked like he'd been up all night, when he came to the door, and the first words out of Cormac's mouth did not improve that situation.

"Didn't you used to have a pretty girl to answer the door?" Cormac asked with a grin. "I was looking forward to getting a giggle out of her. Now I'll have to settle for getting a giggle out of you. That sounds much more difficult, even when you're not making scary faces. My brother keep you up all night?"

"Yes. He did. And I was enjoying the warmth of my bed, until you knocked." Fenris glared. "And Orana's taken a few days holiday. I think she's taken Evie up the coast. Would you like to explain to me why I'm no longer lying down, or would you have me guess?"

"Oh, we're just checking in," Anders said, leaning on the doorway. "A few of my patients mentioned a terrible commotion near the Chantry. Something about the Maker shaking the ground with his wrath. Since you are more or less around the corner, we were wondering if you or Artie experienced any of the, ah, 'aftershocks'."

His expression was innocent and politely curious, and Fenris didn't buy it for a second. "I did feel the earth shake," Fenris drawled, one ear sticking out more than the other. "More than once. But, well..." He gestured upstairs, the barest smirk pulling at his lips.

Anders squinted at Fenris, but the damned elf was much too good at keeping a neutral expression.

"You know, even after all these years, I'd have thought at least one of you would have the sense of propriety to avoid banging at Andraste's door in quite that manner." Cormac looked a little too amused. "You did, didn't you. It's not dragons or dwarven mining expeditions gone awry."

"No doors were banged or banged at," Fenris replied. "We do have that much propriety between us. Why would there be banging at doors, when we have so many more interesting options?"

"Because I know how my brother gets, when he's drunk. Ask him about the time he got arrested for having his pants off in a public place, back in Lothering." The look on Fenris's face told Cormac he hadn't heard that story yet. "Oh, did he not tell you that one? Even our dad was impressed."

The look on Fenris's face also said that he didn't quite know what to do with this information.

"Oh, Maker, Cormac. Really?" Artemis groaned, shuffling into view. He rubbed at one eye with the heel of his hand, squinting at the trio in the doorway as though the sunlight behind them pained him. "Can we not tell that story? I had finally sufficiently blocked it from my memory, and there you go, digging it up again."

Anders raised his hand. "I'd like to hear the story."

Fenris sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Artemis, drunk and pantsless? I suspect I know the story."

"In my defence," said Artie, holding up one finger. "Cormac was every bit as pantsless as I was." He thought about how that sounded, and his ears turned red. "Coincidentally."

"And just as arrested, too. In fact, it cost extra to get me out because I, er, _knew_ the guard in question. I knew her in a rather pantsless sort of way, which I suspect is part of how she knew to look for me right there. What I _didn't_ know is that this little shit was getting pantsless on the other side of a stack of crates from me. He wasn't even an elf, Artie! Andraste's parted heart!" Cormac shook his head. "In both our defences, we were really quite drunk. The kind of drunk that makes getting banged against the back of the pub by someone you'll never see again sound like a good idea."

Anders was extremely familiar with that kind of drunk, not that he'd admit it in front of anyone but Cormac. There were even people who'd seen him that drunk. There were people who'd fucked him that drunk. But, somehow, _he_ never got arrested for it. He was, he realised, also a lot quieter than Cormac, which might have had something to do with it.

Artemis muttered something about how he found some humans perfectly attractive too, and Anders coughed into his fist. He wasn't sure if it was his grin or Artie's words that earned him that scowl from Fenris. Likely both.

"So," said Artemis, "is there a reason you two are standing in our doorway, telling embarrassing stories? And do I want to know this reason?"

"They were wondering if we had any new embarrassing stories, Amatus," Fenris told him archly. "New stories, certainly, but I do not know if I'd be embarrassed by them." He looked terribly pleased with himself. "I'd say they were stories equally lacking in pants, but, as I recall, we kept ours mostly on."

Artie's entire face coloured, eyes bugging. "Oh."

"Yes, 'oh'," Anders teased. "The Chantry closet is surprisingly spacious, isn't it?" He grinned.

"All of Kirkwall is talking about dragons, dwarves, or the Maker's wrath hitting the Chantry, last night. I'll admit I wasn't expecting you to take that talent out in public." Cormac grinned. "On the other hand, if there was anything from the Chantry vaults you wanted to read, now is probably the time to ask Anton to pick it up for you. The vaults are being evacuated into the keep, because of 'temporary structural concerns'."

"Assuming this wasn't dwarves or dragons, you've done non-Chantry scholars a great service, and at least one of them might like to service you in return. Possibly both of you. Maybe at the same time, but definitely not in the Chantry." Anders rested his chin on Cormac's head and stretched his arms down over Cormac's shoulders, eyes still on Artemis.

Fenris looked like he might burst into flames -- just a subtle twitch of one eye and one ear.

"That would be _him_ offering, not me," Cormac pointed out. "Sorry, Fenris, but it would take a lot more than that to get me to service you."

Fenris looked immeasurably relieved, and Artie rolled his eyes with a snort. "I, on the other hand, do enjoy a good servicing," Artemis said with a coy grin. "Particularly from any of the three gorgeous men clogging my doorway. Speaking of gorgeous men, would one of them lend me some healing? My head feels ready to split open, and I'd hate to get brain-matter on the floor. I only just washed it yesterday."

"Andraste's vengeance?" Anders drawled, squeezing enough past Fenris to throw some magic at Artemis's head.

"Whiskey's vengeance," Artemis replied, shoulders sagging in a relieved sigh. He followed the pull of his sagging body and rested his head against Fenris's shoulder, muffling a groan against the skin there. "Maker. Haven't drunk quite that much in a while." Fenris hummed and reached up to pat the head on his shoulder.

"Out of practice?" Cormac asked, looking some combination of amused and concerned. "I suspect I should be impressed. Who'd have thought you'd get out of the habit of drinking yourself into stupidity and back out the other side into absolute genius?"

"He's drunk himself into genius?" Fenris looked surprised at the idea, and briefly wondered if that moment in the Deep Roads counted. That had certainly gotten them here, so it had been a good idea, if an exceedingly drunken one, and he'd never managed to find a way they could have gotten together that didn't involve both of them being too drunk to stand up.

"He's drunk himself into my bed. I'm a genius." Anders grinned. "If he'd actually boned me, then I could say he'd drunk himself into genius."

"So I... drank genius into me instead?" Artie asked. "Not sure that works." He tilted his head up to rest his chin on Fenris's shoulder instead. Fenris growled at the reminder of said boning going on between Anders and Artie, but it was a half-hearted growl at best. Artie kissed Fenris's neck, tip of his tongue teasing along a line of lyrium as he wrapped his arms around Fenris.

"Wait," said Artemis, brow crinkling. "Did you say some of the rumours involved dragons? Did you check on Anton before coming here?"

"Oh, I'm absolutely sure I won't find him. He's probably up at the Merchant's Guild, yelling about an expedition and trying to get Varric to use whatever pull he's got to make it happen." Cormac shrugged. "I figured it would be much funnier to just ... not tell him, if he hasn't figured it out. Kind of hoping Carver doesn't make the connection. I didn't have testing my shields on my list of things to do for the week." He looked confusedly down, for a moment, and then back up at his brother. "We're... both over thirty, you and I. And he still punches me when he hears about you getting laid in new and exciting ways and places. Or at all, really. How is it my fault that you have an exciting sex life, at this point in our lives? How was that _ever_ my fault?"

Anders coughed. "It is your fault, at least some of the time, now."

"Yeah, but Carver doesn't know that, and Creators preserve me if he ever figures it out." Cormac laughed.

Artemis laughed nervously, eyes a shade too wide. Considering how often Carver just... barged into rooms, he would be lying if he said that wasn't a concern. "I suspect I would scold him for it, if I didn't find the idea so amusing."

Fenris tried and failed to hold back his grin. "Does that mean you would like to get laid in more new and exciting places, Amatus? Purely for the sake of getting Cormac punched?"

"Well, not _purely_ for that reason. That's just added incentive."

Anders shook his head at Cormac. "See, this? This is why I'm glad I have no younger siblings."

* * *

Varric was, oddly enough, in the middle of a business meeting, when Anton barged in. It was a Hawke thing, he'd noticed, just throwing doors open with no thought given to what might be behind them.

"We have to move the press," an elf was saying. "The Knight-Commander's getting--" She cut off and looked as the door hit the wall.

"Varric. You have friends. You have friends who might comprise an expeditionary force into the Undercity." Anton jabbed a finger at Varric, grinning.

"Why in all Thedas do you want to take an expeditionary force into Darktown?" Varric looked equal parts annoyed and confused. "And I'm in the middle of a meeting. What is it with you Hawkes? Don't you ever knock?"

"It's not like you were going to be fucking. You haven't had an interest in the entire time I've known you." Anton shrugged. "But, there's talk of a nest of dragons under the Chantry. I want to find it first."

"You expect me to send you down there with a team of some of the best surfacers in the profession, to walk into a _dragon's nest_?" Varric rubbed a hand across the bridge of his nose. "I know you probably just woke up, so I'm going to ask. Have you had a drink yet? Maybe you should have a drink. Or four. And then consider this further. One, it's a rumour. Two, if it's correct, _dragons_. I am not sending Natia and her people down into _dragons_ , Anton. Surviving that once is good luck. Twice would be the act of a god who is suddenly paying more attention than they've been in centuries."

"Please," Anton huffed, waving one hand dismissively. "Did I tell you we got here on the back of a dragon? Well. We got to Gwaren and then got here by boat, but still. A dragon. I've not only survived two dragons, I practically used one as a steed." He was grateful dragon-lady wasn't here to hear that, or he doubted he would survive after all. "If anyone should be hunting down a potential under Kirkwall, it ought to be me. You know. As Champion."

The elf Anton had cut off looked back and forth between the two of them, wide-eyed and concerned.

"You sound way too eager," Varric said. "I'm a little concerned."

"And I would be concerned about a dragon nesting under Kirkwall," Anton said. "Especially a dragon nesting under the Chantry. Weren't there rumours about some cult or other thinking Andraste had been reincarnated as a dragon? We don't want that happening here, now do we?" Though the look on the Grand Cleric's face might be worth it.

"Dragon cults. In the Marches. What is the world coming to?" Varric shook his head.

The elf looked up, finally sure of something. "It wouldn't be the first time. You ever hear about that Cult of Urazara business?"

"You should write about it for the Gazette," Varric suggested. "With all this going on, I bet it would sell."

"And if it sells papers, it's got to be something people want to know. Like whether there's a dragon under the Chantry. The people are going to want to know that! And who better to take care of the problem than the Champion?" Anton grinned, entirely sure of himself. "No, really. Who are they actually going to send down there? City guards? The templars? Well, I suppose if they send the templars they've got the Dragonslayer. I could also have the Dragonslayer. In fact, I have the Dragonslayer about three nights a week."

"Stop. Enough." Varric held up his hands. "If I get you Natia's people, do you promise not to tell me about having the Dragonslayer? I don't want to know. Just don't get anyone killed, Anton. I'm serious."

"Please. You know who you're talking to." His broad grin did little to assure Varric. "And if you're so worried, you could join me. No dragon is a match for you and Bianca."

Varric barked out a laugh, trying to shoo the Hawke out of his office. "Just because I'm a dwarf doesn't mean I _like_ tunnels, you know," he said. "Considering how often you Hawkes send me into them, I think you forget."

"You sound like Anders," Anton sighed. "Speaking of, bringing a healer might be a good idea..."

Varric's door shut in his face.

* * *

When he finally found Cormac dealing with whatever paperwork from the mine, again, Anton leaned into the doorway and knocked on the inside of the wall. "Dragons," he said. "You can handle dragons, right?"

"I don't know what you're planning, but Anders and I are going with you, if it involves dragons. I will not have my little brother painted onto the wall of a cave and baked on with dragonfire." Cormac didn't even look up from the notes he was writing in the margin of the month's expense sheet.

"Well, good, because that's exactly what I was going to ask you." Anton grinned as if he'd won, somehow. "Varric apparently knows a very nice girl with a very talented team of underground trackers, and we're going after the dragon under the Chantry."

Cormac put up his quill and opened his mouth, about to point out that there was no dragon, and it was their brother's fault, but a bit of stomping around below Darktown could be fun, with a group like that. Maybe the dwarves would have some comments on the construction. It wasn't like there would be an actual dragon. Demons, maybe, but not a dragon. "You know if we walk into a nest, dragons are going to die, right? There's really no help for that. You piss one off, and it's going to try to eat you. And walking into one's bedroom is going to piss it off."

"Quite possibly," Anton conceded. "But then, I like to consider myself a dragon ambassador. And not because I'm going to 'wrap my thighs' around any dragon we find," Anton rushed to add, narrowing his eyes and pointing at Cormac. "Don't even say it."

"Say what? That I heard you yelling at Bethy about Cullen making dragon noises?" Cormac looked over his shoulder and blinked innocently.

Anton cleared his throat but otherwise did not let his embarrassment show. He'd heard Cormac yell much worse things after all. "They _were_ dragon noises," he insisted. "She thought they were ox noises, but she was mistaken. Clearly she does not appreciate dragons enough. But you appreciate dragons, so let's go."

"Clearly I do not appreciate dragons in the same way you appreciate dragons." Cormac laughed and got up. "I have to get my boots and my glaive. Go warn Anders we're going to need him, and maybe we'll get out of here before sunset, not that it's going to matter underground. Do you have a sword coming with us? Your, ah, delightfully dragony husband, perhaps? Our brother's significantly less delightful or dragony husband? Aveline, perhaps?"

"We are bringing your most dragony of brothers-in-law," Anton replied. "By which I do mean Cullen, even if Fenris does a better impression of a dragon's growl. Now go. Arm and boot yourself. I'll meet you downstairs."

He grinned like a kid on Wintersend as he went to fetch Anders.


	250. Chapter 250

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anton's quest for dragons in the undercity!

"Have I mentioned, this month, how much I dislike being underground? Because I feel like maybe I haven't said it, and the gods have forgotten. That or this is some absurd punishment for fucking instead of working." Anders inched closer to Cormac, nearly tripping both of them.

"You spend most of your time underground, pretty thing," Cormac reminded him. "That whole working in Darktown thing? Just... you know...?"

"The door of my clinic is like ten feet from an ocean view. It's practically outside," Anders groused. "I've got the cleanest air in all of Darktown, which is absurd, because I have a sewer hatch just on the other side of the door."

"I've heard of your clinic," Cullen said. "You do good work."

"Oh. Thank you," said Anders, who looked more wary than grateful. He wasn't sure how he felt about word of his clinic reaching any templars, even if it was just Cullen. "The cats are a big help, you know. They do most of the work."

"Well, I imagine they'd make better nurses than the dog," Cullen sighed, squinting into the near-dark. He kept one hand on the hilt of his sword. "He would just slobber all over them."

"I'll have you know," Anton called back from up ahead, "that Mintaka makes a perfectly good nurse. He's looked after me many times when I was sick. That's healing slobber."

Cullen shot a fond but weary look at his husband's back.

"Forgive my brother," Cormac said to the group at large, "he's a little... enthused at the idea of dragons. If I wasn't standing there when he was born, I'd think we adopted some bastard Pentaghast."

"You take that back!" Anton demanded. "I do not want to slay dragons! I want to befriend dragons!"

"He wants to interest dragons in his swordsmanship, doesn't he?" Cormac deadpanned at Cullen, who cleared his throat and studied the wall.

"Probably. I try not to think too much about that." Cullen sighed.

"I bet he's not the only good swordsman down here," Natia chimed in, eyeing Cormac.

"Swords? No. My speciality's polearms," Cormac replied with a grin, reaching behind him to run a hand down the front of Anders's robe, before squeezing the side of his thigh, appreciatively.

Natia coughed into her fist, her hand not quite hiding how red her face started to turn or the way her stare lingered perhaps too long on Cormac's hand.

From up ahead, Anton called back, "Please save the wielding of polearms for when we're out of here. And for when I am out of earshot."

"Polearms, hmm?" said Natia. She eyed Cormac and Anders speculatively. "I don't know about polearms, but I'm good at wielding two weapons at once." She arced her eyebrows suggestively.

Cullen found himself hoping they'd find that dragon.

"I should introduce you to our friend Isabela, if you didn't meet her in the tavern after the last dragon," Cormac joked, hands still thoroughly engaged with parts of Anders just shy of the ones he shouldn't have been manhandling in public. "She'd be exceedingly entertained to find someone else with such an enviable talent."

"Just what I need. Someone else of Izzy's enviable talents and questionable proclivities," Anders sighed, nudging Cormac with his hip, as they walked. "You know, there are a lot of exciting things down here, besides dragons. Ancient magical texts. Histories of the height of the Imperium. Good stuff. Sure, it's interspersed with demons, gigantic rats, and the walking dead, but it's a small price to pay for works of such historical and educational importance."

"Demons?" Cullen looked rather pale, suddenly -- a dramatic shift from the blush he'd been trying to ignore, as it crept up his cheeks, the longer the preceding conversation went on. Isabela. _Dual-wielding_.

"Nothing we couldn't handle, although that one did get a little sticky. Who knew we needed a sword that badly?" Anders shrugged, dismissively, but his eyes were somewhat apologetic, as he kept them on Cullen.

"You mean the one Artie pummelled for suggesting unspeakable and incestuous filth? Yeah, that was a little much." Cormac laughed. "Demons, though. Can't trust them. Shouldn't try. Kind of amusing to let them talk, sometimes, though. They say the strangest things." He shook his head.

"Big boats," Anders deadpanned.

"And she's still not sorry about that, you know." Cormac grinned. "I'd be worried if she was."

Cullen wasn't sure he wanted to know. He suspected they were talking about Isabela again, and he was certain it would sound just as terrible in context. "I would much rather a dragon than a demon," said Cullen. "They don't try to trick you into anything. They just try to eat you, and there's something refreshingly honest about that."

"This is a point," Anders said, "though a demon is less likely to kill you just by sitting on you."

Anton kicked aside a bit of rubble, coming to a stop in front of a passage that had caved in on one side. "Looks like damage from the earthquake," he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "If there's a dragon, we're probably closer."

Anders's eyebrows crept up towards his hairline. He exchanged a concerned look with Cormac and leaned in. "You don't think--? That can't be from the 'earthquake', can it?" he said in a low whisper. If so, they were going to need to have a Word with Artie.

"Natia!" Cormac tipped his chin at the rubble. "Is that recent?"

One of the other dwarves was closer, and he shook his head. "Not if it looks like this. That's more than a century old. If there's a dragon down here, it didn't get in this way. Or if it did, it's been down here a real long time."

"Andraste's shapely buttocks," Cormac muttered, with a wink at Anders. "What are the chances this is another high dragon? If it's been down here this long..."

"Maker, no," Cullen sighed. "No. Did I say no? Because no. I refuse. There is not a high dragon under the Chantry. If there is a high dragon under the Chantry, the Commander can come get it, herself."

"I don't know, Cullen. Do you really think she can do it without you? You've got a bit of a reputation, at this point," Anders teased.

"You weren't there. All I did was stab it in the neck. You just need somebody else to stab it in the neck, this time," Cullen huffed. "Ask your lover. He was there. He did a lot more damage than I did."

"My lover?" Anders asked, eyeing Cormac. "Is that what you are, then?"

Cullen turned several shades of vibrant red. "Well, that's ... usually the word for someone... to whom ... you ... make..."

"Fuck." Cormac grinned. "To whom you make fuck. I'm your fucker, pretty thing, as ever I've been."

A pair of dwarves closer to Anton looked back at them over their shoulders before leaning in to mutter to each other.

Cullen was still turning colours. "That's... well, er, what... what _do_ you call him then?" he asked.

"Usually, I call him 'Cormac'," Anders replied. "Though I have more colourful names for him whenever we make fuck."

A rock hit Cormac's shield, just in front of his face, courtesy of Anton. "Stop talking, both of you," Anton groaned. "This is not how you lure out a dragon."

"Are you sure?" Cullen asked. "Because I would love for a dragon to breathe fire on my face right about now, thank you."

Anders leaned into a doorway that was definitely too small for a dragon, eyeing the contents of the room. "We might be coming up on something. That looks religious, but the important parts are busted off. Probably one of the Old Gods, but possibly a dragon cult. Looks like part of the ceiling fell in, so I can't be entirely sure, without spending an inordinate amount of time excavating. Which I do want to do. Just not right now."

"Excavating?" Natia raised an eyebrow. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

"Hey, hey, he's always interested in that kind of excavating," Cormac shot back. "Wardens are amazing. Have I mentioned that, this week?"

Natia eyed Anders, thoughtfully, but her gaze returned to Cormac. "Just Wardens, hm? Sounds like you keep up pretty well."

"Can we not talk about what my brother sounds like with the Warden? Yes, Champion, of course! Why would anyone want to talk about that? Oh, thank you, my people, you all show me such love and respect!" Anton didn't even turn around, stopping short to disarm a trap. "Oh, good. Spikes."

"I hate to tell you this, Anton," said Cullen, "but this isn't looking very dragony." He eyed a column half-buried in rubble. "Or stable, for that matter. Old, unstable, Tevinter ruins. Maybe that's what caused the earthquake?"

"Hush, Cullen," said Anton as he straightened. "Don't spoil my dreams."

"If a certain elf were here," Anders said, "he'd be grumbling about magisters and how they ruin everything." He lagged behind the group, peering at what he could of the ruins as he walked, pausing to trace a finger over an inscription. It was difficult to make out the letters in the gloom, and what letters he could read didn't form any Tevene words he knew.

"Magisters do ruin everything. Particularly my brother's lawn," Cormac reminded him. "I'm glad he decided to go with something a little more entertaining and durable, this time, though."

"Lalala!" Anton shouted, and the dwarves flinched, watching the walls. "I do not hear you discussing Artemis's lawn furniture!"

"Oh, please, Anton. Like yours is any less scandalous." Cormac scoffed.

"Yes, but it's _mine_. However many of you have used it, you've all cleaned up after yourselves. I don't have to think about it. His lawn furniture? He lives with his elf. There's really no question of who's using that." Anton swung out of the archway ahead of them, pressing himself back against the wall. "What was that about no dragons?"

Cullen drew his sword and Cormac shielded him, as he ran into the room, with Anton hissing after him, "Don't kill it! Don't piss it off! Cullen! No!"

But Cullen saw the glint of its eyes in the torchlight, and he swung on instinct with a roar of defiance. He was the Dragonslayer, and he would protect his idiot husband! His sword hit the creature solidly in the neck. Too solidly, from the way the blow jarred his arm.

"Maker's blighted balls," Cullen swore as he took a step back, angling his shield in front of him as he shook out his sword arm. The dragon hadn't even budged. In fact, the dragon hadn't moved. At all.

"Dammit, Cullen!" Anton hissed. "Dragon ambassadors, remember? That is not how you ambassador!"

"And that is not how you dragon," Cullen replied, gesturing at the still beast with his sword. He kept his eye on it, still tensed to move even as he spoke. "Hey! Can we get some light in here?"

Anders's fingers flicked and a wisp darted into the room, glowing. Once lit, the dragon was much more obviously an excellent statue, adorned with gems and silver, as well as equally well-carved attendants. "Urthemiel," Anders noted. "I'd know that representation anywhere."

Cormac laughed and stepped forward, bringing his own light to bear. "Is that... traditional?" he asked, as the blue glow lit upon what appeared to be a very large assortment of other carved objects, on the curved shelves in the wall behind the enormous statue. Some of these, he recognised, and some seemed to be intended for things he had never considered.

"Of course." Anders grinned, making his way past Cullen. "There are a number of facets of Urthemiel. The temple in Minrathous is primarily dedicated to architectural design and urban planning. Beauty on a very large scale. In other places, he's worshipped as a god of more... intimate beauty, vanity and sexuality." He gestured at a shelf of dildoes, all of a particular design, adorned with various extraneous endowments.

"Those look..." Cormac cleared his throat and eased his way into the room. "...familiar."

Anders looked again, and a nervous laugh spilled past his lips.

"Oh. Nope. Don't want to know," Anton groaned, covering his eyes with one hand and waving the other. "Not only is the dragon a lie, but my brother is talking about _things_ again. This is not how I wanted this expedition to go!"

Natia eyed the different stonework with a studied eye. "Oh, Gytha would love this," she said, examining the shelf Anders had gestured towards.

Cullen chanced a glance at that shelf, not because he wanted to, but because he needed to be sure that the only thing dragon-related in this room was the impression sculpture he'd so valiantly attacked. For Anton's sake. He was relieved to see only the usual shapes, albeit in disturbing proportions.

"You know Gytha?" Cormac asked, climbing up on the altar, to get a better look.

"Cormac... maybe you shouldn't..." Anton started.

"Because the last time we found an altar to the Old Gods you peed on it, and that was such a great idea?" Cormac shot back. "What's the worst that's going to happen, I'm going to get buggered within an inch of my life by an ancient god? It's not like that's not happening three nights a week, anyway, and you know it."

"I object to this characterisation of myself as 'ancient'," Anders protested. "You're welcome to keep up the 'godly', though. I could get to like that."

"Just for that, I should pee on this one, too," Anton grumbled. "But, I won't. Because it's got a dragon." He thought about it for a long moment. "What about this dragon? Can I have this dragon? It's not like it's going to eat the neighbours. It'll look great in the yard."

"You sure you really want to be flashing around ancient Tevinter religious art in a city controlled by templars?" Anders asked. "I mean, you're married to the Knight-Captain, but it still seems like tempting fate."

"But it's a dragon," Anton said, as though that countered all of Anders's logic. "We could put it in the garden with the rest of the Tevinter-themed furniture."

Cullen massaged his forehead and finally slipped his sword back into its sheath. "It doesn't have an ancient curse on it or anything, does it? That's the last thing the backyard needs. Goatilda activating an ancient curse and summoning a demon or something."

Cullen had the horrible mental image of a demon possessing the goat and promptly shook the thought from his head.

"But dragon," Anton said again.

"But goat," Cullen countered.

"Well, boys," said Natia as she inspected the rock and dirt covering parts of the ruins, "I hate to disappoint, but I think this is the only dragon we're going to find under here."

Anton's shoulders slumped. Cullen patted his back. "Technically you _did_ find a dragon," Cullen assured him. "I'm sure it counts."


	251. Chapter 251

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Late-night, semi-serious conversation, in bed. Revelations, confessions, everything's not all right, and it never will be, and that's just fine.

When Anders slept in Cormac's bed, it was his choice, the same as when he slept in his own bed, or really when Cormac slept in his bed. They weren't together every night. A lot of nights, but not every night. Anders didn't even sleep, every night, which Cormac gave him a lot less trouble about than he'd been expecting, but then, Cormac slept the strangest hours, in the oddest places, left to himself. 

But, Anders was free to come and go as he chose, with heavy doors to keep out intruders -- to keep out templars. It was still a lightless hole he lived in, maybe less so since Varric had gotten him the fungus lamps, but it was _his_ lightless hole. His home, his decision to stay in it, his choice to be with Cormac. And he had no doubt that Cormac would let him stay, even if they never shared a bed again. And somehow, as much as it hurt to imagine anyone doing that for him, it made him want to stay with Cormac all the more. Sometimes, they'd tease -- the errant 'you owe me' -- but it was never serious, never more than a promise that when the terror of the moment was over, there would be that dance of hands and flesh and reassurance they were both still alive after whatever idiot decision that had been.

Sometimes, Anders cried, and if he said he wasn't, Cormac would say only one tart thing, and then pretend that was true, just telling stories and making terrible jokes, while Anders kneaded Cormac's chest hair like a cat, making the occasional squeaky choked-up laugh. Cormac said he sounded just like a kitten, and Anders would mutter something about dirty secrets. Sometimes, Cormac cried, great heaving sobs, but very rarely, when he didn't have some immediate and obvious reason, like Anders's tongue buried in some fresh, deep gash in his flesh. And Cormac screamed for more, howled for Anders to tear him apart and wept to be made whole. And Anders trusted him, completely, trusted that Cormac would never ask him to break something he couldn't fix, knowing Cormac was already in so many ways irreparable. They both were.

"Cormac?" Anders breathed, the name barely a sound in his mouth, but Cormac heard, anyway. He always did.

"Mmm?" Cormac had learnt to pretend he hadn't woken up like a shot, brain fully engaged, and ready to lay down death on anything that came near his family in the night, or any other time of day. It had been discomfiting to Artie, when they were young, so he taught himself to sound half-awake.

"Just... hold my hand." Anders's voice was tight, like he'd woken from a nightmare, or maybe hadn't slept at all.

Cormac curled his fingers firmly around Anders's hand, tucking his elbow into Anders's elbow, and pulling this ridiculously tall mountain savage against him. "Hey, I'm right here," he promised, lips pressed to Anders's shoulderblade. "I'm right here, pretty thing."

"I want to go home," Anders choked out. "I just want to go home."

"So, we'll go. Anton can keep the city from burning down for a couple of weeks. I promise you, Anders, you say the word, and we'll go. I'll have to come back, of course, eventually, but I can go on holiday with you. I can take you home." And that was the thing -- Cormac couldn't stay away from Kirkwall. Even going for a few weeks made him nervous, but he had no doubt that Fenris could take care of Artemis for that long. Especially now, with Danarius dead. All he had to do was keep Artemis out of the Gallows.

"There's nothing to go back to." Anders shook his head. "I was twelve, Cormac. _Twelve_. No one wants me there. I'm a mage. I don't belong there. If there's even a there still there."

"From Kassel, aren't you? It's still there." Cormac sounded a little confused -- not about the mage part, that much was obvious, but the idea of there no longer being a 'there'.

"Sort of. I'm said to be from Kassel. It's where we could have letters sent. But, Kassel's a city," Anders explained. "And we're from the other side of the river, where the farms were. The river had the docks along one side, to both sides of the city, but the other side was the lakes. Lake, when the floods came. It's good land, but it's dangerous. So close to the city, it wasn't as bad for darkspawn, but, you know, it's the Anderfels. There's a reason all of Thedas uses our words for them. There's always stories of little farming villages disappearing -- lost to the floods, the wind, or the darkspawn. I never saw it, but there were a lot of things I never saw."

"Just glad I wasn't your first Rivaini, or you'd have a terrible opinion of all of us," Cormac teased.

"You're not even Rivaini, Cormac, you're as Fereldan as dogs and dogshit." Anders tried to laugh and wound up coughing, instead.

"Arf." Cormac bit Anders's shoulder. "Grr."

Anders cackled, quietly. "Bloody doglord."

"Maybe a little. I'm not Anton, though."

"Thank the Maker. I don't know what I'd do." Anders shook his head.

"Probably not get naked and cuddly," Cormac pointed out. "Have I mentioned how much I appreciate it when you're naked? That you give me that incredible view of every sharp line of you, every jagged scar, the way that little bit of hair on your chest turns the light gold along the edge of this one right here..." Cormac moved his hand to run a finger down one of Anders's scars without letting go of Anders's hand.

"That one was Howe's favourite, too. Well, kind of. There was more of it then. It was straighter." Anders didn't make the obvious point -- that he'd been lacking the most obvious scar, then, the one that interrupted most of the others on his chest.

"So, I'm not the only one?" Cormac teased running his fingertips down to trace swirls on Anders's belly.

Anders looked over his shoulder. "Your _entire family_. Cullen. It must be the worst kept secret in Kirkwall, by now."

'It', not 'they'. "The one you don't want me touching," Cormac guessed. "That's really it, isn't it?"

"Yeah. I'm not really big on explaining how I walked away from that. The others, magic would have been enough. That one... Justice wanted to live, so we did. I'm not saying I didn't, but what I wanted had nothing to do with what happened. No man should have survived that. No man, no mage, no magister. But, here we are." Anders curled around Cormac's arm.

"Justice," Cormac whispered against Anders's back, "thank you."

"We killed them all. They thought they knew what we were, but we killed them all. Do you know what metal smells like when it catches fire? Because I do. The fire took everything. Looked like a dragon had gotten us all." The words spilled out of Anders on distant, dizzy breaths. "I worked at it, but the flesh wasn't mine any more, and he fought me. For years, I've been working on my heart. It's mine, again. Another few years and maybe I'll trust it without his help. The scars set too long. I'm not what I used to be."

"You're all I've ever known you to be. Kind and strong and gorgeous. So fucking patient with me. You telling me you'd have been any less of that before?" Cormac teased, nibbling at Anders's back.

"Yes."

The word hung between them for a long moment, before Anders spoke again. "I was stronger, prettier, healthier. But, I wasn't kind, and I wasn't patient. Not then. Maybe, before that, but you'd have to ask--" He laughed bitterly. "No, I don't even know if he's still alive -- not that he'd admit it if he was. I don't know if they made him Tranquil. I was determined, maybe. But, I wasn't kind. I may still not be kind, but I suspect I am just."

"You are the sweetest thing ever to crawl out of the wreckage of Andraste's word, and I am including my brother in that assessment, because he is _such_ a damnable asshole," Cormac insisted, rubbing Anders's belly.

"So am I, Cormac. Just not as much to you." Anders buried his face in the pillow. "What about the at least three times I called you 'Karl' and then stole all the blankets and kicked you onto the floor, naked?"

Cormac shrugged, hooking his knee over Anders's hip. "Grief. Also, it was seven times. It's not like you covered me in rashvine, while I was sleeping, _like Artemis did_."

"Yet, you still sleep with both of us. I openly dispute that I am the patient one of us, at this point."

"I may be patient with you, but who's patient with me? Who doesn't do things like _put fucking nettles in my bed_ when I fuck up?" Cormac rested his head against the back of Anders's shoulder again. "To be fair, he _is_ my brother, and brothers are supposed to do shit like that."

"Why would I put nettles in your bed? For one, I sleep in it." Anders looked over his shoulder again and swallowed before he spoke again. "And you're good to me."

"I'm decent to you," Cormac corrected. "I don't treat you so differently to the way I treat Isabela or Anton. You're part of my family, Anders. Other people don't get to talk shit about you, in front of me, unless they are equally related, and there's really no one related to us with anything shite to say, at this point, except maybe Carver, and he's just looking for an excuse to punch me. I make sure you have what you need. I drag you out on stupid expeditions where we all almost get killed."

"You found me in a sewer and bought me breakfast. I threatened you, I hit you, I cried all over you, and you just kept showing up with food and keeping me warm. You gave me a home, a real home that's actually mine, where I can be alone if I want to be. You don't just give me what I need, you look after me -- you remind me to eat, you make me sleep, you make _Justice_ sleep. You let me get ink stains all over your good robes, because I forgot what I had on my hands." Anders finally rolled over, so he could see Cormac's face, instead of just his ear. "You deserve so much better..."

"I really prefer you not dead. Let's start there. I found you in a sewer and bought you breakfast, because I was kind of worried about you being dead, if I didn't. And as I recall, it was a pretty good guess. Eating and sleeping are also part of this not dead thing. Threatening me, hitting me, and crying all over me? I have _four siblings_ , Anders. This is just another day with the Hawkes. A home? You'll remember we made an offer to Fenris, too. The two of you didn't really have anywhere else to go, but he's a stubborn prick and you actually like me, for some reason." Leaning in, Cormac kissed Anders under the chin. "I deserve better? Where exactly am I going to find better than what I have? I have a family that I love, I have the money to care for them, and I'm a nobleman in one of the most important ports in all Thedas. On top of that, I'm the apostate son of the infamous Rivaini apostate-mercenary Malcolm Hawke, and I look _exactly like him_. Everyone knows who I am, and they all have suspicions about _what_ I am. It's... there is no 'better' from here. This is more than I have any right to hope for, and I'd really like it if you stuck around, while it lasts. While I still have something to give."

"Cormac Hawke, you ignorant shit, you will have something to give until you're good and dead, and we both know it. You just-- I don't even know how you do it. I'd say magic, but _I'm a mage_ and you don't see me doing it." Anders took a breath and Cormac cut him off.

"Yes, I do. Every day." Cormac tucked his head under Anders's chin. "One of these days, I'm not going to be there to catch you, and you're going to work yourself to death. Don't even tell me it's not possible. I watched you almost succeed."

"That's not what's going to kill me, Cormac, I promise."

"Please don't die, Anders. Please don't make me choose." Cormac curled tighter around Anders, knowing that when it came down to it, he'd always put Artemis before any of them, himself included. Himself, especially. But, _Carver_...

"There's no choice for you." The smile was clear in Anders's voice. "I know what you have to do, and so do you. My point, you breathtakingly sexy fool, is that I'm not going to work myself to death, with or without you."

"Am I going to regret taking you at your word?" Cormac grumbled, tipping his head back to nibble at Anders's neck.

"I hope not! After all this, to think of you being disappointed in my survival!" Anders pulled back just enough to look Cormac in the eyes. "Sounds terribly familiar, really."

"Sodding queynt." Cormac shoved Anders back far enough to get a good look at him. "I'm not going to be disappointed if you live. There are things you could do that would make me regret not stopping you, but I'm not going to regret your continued survival."

"Even if?" Anders asked, not finishing the thought.

"Yeah. Yeah, even if you make me--" Cormac studied Anders's face. "Can you please not do that? Or the other that?"

"I can't imagine why I would do either one." Anders's eyebrows lifted. "I'm-- I'm not... It's not going to be like that. I'm not going to do that to you."

Cormac touched Anders's cheek, brushing back a wisp of hair caught in the stubble along his jaw. A thousand things he could say, points he could make, flashed across his eyes, but he settled on, "Weren't we trying to sleep?" He pressed his lips to Anders's, feeling that long, lean body relax against him, after a moment.

Slowly, Cormac nibbled along Anders's lower lip, tongue occasionally flicking against the chewed-ragged edges, until Anders responded, catching him in a long, demanding kiss that left them both panting.

"You taste like death," Anders teased, catching his breath.

"Not really faring much better, yourself, you know." Cormac pinched Anders's hip, slipped his leg between Anders's thighs.

"And this is the opposite of sleeping, especially if you keep going like that."

"Is that a complaint?" Cormac asked, nibbling Anders's neck.

"No, it's not a complaint," Anders groaned, tipping his head back to invite more of the same. "But, it will be, in the morning."

"Mmm, then maybe you should roll over and go back to sleep," Cormac teased, tracing a line up Anders's spine with one finger.

"No," Anders said, first, nipping at Cormac's eyebrow. Then, "Maybe. With you inside me?"

"I'm not sure if I should be offended that you think that'll put you to sleep," Cormac drawled, squeezing a hand between them to stroke himself to attention, "but I think that can be arranged."

Anders purred, rubbing his chin against the top of Cormac's head. "What did I ever do to deserve you?"

"Threatened to kick my ass the first time you laid eyes on me," Cormac joked. "I'm a sucker for a mage with righteous wrath."

Anders rubbed a hand over his eyes, cheeks flushing slightly. With a breathy laugh, he rolled over, pulling Cormac's arm around him. "Rub my belly."

"In a minute, tomcat. I need that hand for a bit, yet," Cormac reminded Anders, pressing his knob against Anders's very, very nice ass. That was something Cormac had noticed, over the years -- that old coat fit Anders better and better, as time passed, and the suggestion of a shapely bottom became much more of a factual statement. As tired and ragged as Anders had looked lately, it was still an improvement over when they'd met.

Huffing like he'd been greatly inconvenienced, Anders let go, letting himself relax as Cormac eased into him. "Cormac?" The name slipped out in a long, slow breath.

"Hmm?"

"I need you."

"I'm so sorry." Cormac laughed against the back of Anders's shoulder, hand finally splayed across Anders's belly, tracing the faint lines of muscle.

"Asshole," Anders scoffed, reaching back to swat Cormac sharply across the ass.

" _Gaping_ asshole," Cormac corrected, sucking in a sharp breath and grinding into Anders. "And you love it."

"I do." Anders pressed his face against the pillow, laughing, as he reached out to pull another pillow to his chest.

"I still think you could fit your fist," Cormac muttered, nibbling at the edge of Anders's shoulderblade.

"That's _have_ , not _are_ ," Anders pointed out. "And you're crazy."

Cormac snorted. "Tell me something I don't know." He picked up a slow, gentle rhythm, barely moving, rocking his hips in time to the lazy circling of his hand, as he listened to the soft sounds Anders made, relaxing against him. It wasn't what either of them usually meant by 'fucked into unconsciousness', but it would do, for now. Cormac couldn't find it in him to complain, as Anders drifted off, in his arms.


	252. PART XLVII: TROUBLE LIKE VINES

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shenanigans on the Knight-Captain's desk. Aveline discovers she has a problem, but Anton's willing to help fix it.

Keran did not hear the door open. He missed the clatter of platemail in the hall, the sound of voices approaching the door, everything until his reverie was interrupted by one voice in particular.

"Ser Keran!" Cullen barked. "What are you doing on my desk?"

Ella shrieked and sat forward, hands clutching at the back of Keran's neck, as she wrapped her legs around his chest. Neither of them was quite undressed, but they were definitely unclothed enough.

Keran blushed, but recovered quickly. "Exactly what it looks like, Captain! Once we got all the paperwork taken care of, we decided to make sure the desk would hold up to the uses you and the Champion were going to put it to."

Cullen fought to keep his expression stormy as he looked everywhere around the room that wasn't the partly clothed pair. "I can assure you the desk is solid enough without you... testing it."

"Yes, it seems to be well-constructed, Captain," Keran replied, nodding. He was still disentangling himself from Ella, trying to right his clothes as he moved. She smoothed out her robe, head ducked as she slipped off the desk to stand next to and just behind Keran.

Cullen took a long, deep breath before continuing. "Ser Keran, she is a mage. Surely you must know that is grossly --! Hold on. Did you say _finished_ the paperwork?"

"Well..." Keran gestured at the desk. The desk which was, for once, clear enough for two people to engage in... activities on.

"How?" Cullen looked poleaxed at the very idea.

"Well, Captain, that's what I went to see Ella about, actually. She's, um, done some very interesting work with patterns and paper density, and we -- she's made a spell that can find particular patterns. You just need to have a list. We've been going through the reports at night and tracing out some of the words that mean the report's got nothing in it. Or the ones that mean you should look at it much more closely. And... well... After a couple of weeks of testing, it works. We found all the 'nothing to report' reports, first, and put them away, and then went through everything else. And once we got it down to a few different types of report, it was pretty easy to just read the rest and summarise."

Ella pointed to the last remaining pile of paper. "Everything else is put away, but the summaries say where it went, if you need to find the originals."

"You did this with magic? This can be done with magic? Why is every circle in Thedas not doing this?" Cullen wobbled and grabbed onto the edge of the door for support. "You need a raise," he said, pointing at Keran. "And you..." he paused, looking at Ella. "There's really nothing I can do for you, is there?" And that was wrong, he knew. There had always been something, back in Ferelden, but things were different here. Mages were permitted so much less that there was nearly no reward that could be granted even for the greatest of doings, of which Cullen was certain the handling of his desk had been.

Ella smiled shyly -- and sadly -- down at her hands. "There's no need for that, Captain," she said. Cullen wondered if she believed that or was just resigned to it. "I'm just glad I was able to use my magic for something useful."

And the way she said that pulled at Cullen's heart. This was a girl who had been taught to be afraid of and disgusted by her magic, a girl Meredith didn't know but thought of as a weapon. Cullen thought of Anders and the spectacle at his wedding, thought of Artemis and his 'mage-waxed' floors. There was something beautiful in these simple, mundane uses of magic, and after Uldred, after all those years of waking in a cold sweat from dreams of death and demons, Cullen was finally starting to understand that.

He'd been no better than Meredith once, and that realisation sobered him.

"Thank you, Ella," Cullen said. His mind raced with new possibilities, and he wondered how Meredith would take him asking for a mage assistant -- probably not well, unfortunately. "As grateful as I am, however, I still need to have a word with Ser Keran regarding a templar's proper conduct with his mage charges. Not about working with them -- that was brilliant -- but about the..." He gestured expansively. "...the desk activities."

"It's less about the mage and more about the woman," Keran insisted. "And if it's about the desk, this entire floor knows what you've used that desk for, Captain." He tugged at his ear and his eyes drifted down to Cullen's shoulder. "You, ah... you get a little... right before... _Everyone_ knows."

Cullen was going to kill Anton. That was all. That was it. He loved his husband, but this was ridiculous. He wondered how a murder-suicide would play out in the Gazette.

"Keran! It's not about the desk!" Ella hissed, clutching at his arm. "Don't upset him!"

Cullen was much less 'upset' than 'mortified', really, and his cheeks spoke for him on that subject, nearly glowing with how fast they flushed. "As a married man, it falls to me to use my desk however my husband sees fit, when it's not covered in paper, and thank you for solving that problem," he gritted out. "But, the two of you... What if she's possessed by a demon, in the future? Will you be able to handle that?"

Keran laughed and eyed Cullen oddly. "Look at me, Captain. If _she's_ possessed by a demon? You know as well as I do it's not just the mages you have to worry about, around here."

The man had a point, albeit one Cullen would rather not talk about in front of a mage. A Circle mage. "That doesn't make it any less of a concern, Keran," he said. He remembered his days in Kinloch Hold, remembered how his hands had shook on the day of Solona's Harrowing. "But... it's not just you I'm concerned about, you know."

Ella still clutched at Keran's sleeve, her gaze cutting down and to the side. "Ser Keran is a good man, Captain," she said after a pause.

"I'm glad we agree on that," said Cullen, and Keran all but preened. "But, in the future? Find another desk, if you please."

* * *

* * *

Cullen managed to get about half his platemail off before collapsing onto the bed, with a jingle of plates and buckles. By the time Anton followed him in, with a pitcher of beer and two glasses, he'd gotten out of most of the rest of it, and was sprawled flat, starting at the ceiling.

"There's no paper on my desk. This is the sixth day. It's faintly terrifying, really." Cullen giggled, in idiotic relief.

Anton put down the drinks and joined him, crawling up across the bed, over Cullen's body, nipping at bare skin. "It's a good thing, you know. I was starting to forget what my husband looked like. Wondering if my friends were just humouring me in my delusions of matrimony."

"Well, you are pretty delusional about your expectations of it," Cullen joked, stroking and squeezing any part of Anton he could get his hands on. "Exciting sex five nights a week? I think my ass might fall off from exertion."

"It's just because you're out of practise. Need to get you back into the habit." Anton grinned.

"Speaking of getting back into the habit... are you still in the habit of talking to Aveline? Something's come up." Cullen groaned and rubbed his eye with the palm of his hand. "Accusations of corruption. I'm sure they're not true, but that needs to be proven, or Meredith's going to make me Guard Captain, on top of everything else. And I rather like Aveline. And I rather like not being Guard Captain."

"And I rather like having you here," Anton sighed. Corrupt? Aveline? Please. "In my bed, instead of behind a desk. Although, _on_ a desk is rather tempting as well, yours or Aveline's." He broke off his grumblings to reintroduce his lips to Cullen's bare chest.

"Bed is better," Cullen insisted, one hand sliding up the planes of his husband's back. "I've seen enough of my office. Or any office. So would you mind speaking with her about this? As the Champion and all, your word holds a decent amount of weight. It might save her career and my sanity."

Anton hummed distractedly against Cullen's skin, feeling Cullen's breath quicken in the rise and fall of his chest. "Of course, Captain," he purred. "Whatever you wish, Captain. Is there anything else I can do for you, Captain?" He smiled ever so sweetly up at his husband.

* * *

Anton didn't know the templar speaking to Aveline, but he looked somewhat familiar -- of course, half the templars in Kirkwall looked familiar, by now. He lurked in the doorway for a moment, just to get a feel for the situation.

"You have no viscount. It is clear you are suffering without ... sufficient leadership."

Whoever the guy was, Anton wanted to punch him in the teeth. No sneaky backstabbing, just a good, solid, well-deserved fist in the mouth.

"That doesn't grant default authority to you or your commander," Aveline pointed out.

The templar put on his best pitying look. "It would be easier if you cooperated."

"Wouldn't it?" Aveline crossed her arms, gaze unwavering.

After a moment of staring, the templar nodded. "Guard Captain." He saw himself out, with a lingering backward glance.

Aveline watched him go, her jaw clenched. Her body was a rigid line as she fought not to bristle.

"Trouble?" Anton asked as he sidled into her office, and her glare shifted to him.

"Yes!" she exclaimed, unfolding her arms to throw her hands up in the air. "He's been hounding me. These templars strut around as it is, but now it's just..." Aveline was all but spitting in anger. "...out of hand!" She jabbed a finger in Anton's direction. "And you can tell your husband I said so. I've had enough of this!"

"Honestly. I'm starting to feel like a messenger between you two," Anton said, putting a hand on his chest as though struck. "Is that all I am to you two?"

"Messenger?" Aveline's eyes narrowed. "Why? What does Cullen have to say about this?"

"He says... well, he says he's heard some troubling things."

"Such as?" Aveline growled. Gauntleted hands clenched into fists.

"That you coddle your men. Give special treatment. Lies, of course."

"Someone... has dared?" Aveline's voice could strip paint, and Anton caught himself surreptitiously checking the walls, as she went on. "Who? Who accuses me of this?

"No names given, of course." Anton shrugged. "I don't think Cullen even knows. Someone else handled it, and it went straight up to Meredith. She's just looking for an excuse, these days."

"No wonder the lieutenant was harassing me. Bastards." Aveline looked more hurt than angry, for a long moment. Just tired, really. And then her face set again. "If they think I'm coddling someone, it'll be Donnic. You and I will intercept his patrol, tonight. Then you can see for yourself if I'm coddling him, or any in my command."

"Well, I could do with a breath of fresh air. Bedroom's a little stuffy, after last night, even with the windows open." Anton grinned.

"Anton!" Aveline huffed. "Well, good, anyway, because there's no way I'm letting this go. Cullen wants to know if these things are true? You'll be able to tell him."

"Actually, I thought I might show him. A templar witness to events. Much less likely to be disputed, if we come up with a result Meredith disapproves of."

"Bring whoever you like. The outcome will be the same." Aveline's gaze remained firm. "Donnic's patrol, Anton. You and me. Tonight."

* * *

When Anton appeared in the Gallows, Cullen was surprised and a little put out to find that Anton had stopped by to borrow Keran. "Wouldn't you rather borrow me?" he asked with a meaningful look.

"Borrow you? Never. I'd steal you, whisk you away into the night." Anton leaned over Cullen's desk to give his husband a kiss. "But right now, I'm looking into that thing you asked about. Stealing you would be more fun but counterproductive. Ser Keran, however, is also perfectly reputable but much less distracting."

"Thank... you?" said Keran, unsure if he should be honoured or insulted by that.

When Anton led him into the Docks, at night, Keran wondered if Cullen was still upset at him about the desk and if this was some absurd sort of punishment. He kept one hand on his sword.

Anton had already talked Aveline into going back to her office -- it wasn't like sending her _home_ would do any good with Donnic out here -- with reminders that everything would look questionable, if she was there for it. He had no doubt it was all lies, and Donnic would laugh at the very idea, but still. They had to do this in a way that left no question about Aveline's competence. Eventually, she'd given in. Eventually.

They found Donnic and his partner swarmed by one of the dock gangs, around the next bend, the sound of metal ringing back out of the alley. "Help out the guardsman, or do you want to watch a bit, first?" Anton asked Keran. "He's walking out of this, either way. I've seen Donnic in action before. Might just take less time, if we help him out."

"I don't see any reason not to help." Keran shrugged and drew his sword, the sound drawing the attention of some of the goons at the edge of the fight. As they moved toward him, he realised he had no idea where Anton had gone -- at least not until two bodies suddenly dropped, in a flicker of shadow. They made quick work of the gang, and Anton reappeared, looking almost as put together as he'd been before, aside from the bloodstain on his sleeve that he was tutting about.

"Serah Hawke!" called out Donnic, wiping sweat and blood -- someone else's -- from his cheek. "Or is it always 'Champion' now? You're too much of a chameleon, my friend."

"On the contrary," replied Anton, clapping Donnic on the shoulder, "I work hard to be just the right amount of chameleon." He shook his head, looking about at the corpses around their feet. "I didn't expect to find you so... deep in bandits."

"A good day, to be sure," Donnic agreed. He stretched as he spoke. "I'll be sore tomorrow, but it was my choice." His friendly smile turned wary as he noticed Ser Keran lurking at Anton's shoulder. "So... what's going on?"

Anton cleared his throat. "The Knight-Captain has been hearing troubling things about Aveline. None of which I believe -- don't give me that look -- but Ser Keran and I are here to look into things so we can prove that it's bullshit. Which I'm assuming it is."

Keran waved at Donnic awkwardly. "So... can you tell us how you ended up on this patrol? You said it was 'your choice'?"

Donnic clasped his hands behind his back. "Every guard chooses the patrol they want. My wife promotes from the bold, not the reckless. Action is up, casualties are down. It is... remarkable. _She_ is remarkable."

"She's also your wife," Keran pointed out, thinking of how he might describe his wife, if he had one.

"Ask any of the guard." Donnic shook his head. "They'll all tell you the same thing, except the ones who are only guardsmen because they couldn't make the cut to be soldiers. Still shaking off the last few of those, from before."

"Well, it's late tonight. We can talk to Cullen in the morning -- mostly because I'm not getting him up in the middle of the night, for this -- and see if he wants us to keep going." Anton shrugged and held his hand out to Donnic, still talking to Keran. "You know he's actually sleeping in bed, now? Coming home? It's amazing. Whatever you did -- and I'm sure it was you -- _thank you_. Keep doing it."

Keran laughed, and Donnic shook Anton's hand. "Good day to you, Serah Hawke. Safe travels!"

"Take care, Donnic! Don't get knifed!" Anton called after him, crouching to get a better look at the bodies. "This isn't some dock gang," he said after rifling some pockets. "These folks were Coterie, which means they've got something coming in. Hm. That sounds like fun."

Keran shook his head. "There is something wrong with you. The Captain's right. 'Oh, the Coterie's trying to kill the guard because they're smuggling something big! That sounds like fun!' That sounds like a great way to get killed, if you ask me."

"You're young and running around in platemail. It would be a great way to get _you_ killed." Anton laughed. "Things are a little different for me. Come on, I'll buy you a pint on the way back down."


	253. Chapter 253

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aveline finds the source of her problem and solves it. With her sword.

This time, when Anton appeared in the Gallows, with Aveline in tow, Cullen was less surprised but no less put out. "Not going to steal me away today either, are you?" Cullen sighed, rising from his desk to properly greet Aveline. "I see you've brought the captain. None too happy about the accusations against her, I'm sure." Although he addressed Anton, Cullen eyed Aveline.

"You could say that," she replied, rubbing her forehead as though to ward against a headache. She offered Cullen a tight smile.

"You'll be happy to know," Anton cheerfully cut in, "that I have successfully wasted my time, and there is no merit to the claims."

Cullen nodded, the lines on his forehead smoothing in relief. "As I suspected."

"Then why press this?" Aveline asked. Her voice was calm and measured, but Anton could tell her temper simmered underneath.

Cullen sucked in a breath. "Some feel that the solution to the current crisis of leadership is to... consolidate authority. As long as the complaints continue, baseless or not, they will serve as justification for eliminating the position of guard captain." Cullen shook his head. "It would be the simplest fix, whether or not I agree."

"And he doesn't agree. And I don't agree. And a lot of that is because he'd have your job and his job at the same time, and he's already doing three people's jobs," Anton muttered to Aveline, before returning his attention to Cullen. "Just point me in the right direction, dear husband, and I'll get you some peace and quiet."

"I really don't know what to say, except that all the complaints have come from Lowtown. Anonymously." Cullen shook his head and gestured at a filing cabinet to one side of the room. Knowing where everything was and not having it all on his desk was such a nice change. He'd have to find something better than dragon kebabs for Ella.

"That's Guardsman Brennan's patrol. Why wouldn't she have told me of this?" Aveline looked deeply troubled.

"I don't know, but I do apologise for the ... assumptions of this incident, Guard Captain. It has been ... unfortunate," Cullen apologised.

"It's not done." Aveline grabbed Anton's shoulder. "To Lowtown. I must speak with Brennan about this."

* * *

"Guardsman!" Aveline called out when she spotted Brennan. The guard stiffened before turning around to come face to face with her guard captain. "Why did a templar have to tell me there is unrest in this district? What's going on?"

Brennan's shoulders sagged, and she shook her head wearily.

"Better make it good," said Anton, as though Aveline's glare wasn't incentive enough.

"It's Captain Jeven," Brennan answered, speaking earnestly. "I didn't report his return because... I'm ashamed for him. He trying to rile the guards against you, but none of us will follow him. You lead better than he ever did."

"Really?" Anton huffed. "We've made so many enemies. I don't remember him as that impressive."

"He deserves to be forgotten," Aveline said through grit teeth. "He abused his position and blamed me when we caught him."

Brennan shrugged. "He was well-liked by some, but not once the truth was known."

Anton bumped Aveline's shoulder with his. "Well, let's go have a chat with the man!" he suggested cheerfully. "I love catching up with old friends."

"The guards will have nothing to do with him," Brennan went on, "so he found others. Militia, mostly anti-Fereldan. The same kind who were against the qunari. I guess it's been long enough they've forgotten how many the Champion killed." She handed over a flyer.

"Anton, don't you dare say something about your horseradish," Aveline muttered as she looked over the flyer. "A rally. Against 'the tyranny of the guard, and foreigners who infest Kirkwall'."

"I'd like to think I've done a wonderful job keeping the Orlesians in check, at least!" Anton protested.

"You're still Fereldan, Lord Dog," Aveline reminded him.

"I'm sorry, Captain," Brennan said, at last.

Aveline sighed and turned away. "Return to the barracks," she told Brennan.

"But, my--" the guard began to protest, but Anton cut her off.

"No, she's right. You'll be safe, there. Not that I think a guard should need safekeeping, but these are extraordinary circumstances, and you, in particular, have just painted a target on yourself by talking to us about this." Anton glanced at Aveline. "Do you have someone to cover, or do I need to go talk to my brothers?"

"Whoever's awake," Aveline said to Brennan. "Three of them. Ones you'd trust your life to, because that's what you're doing."

As Brennan left, Aveline looked at the flyer again and eyed Anton. "The rally is in Darktown. We have to be there."

"The rally isn't for another six hours, and I want to get some help and some witnesses, before we go walking into that. There's only two of us." Anton yawned. "And I also want to get some sleep. This is an unreasonable hour, and I shouldn't be awake."

"It's mid-morning!" Aveline reminded him, with a jab.

"And I got up yesterday afternoon." Anton yawned again. "I'm taking a nap, before we go anywhere near angry militiamen with big swords."

* * *

Six hours and a nap later, Anton strolled into Darktown, Ser Keran on one side and a fuming Aveline on the other. Slipping through the shadows unnoticed was impossible with these two, with their clanging mail and heavy boots, so Anton had to rely on his reputation and Aveline's scowl to ward off any trouble.

Anton paused to ask Tomwise if he'd heard about this rally.

"Hard to miss," the elf huffed, eyeing Aveline's guard uniform. He pointed them deeper in, down the stairs and near the sewer entrance.

Keran looked about him with wide eyes as they walked, one hand on his sword, and Anton wondered how long it had been since Keran had been down here, if he'd been down here at all since Tarohne.

"Maker," Keran muttered, raising a hand to his nose. "I'd forgotten the smell down here."

"Sewers," Anton reminded him. "And, oddly enough, the most competent healer in all of Kirkwall. I will never understand what that man gets out of living in a sewer, but he does it."

Keran had only met Anders twice, so that took a moment to sink in. "He _lives_ down here? I'd have thought..."

"Fereldan refugee, like the rest of us. Just because I'm amazing doesn't mean all of us are." Anton shrugged, expressively.

"You're an amazing _cad_ , Anton," Aveline grumbled, rolling her eyes. "It's all beggars and Coterie down here, wherever they came from."

Anton took a moment to get his bearings. "And directly above us it's nothing but elves. People rarely rise higher than they're permitted by circumstance."

"People rarely make the effort," Aveline shot back.

"People rarely start with your advantages or mine. You were a soldier. I was some prodigal noblewoman's son. We had something to reach for, a level to rise to. But, these people? Mostly farmers. Mostly out of the Bannorn. How do you farm in a city? How do you farm in a city sewer? Well, some of them have figured it out -- learned from the dwarves how to grow edible mushrooms, but man does not live on mushrooms alone, and there's not really room for mushroom farming with people living as close as this." Anton spied a bit of the sky and turned in that direction. "It's not 'try harder'. It's 'try what'?"

Aveline opened her mouth to go on, but as they rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs, she heard a voice she recognised.

"The Champion? Here?"

Gauntleted hands clenched into fists as Aveline pushed in front of Anton, letting their argument drop for the sake of more immediate concerns. At the bottom of the stairs congregated a group of armed, masked men and women.

"It's the captain!" said another voice. "Are we ready for this?"

The only face bare was Jeven's. "Too long, brave Kirkwall!" he boomed. "You did not throw off all others to fall under Fereldan influence!" He paced in front of them the way Aveline paced in front of her guards as she issued orders. "Leaderless, displaced! Alien hands on the most basic authority. Foreign elite, bleeding you!"

"Jeven!" Aveline shouted as she pushed her way through the crowd, and only then did Jeven see her. "You... disgrace yourself."

Jeven didn't back down. "The Fereldan with the Orlesian name!" he sneered. "Is there anyone else who so embodies how far this city has fallen?"

Anton raised his hand. "Me? I'm the Champion of a city that couldn't show kindness to those in need, and landed itself in a war for its troubles. A little assistance and Darktown wouldn't be teeming with displaced foreigners, because they'd all be out farming in the hills, providing for themselves and the city. But, no. This... I don't even know half of what you did to this place, but I know Aveline's still cleaning up after your mess. Tell the man, Aveline. This one's all yours."

"Do they know how you sacrificed your men?" Aveline asked, gesturing to the crowd. "How you alone disgraced your name?"

"Bitch! You took everything from me!" Jeven snapped, jabbing a finger at Aveline.

"You took it from yourself!" Aveline threw her hands out. "The guard know this and none stand with you! He stands alone. This is no rebellion. This is delusion! A joke inflicted on Kirkwall! Your home and mine!" She paced, growing more intensely annoyed at the entire situation.

"I will not be left with nothing, again," Jeven warned, head tilting down in faux apology.

"No, you shall have less," Aveline declared, drawing her sword.

Next to her, Keran drew his, while Jeven and his mercenaries readied their weapons. A pair of daggers appeared in Jeven's hands as he made a stab at Aveline, feinting left while stabbing up under her shield with his right. Her shield dropped, batting the blade aside, and Jeven ducked out of range of the blow meant for his head.

While Aveline squared off against her former boss, Keran and Anton had their hands full with the mercenaries. Keran thanked the Maker he was wearing plate, taking the brunt of their attacks while Anton darted in and out of the shadows. Metal rang against metal, and Keran side-stepped to avoid a blow aimed at his ribs, turning just in time to see his newest attacker clutching his slit throat. Anton was on a new target before his first fell to the ground.

A few more ringing blows, and a wall of ice whipped through the crowd. "Andraste's flaming knickerweasels!" Anders complained. "You couldn't find enough trouble up top, so you had to come down here?"

The floor glowed green and a stun slammed through the group, followed almost immediately by another. "Who are these assholes, and why are we stabbing them?" Cormac asked, leaning against the rail on the level above.

Another corpse hit the ground and Anton kicked it out into the harbour, as the number of people actually moving was severely cut down. "Aveline's former boss has a nasty anti-Fereldan streak, and he's trying to get the templars to remove her and give him back his job. Sadly for him, the templars were going to give Cullen the job, if they could find a reason to take her out."

One of the militiamen suddenly stirred, lunging forward with his sword, but Keran punched him solidly in the back of the head with a gauntleted fist, and he fell. Anders slapped another stun into the crowd, his eyes lingering on Aveline's duel.

"I could help her," Anders said. "How hard do you think she'd hit me if I helped her?"

"Do you like having teeth?" Anton asked. "I think that's the real question, here."

Knees bent, Aveline limped from a wound in her thigh, where one of Jeven's daggers had found the seam between plates. But a red smear on Aveline's shield matched the drip of blood from Jeven's nose, and a second smack of her shield against Jeven's face drew another, matching smear.

Jeven staggered, throwing one foot back to steady himself, and he snarled at her through bloodied teeth. Turning the dagger over in his hand, he aimed a slash at her face, but desperation made his form sloppy. Her shield struck him a third time, and this time he went down.

"Stay down," Aveline warned him, sword pointed at his chest. "I'm warning you, Jeven."

Jeven answered by spitting in her face and trying to roll out from under her sword. Aveline struck the moment he snatched up one of his fallen daggers, pinning him back to the ground with a sword in his chest.

"You fool," Aveline murmured as the light left his eyes. "Why would you do this?" Aveline straightened, the set of her lips grim as she pulled her sword free again. "If I live to be a hundred, I will never understand his kind."

"What do we do with... them?" Keran asked, gesturing toward the militiamen who seemed to be coming unstuck from the floor.

"I can just keep them right there, until you decide," Anders offered, taking Keran for a young guardsman, until he noticed the design of his armour. The colour drained from his face, as Keran turned and looked up at him.

"The Warden's a healer, first. He's not in the habit of getting involved in city politics, but he's also not in the habit of letting people get _stabbed_." Cormac's warm hand wrapped around Anders's fingers on the rail.

"I let plenty of people get stabbed. Usually the ones who are trying to stab me!" Anders protested, flicking his fingers at the militiamen one more time. They stopped moving once again, as the floor took on a dim glow. "Honestly, Captain, you should probably arrest them."

Aveline nodded, slowly. "That... I can do that. Has anyone got chain enough to bind them? It's a long walk back to the Keep."

* * *

"Jeven. That son of a bitch."

It was just Aveline and Anton in her office now. Their prisoners had been locked away, masks removed to reveal their sullen expressions, and Keran had gone back to the Gallows to report to Cullen. Anders and Cormac meanwhile had gone back to... whatever it was they were doing. Anton didn't want to know either way.

"You build a good thing," Aveline continued to vent, "work your hardest, and the past just claws at you."

"Tell me about it," said Anton, leaning his hip against the door-frame. "I can't go twenty minutes without being jumped. And that's just from the people who like me."

"But when does it start to hurt those you care about?" Aveline asked, slumping to sit on the edge of her desk. "I've tried to lead well, but this..." She shook her head, looking lost. "I wonder what I would do if my captain lost my respect."

"Exactly what you did, I expect," Anton pointed out, eyes flicking to the door at the sound of approaching platemail.

"Captain?" Donnic said, stepping into the room. "We're waiting for orders."

"Will you accept them?" Aveline asked, chin tipped up with a pride she wasn't sure she could feel.

"May I speak freely?" Donnic asked, but didn't wait for an answer. "There isn't a man or woman here who wouldn't follow you through the Void." He paused and watched his words sink in, before excusing himself. "Captain," he said, and then turned and left.

"I'll take it," Aveline said to Anton, finally. "I need a moment. I have to ... Orders, reports... arrests... Why don't you see how things are going in the Gallows and then come let me know, later?"


	254. Chapter 254

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen's kindness and attention to the law finally comes back to bite him in the ass.

There was a pile of mail accumulating for Anton on the side-table. Bodhan drew his attention to it every time a new letter joined the pile, or at least he had for a while. Now Bodhan merely cleared his throat and sent the pile a meaningful look each afternoon, when Anton came down for breakfast.

"Yes, yes," Anton sighed on this particular afternoon, admitting defeat. He gathered up the pile and brought it with him to sift through over tea.

Junk. Junk. An advertisement for a potion guaranteed to improve his junk. More junk. A letter for Bethany regarding her research that had somehow gotten mixed in with his mail. A message from Orsino.

Anton squinted at the last one and set it aside. That sounded like something mildly important.

Anton was looking over an invitation to a ball later in the week when he heard the front door open. Bodhan's voice spilled in from the foyer, answered by Carver's. Anton half stood out of his chair, stretching to peer around the corner, but he could see nothing from this angle.

"Hey, Bodhan!" Anton called out. "What did I say about letting assholes into the house?"

Carver appeared in the doorway shortly after. "Well, I'm assuming you told him to let them in, since you and Cormac are still here."

A second templar appeared in the doorway, and Anton held back his reply. "I'm not an asshole," said Keran.

Anton sobered, sitting back down in his chair. This wasn't just a social visit if his brother brought Keran.

"And that's why everyone suspects you're possessed," Carver shot back, parking his ass on the edge of a credenza and running his hand through his hair.

"No, everyone suspects I'm possessed because this city is a demon-infested pit, and I got kidnapped by blood mages." Keran's shoulder plate clinked against the wall, as he leaned on it, and he hoped, in the back of his head, that he hadn't scratched the paint.

"Not being an asshole, in a whole building full of assholes, isn't really helping your case," Carver pointed out. "Anyway, we have a problem. You have a problem. And if you attempt to make this a larger problem, I will punch you in the face and tie you to that chair."

"I'm not sure threatening your brother is really the way to start this conversation." Keran shifted uncomfortably.

"If I didn't threaten my brother, he'd think I was a demon." Carver levelled a flat look at Keran, before he went on. "Cullen's been removed from duty. The Commander says it's 'temporary', pending an investigation of his actions and office."

"So, why isn't he here, telling me this, himself?" Anton asked, looking between the two templars in the entrance to his study. Something was very wrong, here. More wrong than was immediately obvious from the words.

Carver exchanged a look with Keran, each trying to silently goad the other into telling Anton. In the end, Carver sighed and turned back towards his brother. "Because he can't," he said.

Calmly, Anton set down his tea. "Can't. And why can't he?" His tone was measured, serene in a way that promised trouble.

"Because he is currently locked in the Gallows," Carver told him. "By Meredith's order."

"She says that's temporary too," Keran hastened to add, eyeing Anton uncertainly as he pushed back his chair. "We just wanted to... well, to let you know since he can't himself, and -- where are you going?"

Carver blocked the door with his bulk, bulk that was a great deal bulkier with the extra armour weight.

"To visit my husband," Anton answered, standing in front of Carver and folding his arms across his chest. Carver could block the doorway all he wanted, but Anton didn't need the doorway to get out. "I'm sure even Meredith would understand that." Whether she would let him was another matter.

"Don't walk in there, Anton. Do not set foot in the building." Carver shook his head, and for a moment, Keran looked confused.

"Why would--" Realisation flashed across Keran's face. "She wouldn't, would she?"

"She's arrested the families of escaped mages -- people we don't properly have the right to arrest," Carver pointed out, staring down his brother. "If she can make a case that you had anything to do with whatever she thinks he's done, we'll never see you again. Don't do it. He needs you out here. He needs all of us out here, if this is going to work out."

"Out here," Anton repeated, still threateningly calm. "And what good, exactly, can we do him from out here when he is in there?"

"I'm working on that," said Carver. Anton looked unimpressed. "Look, there's not much we can do until we figure out what it is Meredith thinks he's done. Then it's simply a matter of convincing her he's innocent."

"Simple?" Anton finally raised his voice. "This would be simple if we were dealing with someone _sane_! Meredith sees what she wants to see. You can't out-logic her delusions!"

Carver still wasn't moving from the door. Keran looked between them with wide eyes.

"Look." Anton rubbed one eye with the heel of his thumb. "She won't know I'm there. No one will know who I don't want to know."

"Then don't go, right now. Don't go now, and don't tell us when you do go." Carver held up his hands. "I don't want to know you're in the building."

"You sound like Cormac," Anton pointed out, a little impressed. Carver didn't have to explain why. There was only one reason for him not to know. If he didn't know, he couldn't _tell anyone_.

"I'd tell you to take that back, but under the circumstances, I almost hope I do. It's the only thing he's any good at," Carver groused. "Dad's precious Maker-damned general... He'd have had better sense to pick one of us."

"You were too young," Anton said, with no malice, finally turning away from the door, to finish arming himself.

Keran watched Carver's brother make blades appear from places he'd never have expected them, and after a few moments' consideration vanish either back to where they'd come from or onto his person somewhere. The way those hands moved was a clear reason for Anton to have become Champion, he realised. He'd wondered how this man, for all that the Captain loved him, could have killed a Qunari warrior in a duel, with nothing but daggers, but this completely casual, offhand display was clearing that question up.

"Well, what about _you_?" Carver insisted, knowing that Anton was right about him. He had been too young, by quite a bit, which would never stop pissing him off, but Anton was five years older. "At least you're not _that_. At least you didn't completely _screw up_ Artemis -- or me and Beth. You know it's probably Cormac's fault he's like that. At least you're not _screwing_ \--"

"Shut your damned mouth, Carver." Anton's voice was low and hard, as he pointed the pommel of a dagger at Carver, and Keran reflexively stepped back. "We'd both know if that were true, and you know _exactly_ why. No one would be able to hide that. Not with the two of _them_. Dad made them both crazy."

Carver opened his mouth again, but Anton cut him off.

"That's enough. This isn't about you or about them. This is about my husband and how very badly I'd like to stab something on his behalf." The look he gave Carver said that Carver could be that something if he wasn't careful.

Keran looked back and forth between the two of them, hardly daring to breathe and wondering if he should slip away while neither of them was paying attention.

Letting his mouth fall shut, Carver pursed his lips instead. "Fine." He held up his hands, palm out. "I've told you all I know. Now Keran and I are going to go back to see what else we can do. Try not to kill anyone important."

"Can't promise that," Anton said, last dagger slipping into place. "But I can promise to kill them only if they deserve it." Anton smiled sharply, and Keran wondered if someone would end up finding Meredith dead in her sleep.

* * *

Cullen woke to slivers of wood bouncing off his cheek. Someone was standing outside the door, he thought. They were starting with him, already. "Shove off, Denis," he guessed, pulling his knees up higher, curling into a smaller ball on the cot.

This time something a little heavier bounced off his forehead, and he squinted angrily at the barred space in the door. There were no lights in the room and whatever light was in the hall was behind whoever that was. He could get up, he supposed. Half a day without lyrium hadn't done much -- that was still fairly normal -- but the closer it got to the time he should have been taking the next dose, the more frustrated he got. He wasn't sure, any more, that he hadn't missed one. His hands were already shaking, and he wasn't certain how steady he'd be on his feet, but if getting up was what it would take to make this stop...

He got up, testing his legs, for the first time in a few hours. They still worked about as expected, and he made his way toward the door, keeping himself to an angle that would put better light on the face at window-height. He couldn't get too close. He wouldn't put himself where he could be stabbed through that opening. Not yet, anyway -- he shoved that thought back. And then the light struck the edge of that face, and he knew it. Anton. That was Anton. He'd been off the lyrium longer than he'd thought.

"Hello, husband-dear." A smile softened the edges of Anton's face. "Miss me?"

Cullen rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, pressing until he saw spots of colour behind his eyelids. "You're not here," he said. "You can't be here." His heart was beating rabbit-quick in his chest, and he tried to will it to settle.

"I can be and I am," said Anton. When Cullen pulled his hands away, Anton was still there, just outside the door, half of his smile lit by the hall torchlight. "But as far as anyone else is concerned, no, I am not here. Are you all right?"

The shadows shifted, distorting the light behind them, and a hand reached through the bars for Cullen's face. Cullen jerked back before it could touch him, all but tripping over his own feet.

"Well, that's a no." Anton sounded determined to keep this as lighthearted as he could manage. "Just me. I'll get you out of here."

"You can't be real. You're a demon or something worse. This is a trap." Or he was hallucinating, but Cullen was trying very hard not to think of how long he'd have to have been in here, for that to be the case. He couldn't be missing that much time. "And if you are real, you're going to get me killed."

"I'd like to think I'm trying very hard not to get you killed. You're locked in a cell in the exceedingly large and cell-filled basement of the Gallows, and I picked a dreadful number of locks and pockets getting in here. I can't imagine anything good will follow, if I don't get you out." It was a reasoned argument, Anton thought.

"If I'm not here, it's an admission of guilt. And I'm not guilty. And I'm not ... wandering out of here with some demonic illusion of my husband." Cullen's hand swept up dismissively, still staying out of range. He paused. "There's no time in here. How long has it been?"

"A couple of days," Anton answered. He still had one hand threaded through the bars. "I would have been here sooner if not for the stick up my brother's ass. Carver's ass, I suppose I should specify. I'd rather not think about what's up my other brothers' asses."

And that _sounded_ like Anton. Cullen wanted to believe it was him.

"Still not a demon," said Anton, "but it's sweet that you think so even after all this time. Just like the day we met. It's almost romantic."

Cullen's laugh came out thin. "Yes. Dungeons, torchlight, it's all extremely romantic," he drawled. "You're a very good imposter, demon. But I am not going anywhere."

Anton sighed, his forehead coming to rest against the bars. "Are you sure? Who cares what Meredith thinks? We could stow away on a boat and run off to Antiva."

An absurd but tempting thought which, Cullen supposed, was rather the point. But running away wouldn't stop the shaking in his fingers or the ache in his bones.

"Let me get you out of here. Run away with me. I'm very good at running away. We can throw ourselves on the mercy of some pirates and take to the seas. I doubt she'll even demand payment in the form of your exquisite body. Well, I'm sure she won't, when she can have mine, instead. You're gorgeous, but I'm still a Hawke."

If that was a demon, that was a very good impression, which, he supposed, was the point. He thought of Anders, for a moment, and almost agreed -- he wasn't sure he could do the things Anders had done. But, that was probably a demon. This was probably a trap. And most of all, even if it wasn't, there would be no more lyrium out there than there was in this cell, and he'd be just as dead, in the end. At least if he stayed, there was a chance this would be cleared up in a few more days, and he'd get his ration back. Assuming they didn't ... he'd heard stories about some unlikely confessions. Still, there was no chance at all, if he ran.

"Go home, Anton." Cullen sank to his knees and kept going, hands pressed between his knees and forehead for a long moment. "It'll be okay. I haven't done anything wrong." But, he wanted to go. He wanted so much to go home with Anton, to leave all of this behind. None of this was the way it was supposed to have been, and now he was trapped -- even more literally than he had been. "I can't leave, Anton. I _can't_."


	255. Chapter 255

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anton visits Aveline and eats a knuckle sandwich. Carver bursts in on something and receives the same reward.

Cullen's voice haunted Anton long after, the way it shook. It made the laughter filtering from Aveline's office all the more incongruous.

"And then he says..." Was that Izzy? "...he says, 'I swear I had two when I came in here.' You know those stains never come out!"

Anton slumped against the doorway and watched the pair of cackling women and the bottle they passed back and forth over Aveline's desk, paperwork forgotten.

"You are horrible," Aveline choked out mid-laugh. "Every inch."

"You love it, big girl," Isabela said, grinning and pointing at Aveline's face. "And you owe me for the bottle." She jumped off the edge of Aveline's desk and finally spotted their visitor. "Anton! What a lovely surprise. Come to escort me back to the Hanged Man? Perhaps to my rooms?"

"I'm sure you can find your rooms on your own this time," Anton replied, forcing a smile. He tipped his chin at Aveline's desk. "Anything left in that bottle?"

"And what makes you think I'd share it with you?" Aveline shot back, holding the bottle close to her chest. After a moment she tipped her head to look around Anton -- Isabela was long gone, already. "You know, she's not so bad. Except when she is."

"I'm about to be even worse. And a lot more drunk, if I can help it." Anton leaned back against the corner of a bookcase. "So, I thought we solved your problem. Cullen signed off on you and the prisoners were made to pay a fine that helped to move a Fereldan farm family onto an actual farm, a little ways out of town."

"Irony at its finest. I thought that was an excellent choice. We can't afford to lock people up forever, but we can definitely make it less profitable for them to keep inciting stupid, half-assed rebellions." Aveline held out the bottle. "That's worth a drink. You're right."

Anton accepted the bottle and took a long swig, before he spoke again. "I was wrong. Meredith's arrested Cullen for some sort of malfeasance. He's being held with no lights and no lyrium, and he... he won't come home."

Aveline squinted at Anton as he fiddled with the bottle. "'Won't'? Because, what, your plan was to break him out?" Anton's unapologetic shrug was all the answer she needed. Aveline rolled her eyes and pressed her fingers to the headache she knew she would have by the end of this conversation. "That wouldn't help, Anton. Especially if his lyrium is cut off."

"You sound like him." Anton let his head thunk back against the shelves behind him. He took another long drink, and it almost eased some of the tension knotting his stomach. "I just don't like doing nothing."

The look Aveline gave him was almost sympathetic as she took the bottle back. "You're not doing nothing," she said. "You're trusting him. And you're drinking." A quick swig and she handed the bottle back. "So," she said, pausing to wipe her lip, "did you know I've been dead for seven years?"

"What?" Anton chuffed. He eyed her up and down. "You look good for a dead person. Is this something I should ask Bethany about?"

Aveline barked a laugh. "Maker, no. They only just sorted the casualties of Ostagar. I got word last week. The queen has offered to reinstate the commission of any surviving officers who will return to Ferelden."

"... And?" Anton asked, eyebrows arcing up.

"And what?" Aveline seemed unmoved by the question.

"I thought you swore your service to the old king. You know, the dead one." Anton squinted and took another drink, before Aveline plucked the bottle out of his hands again. "Does this offer even matter?"

"Queen Anora has apparently become something of a sensation. Not the ruler Ferelden expected, but the one it needed. She's quite commanding, as I understand it." Aveline took a sip and leaned back against the desk. "Regardless of who has the throne, I served Ferelden. The country survives, even if King Cailan didn't."

"So, what are you going to do?" Anton asked, considering the bottle, but sure that she was expecting him to go for it.

"It's been a strange time, here in Kirkwall. Did Carver ever tell you about that last night at Ostagar? How it happened?" Aveline asked, looking a little distant and not waiting for an answer. "I don't mean the betrayal -- everyone knows the signal went up and the flanking charge never came. But, that moment when the tower lit and then... the fight just kept going. It was the oddest feeling. Hope answered with ... nothing." She paused, the distress of that moment stilling her tongue for a time. "I don't like the thought of going out with a whimper, Anton." A small smile pulled at her lips. "Not again."

Anton slumped dramatically against the bookcase. "Shock of shocks," he said. "You're staying." The humour didn't quite hide the relief in his voice. As rocky as things had been with them these past few years, Anton knew he'd miss her.

"You'd walk all over a new captain," Aveline said, trying for stern and missing. "I could never subject these men to that." Her smile slid as she considered. "But... with what's happening with Cullen. If it has to do with those ridiculous rumours around me, maybe it's something I should...reconsider." The word was distasteful in her mouth, but Cullen, at least, was a good man who'd gone out of his way to help her.

"Reconsider getting a second bottle," Anton said, shaking his head. "Not that. I doubt it'd help now anyway." He swirled the bottle, finding barely an inch of liquid at the bottom.

"This all started with me, when I removed Jeven," Aveline went on. "It feels like the problem should end with me as well. That this is something else I should put a stop to."

"You want to put a stop to the Knight-Commander's lunatic quest to alienate the whole of Thedas, one group at a time?" Anton scoffed, knocking back the last of the bottle. "I suppose there's always naked mudwrestling. Even if it doesn't work, I'm sure Donnic and I would appreciate the attempt."

He didn't move quite fast enough, and that might have been intentional. Aveline's fist slammed into the side of his head, hard enough to knock him to the floor.

"Get up," Aveline commanded, looking down at Anton, who was still holding the empty bottle. "Get up so I can hit you again."

"Maker's balls," Anton spat, droplets of blood following the words, "I'm not Cormac, you know."

"Could've fooled me with a line like that. There are simpler ways to ask me to render you unconscious, if you think there's not enough booze in that cellar of yours." Aveline continued to tower threateningly over the Hawke sprawled across her office floor.

Anton licked his split lip and chuckled. "Please. If there's not enough booze in my cellar, all I have to do is visit my brother's cellar. And why should I get up if you're just going to punch me again? Your floor is nice, but the ceiling is dipping a bit in that corner. Should I be concerned?"

Aveline kicked him in the thigh.

"Ow! Oh, I see. Kick a man while he's down."

"Just get up, you idiot."

Anton rolled up onto his knees to dodge her next kick, holding the bottle between them defensively. "Yes, yes, the idiot is getting up."

Aveline folded her arms across her chest, her glare no less threatening. "Good. Then the idiot can get out of my office."

* * *

* * *

This was not the usual way of things, but this was not a usual day. Anders and Fenris were working on something with Anton, and Cormac had been left to distract Artemis from the horrors purportedly happening to their brother-in-law in the Gallows. Obviously, the apostates could not be a part of whatever came next. And so, Cormac found himself standing in his room, with his brother in his arms, and the contents of a particular drawer scattered across the bed, where they'd get to them, later.

"You know why we can't be anywhere near this," Cormac reminded Artie, with a teasing kiss, as if he could nibble the objections off his brother's lips. "Let them take care of Cullen. It just gives me time to take care of you." He nuzzled behind Artemis's ear. "Tell me what you want. Is there anything I haven't given you? Tell me. Show me. Teach me to please you."

Artie leaned into Cormac's touch, turning in his brother's arms to nip up the line of his jaw. A part of him felt guilty for this, for enjoying this while his brother-in-law -- and Anton, by extension -- were suffering, but Cormac truly was a wonderful distraction, better than cleaning everything into oblivion. "Teach you?" he purred, pausing to tongue at the shell of Cormac's ear. "I think you do pretty well without my tutelage." He squeezed Cormac's ass, rocking their hips together. Still, he took Cormac's hand and wrapped it around his throat, telling Cormac exactly the sort of distraction he wanted.

"One of those days, is it?" Cormac purred, taking a moment to eye a few spots in the room. "What about the vanity?" he asked. "What if I bend you over the top of it and let you watch yourself squirm for me, while I pound you until you can't breathe?" One quick squeeze, and then his hand moved to tuck Artie's hair behind his ear.

As Cormac took a deep breath, meaning to kiss Artemis soundly before manhandling him into position and tearing open his trousers, the door slammed open, Carver filling the doorway and his voice filling the room.

"What the fuck are the two of you doing up here? Is this because you're mages, and you can't bring yourselves to care about a templar? That's our brother's husband. What if it was me, huh? Would you be fucking around instead of helping, if it was me?" Carver finally turned far enough to notice the half-organised pile of toys on the bed, and then the way Cormac held Artemis like most reasonable men held women they weren't related to.

"You know that we can't get involved. Anton made that perfectly clear. We can't be seen with anyone involved in this, or this entire family is going to be locked up, and _you're_ not going to be a templar any more," Cormac pointed out. "And off that subject, have you ever considered knocking?"

Artemis had stopped breathing, his knuckles white where he clutched Cormac's robes. That was his little brother. In the doorway. With a perfect line of sight to where he and Cormac had just been grinding against each other.

"Why?" Carver sneered, disgust clear in his eyes as he looked at them. "Because you were doing something you don't want your little brother to see?"

"Carver," Artemis said weakly, passing a hand over his face and looking at everything except him. "There's a thing called privacy. I was just..." He gestured at the bed and its contents, his face and ears burning red. "Cleaning. I was cleaning. Probably too much." He still didn't look at Carver, but he still clutched Cormac's sleeve. He didn't know how Cormac could keep so calm but took his cues from him.

Cormac pulled Artemis closer, one arm around his waist, resting the other hand on the back of his head. "You know how he gets. We're just as scared as you are, but unlike you, we actually can't help. So, why don't you get off our asses and go do something for Anton?"

Carver sneered. Anton had already put him out, for much the same reason -- he wouldn't endanger the rest of the family, like that, and Carver, as a templar, had just as much to lose as the mages. "So you can get back on each other's asses?" He jabbed a finger in their direction. "The two of you always touching each other -- always. This is your fault, Cormac. Maybe I'd have had a normal older brother, if you hadn't fucked him up. It's not the magic. Beth isn't like this. It's you and your unnatural... whatever the fuck this is you're doing. Look at him, Cormac, can't you even see what you're doing?"

"You were too young to know him before," Cormac said, letting go of Artemis. He'd let Carver see that Artemis had his own motivations, here. "This isn't about me."

Artemis let Cormac's robes slide from his fingers, and finally he met Carver's glare with one of his own. Three steps brought him in front of his little brother, and Artemis looked at him for a long, solid moment before punching him square in the nose.

Carver staggered back into the doorframe, cursing as he clutched his bleeding nose.

"I'm sorry you don't have a 'normal' older brother, Carver," Artie said through grit teeth, hands still clenched into fists. "But I swear to the Maker, if you talk to Cormac like that in front of me again, it will be more than your nose that's bleeding. You think I don't know there's something broken in my head? Cormac was the only thing keeping me glued together for years, and how fucking dare you decide that I don't know how to take care of myself now?"

Carver stared at him with wide, wild eyes over his bloodied fingers. "I wasn't--"

"You weren't there," Artie said, voice dangerously close to a shout. "You were a baby when I found out I had magic. And you were eleven when I tried to turn myself over to the templars. So stuff your assumptions, Carver!"

"Artie, don't punch your brother. He's just a kid." Cormac sighed and held out his hand. He hadn't known about the templars, but that made so many things make sense, right around that time. That was the thing he'd been missing, but he managed to mostly keep the surprise off his face, or at least low enough that it could be read as a reaction to Artie actually throwing a punch. "C'mere. It's all right. You know and I know." And that was something he'd picked up from Anders. "That's what matters."

Eyes still unblinking, if watering like someone was working the pump, Carver stared at Cormac. He looked and sounded so much like their father, right then. Distress shot across his face before he wiped his hand on the wall next to the door and stormed out, before he could make things any worse for himself. Had that all been true? Cormac hadn't even flinched at any of what came out of Artemis's mouth -- totally unsurprised. He'd known it all, already. This family and their secrets -- it was going to get someone killed, one of these days. It had probably gotten his father killed, but with the things Cormac had said and the things they'd learned in that fuckawful Blight-steeped spire in the mountains, their dad had probably known he was going to die. He'd expected Cormac to take his place, and apparently, Cormac had, at least with Artemis. They'd both always been so much older, it was hard to remember there were years between them. But, maybe that was it. Maybe Cormac was just an overprotective father. It still didn't sit quite right, but it was a lot less horrible than anything else he'd thought about them.

"And don't bleed on the carpets! Go see Anders before you get blood on anything else Artie's going to want to clean!" Cormac shouted after Carver.

After Carver disappeared from sight, Artemis stared at the smear of blood left on the wall and scratched at the hand that had punched him. "Maker," he muttered, processing what had just happened. "He walks in here, nearly sees... _us_ , and I end up punching _him_." And he was usually so careful about locking that door when he was with Cormac. Well. 'Usually' meaning when he was sober and considerably less frazzled. "I always thought the punching would go in a different direction if that ever happened. And now I need to clean the wall. Excuse me." Artemis turned, casting about for the rag he'd been cleaning with before Cormac had distracted him.

"Clean it after," Cormac said, firmly. "Lock the door and come here. You'll have enough else to clean when we're done." He was completely horrified at the last several minutes of this otherwise ... actually pretty dreadful day, but he had a purpose, and that purpose was to keep Artemis distracted from the crisis going on in the other room. That was something he could do. That was something he was sure he needed to do even more of, after _that_ interruption. "Come here, my love, and let me give you what you need."

"Cormac," Artemis groaned, even as he let Cormac fold him into his arms. "Our little brother nearly walked in on us. Earthquakes after he leaves does not sound like the wisest idea."

"Maybe not, but who says I'm going to let you start one?" Cormac purred, burying his face against Artemis's neck. "Maybe I'll just get you desperate and pleading and then carry you home to Fenris, for the earthquakes."

Slowly, the knot of terror in Artemis's stomach started to loosen. There was nothing he could do for Cullen. Or for Carver, for that matter. "All right," Artie said, his hands starting to wander again, "but I would like to petition having a bell put around Carver's neck. A loud one."

"I wonder if Merrill would go for that?" Cormac asked, but the thought vanished into the background, as Artemis's hands caressed him. Later. He'd worry about it later.


	256. Chapter 256

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varania tells Merrill her story. Merrill talks about Carver's ... 'swording'. Carver is less than enthused.

"I don't know how I'm going to get them back. This was all for them, and now I can't even go home. How am I supposed to get them back, now that Danarius is dead?" Varania clutched her tea cup in both hands. "He said he'd sell them as slaves, if I didn't help him. That I'd be his apprentice, if I did. So I did, but now... now he failed. He has nothing to offer, and he still has my children."

"We'll get them back. We'll find a way." Merrill patted Varania's wrist. "Varric will know what to do. Carver will help us. You're not in Tevinter any more, and even there, you were free. You have friends, you have means, all you need is a good plan, and your brother's friends are very good at plans."

"My brother never wants to see me again. And he's not wrong. I betrayed him. I betrayed my brother to save my children. No one should have to make that choice, but I did it. They told me he was savage, that he was dangerous and wild. They told me that someone else would have to be writing for him, because he couldn't read. They told me he wasn't even a man, any more, that Danarius had turned him into a monster, before he slipped the leash, and that he was completely unsafe to be allowed to roam across Thedas, with no keeper. That he needed to be back in the Imperium, where he could be contained and used as he was meant to be." Varania looked torn. "I thought whatever had been done to him, he'd become an animal, or worse. But, the letters kept coming, and I couldn't imagine they were true. I wanted them to be. I wanted to believe he was finally safe and out and -- that he had gotten the life he tried to buy for me. But, I thought it was a trap. I thought another Magister was setting up Danarius, and I came prepared to help him spring that trap, in the hope that once it was proven that this wasn't my brother, he'd give back my children, and we could go home."

Merrill continued to pat Varania's arm, green eyes large and sympathetic, and wished she knew a faster way to help this woman. "I'm sure you did what you had to do," she said. "But... the children. Does Fenris know?"

Varania shook her head, ears drooping in a way that reminded Merrill of her brother. "I wanted to tell him about them," she said. "I almost did, so many times, but I was afraid."

"So he doesn't even know they exist?" Merrill asked.

Varania shook her head again, knuckles white where she clutched her tea cup. "No. They're not his problem."

"He's their uncle!" Merrill protested. "Of course they are!"

"Knock, knock? Who's whose uncle?"

Merrill jumped, finally noticing Carver in her doorway. She didn't know how she'd missed him, the way he filled the doorframe in his plate. "Carver!" she chirped, breaking into a smile, a smile that faded when she got a closer look at his face. "Fen'Harel's boots, Carver, what happened to your face?"

"Oh. Uh." Carver's hand flit over his bruised nose and the black eye that accompanied it. He drew himself up, puffing out his chest. "It was an amazing battle. You should have seen it. The others weren't nearly so lucky."

"Others?" Merrill asked, trading a look with Varania. "Carver, were you picking fights with the other templars, again?"

"What? No, no. Nothing like that. I, uh... I was at the Hanged Man, getting a drink, on my way over, and a fight broke out. Had to go straighten out a few drunkards." Carver nodded, with all the certainty he didn't actually have. "Busted a few heads and tossed them out in the street. Just... turned around into a fist, at some point."

"Turned around into a fist? Is that what they call it in the Marches?" Varania asked, smile hidden behind her tea cup. "In Tevinter, we call that getting punched in the face."

"I just don't understand how words work, in Common, sometimes," Merrill sighed. "I'm pretty sure he means he got punched in the face, though."

"It was still bold and daring! There were at least four other guys! It was a lucky shot!" Carver insisted.

"Sometimes I feel like he's not very good at fistfights," Merrill said to Varania, eyes lingering on Carver. "But, his swording is the very best. He's definitely the best sworder in all of Kirkwall."

The tea cup didn't quite hide Varania's smirk at that. "Swording? We have a term for that in Tevinter as well." She winked at Merrill.

Carver tugged at one red ear. "Wait. Tevinter. You're... damn, I can't remember your name. Fenris's sister. Didn't you crash my brother's wedding?"

Varania grimaced, frowning down into her tea again. "It's... not crashing if you're invited," she reminded him, tracing a finger around the rim of her cup.

"Right," said Carver. "Let me rephrase that. Weren't you the one who helped a magister crash my brother's wedding?"

Merrill gave Carver a pleading look, one that he clearly missed.

"Yes, that was me," said Varania. "Carver, was it?"

"Yeah, the Hawke who got knocked on the head, outside. How the Blight they got around me..." He shook his head and glared. "What are you still doing in Kirkwall?"

"My master is dead. Where else would I be?" Varania asked, pointedly.

"You're... kind of an uncle, Carver," Merrill said with a smile. "At least, I think that's how family works in the city... Your brother is married to her brother, and she has two children!"

"Back in Qarinus," Varania clarified. "Actually, for all I know, they're in Minrathous, by now, and sold."

"Wait, what?" Carver looked completely confused at how the conversation had looped back around to uncles. " _Sold_?"

"I was to become Danarius's apprentice, if I helped him. If I didn't, he was going to sell my children as slaves. I'm not here to hurt my brother. I'm here to save the rest of my family," Varania explained again.

"Wait, does Fenris know this?" Carver asked, struck by how far this was from the story he knew from that day.

"I tried to tell him, at the wedding, but... It was too late. He wouldn't listen." Varania sipped her tea, in an attempt to stop her hands from shaking. "Before that, I couldn't be sure he was really him, that it wasn't some sort of trap."

"Does anything ever go right in this family?" Carver roared, in frustration, hands pressed to his face. "No. Of course not. Hello, Varania. Welcome to the family. I'm _so sorry_. My life advice to everyone? Don't be a Hawke."

Merrill caught the extra edge. "What's happened? Something else happened, didn't it? Are your brothers all right?" She didn't ask about Bethany, not because Bethany mattered any less, but because Bethany had always seemed to be the most competent of all the Hawkes, and she was sure the woman would never find any trouble she couldn't get herself out of.

Carver groaned, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, forgetting for a moment about his black eye. He winced, pulling his hand away. "They're all right," he said. "Mostly. Anton is apoplectic."

"Anton?" Merrill asked, brows knit in concern. "Oh. Oh, is _Cullen_ all right?" Carver's expression was her answer. Merrill wished she had made more tea. "What happened?"

"Meredith happened," Carver sighed. He pulled up a stool to the table and slumped into it, plate clanking as he moved. "He's locked up in the Gallows, and I'm not even sure why. Something to do with how he handled the complaints against Aveline? So no, he's not all right. Not at the moment."

"Oh dear," Merrill murmured. "Being a Hawke _is_ rather complicated, isn't it?"

"Let's see, we've been locked in the Deep Roads, melted two magisters, our mother was turned into a zombie, dad was a blood mage working for the Wardens, two of my brothers have an ambiguously brotherly love for each other, one of them screams like he's being stabbed every time he gets laid, my sister is the absolute definition of why mages are feared, and now my brother-in-law is locked up without his lyrium for doing his job. And somewhere in there, there were some darkspawn, some dragons, and some possessed dwarves," Carver raved. "Oh, and that time the Qunari tried to take over the city, and we had to stop them. Fuck this family. Fuck this city. I want to go back to Lothering, but I can't, because everyone I knew is _dead_."

"I do hope someone's writing all that down," Varania said, between sips of tea. "It sounds like a story for the ages. You fought Qunari? In Qarinus, we see them, sometimes. Raiders. We're too close to Seheron, and they keep trying, every now and again."

"Yes, we fought Qunari," Carver groaned, dropping his head onto his arms. "Bunch of them shipwrecked here, looking for a book. One of my brothers said something to piss them off or... something. I'm not sure exactly what happened. All I know is that the city was on fire." He looked up, resting his chin on his arms, and shook his head. "Why, why is there so much fire whenever my family is involved?"

Varania remembered Danarius, remembered his screams and the pillar of flame. "So that sort of thing happens all the time, then?" She had to wonder how her brother had gotten caught up in this family. She almost envied him, that he had this family to watch his back, this family that worried about each other over this.

"The scenery bursting into flames? Oh, yeah. Marketdays in Kirkwall. Demons, blood magic, shit catching fire." Carver rolled his eyes. "Well, nobody's letting me near Cullen's problem. All afraid I'll end up in the next cell over. Like Anton won't, or something. You want me to help you with the kids, I can probably do something. Don't know what, but... If you need somebody stabbed, I'm right here. And I guess I can make mages useless, too."

"That's _true_?" Varania looked astonished. "I heard stories on the boat, that the templars were different outside the Imperium, but... you can really do that? You can kill the magic?"

"Not... kill. Less mages in the family, if I could do that. But, I can make it stop working for a little while." Carver shrugged. "It's what templars are for. What do you mean they don't do that in Tevinter?" He paused. "Oh. Right. Magisters. Yeah, I don't figure they'd have much use for people who can just shut them down, even if it's only for a few seconds."

Varania sat back in her chair, reassessing. "Then perhaps you could help," she said, wary in a way that said she was afraid to be hopeful. If she could see her babies again... "If you can cut them off from their magic, even just for a little while... Would you do that?"

"Of course," Carver said, shrugging as though that should be obvious. "You're part of this messed-up family now, whether you want to be or not." He pretended not to notice the way Varania's eyes filled with tears. "But, well. Fenris needs to know."

Varania started to protest, but Carver shook his head.

"He has a right to be pissed at you -- he does -- but he deserves more credit than that." Or so Carver hoped.

"I-- I didn't manage to bring it with me to the wedding, but..." Varania reached into the bag that sat beside her chair, eventually wrestling a book out of it. "I brought a gift, just in case he was real. Just in case it wasn't a trap, and my brother wasn't the beast he was said to be." She smiled weakly, pushing the book across the table. "Whatever else happens, he should have this."

"What is it?" Carver asked, sliding it toward himself and opening the cover. He didn't recognise the title, but it appeared to be written by a Chantry scholar, to judge by the name and titles of the author.

"It's a translation of a book written by one of Andraste's companions. The text isn't quite forbidden, in Tevinter, but it's... not considered proper reading. Shartan was a slave, until he brought on the rebellion that Andraste took advantage of, in her assault on Tevinter. Not a popular story, obviously, but it seemed fitting, somehow, if what he wrote to me was true."

Carver's eyebrows rose. "Very fitting, I think," he said. "I'll make sure he gets it." He couldn't guarantee Fenris would accept it after everything, but if not, he could give it to Artemis and let him coax Fenris into it. Assuming he didn't walk into Artie's fist again.

"Thank you," said Varania. She smiled tiredly.

"See?" said Merrill, beaming. "He's more than just a good sworder."

"Merrill, you can't just ... talk to people about my swording!" The unbruised side of Carver's face flushed. "I'm going to-- just-- I'm going back to the market, to buy a pie? Would you like some pie? You're getting some pie." He stood up, still holding the book, and then put it back down, platemail creaking as he awkwardly made his way back to the door and out.

"Actually, I meant his sword," Merrill said, with a mischievous smile, making sword-swinging gestures. "But, now we'll have pie!"


	257. Chapter 257

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carver attempts to impress the importance of family upon Fenris.

Carver waited, in a gate arch, a little way down the road and over it from his brother's house. He was not walking into Artemis again, after what had happened the last time they were in a room. But, Artie had to go out, eventually. Or Fenris would. He could catch Fenris outside. The book was thick in his hands, and a shitty read, really. He'd spent the last two hours trying to get into it, just to be less obviously lurking, but it was impenetrable and polemic. Actually, it rather reminded him of Fenris, which, he supposed, was a good thing. Of course, he supposed Fenris wasn't impenetrable any more. And that was just what he didn't need to be thinking about, right this moment. Gross.

Just as he was about to try the book again, Carver caught sight of Artemis coming out of the inlet surrounding his door, with a giggling woman on either arm. That was something he'd never expected to see. But, a second glance told him that one of those women was Orana, their housekeeper, and the other one looked familiar, but he couldn't place her. They were probably dragging Artie out for his fashion sense or his ability to count apples or something. That or they needed something cleaned. Sometimes he wondered why his brother even had a housekeeper, but that was a thought for another time.

As the ladies led his brother across Hightown, Carver slipped out of the nook and made his way to the door, knocking loudly enough to be heard upstairs. With Orana out, it would probably be a bit, before Fenris realised he had to answer the door himself. He waited a moment and then knocked again, as a reminder.

Then Carver waited. And waited some more. He swore under his breath and raised his hand to knock a third time when Fenris opened the door and nearly walked into his fist.

"Futue!" Fenris swore, eyes crossing to look at the fist in front of his face. He took a step back, and Carver lowered his hand, fumbling for an apology. "What is this? Were you hoping I was Artemis?" Fenris eyed Carver and the bruise that was half his face. A small smile pulled at his lips. "Hoping to give him a matching bruise, perhaps? I hear yours, at least, was deserved."

Carver scowled down at the smug elf. "No, I was actually looking for you. Not to punch you, despite evidence to the contrary."

"Ah, then you _are_ smarter than you look." Fenris tilted his head, fingers drumming against the door-frame. "Now, why were you looking for me? Does this have to do with Cullen?"

"Anton refuses to discuss Cullen with me, despite the fact I'm the one bringing him news." Carver went to cross his arms, but the book was in his way. "I'm here to bring you this, and to talk with you about ... something else. I don't really want to bring it up on the doorstep." Actually, he really didn't want the door slammed in his face.

"A book." Fenris looked confused, but finally stepped out of the doorway.

Carver, unlike so many of the Hawkes, did not spend much time in this house, and his eyes wandered as he stepped into the front hall. "I'll explain the book, later. The important thing is that you have it. You, ah... You might want a drink for this. And to sit down."

"What's happened?" Fenris's ears canted back and his face grew hard.

"Nothing you have to kill anyone for. At least not yet." Carver rocked back on his heels and looked up at the ceiling. "Just get a drink and sit. You'll understand, in a minute, but I want to make sure you've got brandy in your hand before I say anything, because you're going to need it."

Merrill, Fenris thought. It had to be something about Merrill, and Carver just didn't know any other elves. The thought was comforting, and he probably would need a drink, if this was going to be some strange story of sexual perversion and unintended pregnancy. He gestured for Carver to follow him and made for the lounge. There would be rum, in the lounge. It seemed like a rum occasion, suddenly.

Fenris considered just grabbing the bottle, but he figured he might as well start this with some level of decorum and poured himself a glass. "Rum?" he offered Carver.

Carver perched on the edge of a chair, book clutched in his hands, and mulled that question over with all the seriousness of making a life-or-death decision. "Yes," he decided in the end. Better to have it and not need it, he supposed.

Fenris poured a second glass and pressed it into Carver's hand. He sat on the couch across from his brother-in-law. "So," he said, tugging at one ear. "I am sitting, alcohol in hand. Does this suffice, or does it actually have to be brandy for you to tell me what's going on?"

"Rum is good," Carver said, fingers drumming along the side of his glass. "As for why I'm here, it has to do with our family, yes. Or, more specifically, _your_ family."

Fenris's grip tightened around the glass in his hand. Family. Outside of the Hawkes, he had only one living family member he knew of. Unless... Carver couldn't possibly know about Danarius, could he? Fenris took a drink. The rum, he decided, was a good choice.

"Your sister, actually," Carver went on, trying to figure out how best to present the idea.

"What has she done now? Burned down a pub? Started selling the alienage into slavery?" Fenris snapped, glaring over the rim of his glass, before he emptied it down his throat and poured again. Carver was right. He did need a drink.

"No, no. She hasn't done anything bad." Carver shook his head and took a sip of the rum. "She's trying to get her kids back from Danarius's estate. She can't go back to Tevinter, now that he's dead, and they're... she says they're why she's here. That he threatened to sell her kids as slaves, if she didn't do this. Congrats, by the way, you're an uncle."

"That's not what she told me," Fenris snarled. "How do you know she's not just lying to protect herself?"

"What good would it do? She just wants to find a way to bring them to Kirkwall, before anyone figures out Danarius isn't coming back. I don't really see where lying about that would do her any good." Carver shrugged. "Besides, I don't really remember you being in a mood to hear anything from her, at the wedding. Not that I blame you. I'd have been just as pissed if my sister pulled some shit like that."

Fenris's glare told Carver just how 'pissed' he still was. "And why should I trust her? All those months of trading letters, she never once mentioned any children. You'd think that would have come up."

Carver shrugged, genuinely at a loss there. "Maybe she was afraid to?" he offered. "She said she didn't believe you wrote those letters. When Hadriana didn't come back to Tevinter, Danarius probably grabbed Varania's kids as collateral. I don't think I'd blame her for being extra careful."

"So, what," Fenris growled, "you two sat down over tea and talked about how much I'd ruined her life?"

"Well," Carver floundered. "There _was_ tea, but..." Carver flinched at Fenris's next growl. "Please don't bruise the other eye. I have my good looks to consider." Carver set down his rum on the end table and ran a hand through his hair. "Look. I don't know her. Maybe she _is_ lying, for all I know, but if she's not? What if you are an uncle? You'll miss out on the chance of knowing family that hasn't yet stabbed you in the back."

Fenris looked down at the drink in his hands, giving it the full force of his brooding. It was dangerous to think about. The last time he'd dared hope for family, it had nearly gotten his _real_ family, the Hawke family, killed. "And the book?" he asked gruffly.

Carver handed it over and hoped it wouldn't end up tossed across the room. "A wedding present from Varania. You know, just in case it turned out you actually existed."

A gift. She'd brought him a gift. It didn't seem to be the kind of thing one could get in Kirkwall, for all that this was a port city, and it didn't much seem like the kind of thing one would find in the Imperium, except that was very definitely an Imperial binding. Even when he couldn't read, he knew the way books were put together, and they weren't the same, here. You didn't generally bring a gift to someone you meant to kill, he knew, but... she hadn't given it to him, then. What if this were just some way to get back into his good graces, to keep him put until she could summon more reinforcements? But, that really made no sense. Danarius was dead. There was no one left who cared what happened to him -- or at least, no one from his old life.

"I do not want to see her, but I will speak with Varric. I may have a way to do this simply. I will speak to _you_ about this, when I am certain whether it is worth trying." He wouldn't explain the plan. Not yet. He wouldn't let on to anyone who might tell Varania that he'd taken possession of Danarius's estate, and was in the process of having it transferred to Kirkwall, mostly for liquidation.

"You think Varric can help?" Carver looked a little surprised, but then, Varric could help with some very strange things.

"Varric has some friends who may be willing to assist in ways I will not discuss." Fenris sipped his rum. "If there are such children, they will become known to us, and then we can make a decision."


	258. Chapter 258

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen gets a surprise visitor. Anton calls upon the Grand Cleric.

Cullen wasn't sure if it was day or night that the knock on his cell door came. He also couldn't tell if he'd been sleeping or just dreaming with his eyes open in the dark.

"Come on, Captain! Rise and shine!"

And maybe he was still dreaming because that voice sounded familiar. Which was silly, really; the tower was full of voices he knew or at least heard in passing. He was still in the tower, wasn't he?

The knock came again, hard enough to shake the door on its hinges, and this time Cullen obeyed, rolling to his knees with a groan. Maybe the templar on the other side of the door would have Anton's face again. He liked those dreams the best.

Cullen staggered to his feet, holding himself up against the door as he squinted through the bars. "How can I help you, Ser?" Even the torchlight seemed bright.

And then the helmet came off. That made no sense whatsoever. That... he had to be seeing things. He'd been seeing things for a while, now, but this? This was a new one. Anders in platemail. "Do I know you?" he asked, trying to cover for the fact that he couldn't tell who this really was. "It's so dark in here, it's hard to make out your face."

What appeared to be Anders took a deep breath, eyes sliding closed for a moment, and then he nodded. "Of course. The lyrium. And you've been alone this whole time. _I remember_." The last words were bitter, but almost sympathetic. "Tell me what you think you see. I'll nod if you're right and shake my head if you're wrong."

"You... you're --" Cullen caught himself. He didn't know much, any more, but he knew where he was, and he caught that warning. "You're that Warden, aren't you?"

What appeared to be Anders nodded, and said, "A Warden? Down here? They've had you off the lyrium too long. We just wanted to make sure you're still holding up. We know you didn't do these things, Captain. Just hold on."

Cullen struggled to remember what it was he didn't do. "That is good to hear," he said, because it was, even if he couldn't remember why. More softly, he told the hallucination, "You look good in platemail. Sort of." He much preferred Anders in a dress, he thought. Had that happened? 

"Thank you, Captain," Anders drawled. "Sort of."

Cullen rested his cheek against the edge of the window. The air wasn't quite so stale through the bars. "How long?" he asked. He rubbed his fingers together, trying to get the feeling back into them. They tingled like they were half asleep.

"Little more than a week," Anders said, his voice again almost sympathetic.

Was that all? It felt like a lifetime.

"Anton?" Cullen asked. "Is he all right?"

"The Champion is most displeased." Anders's lips quirked in a smile. "But he's well. Worried about you, but well."

Cullen sighed and nodded, relieved. This was a good hallucination, he decided. A friendly face saying nice things.

"He wishes you'd come home, of course, but I tried to explain why that wasn't really possible. He's a little insistent, of course. You know how he gets." Below the window, the sound of platemail creaking and clattering drifted up, and Anders looked distinctly uncomfortable. "You _have_ been alone, haven't you? No troubles with the guards? Here, put your hand up by the window and let me see. I'll need to go, right after. They'll be on me like dogs for being down here. Anything you want me to tell Anton?"

Cullen didn't quite understand the question, but something in the back of his mind said it would give him nightmares, either way. Anton. That question he understood. "Anton. I love him very much. I don't want to be alone any more. It's so empty in here..." His fingers crept up to the edge of the window, parting around a bar as he gripped the bottom of the window.

"Be thankful you're alone, for now. Anton's making a great deal of political noise about this, and it shouldn't be much longer before you're back with him." Anders touched Cullen's fingers, summoning a wave of healing. Healing a templar. Something he never really saw himself doing, especially more than once. "Of course, it'll feel like forever. I remember." He took back his hand and shook it out. "And now I have to run. Probably literally, after that. We'll get someone in to you soon. Anton misses you."

Anders -- or the templar with Anders's face -- was gone before the word 'goodbye' left Cullen's lips.

* * *

The Grand Cleric was not an easy woman to see, on the best of days, which this was distinctly not, with the archivists still emptying the vaults into the keep and trying to document where everything had come from and where it was going to. Anton's discovery of the partially-collapsed section of the Undercity beneath the Chantry had meant there was an immediate push to reinforce those walls, lest the building drop into the earth. But, Anton was both the Champion of Kirkwall and extremely loud, when he wanted to be. Loud enough, in fact, that Sebastian finally came out to investigate.

"She may be the holiest woman in all of Kirkwall, and the absolute authority within the Chantry, but I am the closest thing to a secular authority this city has, any longer, aside from the Captain of the Guard! I will deal with no one less than Grand Cleric Elthina, herself, in this matter!"

"Anton!" Sebastian seemed surprised to find Bethany's brother both here and worked into quite such a froth. Anton had always seemed so calm. "What's happened? What's going on?"

"The Knight-Captain has been imprisoned on utterly ludicrous charges for nearly two weeks, now, and the Knight-Commander answers to no-one," Anton roared, eyes still boring into the unfortunate sister between him and the door that led back toward the Grand Cleric's suite. "Except, perhaps, to the Grand Cleric, to whom I am not being permitted to speak!"

"The...? Cullen?" Sebastian looked back and forth between Anton and the Grand Cleric's door. Nearly two weeks, and he hadn't heard anything? "Knight-Captain Cullen is a good man. I'm sure--"

"Sebastian, I swear, if you say 'I'm sure it will work out', I will punch you in Andraste's face!"

The sister Anton had been staring down sucked in a gasp, looking utterly offended. Sebastian cleared his throat and clasped his hands strategically over his belt buckle.

"What I was going to say, Anton," Sebastian said slowly, "is 'I'm sure Her Holiness would be happy to help'."

Anton didn't quite keep the surprise off his face. "Oh."

"Let me talk to her. Excuse me, sister." Sebastian offered the sister a polite, disarming smile, until she stepped aside with a huff. His knuckles rapped the door. "Grand Cleric!" he called out. "May I have a word?"

Elthina came to the door, after a moment. "Oh, Sebastian! Are you well? What troubles you?"

Sebastian found himself a bit curious that she could ask about him, that she could _hear_ him, but that she didn't ask about all the shouting. "The Champion has some concerns about the Knight-Commander's recent actions. There's some question about her accusations against Knight-Captain Cullen. What exactly were the accusations?"

"He found in favour of Guard Captain Aveline, in a recent dispute that involved the former Captain and a group of crazed nationalists. In discovering that she'd been thoroughly and appallingly slandered, he apparently left himself open to an accusation of corruption and dereliction," Anton drawled. "The templars have no business investigating the city guard in the first place, but I'll let that little legal technicality pass, since we have no viscount, and all accusations of malfeasance should be investigated."

"Then what is the trouble?" Elthina asked. "The accusations against Knight-Captain Cullen are no doubt being investigated."

"The trouble is that he's being held in a cell with no lyrium!" Anton barked, before holding up a hand. "Excuse me. I have heard of the effects of withdrawal, and I am very much afraid the man will die, if this is not resolved quickly. I can only hope the damage to his mind is reversible."

Elthina favoured Anton with a sympathetic smile. "We must have patience in this matter, Champion," she said in a tone Anton was trying not to find condescending. 

Anton took a deep breath, clasping his hands behind his back as he reined in his temper. "With all due respect, Your Holiness," he said, "'patience' on our part might get my husband killed."

"Cullen is a good man," Sebastian said again, turning to the Grand Cleric. "I do not doubt his innocence. Surely there is something we can do?"

"We must place our faith in the Maker," Elthina replied, "and trust that he will sort this out in time."

"I do place my faith in the Maker," Sebastian protested. "But it was the Maker who gave you authority over the Order and the Knight-Commander. Is it not then your duty to intervene?"

"The Maker teaches us patience. His will comes to be in time, and it is upon us to trust in him, even in the most trying times. It is my duty to be faithful, and to ask you to do the same." Elthina looked pityingly at Sebastian. "All these years. Have you learnt so little? I know these are hard times, but that is their value."

"Time is exactly what we do not have any more of." Anton ran a hand through his hair. "It is by His will that you have the authority to make a difference, as Sebastian says. He has given you the right to make decisions in these matters, on His behalf -- to rule in the affairs of men, where the Maker's house and servants are concerned, and I tell you there is trouble in His house! I do not mind the investigation. I welcome the investigation. But I will not have my husband killed over some ridiculous matter!"

"Is it such a ridiculous matter? What purpose would his death serve? If it is none, then you must have faith he will survive. What greater purpose is served by his losses and yours? Do these not remind you to better love and care for what you have?" Elthina shook her head, sadly. "It is the duty of the Knight-Commander to see to discipline within the Order. It falls to her to decide how best to manage the men who serve under her. Perhaps you should remain and pray for guidance, Champion. This road may not be an easy one, but it is the road you are on, and you must ensure it is the Maker who leads you, and not worldly vice, or worse."

Anton was getting nowhere. He didn't know what he had expected, not after Petrice, not after the way Elthina had handled Orsino and Meredith arguing in the square. He dipped his head respectfully. "I thank you for your time, Grand Cleric," he said neutrally. "I am sorry to have wasted it."

Elthina didn't seem to know how to respond to that, and Anton didn't give her a chance to. He padded down the stairs, heading for the door and not the kneelers.

"Your Holiness," said Sebastian, dipping his head as well and backing towards the stairs. "Excuse me." He followed Anton, catching up with him halfway down the nave. Anton looked calm as he walked, dreadfully calm, but Sebastian could see the way the muscles in his jaw tightened. "I will talk to her again later," he said. "Perhaps, after prayer and reflection, she will see what she needs to do."

Anton nodded, his hand on the door. "Thank you," he said. The swearing and venting could wait until he was outside of the Chantry.

"Will Cullen be all right in the meantime?" Sebastian asked earnestly.

Anton's smile was ugly as he said, "He'd better be," and pulled open the door.


	259. Chapter 259

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slutty Hawke and the Unexpected Whore: yet another game of Wicked Grace

The night was young, yet, and the first pitchers were still sitting on the table, half-full, when Carver came up the stairs. He could hear Cormac's whooping laughter, and debated just going back down and leaving, but what kind of man would he be, for that? It was a black eye. It was a black eye he'd gotten in such an appalling way that he couldn't imagine word of it having gotten further than maybe Fenris and Anders. The scandal attached could ruin the family, he was sure.

And so he forged ahead, carrying his tankard into the light of Varric's suite and taking his usual place at the table, next to Merrill.

"That shiner's been a long time shining, Junior," Varric called down the table. "What'd you do, walk into a door?"

"Walked into a fist, more likely," Aveline grumbled from a few seats down.

"Oh! That's exactly what Carver said when he told me the story!" said Merrill, grinning broadly. She wrapped an arm around his and leaned in to kiss his cheek. "Were you there, Varric?"

Carver sputtered, tugging at his ear, and Varric quirked an eyebrow at him from the head of the table. "No, Varric wasn't... Could we not talk about this?"

"Maker," Artemis mumbled, frowning at Carver from down the table. "I thought you were going to have Anders look at that?"

"Anders was busy," Carver muttered, staring down into his cup instead of looking at his brother. He hadn't seen Artemis -- or, rather, Artemis hadn't seen _him_ \-- since the making of his black eye.

Artemis wiped a hand over his face, guilt twisting in his stomach. That was his little brother. With a black eye. A black eye that _he had given him_. That wasn't how things were supposed to work, no matter how much of an ass Carver was being. "Anders?" he said, turning pleading eyes on the healer. "Could you heal my idiot brother, please?"

Anders hummed discontentedly, eyes still on his cards as he flicked a hand down the table, healing trailing from his fingertips. "I just want you to know, Carver, that you're extremely lucky Artemis got to you before I did. If I'd been there -- if you'd said that to me -- I think I might have thrown you off the balcony and then kicked your balls up into your eyesockets. You can't just say shit like that to people."

The table went still. Anders almost never threatened violence. Whatever Carver had said was clearly worth the hit he'd taken for it, and the eyes travelled down the table from Anders to Carver.

"You said it was a barfight!" Merrill exclaimed.

"Wait, wait, wait." Varric held up his hands. "Am I to understand that Slutty Hawke over here punched you in the face? Like, not with magic, but with his actual fist?"

Cormac choked on his drink and struggled not to dribble it into his lap as he tried to swallow around the laugh caught in his throat.

"Wait, wait, what do you mean 'Slutty'?" Artemis sputtered, looking wildly up and down the table.

"So it wasn't a barfight?" Merrill asked, eyes wide and hurt as she stared up at Carver.

"Uh," said Carver with his usual eloquence.

"I am _not_ slutty!"

"Well... technically," Carver fumbled to explain. "No?"

"Fenris, tell Varric I'm not slutty!"

Fenris was too busy leaning over his drink, half-drooling with his heaving laughter. "Well... technically," he hiccuped after a while, parroting Carver. Artie swatted his arm.

"So what happened then?" Merrill demanded. "What did you do?"

"If I'm 'Slutty'," Artemis interrupted again, kneeling on his chair to better lean over the table and stare down Varric. He pointed at Cormac. "Then what is _he_?"

"Extremely loud." Varric poured himself another pint.

Cormac mangled a few words between wheezes, as he caught his breath. "Anders, tell my brother he's a slut."

"Artie, you're a slut," Anders said, still squinting at his hand, now at a different angle. "And so's Cormac."

"Not disputing that." Cormac held up his hands.

"Well, at least there's only the one _whore_ at the table," Aveline threw in, leaning forward to glare up the table at Isabela.

"You're right, I think." Isabela nodded. "But, it's not me. I don't get paid. I was, however, paying Anders, back in Denerim."

"For all the Orlesian diseases you picked up, no doubt," Aveline grumbled.

"Oh, no, for that delightful electricity trick, and Maker, but the man's hung like a Qunari!" Isabela cackled and tossed a coin into the pot. "If he was still selling, I'd still be buying."

Varric put his cards face down on the table. "Hold on, hold on," he said, patting the air with one hand. "Slutty punched Junior in the face, and Anders was a whore? Shit, why am I not writing this down?" He cast about him until he spotted parchment and quill and got up from the table to make a grab for them.

Artemis turned to give Cormac a mournful look. "This is it. I'm going to be known throughout history as 'Slutty Hawke'. 'The Tale of the Champion and His Slutty Brothers', is that what you're going to call your next book?"

Aveline was still processing what Isabela had just said. She wasn't sure what bothered her more, the 'paid Anders for sex' part or the 'hung like a Qunari' part. "Why do I even come to these games?" She sighed and threw down her cards, leaving the table. Whether she was leaving the Hanged Man altogether or just getting a stiff drink, it was hard to tell.

"I was thinking maybe, 'The Brothers Hawke: Shouty, Slutty, and Stabby'." Varric spread his hands, palms out, as if spreading the words across the cover of a book.

"Hey, that's Champion Stabby, to you," Anton said, apparently pulling a cracker out of Isabela's cleavage, before sticking it into his mouth.

"You know he's still telling that story about us coming out of Lothering like I've got fish sauce in my beard," Cormac muttered, adding another coin to the pile.

"Hey, you're larger than life! I had to add a few flaws to make you more approachable!" Varric protested.

Cormac looked up slowly and then squinted up the table at Varric. "Did you just call me fat?"

"That's exactly how I tell it. 'Hawke rolled into the fray like a gigantic pudding covered in gravy.' It's more dramatic that way. Especially the part with the ogre."

"You are getting a little soft in the middle, Mage-Shoulders," Isabela said with a wink and a smile.

"Does it have to be gravy? Couldn't it be chocolate, instead?" Cormac complained, even as Anders's hand slid off the table and into his lap.

"Who would notice, if I covered you in chocolate?" Varric asked, picking up his tankard. "You're the same colour as Orlesian dark. A gravy will at least show up. Gotta have a little contrast in there."

"In which case, I demand a buttercream." Cormac jabbed a finger at Varric.

Carver tried desperately to focus on his cards. "Sometimes, I really hate my family," he muttered.

"That's not true," Artemis told him, waving one hand. "You love us, you cranky sod."

"Oh, everyone here loves the Hawkes," Isabela said. "Some of us a couple nights a week." She winked at Artie just to watch his nose scrunch up. Anders hummed in agreement around his drink, his hand still hidden under the table.

"It's still not happening," Artemis reminded Izzy. He pointed at her and looked down the table at Varric. " _She_ should be Slutty!"

"Should be?" Izzy huffed, putting a hand over her chest. "And here I thought I was already doing a good job of it."

Fenris looked at Anton, his cards still in hand. "Where even are we, in this game?" he asked, shrugging his shoulders.

Anton studied the pot and his hand, then glanced around the table. "Draw. I'm pretty sure we're at draw."

Cards were drawn and hands rearranged, and most of the table kept their eyes off the way Cormac squirmed in his seat as he considered.

"Anders, if we both lose this round, I want you to know it's entirely your fault," Cormac managed, as he tossed another coin toward the centre of the table.

"You mean it isn't always? For shame! I should be trying harder." Anders chuckled as a spark dissipated through the cloth of Cormac's robes.

"Maybe you'd try harder if he was paying you more." Carver did not look thrilled with the evening's revelations as he folded and cast a disgusted look at Cormac.

"You keep looking at me like I didn't know," Cormac said, eyes catching Carver's. "Did you think this was a surprise? But, then I already know how little you think of me."

"Angel of Death!" Anton tossed the card onto the table, as the next draw began.

"I think exactly as little or as much of you as you deserve," Carver said coldly, cards slapping against the table.

"Carver," Merrill whispered, sliding a hand into the inside of his elbow and squeezing.

"Don't start," Artemis said, face pinched. "Not unless you want another black eye." He was starting to feel less guilty about that bruise he'd put on Carver's face, now that he remembered why he'd put it there.

"Now, now, I just healed that," said Anders. Not that he wouldn't mind seeing Artie throw a punch at Carver. He'd been terribly disappointed to have missed the first one. Varric looked back and forth between the brothers, ready to take notes.

"Oh, sure," Carver sneered. "Everyone defend Cormac, like he doesn't have enough shields. I didn't even say anything!"

Anton tipped his chair back, looking down the table at his brother behind everyone's backs. "I don't care how much shit you give Cormac. I don't really care how much shit you give any of us. But, by the Maker's hairy balls, do it with some grace! The problem's not the shit, it's that you're making a fool of yourself delivering it!"

"There are, without question, more tasteful ways to deliver shit, particularly in the Orlesian fashion," Isabela grinned wickedly. "Even the foulest thing can pass, if you make it seem obvious enough. I've even seen shit made almost appealing, not that I'd want to sit at a table with _that_ sculptor while he worked!"

"And speaking of shit, our brother is a _bird-mage_ of some sort and managed to dump shit in almost every drink that got near my lips for _six months_ , when we were young. Don't sling shit in this house, unless you're ready to eat it." Anton shook his head and sighed. "And I still can't believe you did that to me, Cormac."

"I still can't believe you tried to get Artie buggered by a _bull_!" Cormac shot back.

"I'm telling you, it wasn't supposed to go like that! There was supposed to be a _fence_ in the way!" Anton's chair clacked against the floor as he sat forward again, arranging his hand one last time. "Besides, he's fine, isn't he? And he was, then, too! And you get to take the credit for being the hero, there."

"Oh, yeah, the _credit_. You should've been the one with rashvine in your bed, not me!" Cormac snagged an olive from one of the bowls on the table and slung it at Anton's head, amusement playing around the corners of his mouth.

"Rashvine?" Fenris asked, brows furrowed. He looked askance at his husband.

Artie's face twisted, looking somewhere between guilty and amused, and he ducked his head to smirk behind his cards. "Rashvine nettles," he confirmed. "In his chest hair."

Varric gasped in horror, pressing a hand flat over his chest where his tunic opened. "For shame, Slutty. And this for the one who _saved_ you from bull riding -- by which, of course, I mean the bull riding you."

"Still don't understand that," Anton agreed, one hand up in the air as he shook his head.

"And I still don't understand what your obsession with turnips was," Artie huffed, "but you don't see me judging you for it."

"No. Nope." Carver shook his head emphatically. "We are not talking about the turnips."

"If it makes you feel better, I'm judging both of you," Cormac said, tossing his cards on the table. Four songs. "I'm also winning this hand."

"You did fucking not!" Isabela leapt up, knocking over her chair as she leaned over the table.

Anders leaned to the side to see Anton around Isabela's rack. "You and me should talk turnip-crafting some time. I've got some great ones from the tower. I wouldn't be surprised if your husband did, too. It was that kind of place." Anders grinned, and then remembered why Cullen wasn't at the table, and the grin fell sharply on one side, face turning suddenly apologetic.

"Did I not _just_ say we are not talking about turnips?" Carver groaned.

"You said 'the' turnips, implying Anton's. I'm not talking about Anton's turnips. I'm talking about Fereldan turnip carving traditions of Lake Calenhad." Anders grinned at Carver.

"Right," Carver muttered. "Then let me add: we are not talking about turnips. Any turnips, Fereldan or otherwise."

"What about horseradishes?" Anton asked. "Can we talk about those?"

"I don't understand," said Merrill, ears drooping. "Carver, I thought you liked turnips?"

"Not after my brothers have handled them." Carver took a long swig of his drink. "Or my parents."

Anton's eyes glazed over for a moment. Then he pointed at Carver. " _That_ we are not talking about."

Isabela swore as she threw down her cards. Three knights. So close.

Anton spread his cards on the table. "The end of days is nigh. Cormac beat me in a hand of Wicked Grace."

"Oh, come on, I'm not _that_ bad! This isn't the first time!" Cormac complained.

"It's really not," Varric agreed, "but you do it so rarely, it's worth paying attention to. Something in the stars."

"Perhaps it is a fortunate alignment that will resolve some greater universal ills," Fenris muttered tossing his cards into the pile and casting an inquisitive glance at Anton. "Or perhaps they are just stars."

"Oh, I've got the resolution for some greater universal ills," Anton joked, leaning back, "riiiight here. And Sebastian's talking to the Grand Cleric, not that I expect to need her assistance, by the end of the week."

"Does the displeasure run so deep?" Fenris asked. "I wouldn't have thought you'd want to advertise."

"Deep enough to need addressing." Anton nodded and gathered the cards, shuffling again, before he passed the deck to Cormac. "And I'm not talking about the resolutions I keep in my trousers, for once, but that goes pretty deep as well."

"I have absolutely no idea what the two of you are talking about, but I definitely hope it involves a troupe of naked Qunari acrobats," Isabela chimed in.

"We have gone from turnips to knobs," Carver complained even more loudly than he'd been complaining. "This is not an improvement!"


	260. Chapter 260

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen returns. All is not well.

Anders was used to Hawkes dragging him out of his clinic. When Anton tugged his arm and cocked his head at the door, Anders didn't even ask, at least not until he had gathered up his staff and his potions and he and Anton were already halfway up the stairs.

"Is everyone all right?" Anders asked. "Did someone else punch Carver?" The joke did little to hide his concern, especially when Anton had that look, that haunted look Anders had seen on too many patients and their families.

"Not yet," said Anton, practically running up the stairs, forcing Anders to keep up. "It's Cullen."

That brought Anders up short, but Anton was leading him into the estate and not the Gallows. "Cullen? What--? Meredith released him?" He squinted at Anton. "Or did you do something?"

"I did plenty of somethings," Anton huffed, "all -- or most -- of them legal, surprisingly." Words rushed out of him more quickly than usual, humour in his words but not his tone. He threw Anders a desperate look all but telling the healer to hurry up.

Anders found Cullen in Anton's room, his skin pale against the bedsheets, his hand gripped tight in Bethany's. Cullen looked about with dazed eyes, his stare lingering on Anders before sliding off, and Anders wondered how conscious the man actually was.

"He needs to eat," Bethany said, as she noticed Anders. "And he probably needs his lyrium. Carver went back to get it. But, I think a warm beer and some fruit would do wonders."

"Nailed it," Anders laughed, humourlessly, as he sat on the edge of the bed, studying Cullen's papery skin and dark eyes. "For me it was this horrendous frozen fruit and cream disaster. Possibly one of the less pleasant things I've put in my mouth over the years, but it helped."

"You've been...?" Bethany looked up, curious.

"I did something stupid. They had me for a year down there. All I wanted was a bath and a sandwich, when I got out." Anders shook his head and ran some gentle magic into the side of Cullen's neck, with one finger. "Of course, I also had a much better beard."

"I really can't imagine you with a beard." Bethany smiled and reached out a hand toward Anton. "Stop pacing, Anton. You're making _me_ nervous."

"Consider how nervous that means I must be." Anton stopped pacing and drew a knife from somewhere, to clean his nails. "Is he going to be all right?"

"Physically? Yes," Anders assured him. "But, I don't know enough about the lyrium to predict how long it'll take his faculties to come back. Cutting his ration would have been more humane. In fact, it's what I'd advise, if he decides to leave the Order, after this. Easing out of the lyrium, not stopping it outright."

Anton paused in cleaning his nails but only for a moment. Would Cullen consider that? Leaving the Order? Maker knew Anton wouldn't need to worry about him so much if he did. "You know this man is turning my hair grey?" Anton said. "I found three grey strands this morning. Three. I've aged five years in two weeks."

"Oh, poor you," Anders drawled. "Three whole greys." Anders took the hand Bethany wasn't holding and pressed his fingers to the inside of Cullen's wrist, counting his heartbeats.

"All three of them his fault," Anton said, pointing at Cullen with his knife before going back to cleaning under his nails. He was starting to understand why Artie felt the need to clean everything. He needed something to do to distract him from his nerves. "Well. Meredith's fault. Someone should lock _her_ up."

"You'll hear no arguments from me," Anders murmured distractedly. Cullen's pulse was fast, too fast, his skin cold to Anders's touch. "Anton, could you grab another blanket?"

Anton nodded curtly and darted out the door, grateful to have instructions. Bethany watched Anders work, her thumb rubbing soothing circles over the back of Cullen's hand. "You said you weren't sure when his faculties would come back," she said, "but... they _will_ come back, won't they?" She'd encountered her share of lyrium addicts during her time with Athenril and remembered them by the hungry look in their eyes. Some had been little better than raving madmen.

"I was on the wrong side of the templars to really get a look at that." Anders shook his head, helplessly. "I expect he will recover. It was only two weeks, and I've known templars who were shut up for a week or two, but I also don't know what happened to them, while they were locked up. I don't know if their rations were cut. I just know they 'went away' for a while, and they seemed to be all right, if a little more nervous, when they came back. But, he's..." he trailed off, just watching Cullen's face, for a while. "We should never have been in that place. Either of us. I got the templars. After I was gone, he got the demons."

Anton came back with his arms full of blankets. "I didn't know what kind you wanted," he said, dumping them into Anders's lap.

"Oh, this one's nice!" Anders rubbed the corner of a silk and down comforter between his fingers. "Let's try this one, first. It's light and soft, and it's probably the warmest one in the pile."

Bethany took an edge and pulled it toward her, across Cullen, whose hands twitched as the sensation swam through the haze. He clutched at the blanket and stared confusedly at Anders and then Anton, behind him. And just as quickly, the recognition passed, and the haze dulled everything.

"He's strong," Anders said, nodding. "And he wants to come back. I think he needs lyrium and a good meal." He looked over his shoulder at Anton. "He's going to be a mess. You need to know that. Probably pretty literally, for the first few days, if they weren't feeding him anything but bread and water, in there, so expect that. Depending on what else went on, he may also be an unbearable shit, for a while, in addition to shitting unbearably. Maker knows I was, even after the first time. Just let it go. He'll come back."

Anton nodded, swallowing heavily. "I think he knows exactly how cross I'd be if he didn't," he said, his smile curling higher on one side but not quite reaching his eyes. "Or at least he'd better."

Bethany finally coaxed Anton into sitting, vacating the chair by the bed so that her brother could take it. Anton's leg still bounced restlessly even as he slid his hand into Cullen's.

Carver returned shortly after, cheeks red with the wind and a wooden box tucked under his arm. Bodhan followed him up the stairs, his steps careful as he balanced a laden tray. "I have it," said Carver, brandishing the box for his siblings and Anders. He shuffled to the side to let Bodhan through the doorway. "How is he?"

"He's been better," Anders admitted with a shrug. "But he'll also _get_ better, so there's that." He eyed the box. "Do you know how to administer that?"

Carver shifted his weight, opened and closed his mouth before simply nodding.

Bodhan set down his tray on one of the endtables. Anders considered the sandwiches and pitcher and thanked Bodhan.

"You know, your dog is out in the hall?" Carver told Anton, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. "He's just sitting there and whining, looking pathetic."

"Aw, he missed his daddy!" Bethany cooed, gently patting Cullen's foot through the blankets.

"Hey, hey!" Anton shot Bethany a look. "I'm the dogfather around here!"

"Don't look at me. I have cats." Anders held up his hands and stood up. "You need to be where I am, I think, Carver. You know what you're doing, and I don't, for a change, which is a little distressing, really."

"Have you seen him do this?" Carver asked Anton, catching the flicker of uncertainty that crossed his brother's face. "You don't want to watch this. Take a sandwich and go out in the hall with Beth."

"But--" Bethany protested.

"No. Anders will help me. Go make our brother eat something." Carver's jaw was set, and the look he gave his sister was one they'd used with each other since they were children. Now was not the time to argue. He'd suffer whatever she wanted to throw at him, later, but now was the time to do.

"I'm not actually hungry. You know I did eat breakfast, right?" Anton was once again attempting to pace a hole in the carpet. "Besides, the sandwiches are for Cullen, not for me."

"Anton," Anders sighed. "I know what he's about to do, and you don't want to watch. You don't need this, right now. And if Cullen wants another sandwich, when he's finished the ones that are left, we'll get him another sandwich. Eat something. You're looking whiffy. And do it out there." He pointed to the door.

Anton wanted to protest, but he wavered, seeing the united front Carver and Anders made and eyeing the box in Carver's hand. Bethany slipped a hand around the inside of his elbow. She was no more thrilled than he was at the thought of leaving, but she understood.

"The healer says you're looking whiffy, Anton," Bethany said. "And that the cure for said whiffiness is food. Out there. Can't argue with healer's orders."

"Watch me," Anton muttered, even as he let himself be steered out into the hallway. He took up pacing a hole in the carpet out there instead, sandwich in hand. Mintaka followed him back and forth.

Carver laid out the box on the edge of the bed while Anders discreetly shut the door.

"This is absurd," Anton snarled, with no real heat. "That's my husband. I am standing out here in the hall while my little brother and the healer who's doing most of the family are doing things they don't want me to see."

"It's for your health, Anton. If Anders says you don't want to see -- after the things you've seen -- you don't want to see," Bethany pointed out. "And he's not doing most of the family. Less than half, assuming he hasn't been keeping you more company than you're letting on."

"You're not helping. If that was supposed to be reassuring, that was the opposite of reassuring." Anton gestured with the sandwich, and Mintaka edged to one side and then the other, always directly under it. "What could they possibly be doing? What could they possibly be doing that I wouldn't want to see? That I shouldn't see? I've seen my own brother's intestines!"

"Would you want to see them again?" Bethany asked, as Mintaka finally lunged and tugged a hanging slice of meat out of the sandwich. "And I'm fairly sure the sandwich was supposed to go in you, not the dog."

Anton took an enormous, petulant bite and chewed angrily. It actually was a good sandwich, and maybe he'd have another, when he wasn't standing in the hall, waiting on unspeakable things.


	261. Chapter 261

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen comes to his senses. Mostly. Sort of. Anton continues to hover and worry.

Bethany leaned her hip against the wall and tried not to listen for whatever was going on inside. "They don't need to be distracted," she assured Anton. "And you pacing and scowling is really quite distracting." Anton opened his mouth to argue, but Bethany help up one finger. "Sandwich. One sulky bite does not count as eating."

Anton took a second sulky bite while Mintaka pawed at his leg and whined. Bethany clicked her tongue and tried to call Mintaka over, but the lure of food was stronger. Anton tore off a bit of turkey and fed it to Mintaka, much to Bethany's displeasure.

"What?" Anton asked innocently. "Maybe he was looking whiffy too. Or woofy."

Bethany rolled her eyes. "You are hopeless," she sighed.

"I inspire hope in others!" Anton argued, around a mouthful of sandwich. "Hope they might beat me at cards, hope they might get me in bed, hope none of their children turn out like me..."

"That last one, I'll believe," Bethany teased, glancing at the door as a barely-audible groan percolated through it.

Carver's voice followed. "He's fine! I was talking to Samson, and--"

The groan arced up into an incoherent scream, fragments of words colliding as Cullen completely failed to express himself. Anton was through the door in an instant, tossing the sandwich to the dog, as he shoved past his sister. The bed was lit in green, some sort of spell, and Cullen wasn't moving, except to scream.

"What the fuck did you do to him?" Anton shouted, as Carver caught him with one hand in the chest, setting aside the lyrium kit on the cabinet beside the bed.

"He's fine, Anton. That's normal, at this point. I traded a day's ration of my own to Samson, so he'd tell me what to expect." Carver moved with Anton, one side and then the other, arm lashing out as Anton tried to fake him out. "It'll stop in a minute or two. He only got half a dose, because I'm trying not to kill him by accident. He's coming back. That's why he's screaming. It means he's alive."

"That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," Anton snarled, still trying to manoeuvre Carver into a position where he could get past. "Of course he's alive. He's _been_ alive."

"Do you think he knew that?" Carver asked, hoping he was right, hoping he hadn't just fucked up horribly. "Do you really think he knew that? Because he knows it now."

"It's not _real_! Get them _off of me_!" Cullen shouted, and Anders moved closer to the edge of the bed.

"Cullen? Look at me. You're safe. You're home," Anders assured him. "You can't move because I'm trying to keep you from hurting yourself. Calm down, and I'll let you up, but don't try to sit up, yet."

"You're not real! None of you are real!" Cullen insisted at the top of his lungs, eyes wild.

"There's only one of me. If you're seeing more than one of me, the other ones are definitely not real," Anders joked, hoping the response would give him some insight into exactly what Cullen was seeing. "Although -- Carver? Any chance he's seeing double?"

"Probably. It'll wear off." Carver cleared his throat. "Afternoon, Captain. Good to have you back." This, he thought, was what he owed. Cullen had saved him, when he'd gotten stabbed, and now they'd be even. Now, they'd both have that same trust, which wasn't something Carver had really expected from anyone but Anton and Bethany. Everyone looked to Cormac for life-saving heroics.

Cullen's wild-eyed stare roved around the room before landing on Carver. Despite the screaming, despite Cullen's laboured breathing, that told Carver that he had done something right. He hadn't been able to stand Cullen's vacant stare and the way his captain had looked at him without seeing him.

"Not real," Cullen insisted, no longer screaming.

"Come on, Captain," Carver teased gently. "Would a demon really use _me_ to try to tempt you?"

Cullen didn't seem to find that reassuring, and Anton elbowed his brother out of the way. "Carver is, regrettably, real," Anton drawled, his smile a touch too shaky to be convincing. "As am I, less regrettably." Anton laid a hand over Cullen's, thumb stroking the back of his hand. Cullen didn't jerk away, thanks to Anders's glyph, but the way his eyes bugged even further said he wanted to.

And Anton saw it, the fear in his eyes. He'd never thought of heartbreak as an actual, physical sensation, but he could feel it like a weight on his chest.

"Cullen, love, it's just me," he murmured. "You know I'd stab any demon pretending to be me, right? Only one person could be this handsome, and you're looking at him."

Cullen remembered the night he'd thought Artemis was Anton, that he'd thought it was a demon, until he realised the demon would be more perfectly Anton. And this... this was imperfectly Anton, thinner in the cheeks, darker in the eyes, a smear of mustard on his lip. This wouldn't be a demon, would it? He'd never seen Solona with mustard on her face, when the demons had pretended to be her. But, was any of this real? Had he even made it out of Kinloch Hold? Seven years? Eight? Were they all a dream? No. Things would have gone so much better, if this were a dream.

"Anton?" Cullen finally asked.

"You going to try to strangle anyone, including yourself, if I let you up?" Anders asked, as the tension in Cullen's muscles eased. "I'm a little out of practise on the grappling front, and I'd prefer to avoid you rearranging my extremely attractive face."

"Just let him up. There's three of us in here." Anton shrugged, still watching Cullen with a mixture of relief and trepidation.

Anders rather wished they had Cormac and his shields, just in case. He waved his hand, and the green glow surrounding Cullen rippled and dissipated. He waited for Cullen to lunge, but if anything Cullen just sagged deeper into the bed. He moved his head from side to side just to be sure that he could, and then he moved the hand in Anton's, turning it to press palm to palm.

Cullen's hand was cold and sweaty, but Anton pressed it to his lips. That felt real, more real than his fractured dreams had been... if they _had_ been dreams.

"What happened?" Cullen asked. He tried to sort through his jumble of memories, to figure out what was dream and what was real.

Anders answered, leaning against the bedpost and returning to Cullen's field of vision. "Meredith's paranoia happened. She accused you of something ridiculous and had you imprisoned for two weeks without lyrium."

There was something terrifying about that answer. Two weeks. Was that all it took?

"I had a dream... that you were a templar," Cullen murmured, squinting up at Anders.

Anders cleared his throat and rubbed his face. "I'm surprised you remember that at all. Not a dream, though. I wanted to get in and check on you, so I borrowed Carver's armour." He glanced across the room. "Has anyone ever pointed out how tiny you are, Carver? Because you're small. I thought I was never going to be able to stand up straight again, after that."

"I am not small. You're a giant." Carver finally relaxed enough to lean against the wall, by the door, and Bethany slipped in around him. "A giant mountain savage -- that's what my brother calls you, right? Well, you are. Real people are Anton's size. I am large. You are a giant. It is not my fault that nobody in this demon-infested city wears plate in your size."

"Someone kept trying to tell me you were a mage," Cullen said slowly, eyes returning to Anton. "Or maybe they were asking? I don't know. Kept trying to get me to say it was true. Kept telling me you were controlling me with blood magic."

Anders nearly choked on his tongue. "Him? A mage? That-- that is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. The most magical thing I've ever seen him do is card tricks!"

"Wonderful," Anton muttered, shaking his head. "Have we all been suspected of magic now? Except for you anyway, Carver, though I wouldn't be surprised if Meredith convinces herself that you're secretly a mage masquerading as a templar."

"That would not make sense," Carver said, canting his head to the side as he pictured it.

"Which is why Meredith would think it," Bethany drawled. She leaned against Anton's chair and smiled down at Cullen. "Now, how do you feel about sandwiches and beer? I'm afraid if we wait any longer, Mintaka will run off with the plate."

Anton looked over to see Mintaka snuffling at the edge of the tray. "Mintaka! Bad dog!" Mintaka jumped down from the end table and gave Anton the full force of his sad eyes. "You already had my sandwich, you greedy beast. You're not getting Cullen's." Anton leaned half out of his chair to grab the plate. Mintaka whined. "Don't give me that." He paused to scratch behind Mintaka's ear with his free hand.

"Ah, food. Real food. I'd almost forgotten that existed." Sitting up gingerly, Cullen took the plate from Anton.

"Should I be insulted that you look more relieved to see food than you did when you saw me?" Anton huffed.

"There's mustard on your face," Cullen told him.

Anton's eyes widened and his hand darted up to wipe his mouth.

"Ah, Captain?" Anders leaned in and whispered something to Cullen, to which the response was a horrified look and Cullen frozen halfway through the bite he was trying to take of the sandwich. "Yeah, I thought so. Leave you to consider why that wasn't a problem I had. Carver? You're near the door. Run down and get some of that melon your brother likes."

"Isabela's not here," Carver scoffed, pushing himself off the wall. "Yeah, yeah, I know the one you mean. I'll be right back."

Sneaking a sliver of meat out of the sandwich, Anton looked between Cullen and Anders. "Is this something else I don't want to know?"

"Yes," they both answered at once, Cullen holding the sandwich to hide the fact he was talking with his mouth full.


	262. PART XLVIII: INTRICATE AND DELICATE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris has a favour to ask. Anders is a little less than entirely thrilled, but he'll go with it.

Anders had plans for the evening: cats, his favourite Hawke ass, and possibly a bath, not necessarily in that order. After a harrowing afternoon at Cullen's bedside, Anders felt he needed at least two out of the three, and he was in the middle of reminding himself of the medicinal qualities of Cormac's ass when someone else tugged at his sleeve.

"Mage."

"Fenris." Anders eyed the elf and the way his ears stuck out at odd angles. "Are you here to visit Cullen? Tell me you're here to visit Cullen." He'd had enough Hawke-family-related trouble for one day.

The words brought Fenris up short. "Cullen?" He blinked at the door behind Anders. "He's back?"

"Yes, if a bit worse for wear. Why are your ears twitching?"

Fenris grabbed hold of one ear. "They're not," he muttered. "When did Cullen get back?"

"A few hours ago," Anders answered. He looked Fenris up and down, noted the way the elf kept fidgeting. "So, if you're not here to visit Cullen and your ears are not twitching, why did you grab my sleeve? Is Artie all right?"

"Artemis is drinking," Fenris sighed, as though that said everything. Which, Anders supposed, it probably did.

"Drinking enough that I need to be concerned?" Anders asked, wondering exactly how much that would be, considering how drunk he'd seen the man.

"Yes, but not about the drinking. He has some... exotic ideas, and refuses to be dissuaded," Fenris explained, hands close to his body, even as he gestured with them. "I thought, with a healer..."

"I don't need this, Artie. Why tonight?" Anders groaned, staring up at the ceiling, shoulders slumping anyway.

"I can make it worth your while," Fenris offered, finally looking up from Anders's knees.

"I don't need coin. I need a hot bath and a hot Hawke," Anders whined.

"I wasn't offering _coin_." Fenris paused, considering the rest of that statement. "Are you implying that my Hawke is not hot?"

This time it was Anders who paused, taking a moment to re-evaluate what Fenris had just said and -- no. No, Fenris couldn't be implying...? Justice was suddenly far more interested in this conversation.

"I would never imply that," Anders finally managed, once his tongue had caught up with his brain. "I would definitely put Artie in the 'Hot Hawke' category, but I would also put him in the 'Don't Touch or the Glowy Elf Will Kill You' category." Except for that one time in the gardens, and a part of him was still surprised that his organs were intact after that.

Fenris's chin tilted up, like he was trying to look down his nose at Anders, even if the height difference made that impossible. "That is a wise assumption," he rumbled, lips curling in a grin. "But I am willing to make an exception, if he is interested. And if you can help keep him from doing anything too foolish."

Anders ran a hand over his hair and tugged at the half-ponytail at the back of his head. Fenris. Fenris and Artie. At the same time. 

"And there are hot baths in our house too, if you have your heart set on one," Fenris added.

"Throw in a cat, and that offer would be irresistible."

"Throw a cat in the bath?" Fenris replied archly. "I don't see that ending well." He smirked and headed for the stairs, trusting -- expecting -- Anders to follow. The smug bastard.

* * *

It was about halfway across Hightown that Anders slapped his way past Justice's fascination with the lyrium elf to get the argument out that he would absolutely not accept sex as payment for his services or as a bribe, but he would concede the point that he was in no way averse to having some. With either of the parties in question. Or both. Both sounded outstanding, as far as he was concerned. Anything to get Cullen out of his head, really.

His nerves were still clattering with the experience of standing at the bedside of someone else who'd been down there -- not in Kinloch Hold, perhaps, but the cells were much the same -- but wasn't a mage. He supposed he'd never really considered the kind of damage it could do, even in the short term, to a templar. It also made an excellent argument for the illegal trade in lyrium, now that he'd seen what happened without it. He'd been much the same, when he'd come up, that last time, but he'd been below a lot longer.

As they walked, Anders explained the state of things to Fenris -- the high points of how Cullen was doing and that Carver and Anton were looking after him. When he mentioned the suspicions of Anton being a mage, Fenris laughed, despite himself.

"A mage? There are mages enough without inventing them whole-cloth." Fenris shook his head, as he opened the door to his house, calling out, "Amatus, are you still upstairs?"

"Possibly," came the reply as Artemis appeared at the top of the stairs. He leaned on the railing and grinned down at them, his smile the loopy kind of happy that told Anders just how drunk he was. "But you are downstairs. I am upstairs, and you are downstairs. When did you get downstairs, Fenris?"

"Please stay up there, Amatus," Fenris sighed, motioning for Artemis to stay put as he started to climb the stairs. "Or I'll end up breaking your fall a second time, and I doubt the healer wants to put your shoulder back again."

"You are correct," added Anders, nodding. "The healer does not."

"Hello, Anders!" Artie chirped, waving again. Fenris wrapped an arm around Artie's waist and subtly steered him away from the edge of the railing. "Would you like rum? I have rum!"

"You have had a lot of rum," Anders remarked, eyeing Artemis warily. "Perhaps I should have some." He cocked his head and gave Fenris a look that said it would be so less of the rum ended up in Artemis than might if he didn't have a drink or three.

"We do, in truth, have an exceptional amount of rum," Fenris warned, leading Artemis toward a bedroom that was not the one they slept in. One mage in _his_ bedroom was enough.

"So, Fenris tells me you're interested in doing something a little more exciting, tonight, and that it's the kind of exciting I should be here for," Anders said, following them into the room. "You want to tell me what you're thinking?" He'd start easy, before suggesting that Artie might want to be a little less drunk, if he was going to do something dangerous. First, figure out how dangerous this plan actually was, and whether Fenris was right to be concerned, which, knowing the Hawkes, Anders had little reason to doubt.

Artemis hummed in acknowledgement, leaning into Fenris as they walked and nuzzling at his ear. He flicked his tongue against the tip just to watch it twitch. Fenris tilted his head out of the way, managing to look somewhere between exasperated and fond. Mostly exasperated.

Artie didn't so much sit on the edge of the bed as flop onto it with Fenris's help. "Are you staying for the exciting times, Anders?" Artemis asked, that loopy grin lighting his face again. He glanced past Anders towards the door as though half expecting Cormac to be there too. To Fenris, he asked in a loud whisper, "Is he staying?"

Fenris sighed, stroking back Artie's hair. "If he wishes to. But first you need to answer his question."

It took Artie a moment, like he was trying to remember what the question was or how to shape an answer that made sense. "You know the glowy thing?"

Anders nodded patiently. "I am familiar with the glowy thing, assuming you are talking about Fenris's glowy thing." He winked at Fenris, who bristled.

"He means my hands," Fenris growled, ears quivering. "When my hands glow and..." He gestured vaguely. "Not my glowy _thing_. I hope." He looked down at Artemis for confirmation.

Artie purred, leaning into his elf again. "Glowy hands," he agreed. "Here." He wrapped a hand around his throat.

Anders's eyebrows arced up as he considered the proposition. Not much worse than what he'd come to expect from Artemis, really, and Fenris had already been groping his _heart_. This wouldn't be all that different on a scale of one to completely horrible idea, but that's if Artie were at least relatively sober. He glanced at Fenris. "You've already agreed to this?"

"Pending your approval. I do not wish to make a mistake that cannot be repaired." Fenris looked nervous, but determined, ears still twitching, periodically.

"Artie, my pulchritudinous pastry-puff, I am almost willing to allow this, but you need to be less drunk. _Need_ to be," Anders said, stepping closer so he occupied nearly the whole of Artemis's vision. "The hard part is asking, right? You've asked. We both said yes. But, if you want this to happen, I need to be sure the only thing affecting your breathing is his hand, and you are much too drunk for me to be sure of that."

Fenris's surprise was obvious, and Anders shot him a nervous look -- had he been meant to tell Artemis no? But, Fenris would have told him that, if that was what he meant, so it had to be something else. Possibly the idea of convincing Artemis to be less drunk.

Anders took a bottle out of the assortment he kept in his bag for unforeseen circumstances and offered it to Artie. "Drink about half of this, from the look of you. All of it will make you sober. Half of it should make you _safe_."

Artemis blinked at the bottle and squinted until he only saw one. Then he looked past it to pout at Anders, but Anders was unwavering. Shoulders bowed, Artie accepted the bottle and took a long sip. He coughed, face twisting. "Maker, that tastes terrible every time I drink it. Can't you make it fruit-flavoured or something? Magic and all. I like grapes, for future reference. Also pomegranates. Those are good too." He rambled his way into semi-sobriety, his dazed look and loopy smile sharpening into something almost embarrassed.

"I'll keep that in mind, Artie," Anders told him, patting his head and taking the rest of the bottle back. "How are you feeling?"

"Like an idiot because I drank too much again?" Artemis smiled sheepishly up at Anders. "I, um. I'm sorry about that." He tugged at his ear in a way that reminded Anders of Fenris when he was trying to get his to stop twitching.

"Could've been worse. I've seen worse out of you," Anders reminded him, with a lopsided grin. "So, now that you're a bit less smashed, but just as delicious, and we've both approved your latest idea, do you still want it? Is there anything you want to add to that thought, now that you're not whispering at the top of your lungs? I mean, I'm just here as a healer, unless there's something else you want out of me. And that's up to you, because he already offered. Not you. Didn't offer you. But, you know me. I try not to get into awkward naked situations without a lot more whiskey than Justice is ever going to let me drink again, so my role here is completely up to you, and I'm good with your decision."

Artemis fumbled for a response to that, keeping his enthusiastic offer on the tip of his tongue as he looked at Fenris, a question in his eyes. Fenris knew that look. It was the same look Artemis had given him that night Theron and Kalli had stayed for dinner. It was a look that said he _wanted,_ but that he needed to know Fenris was fine with it.

Fenris huffed, waving one hand dismissively. "He's asking you, Amatus," he said. "As he said, I already offered."

"I, uh." Artie cleared his throat. It was easier to respond to these things when he was drunk. "Both... both of you is good. And yes, _plenty_ of yes, to... that." He gestured with a hand around his throat, not quite able to look Anders in the eye as he did.

"Artie?" Anders tucked a finger under Artemis's chin and lifted. "There's probably nothing you can tell me you want that's going to be shocking. Ask your brother about me, some time. I might tell you it's a bad idea. I might tell you it's not something I want to do. But, I'm not going to tell you it's wrong, unless you suddenly develop a taste for doing things to people who actually don't want them, and I don't think that's you. We've moved past 'say yes'. You get to pick whatever you want, and give it to us for consideration."

Fenris looked uncomfortable, for a moment, shifting from foot to foot, as he considered that whatever was going on between the two of them, it had started when he'd been out of the picture. Still, Anders's point was mostly valid. Mostly. Although he was much more likely to be shocked, he suspected. "You know that my hesitance is only a fear for your safety, Amatus," he reminded Artemis. "I want you to be happy. I want to be happy with you. And if this is what you want, I am more than willing to give it to you." He paused and looked up at Anders. "If you are participating, will you still be able to recognise a problem?"

"Wouldn't do it if I couldn't!" Anders grinned.

"I'm glad drunk me made the suggestion, then," Artemis said with a dazed smile. This was a combination they hadn't tried before, just the three of them. He turned a tender look on Fenris and squeezed his hand in a way that he hoped said 'thank you for worrying'.

This wasn't quite how Anders had planned to spend the night, but there was still a Hawke ass involved, and a distraction was a distraction.


	263. Chapter 263

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clothing is somewhat complicated, then Anders makes himself useful.

"So, uh." Artie tugged at his ear again. "How do we do this?"

"However you like, is my first suggestion, but if you're really going to leave it up to me, I'm going to take advantage of that fact at least once." Anders tossed a bottle in Fenris's direction, and the elf reflexively caught it. "I was expecting to pour that down Cormac, tonight, but it seems I have other plans. The problem I foresee, here, is that neither of you can keep up with me, consistently. That's going to be less of a problem, of course, if we put Artie in the middle and you drink that potion. But, I still want the middle, first, because I would really enjoy it if Justice would knock off the rambling about how much he'd like to lick you, Fenris, and if I get you in my mouth for a bit, that will probably stop, and I can get on with the rest of my evening."

Fenris blinked and then blinked again, eyes shifting to Artemis. "You wish to ... taste me, to quiet your ... spirit. And you want him to...?"

"I've wanted him to for _years_ , now," Anders laughed.

Artemis only looked marginally less surprised than Fenris. "Sure," he said, shrugging one shoulder at his husband. "I mean, I haven't... in a while, but why not?" And really, the image of Anders on his knees, tongue wrapped around Fenris's glowstick, was one that he would like to see. Again.

Fenris quirked an eyebrow at his husband, not expecting him to agree so readily. He and Artemis always did things... a certain way, a way that Artemis seemed to enjoy, seemed to _prefer_ , but sometimes he wondered. Brows knit, Fenris drank the potion without a second thought.

"Now, as for the rest of 'how do we do this?'" Anders continued. "In my experience, there is usually quite a bit less clothing involved." He arched his eyebrows higher.

Artemis huffed, but something eased in the set of his shoulders. "This from the mage who has fifty layers between the world and his crotch?" he said, reaching Anders's belt rather than his own.

Anders glanced at Fenris apologetically. "I'd help with your extremely distracting leather, but I'd like my fingers to stay attached to my body."

"As we are all working toward the same goal, which will put much less incidental parts of both of us in contact, it would be in my best interest to spare your fingers, if you wished to help." Fenris's fingers darted across his own clothing. "But, I believe it would be unfair not to warn you that I am much more efficient alone." He twisted in a completely improbable fashion, and with a wet peeling sound, the nearly skin-tight shirt came off. "I dress simply," he teased, picking at the complicated knots that held his trousers on.

"No, Cormac dresses simply. Boots and a robe." Anders leaned in closer to Artemis's ear as he took off his bag and shrugged out of his coat. "I don't need to take anything off him. I can have him almost anywhere." Which was, he reflected, one of the more useful things he'd learnt in Kinloch Hold. Though he might have been better served by figuring out how to get other people to be as quiet as he was, which hadn't been much of an issue in the tower. He did have to take _some_ care with where he decided to enjoy Cormac's charms.

"Robes do have their uses," Artemis agreed with a conspiratorial grin. He reached under Anders's long shirt to trace a finger along the waistband of his pants. As he pulled at the laces, he watched Fenris out of the corner of his eye. "Then again, so do tight leather pants."

Anders couldn't deny that as he followed Artie's glance and watched Fenris shimmy the leather past his hips. "You may have a point." He tugged at the hem of Artie's tunic, and Artie let go of Anders's pants long enough to let Anders pull it up over his head. Anders was about to toss it to some corner of the room, when Artie sucked in a breath. "Would you like to fold it?" he asked instead, and that, more than anything, transported Anders back to when it had just been him and Artemis -- and occasionally Cormac -- in his bed.

"Yes, please," Artemis said with a pained smile, taking the tunic back from Anders. 

Anders worked on his own clothes, noticing that in the time it had taken the two of them to get shirtless, Fenris had completely stripped, and was watching them, patiently, one eyebrow arched. "You could stand there and look smug, or you could come help us get naked faster."

Clothing, dressing, undressing... A ghost of something flickered through the back of Fenris's mind, vaguely unsettling, but uncertain, and he pushed it away, before stepping closer to take hold of Artemis's trousers, from behind, loosening them as Anders pulled off his own boots, hooking his coat over them to keep the feathers off the floor.

"You're still dressed," Fenris pointed out, as he crouched behind Artemis, trying to get him out of the pants without tripping him.

Anders stepped out of his own trousers and kicked them under the tail of his coat. "No, I'm not."

"The first time I've seen a man with fabric for skin," Fenris teased, thinking the shirt was so thin Anders might just have gotten distracted from it. Anders was distractable, when he wasn't ranting, and Artemis posed an exceptional distraction.

Folding his trousers, Artemis eyed Fenris and Anders. Had Fenris ever seen Anders's scars? Artie racked his brain, but most of his memories of the two of them naked or close to naked were a drunken blur. It was a lovely reminder why Artie tried not to drink so much any more... usually.

Anders's shoulders were stiff despite his carefree smile, but he spoke before Artie could say something. "And you want to see what's underneath my skin? Kinky, Fenris. I thought you only liked to touch those parts." But as he spoke, he reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it up over his head. He busied himself with folding it, partly for Artie's sake and partly so Fenris could take a moment to compose his reaction.

Except that Fenris's expression stayed carefully neutral the whole time. He knew the scars were there. He'd seen their shapes that day in the pond, but he doubted Anders realised that. Without the fabric in the way, however, they were starker, some more ragged, like the impossible scar in the middle of Anders's chest.

"There," Artemis said. "All of us considerably less clothed, as requested."

Anders sank to his knees, where he stood, licking his lips. "I'd say we should do this on the bed, but you're much too short, and I'd really rather not accidentally knock you over," he said to Fenris, hand drifting down to his own knob, where the scars lined up as he stroked, although not as obviously as they would, once he convinced the flagpole to take an interest in the situation.

That finally got a reaction, and Fenris's lips twitched with a question he wouldn't ask, eyes lingering on the scar on Anders's hand that he'd seen a thousand times and never paid any mind. Whatever had happened, it hadn't been an accident. "My balance is excellent," he said eyes flicking up to indicate some concern for Artemis.

"I'd really rather not have this wind up like that time I ended up with a broken elbow and a loose tooth," Anders said, leaning slowly forward and stretching, until he could reach Artemis's ankle with his tongue, revealing a back even more scarred than his chest. "So, grab a pillow, if you're worried about someone's knees." He licked his way up Artemis's leg, kissing and nibbling, until he could bury his nose between Artie's balls and thigh.

Artie reached down to pet Anders's hair, combing his fingers through the strands and tugging gently until they came free of the half ponytail and spilled down over Anders's cheeks. Anders smiled, his stubble scraping against Artie's skin.

Keeping an eye on the pair, Fenris obeyed Anders's instructions and grabbed a pillow from the bed. They had a rug by the bed, but Fenris knew from experience that kneeling on it left odd indentations on his knees. Fenris watched Artemis's breathing pick up, watched the flush rise to his cheeks. He knew exactly how Anders's mouth felt, and his ears twitched at the memory.

Anders's tongue traced along the trails of Artemis's pulse in his thigh, teasing and tempting. His knees parted and his ass tipped up, again, as he worked his way back down. Finally, he looked up, lifting himself just enough to see Artemis's face, as he tipped his head back, flicking his tongue against the tip of Artemis's knob.

Dropping the pillow behind Anders, a sound just loud enough to cause a sudden tension in the back of Anders's neck, Fenris joined the two already engaged. "I thought I was the one you wanted to taste," Fenris teased, arms wrapping around Artemis from behind, one finger lazily toying with a nipple.

"Oh, I do. I just wanted to make sure Artemis would be ready for us. I've heard I'm quite an experience." Anders smiled up a little too sweetly, golden eyes reflecting the firelight. "Do you want me?"

"Maker, yes," Artemis groaned. "Do you even have to ask?" He tucked a strand of hair behind Anders's ear and took a moment to marvel at the changes the years had wrought on Anders's face, the lines that hadn't been there the first time Artie had joined him in the estate's cellar. He turned in Fenris's arms, pressed a kiss to his lips and pulled away, slipping out from between the two of them.

The air felt cold against Fenris where Artie had been, but Anders moved in to warm him up. He stroked his hands up Fenris's thighs, getting the elf used to his touch. Justice practically salivated at the lyrium-etched knob right in front of his face, but Anders swatted him back.

Artemis knelt behind Anders, settling on the pillow and shifting his knees until they sat right. "Can't complain about the view," he teased, resting a hand on Anders's hip before giving his ass a squeeze.

Anders laughed a bit nervously and lowered his hips a little, to right about where everyone actually needed them to be. For a moment, he wondered what it would be like to fuck someone his own height, but the likelihood of that was poor, since he wasn't interested in Qunari, and most of them were taller than him, anyway. Midget Qunari, he decided. Midget Qunari and giant mountain savages. Maybe he'd just stick with Hawkes.

A hint of current ran through his hands, as he curled his fingers around Fenris's hips, and there was a sudden, tiny hiss of surprise from above him. He licked his lips and looked up at Fenris. "And you? Do you want me?"

Fenris's hand slid into Anders's hair, slowly tightening into a firm grip. "Suck, mage," he commanded, before remembering he wasn't talking to Artemis, and that might not be the correct approach. Embarrassment flashed across his face, and Anders looked shocked for a split second, before his lips parted around the lyrium-lined flesh before him.

Fenris sucked in a breath at the heat that licked over him. He forced his hand to loosen its grip and cradled the back of Anders's head instead. Keeping his hips still, he let Anders choose the pace, and it was jarring to notice all the little ways in which this was different from what he was used to, all the ways in which he had come to anticipate Artemis and his desires.

Justice, however, hummed in approval, and Anders closed his eyes against the blue that lit them. Behind him, Artemis rubbed his back, his thighs, fingertips sparking against his skin until they settled on the globes of his ass. A thumb teased at Anders's entrance, and he tried to cant his hips in invitation in a way that wouldn't make the angle awkward.

"Um, Anders?" Artie murmured. He watched Anders's head move over Fenris's knob as though hypnotized. "I hate to interrupt, but. Well. Grease? That is, I can cast it, but... I know you can..." He gestured vaguely with one hand, knowing Anders would know what he meant even if he couldn't see it.

Anders huffed around Fenris's knob and pulled off with a long lick. "Have I not taught you that trick yet?" he asked over his shoulder, his hand replacing his mouth on Fenris.

"Not yet," Artie answered with a sheepish smile. With one finger, he traced a line of sparks up Anders's spine.

"With your aim, that might have been a wise decision on my part," Anders decided, after a moment's reflection. His eyes drifted shut for a moment, and then refocused on Artemis. "Try that. If you need more, tell me." He wrapped his lips around Fenris again, feeling the lyrium against his tongue and Justice coiling around the sensation.


	264. Chapter 264

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders is very good at that. And the other that. Justice is just happy because Fenris.

Fenris watched the muscles in Anders's back, for a few seconds, somehow more subtle in their motion than Artemis's. Perhaps the scars disrupted the patterns, but he thought that where Artemis moved like a cat, Anders moved more like a serpent, somehow, even in the smallest motions. His eyes traced the line of Anders's spine and continued up Artemis's body. This would be something to watch, he thought, finally getting to be this close, without the distraction of propriety or Cormac. This was, he'd thought, something Artemis only did for his brother -- some exchange they had, as they both seemed to prefer the other side of things, from what Fenris had noticed. And then there were sparks on Anders's tongue, and Fenris stopped thinking entirely.

Artemis chuckled, his thumb pressing into Anders and feeling the slick that coated his insides. "I'm not sure what you just did, Anders," he said, "but you should see the look on his face." Fenris caught Artie's grin, ears flattening, but Artie winked. "It's a good look. I wouldn't mind seeing it again."

Anders smirked around Fenris and pressed his tongue flat to the underside of his knob, conjuring more sparks. Fenris's toes curled against the rug. "V-venhedis," Fenris swore.

Artemis watched the two of them as he worked his fingers into Anders, reacquainting himself with a body he once knew by heart. He pressed a kiss to Anders's spine. "Ready?" Anders hummed something around Fenris's knob that sounded like agreement, and Artemis smiled. "Maker knows I am. Just watching you two..." Gently, Artemis slid his fingers free and lined himself up.

As Anders shifted, Fenris noticed that he looked simultaneously more relaxed and more intent, almost meditative. Anders's breathing slowed, and the new rhythm changed the pattern of licks and sucks. As usual, Anders was nearly silent, and that was something Fenris had come to wonder at. Was it just with them? Was he always so self-contained? Perhaps Cormac made enough noise for both of them.

Anders's hands moved back, from Fenris's hips to the sleek curve of his ass. One cheek fit in each hand, almost perfectly, and it reminded Anders once again how much smaller Fenris was -- not just in height, but in that he was an elf, and even as a warrior wielding an enormous sword, prone to a certain slenderness. His hands massaged the current into Fenris's body, from behind, just as his tongue introduced it from before, and he wondered, idly, how long it would take to drive Fenris to distraction. He wondered what sounds he might suck out of the elf, with both of them sober, as he shoved himself back against Artemis, trying to keep Fenris in his mouth.

But Anders wrung a sound out of Artemis first, a low groan catching in Artie's throat as his hips met Anders's ass. Artie let his eyes slide shut, taking a moment just to enjoy the way Anders wrapped around him. Yes, he could see the appeal in this.

Fenris's fingers massaged Anders's head, but he looked up at Artemis at that sound, catching the way his eyes lidded with pleasure. "Is it worth the wait?" Fenris asked, tilting his head to direct the question at Anders but keeping his eyes on Artemis.

"Well, I wouldn't ask him just _yet_ ," Artie huffed, circling his hips.

Anders swallowed hard, pressing his tongue up as he made a warm, quiet affirmative sound that ran right down the length of Fenris's knob. Adjusting to Artemis's pace, Anders squeezed him slowly with every grinding thrust, tightening and relaxing in time with the motion. He'd had better, but they were just getting started, and he'd very definitely had worse. Had Artemis taken him, that first time, he would not have been disappointed.

Fenris twitched as Anders's finger stroked across his hole -- not pressing in, but just stroking more electricity against his skin. Relaxing a bit, he found Anders looking inquisitively at him, eyes a dizzying, mottled blue and gold. His confusion must have shown, because Anders did it again. Just a single sparking tap that shot through Fenris, as if it was seeking out Anders's tongue. At a loss for words, he nodded encouragingly. He would never have imagined this, even just a few years ago -- mages pleasuring him with magic. A use for magic that he could find no harm in. He was still somewhat uncertain about Justice, but even Justice had never hurt him, even by accident. The spirit had seemed so gentle and cautious, that night at the Docks.

Artemis watched Fenris's face, the way it twisted in surprised pleasure, and Artemis would have to ask Anders what he was doing to get that look. Steadying Anders with a hand on his hip, Artie adjusted his rhythm, his angle, watching the muscles of Anders's back and trying to gauge what he liked. His other hand smoothed electricity into the small of Anders's back, his sparking thumb hovering just above where they slid together.

Fenris was simple to read, the way his brows scrunched and smoothed in turns, the way his lips parted around a breathy sound, but from this angle, with his silence, Anders was a cipher. Artemis moved the hand on Anders's back, skating it over his hip, his stomach, and Artie felt the muscles jump under his fingers as his hand slid for Anders's groin. The flagpole was painfully hard when Artie wrapped his hand around it, and -- there. Anders's back tensed as he sucked in a breath.

Anders's hips rolled, pushing him against Artemis's hand, pressing down at the base of Artemis's knob. A flicker of memory darted through the back of his head, and then another, but the one that slowed enough for him to catch was a memory of Cormac, and the corners of his mouth tipped up as best they could, with his mouth occupied as it was. His breathing settled, slow and deep, and he examined the moment, as Justice scrabbled forward, clinging to the taste of lyrium. This was good. Perhaps not what he'd meant to be doing with his evening, but surely not going to register a complaint -- and no complaints from Justice, either, given the satisfied sounds echoing through his head.

Slowly realising that Artemis really didn't seem to know what he was doing, Anders slid his lips off Fenris for a moment. "Artie? Pretend I'm Cormac, but with less pinching and bleeding."

A sound suspiciously like a laugh covered with a cough slipped out of Fenris, who was struggling not to smile, eyes still on Anders. Anders decided to help that situation and applied another jolt of electricity between the cheeks of Fenris's ass, eliciting a surprised gasp and a ragged moan.

Artie gave Anders's ass a teasing swat, grateful that Anders couldn't see the embarrassment that flushed his cheeks. "That's a dangerous request," he said, voice tightening with a snap of his hips. "Should I put rashvine nettles in your bed, too? Or carved turnips in your shoes?" Probably not the sexiest questions he could have asked, but he was used to Cormac filling Anders's silence.

Artie obeyed Anders, however, and stopped being so careful. He thrust in hard and deep in a way that would have had Cormac shouting (he hoped) and found himself wishing that Anders would be a little less silent.

Fenris watched the motion of Artie's hips, the determined look on Artie's face that slowly softened back into one of pleasure. Fenris's own pleasure coiled hot and tingling at the base of his spine, stoked by Anders's tongue, by the jolts of electricity. Suddenly, he was grateful for the potion, knowing he wasn't going to last like this.

Feeling the twitch against his tongue, Anders swallowed and pressed his tongue up, a low moan vibrating through the flesh he held. Justice surged forward, battering against Anders's control, as their tongue burned faintly with the lyrium. The taste was thick in their mouth, the song of it joyous and compelling in their head. The current intensified in their hands, a definite constant tingle against Fenris's ass. One more tap, a strong jolt that surprised a desperate sound from Fenris, and Fenris's fingers tightened in their hair as they swallowed down his spend, supporting his trembling legs.

Perhaps surprisingly, to Fenris, Anders didn't pull back, but lessened the intensity of his ministrations, sucking gently, licking slowly -- a warm, wet caress. And Anders's breathing deepened, a longer space between breaths, now, as Artemis slammed into him. He lifted his hips, encouragingly, before realising he'd pulled up too far, and lowered himself back to a more reasonable level.

"That's quite a talent," Fenris remarked, breathily, as the world continued to shift and ripple in the corners of his vision, under the bottoms of his feet. He watched Anders's face, for a moment, what of it he could see, and took in the way the blue lines flickered and darted through Anders's pale skin. There was no beauty in this man, that he could see, but there was a certain appeal to his passion and his talent, and something about the spirit seemed to call to his very blood, which was disturbing, in its own way, but not something he meant to consider, right now, his flesh still reeling from the lips still wrapped around him.

Mouth open around pants for air, Artie kept up his unrelenting rhythm, determined to bring Anders over at least once before he gave in himself. That would be difficult if he kept watching Fenris's face, the way he shivered, eyes dazed and dark, under Anders's ministrations.

"He's good at that, isn't he?" Artie asked, parted lips quirking in a lopsided smile. "I remember." And that memory wasn't helping him hold back either, his hips shivering. He tried to think of unsexy things. That window on the other side of the room needed cleaning, he decided. Was that a cobweb?

Artemis bent over Anders, the hand on Anders's hip wrapping around his chest and the hand on Anders's knob moving at a furious pace. Artie tore his attention away from the dirty window. "I remember the first time you licked me out," Artie growled behind Anders's ear, felt a fine shiver under his hand. "The things you did with your tongue... I could have come like that, if you'd let me." And that was usually Cormac's thing, the dirty talk. Artie was not nearly as good at it, but he knew that Anders liked it when it came from Cormac.

Anders's body relaxed suddenly, muscles releasing, jaw locking open, breaths more like long gasps as his chest heaved. Memories of Artemis opening for him, coming for him, washed over him. He remembered that first time, when he wasn't sure at all that what he was doing was good or right, but the way Artie looked at him, he couldn't keep saying no. But, he put aside the booze and the complicated politics, and brought Artie through earthquake after earthquake, that night. His fingers bent back, stiffening away from Fenris's ass, as he spilled over Artemis's fingers, only realising afterward that he'd gotten it on the floor. _Artemis's_ floor.

Fenris could feel Anders panting around him, open-mouthed, tongue still caressing the knob that laid against it. As Anders's hands flexed away from his skin and he watched the lean, scarred body before him relax, something tugged at the back of Fenris's mind. Some dark memory, some fearsome thing. That pose, those motions weren't as unfamiliar as they should have been, somehow, and he shivered, shoving those thoughts away, as he brushed Anders's hair back from where it had fallen into his face.

"He makes you look good doing that," Fenris said, eyes lighting on Artemis again. "I would almost be tempted to try, one night, if I didn't enjoy you so much in all the usual ways. Every last one of them. Perhaps especially the way you look when there are two of me."

Artemis groaned low and long at that, remembering Fenris's wedding present and how perfect Fenris had felt, doubly perfect, filling him so thoroughly. He wondered if he should be insulted by Fenris's choice of words, that it was _Anders_ who made him look good, but Anders clenched around him so wonderfully that he didn't care. "Anders," Artie sighed, his hand slick on Anders's knob as he continued to caress it. He remembered how that knob felt inside him, and when the floor started to shake, it was to thoughts of that flagpole splitting him open.

Still caressing Anders's hair, Fenris braced one hand on a bedpost as he watched Artemis lose his rhythm, whole body shivering and tightening, and a shaky shout spilling out over Anders's back. Anders sighed around Fenris, eyes sliding shut. He reached one hand behind him to grab Artie's hip and held him there, as deep as he could go.

"Maker," Artie groaned, his whole body loosening as quickly as it had tightened.

Slowly sliding his lips off Fenris, Anders tipped his head back and stretched his neck. "Five minutes for the two of you, and then we'll move?"

Fenris leaned away, lifting himself to sit on the footboard of the bed. "Five minutes," he agreed, rolling his ankles. At least for Artemis, he'd be able to kneel.


	265. Chapter 265

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a warm-up for what Artie actually intended to do with his evening.

"I think you'd do better behind him, but I need you paying attention to me, because I'll be able to see his face," Anders said, considering the dynamics involved. "Artie, you need to know I'm going to back up if I think you're trying to take more of me than you should with his fingers in your neck. Don't try to swallow me. Just take a couple inches and let him handle the rest. I'll keep an eye on you. And by Andraste, don't be stupid about it, please? If you start spacing out, pinch me, pinch him, smack the floor -- something."

Artie nodded dazedly, flopping to a sit behind Anders and on top of the pillow. "Of course," he said, nodding again when Anders twisted to look at him. "I know. I promise not to be stupid." And this was different, he realised. If Fenris had a grip on his windpipe, Artemis wouldn't be able to just force shove him away if something went wrong. This would be the most vulnerable he'd ever been, and he wondered what it said about him that that was most of the appeal.

Anders stared at him a moment longer as though trying to decide if Artemis really _did_ 'know'. "A Hawke promising not to be stupid," Anders drawled, exchanging a look with Fenris. "I should get that in writing, just so I'll have proof for future generations."

Artemis snorted, laying back to sprawl on the floor. "Fuck you, too, Anders."

"You just did." Anders winked. "And I think it was, to answer Fenris's earlier question."

"Was what?" Fenris asked, brows knit.

"Worth the wait."

"I did get the best Hawke." Fenris smiled smugly at Artemis. "The whore says it was worth the wait."

Anders was fast, and Fenris was laughing -- a split second later, Fenris's ass hit the floor as Anders yanked on his ankle. "Past. Tense," Anders growled, and Fenris couldn't find the will to argue with the look on his face. "But, after my carnal career in the tower, I'm willing to let you have that 'worth the wait' is an accomplishment, albeit one that also goes to another Hawke."

"You had to _wait_ for _Cormac_?" Fenris's face twisted in disbelief.

"Perhaps it's more fair to say he waited with me." Anders shrugged. "I was stupid. Took me a while to get around to it." His hand released Fenris's ankle and slid up the leg. "But, I'm not really feeling the wait, tonight, so I'm ready whenever the two of you are."

Artie stared at the ceiling and considered how long _he'd_ waited for Cormac, though he supposed most of those years didn't count since he'd given up before he'd begun.

Fenris hummed, looking Anders up and down. "You know what's in your potion," he rumbled, "so you know exactly how ready I am." He tipped his head in Artemis's direction. "Amatus meus, on the other hand..."

"Your Amatus is at your disposal," Artemis said, clasping his hands behind his head and smiling coyly. His limbs still felt like jelly, but he would keep up as best he could.

Fenris huffed, exchanging another look with Anders. "At our disposal, he says," Fenris drawled. "The mage puddle is at our disposal. What should we do with it?" A sparking finger traced the curve of lyrium up his thigh and over his hip, and Fenris sucked in a breath.

Something shifted in the back of Anders's head, but Justice slapped it back. "We need his neck straight, so you don't break anything," he murmured, as Justice continued to lean against something that was definitely pushing back. A blue gleam settled in their eyes.

"Are you sure you're...?" Fenris asked, catching the hint of blue.

"Just tired. Long week." Anders shook his head and looked back at Artemis, curling his finger. "Up on your knees, legs apart. Fenris needs to fit behind you."

Fenris reflected that he'd been much less comfortably pressed against Artemis's back, at several points over the years. This might involve a face full of shoulder-blade, but if it went as well as Artemis hoped, it would be worthwhile. He neglected to quite get up, stretching one leg in the right direction and shifting his weight up and over onto that knee, as he edged behind Artemis.

The mage-puddle shifted as requested, albeit more slowly than usual, and Fenris fit himself behind him. Fenris slipped an arm around Artie's waist and pressed a kiss to the shoulder-blade directly in front of him. Artemis leaned back into him, and the kiss turned into a teasing bite along the ridge of bone.

Looking at Anders, Artemis finally caught the blue that flashed over amber eyes. Tired, Anders had said, and Artie wondered if that was Justice reacting to the lyrium in Fenris's... 'glowstick'. For a moment, he wondered if this had been a good idea after all.

Then Anders stood, and Artie licked his lips. He wondered if it would be rude to say he'd missed the flagpole, with Fenris right behind him. "Hello, old friend," he said instead, earning a dry huff from Fenris, breath tickling over his skin. "So good to see you."

Anders snorted and shook his head. "Every time I get you into this position, you say that."

"Well, it's true every time."

A bit more head-shaking, and Anders stroked his knob across Artie's lips. "I think we should test this idea, before we get too serious. Fenris, show me what you're thinking, show _him_ what you're thinking. Artie, show me one of your hands. As he does what he's going to do, I need you to show me how hard it is for you to breathe. Five fingers if you can't draw breath, one if everything's normal. I expect you know about what those would feel like if his fingers were outside your skin, but you don't know how this is going to be different, and I don't know what your face looks like when things get to be too much."

As Anders gazed down, judging the distance between them, Fenris's hand came up, gently stroking Artemis's throat, before the glow lit it. "I do not wish to hurt you, Amatus," Fenris breathed as the tips of his fingers faded into the skin.

Artie was about to assure him that he wouldn't, only to decide that talking was probably not the best idea just then. Lyrium-lined fingers pressed through skin and muscle, stroked along the line of an artery and felt the rush of a pulse inside it. Artemis shivered, and Fenris steadied him with the solid arm around his waist.

"Your hand, Artie," Anders reminded him firmly, and Artemis held up one finger.

Delicately, Fenris closed his fingers around Artie's windpipe, feeling the shivery rush of air as Artie sucked in a breath. No matter how long they were together, Fenris had to marvel at how much trust this mage put in him. Fenris's hand squeezed, just a little, and he felt more than heard the groan that slipped from Artemis. A second finger went up.

Anders's eyes darted between the fingers and Artemis's face. Nothing troubling, that he could see -- Artie's eyes were still clear, breathing seemed to be regular, outside the occasional shiver, gasp, or ... he suspected that might have been a groan, from the way Artie's lips moved. This kind of thing scared the shit out of him for any number of reasons, none of which he wanted to consider right now, but if he was here, watching, Artie wasn't going to get seriously hurt, and that was what mattered. He'd watch, this time, maybe a couple more times, and then they'd get the hang of it, and they wouldn't need him any more.

He could feel the inside of his skull turning blue, as Justice leaned harder against all those little things that just weren't really all that relevant. Tired, he'd said, and when he pressed his thumb to the inner curve of his eye, he looked it, eyes still carefully studying the scene before him. Wasn't any worse than Cormac, he supposed. Maker, the first time Cormac had asked to be cut, Anders had leapt out of bed, making it halfway across the clinic, before he realised he was naked, but for his shirt. There. That was a smile. He could hold on to that.

Fenris's fingers gently stroked the slender tube in his grip, feeling the structure of it, how each breath warmed between one finger and the next. Hearts, he understood. He had developed a relationship with hearts, long before Artemis. Killings with the neck, though, had been cruel and slow, in comparison, and he hadn't done many, always by explicit command. Here, he knew, the bone that braced the tongue. Below it, the ridges that gave his mage the voice he'd come to love. And below that, his grip, just barely narrowing the airway.

Fenris looked up at Anders, then down at the pair of fingers Artemis held up. Still safe, so far, and Artie tilted his chin up, just a bit, as though asking for more. He wondered what the windpipe in his hand would feel like if Artie spoke, wondered what the vibrations of his name would feel like under his fingertips.

Fenris squeezed just a bit tighter, and a third finger went up. Artie's mouth dropped open around a wet sound, but there was a smile at the corner of his lips. "Is this what you wanted, Amatus?" he murmured, his thumb following each inhale down his throat.

Artie didn't dare nod his head. "Yes," he rasped, squeezing a sigh through Fenris's fingers. "Fen."

Fenris purred at the sound of his name and pressed a kiss to the bare shoulder in front of him. "I can feel every sound you make, every breath. Say something else for me."

"Please," Artie groaned. One syllable between ragged breaths.

And that sound grabbed Anders's attention -- grabbed it right by his knob and pulled. Artie seemed to be keeping track of himself, as far as he could tell, being still able to talk, and definitely enjoying the situation. "Find your fingers, Fenris. I don't want you squeezing tighter than that, while we're all in motion."

"I know exactly where my fingers are," Fenris assured him. Three fingers. He could see where that was likely to be enough, once Artie started panting and pleading. It didn't take much to get Artemis that much more engaged, and while he could apply quite a bit of pressure, before they got into trouble, in the usual way, without all the muscle of the neck to fight his hand, he didn't dare. Three fingers seemed like a reasonable stopping point, if five meant Artemis had stopped breathing entirely. Maybe just a little more when Artemis came.

"Please," Artie breathed again. This time an arch of his hips accompanied the word, and he ground back against Fenris's knob, which was fast regaining interest. He looked up at Anders with pleading eyes, not daring to say more than one word at a time.


	266. Chapter 266

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Artie gets what he wants. Anders is less than entirely enthused, but still enjoys the last of Artie's lunatic whim. Fenris has no complaints.

"You are enjoying this, aren't you," Anders hummed, looking down from Artie's three fingers to his other hand, which kneaded his own thigh. He wondered what it was about Hawkes and dangerous tastes, but at the same time wondered if his... wants... were any better. And that was something else that Justice took hold of and pushed aside.

"A bit," Artie admitted on his next exhale, mouth open around a crooked smile.

"Only a bit?" Fenris purred, grinding against Artemis's ass and feeling the breath Artemis sucked in. "Well, I suppose we've only started, haven't we."

Anders crouched in front of Artemis, reaching out to stroke his fingers gently down Artie's belly, beneath Fenris's arm. He remembered how slick he'd liked to keep Artie, but whether Fenris would need quite as much grease remained to be seen. Still, better to be safe. At least they weren't on the rug, if that turned out to be too much.

"Do you want him to fuck you, now?" Anders asked, a bit of a smile curling his lips as he gazed into Artemis's eyes, remembering another time when he'd been asking all the questions. "I'll just watch, for a little while. Make sure things are working the way they should be. Your brother would kill me if I let anything happen to you. And I'd be twice as dead if I showed up a few hours late to tell him that."

"You assume you'd make it back to Cormac," Fenris scoffed against Artie's shoulder, before he asked, "Is it time? Are you ready for me?"

"Yes," Artemis said, the word sounding all the more desperate for its breathy quality. He wondered if it was too early to throw in a third 'please'.

Over Artie's shoulder, Fenris caught Anders's eye, and the mage nodded. Carefully, Fenris slid his solid arm around Artie and down, giving his ass a squeeze before he lined himself up. "Te ardeo," he murmured, as though Artemis didn't already know, and slowly pushed in.

The ragged breath Artemis drew in was Fenris's favourite yet. His arm returned to Artie's waist, and Artie laid a hand over his wrist. "You hold me almost as tightly as I hold you," Fenris said against his skin, and he wondered if this was a sort of balance, completing the circuit.

All the while, Anders watched Artie's breathing, watched Artie's eyes roll back in pleasure at the first rock of Fenris's hips.

His mage, Fenris thought, always delighted him. Never ceased to find ways to make him worry and then to make him come. He wondered if that was part of it, as he felt Artemis squeeze around him, soft and warm and slick, if perhaps that moment of horror was some part of the kink as well. Not everything had wound up being good ideas, but he'd never been disappointed, by the end of the night, and he hoped he hadn't left Artemis lacking on any night. He didn't think he had, from the amount of 'please' and 'yes' he tended to hear.

And now, to be able to not only hear those words and metaphorically feel them run down his spine, but to literally feel them run down his fingers -- he'd never imagined this. It was somehow even more enticing, more intimate, even with Anders watching. This pleasure was one he didn't think Cormac would have the stomach for, and that was something that put a shiver in his spine. Something that was just for the two of them, again.

His hips lifted, driving him up into Artemis's incredible body, and Fenris's own breath stilled for a moment, everything about him motionless for a second, just to feel every subtle vibration of this body that he loved.

Artemis could feel Fenris inside and around him, and just the thought of Fenris touching him where no one else could went right to his groin. He could feel the pad of Fenris's thumb brush his voice-box, which shivered in another groan. Artemis didn't bite off his sounds this time, not when they were in Fenris's hand, trembling against his fingers.

With Artemis's ragged moans filling his ears, Fenris set up a rhythm, slow enough not to jar Artemis against his phased hand but deep enough to wring out more of those delicious sounds. Artie's hand went from kneading his own thigh to digging nails into it.

Anders glanced at that hand, then back up to Artie's face. "You want to touch yourself, don't you?" he asked, knowing how much Artie liked to be talked to during sex. "Look how hard you're trying not to."

Artie choked out a third 'please', and Fenris smiled against his shoulder.

Anders reached out and took Artie's hand in his own, kneading it, stroking the fingers, watching Artemis struggle between the pleasure and Fenris's grip on his breath. He ran his thumb down the centre of Artie's palm, feeling the fingers twitch and stretch, before wrapping that hand around the flagpole. "Touch me," he breathed.

Perhaps it wasn't quite what he'd intended, but it was probably safer this way. It was definitely louder this way. For all that it might be delightful to feel those sounds reverberate through his flesh, it was even better to hear them. Artemis had always been so quiet, barely louder than he was. To be able to finally hear his pleasure seemed like some erotic dream, and he looked forward to whispering every moment of this into Cormac's ear, later.

Fenris's thrusts eased into a steady grind, hips bucking and rolling, but never pulling him out. He could take his time, he knew, and drag this out -- and really, at some point he meant to -- but the sensation against his fingertips, the feeling of those sounds and the way they shot straight down to his elbow just wasn't something he was prepared to dull, to fortify himself against. He remembered the first time he'd taken Artemis -- actually, he didn't remember much of that at all, but there were some flashes of warmth and sweat and the mingled sound of his voice with Artemis's. That was almost this feeling, if differently. Everything seemed gloriously new, tonight.

Artemis stroked Anders in time to Fenris's movements. The weight of the flagpole was familiar in his hand, and it was simple muscle memory to twist his hand the way Anders liked, to move his thumb in a way that had Anders sucking in a breath. It was something for Artie to focus on while his own knob ached.

He'd lost track of the number of times he'd said 'please', of the number of times Fenris's name had shivered over Fenris's fingers. Somewhere through the dizzying, splintering pleasure, Artemis made a note to thank the Maker or whatever gods were out there for letting him have Fenris. Or for letting Fenris have him, he supposed.

Fenris's grip tightened around Artie's waist, holding him still as his mage shivered and rocked back against him. He wondered how loud his mage would get, if his shouts would fill the room, even with Fenris's hand controlling his breathing.

Anders revelled in the way Artemis stroked him, even as he kept watch. It was a talent born of years of dodging templars while he hiked the robes of every mage who would get near him. He stretched one hand and dragged a single finger up the bobbing length of Artie's knob, circling it teasingly around the tip, darting his fingertip against the frenulum just enough times that there was no question he had Artie's attention, but not enough to be _enough_.

He smiled as the pleading and moaning continued, almost wishing he could see Fenris's face as well, to see if he was enjoying this anywhere near the way Artemis was. A faint spark darted from his fingertip to the tip of Artemis's knob.

And that shocked a ragged shout from Artie, eyes popping wide and hand stuttering in its rhythm on Anders. 

"Venhedis," Fenris breathed at the way Artemis clenched around him.

Anders went back to teasing Artemis with just his finger, looking nothing less than smug at that reaction. He waited until the pleading started again and pressed another spark to Artie's knob. And with Artemis's breathing restricted, Artie was louder than Fenris had ever heard him -- except perhaps, for their wedding night, which had featured another terrible idea put to good use.

When the ground started to shake, it felt like an extension of the trembling of Artemis's vocal cords, a low percussive hum that shook Fenris's bones. And Fenris squeezed tighter, just a hair, just enough for Artemis's final shout to choke off with a wet sound as he stiffened, coming hard over Anders and the floor.

Anders caught what he could and then raised his hand to his mouth, licking between his fingers to get all of it. He was aching hard, the tip of his knob getting shiny with the pressure, and he knew he had to get back home. This wasn't for him, and he'd gotten what he really wanted, but he was going to be bitchy and burning magic, if he didn't do something about that soon. And not just once.

"I trust the two of you can amuse yourselves for the rest of the duration of that potion?" He smiled slyly at Artemis, and his eyebrows flicked up suggestively. "I had some things I wanted to take care of, this evening, not least of all, this." His hand gestured along the length of the flagpole.

Fenris slid his hand out of Artemis's neck, and Artie blinked at Anders as though trying to remember how words worked. "You know, we could..." Artie paused to cough and clear his throat when his voice came out scratchy. "We could help with... at least one of those things." He mimicked Anders's gesture at the flagpole. "I do have fond memories of sitting on the flagpole." His words ended in a squeak as Fenris thrust into him, reminding him he was still sitting on something else.

"And I have fond memories of baths and sandwiches," said Anders as he pushed himself to his feet. "But I'll take you up on that offer next time." Assuming Fenris would let him.

Artemis looked vaguely disappointed, but Fenris was wringing more anguished sounds from him by the time Anders had made it out the front door.


	267. PART XLIX: PLANS GONE AWRY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being a templar isn't all defending the good people of Thedas, as Carver learns, the hard way, once again.

Of all the reasons Carver told himself he'd joined the templars, washing chamberpots was not among them. In fact, it was, perhaps, the absolute worst thing about the entire decision -- he was stuck with it. Every time he opened his mouth, back to sticking his hands in filth. It wasn't even like he could leave the Order. It was a one-time decision that couldn't be reversed, and Samson, the poor bastard, was the proof of that.

At least Cullen was out of the dungeon. Anders thought he'd be back at work by the end of the week, and Cullen thought sooner, but Carver wasn't sure Anton was going to allow that. And that thought was almost as gross as the chamberpots. Cullen would actually listen to him, when he talked, unlike this blighty jerkass temporary captain -- Lieutenant Penis, the men called him. His name was actually Denis, but anyone who acted as much the dick as he did deserved the name.

And there was the sound of boots. Three pair. Carver looked up, only to spot Lieutenant Penis himself, standing between and before two other templars. Fantastic. Maybe they'd want him to wash the corpse-rot out of the dungeon, next.

"Ser?" Carver asked, not getting off his knees, as the lieutenant stopped before him.

"Hawke," said Lieutenant Penis, chin tilted at a haughty angle so that Carver had a clear view up his nostrils. "I have another job for you. Unless, of course, you'd rather continue as you are. You do seem attached to those toilets." He cut a smirk to the red-headed templar to his left.

"Oh, I'm sure they'll be dirty again soon enough, ser," Carver said with a tight smile. There was a comment somewhere in there about certain templars being full of shit, but Carver managed not to say it. "What can I do for you?"

"You can lend a hand -- after you've washed it -- to Sers Mettin and Agatha, here." He tilted his head at the pair of templars behind him. "They are, as I understand it, having some trouble hunting down a cabal of blood mages."

Of course they were. It was always blood mages. Blood mages and toilets, that was Carver's templar experience.

"That is because this hive of blood mages and their supporters know us," said the red-haired templar, Ser Mettin. "If we get close to them, they'll scatter like cockroaches."

Carver finally rose to his feet. Even with poor posture he was a good few inches taller than Lieutenant Penis.

"You could take them unaware," Mettin said, looking a little pensive at the idea.

"We can't dally, of course. If we're seen with you, they'll know," Ser Agatha put in. "But, we'll be right behind you. Shouting distance."

"Maker," Carver sighed, taking a few deep breaths, to avoid punching the sense into his colleagues. He was sure this was some sort of trap meant to expose him as a sympathiser -- possibly as a traitor. "If you're going to be wandering around behind me, can you at least wear something less obvious? Plain armour? Maybe a cloak? If I'm not supposed to be seen with the two of you, then the two of you probably shouldn't be seen following me, either."

"The man makes a point," Mettin admitted, tipping his head thoughtfully as he dug into his pouch for something. "Here are the details -- who and where we think they are. Should be pretty straightforward."

Carver took the paper and unfolded it, and a completely unamused smile crossed his face. "In the _sewers_! Lovely. Of course you brought this to _me_."

"Is there a problem, Hawke?" Lieutenant Penis asked, the squint of his eyes strongly implying there best not be.

"No, no problem, ser," Carver said with a heavy sigh. He pocketed the paper. "It's just good to know that today has a theme."

 

* * *

Carver didn't bother changing out of his working clothes, not when the dirt and stink would help him blend in in Darktown and not when he was just going to get Maker-knew-what on his boots anyway. He'd grabbed his sword, though -- he wasn't an idiot, despite what his brothers insisted -- and a couple of healing potions, courtesy of Anders. 

After a lifetime of dealing with Anton sneaking around and picking his pockets, the pair of cloaked idiots behind him seemed painfully obvious, even at a distance. Carver had to fight the urge to turn around to tell them so.

"Join the templars, Carver," Carver muttered to himself as he climbed into the tunnel leading to the sewers. "It will be grand, Carver." Then again, the alternative involved living down the hall from Cormac, so he supposed it was an even trade. Plus it meant Artie was no longer colour-coding his undies.

Carver dodged the first arrow on pure reflex, head jerking back as it clattered against the wall next to him. The second arrow he dodged more intentionally, swearing as he pulled out his sword. By the third he might have been missing Cormac. A little.

They saw him coming, but they didn't know him, and thankfully they weren't expecting something drawing a sword that large to be moving as fast as he was. He twisted out of the way of another arrow and spun, the greatsword cleaving through some part of three archers, as he made for the stairs. They might yet live. They might not. They were definitely not going to be drawing bows, though.

The stairs were a deathtrap, but the railings at the top were high enough that staying close to the wall made for an impossible angle. None of them could shoot straight down. And none of them were stupid enough to step out onto the landing in front of him. Instead, the rest of the archers scattered back into the room, an occasional arrow zipping past him, as they fled further into the tunnels.

Carver looked around at the mess left behind. Archers. Just archers. But, under one of the bodies was a note. Fleeing the city to hide in caves? He hoped his brother's mines weren't involved -- enough fuckawful things had already happened there. The last thing that place needed was blood mages. Although there was a passage to the Deep Roads, which might be something of a lure. Still, there was so much of Sundermount, and so little in the way of information about which caves.

He crept through the dim room, following the way he thought the archers had been running. This was definitely an ambush, now, and the fact that he still hadn't seen any actual magic really made him wonder what was going on. Made him doubt that this was anything but a setup.

And -- there. That was definitely ice. Definitely ice that had just narrowly missed one of his favourite body parts. Carver pressed himself against the wall. "Can you stop shooting at me?" he yelled, voice echoing down the tunnels. Did they even know he was a templar or were they just killing anyone who came through here? Or was Ser Penis just trying to get rid of him?

Carver gave the mage a moment, but the bastard shot lightning instead. Gritting his teeth, Carver hefted his sword and charged down the next flight of stairs, following the trajectory of magic and throwing a smite out ahead of him. He watched the mage's arms move and braced himself for the next spell, but it fizzled out at the mage's fingertips.

"I asked nicely," said Carver, sword held defensively in front of him. He looked past his blade into the mage's terrified eyes. "Mind if we have a chat?" The mage's stare flit to the side, and it was the only warning Carver needed to step back and to the side, a second jet of ice from a second mage just missing his hip. 

"Andraste's flaming cootch!" Carver swore before tossing out another smite.

And the magic kept coming. Each time he hit one of them, it would only stop them for maybe half a minute, if he was lucky -- he didn't have the kind of power behind him that Cullen did. Not yet, anyway. But if he could hit all three of them -- there had to be three, judging by the rate of fire and ice hammering past the bottom of the stairs -- if he could hit all three in sequence, maybe he wouldn't need it to last that long. He could get past them -- get the archer out -- then hit them again.

Nodding to himself, he took a deep breath and leaned out, tagging the easiest one to hit. A fireball shot past his head as he ducked back. A count of three, and then the next one, three more and the last, and then the magic stopped. He didn't waste time thinking -- just ran out. The archer assumed he was going for the mages and aimed accordingly, but he blew right past, the arrow skimming over his shoulder instead of into it, as he moved. One slice, and the rather surprised archer was down.

He turned back and smited his way down the line again, the other way, before sheathing his sword. "Andraste's tits melted to light the temples, can you knock it off?" Carver shouted at the terrified mages. "I'm really trying not to have to kill you!"

The three mages huddled together, fingers still twitching as though trying to cast, their pale faces reflecting the torchlight. "What do you want?" asked the mage closest to Carver.

Mettin and Agatha's footsteps echoed as they clomped down the stairs, and Carver had to wonder just how unnoticed they could have possibly gone.

"We're just trying to figure out what's going on," Carver said, hands palm out and non-threatening as the mages eyed the new arrivals.

"We're not going back," said the mage, voice shaky but the clench of his fists defiant. Mettin walked past Carver toward the mages, and Carver finally saw the sword in his hand. "We're not."

"Mettin--" Carver began, but Agatha's hand on his chest stopped him. He threw off her hand. "Wait. There has to be another way."

Another smite fell on the mages. They tried to run, but there was nowhere to go.

"Mettin!"

Agatha held Carver back as Mettin slaughtered the mages.

Mages. Just mages. Even with their lives on the line, Carver hadn't seen any of them go for a blade or any blood. Just the same elemental shit his brothers had been slinging around as long as he could remember. "We could have taken them alive," Carver roared.

"Why? They're just robe trash. And troublemaking robe trash, too. Better we don't have to keep track of them." Mettin shrugged.

Carver shook off Agatha's hand and knelt, checking the bodies for anything that might help him figure out what was going on. "They might have told us something, if they lived," he said, looking for a reason that wouldn't make him look any worse than he did. They were dead now, and there was nothing he could do for them. Nothing he could do about them, either, until Cullen came back.

He found more notes and, reading them, realised this was the Mage Underground. These were Anders's friends. Which meant this was definitely illegal, but how was he supposed to feel about having been responsible for the deaths not only of people not guilty of the things they were accused of, but friends of his brother's lover. Whatever else he thought of Cormac, Anders had been a surprisingly good friend. Anders had saved his life, and this was no way to pay it back, but he couldn't get out of this and expect to survive. And even then, it wouldn't stop, it was just that no one would know what had happened.

Mettin and Agatha searched every corner, making sure no more mages were hiding in the crevices. Carver pretended to help but mostly focused on not being sick.

"That's one hideout clear," Mettin decreed. He clapped Carver on the shoulder as they retraced their steps. "You do good work, Hawke. I'll give you that." He stepped over a cooling body Carver had cut down, and Carver tried to smile.


	268. Chapter 268

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carver makes a very bloody point. Then it's time to break the news to Anders.

The next hideout was on Maker-damned Sundermount, and Carver prayed it didn't involve the Dalish. The last thing he needed was Mettin drawing his sword on a clan of elves -- his girlfriend's clan, for all that they had kicked her out.

They paused to question the elven guards at the edge of their camp, but they were even more ornery than Carver remembered. Apparently, without his brothers or Merrill, he was just another shem.

"They wouldn't help the blood mages," Carver insisted. "At least not the human ones."

That was good enough for Agatha, who led them farther up the mountain instead. She pointed out the faint path, the traces of recent footsteps, and after a few false starts and wrong turns, found the trapdoor hidden in the underbrush. She backed away and gestured for Carver to open the door.

"Good, we're here," Mettin said, following Carver into the underground room. The entry seemed empty, except for the three of them and the templars Mettin had insisted on bringing to ensure no one escaped the judgement of the order.

"There are many innocents in there, Ser Mettin," Agatha pointed out.

"Innocents?" Mettin scoffed. "Hardly. Let us strike now and put down these blood mages."

"There's a good chance not all of them are--" Carver was cut off by fire, straight to the chest. He danced back out of the blaze, grateful he hadn't been more than singed.

"They're here!" the mage shouted. "They've found us!" A few more mages rushed out, fingers flickering with lightning and fire, but they were mages, first, and once they'd been stripped of magic, there was little they could do against a dozen plate-clad warriors.

"We can take them peacefully," Carver shouted. "We can bring them back alive!"

But, Mettin and his men paid no mind, slicing through the defenceless mages -- those who fought and those who tried to surrender. He pushed into the next room, chasing anything that still tried to fight.

As the magic stopped, Agatha called out, "Mettin, they've surrendered!"

Mettin didn't slow. He barely even glanced back. "Our duty is clear," he said. "They all must die."

Agatha caught him by the elbow, turning Mettin to face her. "The mages, perhaps," she said, and Carver had to wonder if he was the only templar with any sense. "But you can't kill the others just for helping their family and friends!"

"Watch me," Mettin snarled.

Carver's blood ran cold. This could have been him. This could have been his family, huddling in caves and fighting for their lives. Maker knew they'd spent enough time on the run. "No," said Carver, stepping in front of Mettin and his blood-spattered sword. "Our duty is to deal with mages, not simple citizens." That, at least, he thought he could talk Mettin into.

Agatha straightened, bolstered by Carver's support. "We won't let you do this," she said, and there was an authority in her voice that hadn't been there before.

Mettin looked back and forth between them, face twisting in a snarl. Carver kept his hand on his sword. "At last you show your true colours," Mettin sneered, waving his sword between Carver and Agatha. "Both of you, traitors to the order!" Stepping back, Mettin gestured for his men. "Kill them. Kill them all!"

Carver moved, drawing his sword, and Mettin braced himself for a duel, completely missing where the arc would stop if Carver didn't intend to land in the starting stance they were taught. Mettin's head cleaved off, raggedly, bouncing off his shoulder and elbow before it hit the floor and rolled.

"We can stop this!" Carver shouted, as the rest of the templars turned at the sound of Mettin's body collapsing. "There's no reason to harm these people. You can stop this, or you can come through me." He breathed in, squaring his shoulders, and seemed to get even taller. The slouch was gone, and he towered over the rest of the room. Still shorter than Anders, though, and that was never going to stop bothering him.

Agatha drew her sword and stepped forward. "Through us."

Some of the men backed away from the others, choosing not to fight their own over something the Knight-Commander could make a decision about. Better to bring them all back alive and let her decide, than to have killed them and be told they should have lived. The first could be reversed. The second was fairly permanent.

Whether or not the other templars agreed with Agatha and Carver, no one of them dared to step forward and fight them. Agatha commanded them to sheathe their swords and to round up the prisoners. Carver hoped Meredith wouldn't just have them all killed anyway. That would just be a terrible end to his day.

Only once the other templars were occupied did Agatha's shoulders sag. "I can't believe..." she murmured, shaking her head. "Ser Mettin."

"You did what you had to do," Carver told her. "His death is on his own head." He glanced at Ser Mettin's corpse. "...and his body."

Agatha grimaced. "I suppose you're right. Thank you for your help, Ser Carver. I'll make sure the lieutenant knows what an asset you've been."

"Great," Carver said with a stiff smile. That would probably end in more toilet-cleaning just on principle.

 

* * *

The door did not slam, but the sound of plate boots on the tile made it very clear someone had come in. "Carver?" Cormac called from inside the library. "That you?"

The footsteps stopped, and Cormac turned to find his brother occupying most of the doorway, ghost-white and covered in blood. "Get Anders," Carver said, surprisingly quietly.

Cormac was on his feet instantly. "Get out of the door. Sit," he said, before he'd even made it across the room.

Shortly -- Carver wasn't sure how much time had passed, but it couldn't have been much, even if time was a little less straight than he tended to think of it being, today -- Cormac returned with Anders, both of them on the edge of some barely-contained panic. Carver raised one hand in an absent greeting, his gloves already on the table in front of the couch he was sitting on, not that he remembered putting them there, but he must have.

"How much of the blood is yours?" Anders asked, crossing the room in a few steps.

"None. I think I have a few burns, but I drank a potion for those. Had. Had a few burns." Carver raised his eyes to where Anders crouched almost in front of him, to the side of the table. "We have to talk. You need to sit. I swear I tried to make them stop. I cut the head off Ser Mettin, when he wouldn't stop. I killed a templar, today, Anders."

Anders nodded, his expression carefully blank even as dread settled like lead in his stomach. He sat up enough out of his crouch to sit on the edge of the table instead. "I'm sitting," he said. "Tell me what happened."

And Carver told him. Told him how his day went from cleaning toilets to clearing out sewers, and the more he spoke, the paler Anders got. "They said we were hunting blood mages," said Carver, hands spread palm out across his knees. "But they never used blood magic. Not once. I found some letters on their bodies..." Carver fumbled with a pouch at his side until he produced the blood-stained papers. He fiddled with them before handing them to Anders. "Once I read them, I... I knew who they were. Or I knew you'd know who they were, that is. I just came back from Sundermount where we rounded up the rest with their families. And Ser Mettin, he... Maker. I'm sorry, Anders."

Anders took the letters with numb fingers.

"I tried," Carver said. He looked ill. "He wanted to kill them all. There was no blood magic. They were just mages -- some of them weren't even mages. Just regular people. And I realised he'd have killed Anton, if he even suspected. So, I cut his head off. And nobody else argued with me."

"One of those things about decapitating somebody in front of an audience," Cormac pointed out, from where he leaned against a bookcase. "Not much argument left in the room by the time the head stops rolling." A sharp laugh leapt from his lips. "You remember. You were there."

"I need Cullen to come back." Carver looked desperate, but still hopeful. "I need him to come back, or I'm going to be the next one in that cell. I killed a templar."

"And whoever's doing his job isn't nearly as reasonable as Cullen, is that it?" Cormac guessed.

"Lieutenant Penis is anything but forgiving," Carver scoffed, looking at his hands and wondering again when he'd taken his gloves off.

"Lieutenant...?" Anders blinked, finally looking up from the blood-stained letters in his hands. "Ah. Denis. Right. Heard of him." His words sounded distant. His friends... Everything he and Justice had planned... had it all been for nothing?

"You're blue," Carver said in a small voice. Anders looked at him blankly. Carver had to say it one more time for Anders to understand.

Blue fissures had opened up along his skin, at least the skin that he could see, and Anders nudged Justice back. This wasn't the time. There was nothing they could do without endangering Carver or those mages' families.

Cormac could see the realisations settling into the lines of Anders's body -- the way he looked at Carver's gloves on the table instead of at Carver, the way his shoulders sunk just a little -- and he knew the next few days were going to be ugly for them both. "We'll get there," he promised. "It takes a lot of power for one man to move the whole world, but it's not just you, and we'll get there."

"I just wanted to go south," Anders sighed. "I wanted to go south and start a farm. Just live out my days with some pretty young thing who'd never seen a mage before, living on barley and chicken and healing the village kids. But, I had to be here. I had things to do. And then I had other things to do. And it just never stopped. And now everyone's dead, and everything was for nothing."

"Everyone's not dead," Carver reminded him. "I wish the bodies hadn't been burned. I don't know how many there were or who they were, but it couldn't have been everyone, even if you count the ones we brought back. And they're alive, too, for the moment. Someone had to have gotten out, and I hope I never know who they are," he said, thinking of what Cullen had gone through.

"'For the moment'," Anders repeated. He wiped a hand over his face. Some of his people were alive. As much as he wanted to curl up and wallow in his despair, he had to focus on them. "They're in the Gallows? Awaiting Meredith's judgement?"

Carver nodded. "I doubt that will be pretty," he said.

Justice coiled hot and angry in the back of Anders's head. "Her idea of 'judgement' rarely is," he said bitterly. "We have to do something."

From this angle, in this lighting, Carver couldn't quite tell if Anders's eyes were brown or blue. "Yes," said Carver. "We have to get Cullen healthy so he can mitigate this nonsense." As ineffectual as Cullen seemed to feel, Carver was seeing first-hand just how much worse the order was without him.


	269. Chapter 269

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders has a plan. Varric has a very different plan.

Underground. If there was something in this world that made Anders ridiculously uncomfortable, it was being underground. Which, if he was entirely honest with himself, was a little ridiculous, since he'd been living in a cellar and working in Darktown for years, now. Still, the tunnels bothered him, and they bothered him more in the undercity. That smell of settled dust and dry death just hung in the still air, and the temperature never changed. But, he made his way down the ancient hallways until he heard the sound of dwarves joking and singing.

Stepping out into the light of the fungus lamps, he took a look around the first chamber -- tables piled with tools and papers, people sitting around eating and drinking, as clouds of dust drifted in from the next room. "Has anyone seen Natia?" he asked, holding up a box of fruit tarts. He remembered hearing she liked those. 'Not bad,' Fenris had told him, complete with dwarf impression. "I heard she got the contract. Thought I'd come down and see how she was doing."

"Natia!" one of the men shouted through a doorway. "There's some tall blond looking for you! Looks like somebody stacked all the Rorik brothers one on the next!"

"What are you shouting about?" Natia called back, following her voice into the room. She spotted Anders and the box in his hand, and a smile lit her face. "Oh! Anders!" She patted her sleeves, expelling puffs of dust, and tried to tuck her wayward hair behind her ears. "What brings you here?" As she approached, Natia tried looking around Anders, to see if he was alone.

Anders fought to keep a straight face, knowing exactly whom she was hoping to see. "I just wanted to see how everything was coming along," he said, looking around him. "And to see you, of course, Natia dear. Cormac sends his love, but I thought I might buy your affection with treats." He held the box of tarts out to her, eyebrows twitching up coyly.

Natia snorted a laugh and took a tart. "Are you wooing me, Anders?" she asked around a mouthful of tart, holding a hand up under her chin to catch the crumbs.

"Are you so easily wooed by tarts?" Anders quipped.

"By and with, apparently," Natia said, stuffing another tart into her mouth as she closed the box. "Heard stories about you."

"Let me clear up any questions you might have about those stories. If they didn't involve goats or Dalish teenagers, they were probably true." Anders laughed and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Tarts with tarts, yet another feature of the surface I didn't know I needed." Natia grinned and raised her eyebrows suggestively. "But, really, what are you doing down here. I thought you didn't like tunnels."

"Well, you know how it is. Pretty girls, Tevinter architecture... pretty hard to keep me away." Anders looked around the room. "How's the work going, anyway? Dig up anything surprising?"

"Might've been surprising if I hadn't already seen the room full of dicks and dragons," Natia said, picking up a roll of papers stuck between a pair of what looked to be semi-precious dildoes. She flattened the papers out on one of the tables and held the edges with the box of tarts and a  couple pieces of stone. "This is the way it looked last week," she explained. "The new drawings are still being worked up, but this is about where we've gotten to. You can see where we've already cleared out most of the collapse, right in here, and we're trying to put in a new wall in the old style, but with more solid construction. It's Tevinter down here, but it's _actually Tevinter_. Doesn't look like that much dwarven work, aside from a few basic concepts. Like, they used people who'd worked with a dwarven crew, maybe. No dwarf would ever have built something that came apart this easily."

"Natia, it's been what, a thousand years, give or take? And most of it's still standing, including the buildings above it. That's not exactly 'easy'." Anders shook his head.

Natia waved that number aside as though it were nothing. "When I'm done, it'll look good as new. And in ten thousand years, it will still look good as new!"

Anders chuckled. "That's a bit ambitious, don't you think? Why not aim for five thousand? Five thousand's still a respectable number."

"Sure." Natia rested her hand on one cocked hip as she peered up at him. "It will still be standing in five thousand years. And in another five thousand years after that." She plucked another tart from the box and chewed triumphantly. "Solid. Dwarf. Construction," she said between bites.

Anders shook his head, smiling indulgently, and bent to look at the drawings over her shoulder. "And we're standing, what, right here?" He pointed at a space to the bottom left, glancing up and around to get his bearings. 

Natia hummed and nodded. "Right under the Chantry library," she said through a mouthful of tart.

"Huh." Anders studied the rest of the drawing and traced a couple of lines with his fingers.

"You're thinking of stealing something, aren't you?" Natia asked, watching Anders's eyes. "I know that look."

"If I were thinking of stealing something, I'd be trying to get into the keep," Anders muttered, squinting at the ceiling. "They already moved all the good stuff. The histories and the old Tevinter maps and all that? All under the keep somewhere until you're done in here."

"Uh-huh." Natia didn't look convinced. "So you're _not_ down here to bribe me into leaving you a secret entrance into the bowels of the Chantry."

Anders paused, then dragged his eyes back down to Natia, a mischievous gleam in them. "Well, you know, if you put it like that, I might have to at least _try_. Not that I'd steal anything. I'm not in the habit of thievery. Quite poor at it, all told. But, I might slip in and copy some things of interest."

"You scholars are just weird, you know that? All of you, and I've known a few, in my day. All alike, right down to the humans." Natia shook her head and laughed. "You won't do anything illegal, but you'll do things that are horribly complicated and might as well be illegal except nobody's made a law about it. Copy some things of interest. From a library in a sealed vault."

"But nothing illegal, as you pointed out," Anders said, putting on his most charming smile. "Just scholarly interests, books on Tevinter history. Tevinter _magic_. It might lend some insight into this city and how and why it was built the way it was."

Natia hummed, brow smoothing in realisation. "You sound like the writer for that piece in the Gazette. The something of Kirkwall. Mystery? Conundrum?"

"Enigma," supplied Anders, nodding. "Though 'Conundrum of Kirkwall' has a nice ring to it." He leaned in, and his smile turned crooked. "Anyway. Cormac will deny it, but he loves that stuff. He reads that column religiously."

Natia's brows twitched up, but she affected disinterest. "Oh?" she said, smoothing out the drawings.

"Oh, yeah. He's crazy about the idea of secrets hidden in the ground. Stuff we walk on, every day, and never give a second thought, but there used to be a whole other world down here." Anders laughed, nervously. "I'm ... I like surface history a little more. It's less underground."

"You are a little tall for dwarven architecture. Not that you won't fit, but you can't properly appreciate it from all the way up there. It's designed to be seen from a lower vantage point. You're missing out on all the best angles." Natia grinned, stepping away from the table. "And that's some of the difference, down here. Somebody was looking at these stones all wrong."

Anders turned to follow, as she started pointing to features, but he caught his bag on a pile of rolled blueprints, knocking them off the table in a hail of paper. "Dogs and dogshit!" He flailed, catching what he could, and bent to gather the rest, tucking one roll into his coat. Maybe he _could_ get into the vaults. If nothing else, he'd have a clearer view of the Chantry than he was going to get walking around the building and counting his steps.

"Nice one!" Natia teased, clapping slowly.

Anders stood with a sarcastic bow and a flourish of his hand. "Not my finest moment, I'll admit," he said sheepishly as he followed her. "But I brought you tarts. You shouldn't mock those who bring you tarts."

"Mock a tart who brings me tarts?" Natia said, batting her eyelashes. "Never!"

Anders flapped his hand at her. "Come on, then. Continue with the tour."

Natia went back to pointing out the architecture, eyes alight as she gestured around her, and Anders indulged her, plucking up the last tart.

* * *

* * *

"Well, well. If it's not Stabby and Sl--" Varric coughed. "Nervy. The two quiet Hawke brothers. I was just looking for at least one of you."

"Looking for me? Oh, that sounds exciting. Am I swiping the smalls off a still-clothed guardsman again?" Anton asked, taking the tankard Edwina offered him.

"You remember that house Bartrand barricaded himself in?" Varric asked, watching Anton from the corner of his eye. "No point in keeping a house with him in the asylum. I've been trying to get rid of the place for ages now."

"Don't tell me. You've come to the richest and dashingest man in Kirkwall, to turn it into an elven hostel?" Anton joked.

"Yes, and the Champion here will help too, I'm sure," Artie added. He eyed the tankard Edwina offered him longingly. "Just water for me, thanks."

"Wiseass."  Anton shoved Artie's shoulder, without looking, and unsurprisingly his brother didn't move at all. "I don't expect you've found anyone into Kirkwall murder chic."

"There's a really small number of people who want expensive, blood-covered houses in Hightown, and half of them are married to Nervy, over here." Varric laughed, but kept talking. "Found a minor noble in Rivain who bought the place sight unseen. But now there's a problem."

"Other than the excessive number of Rivaini noblemen suddenly in Kirkwall?" Anton asked, half a smile curling the corner of his mouth.

"Well, I don't know if I would call that a problem," said Artemis. He sipped at his water and tried to look like he was enjoying it.

"I might," Varric drawled, "but anyway. They say the place is...haunted." His thumb played with the rim of his tankard, nail tracing the chipped edge.

Anton and Artie exchanged a look, and Anton threw up his hand. "Weird magical shit is your deal," he said. "Though creepy magical shit is more Bethy's, really..."

Artie cleared his throat and turned back to Varric. "Whatever Bartrand was doing in there must have weakened the barrier between this world and the Fade."

"Maker, I hope not!" Varric huffed. "I don't think we can fix the Veil through applied use of force."

Artie looked speculative.

"No, we can't," said Anton, "and we're not trying. Now, Varric, when you say 'haunted'..."

"They've noticed some minor problems," Varric said, shrugging one shoulder. "Voices whispering in the walls, apparitions, things moving on their own. My hope is it's a relic Bartrand brought back from the Deep Roads. We smash it, and the haunting stops."

Anton tapped his lip as he considered. "And, hypothetically speaking, if we just did nothing...?" He trailed off, spreading his hands expressively.

"Best case?" Varric sighed. "They drag me before the seneschal and accuse me of fraud. The worst case involves Antivan Crows."

"I'm not an expert on hauntings, but what if smashing things does not make the problem go away?" Anton asked carefully examining a corner of the ceiling. "I'm just saying. It's Kirkwall."

"Ah, that's where things get tricky," Varric replied, looking a little grimmer than he had. His eyes lit on Artemis. "You're a mage! You must know something about... weird shit! I'm sure you'll be able to figure out something that'll help. I'm a businessman. Now and then, I shoot people. I don't know anything about ghosts or magic."

"So, really, you don't need me, you need him. And maybe Bethany. She really is a weird shit specialist." Anton lifted an eyebrow pointedly, as he mentioned his sister.

"It's entirely possible that even if we find the thing that's causing the problem, we won't be able to stop it without a bit of the ol' glam-hands." Varric shrugged. "I'm not saying you shouldn't come. I'm just saying it's going to take more than just you and me."

"Fine, fine," Anton sighed. "I see how you are. Flatter me to get yourself some magical assistance. Fortunately for you, flattery will get you everywhere. Flattery and beer, and you're picking up my tab, for this."


	270. Chapter 270

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The latest in Kirkwall Murder Chic, now with a flying library.

Because Artemis was with them, Anton and Varric didn't need to bribe Fenris with tarts to get him out of the house, and they stopped by the estate to pick up Bethany, only to leave with Cormac. Bethany had a paper to work on, thank-you-very-much, and she insisted that her talents lay in dead bodies more than dead spirits. For all matters related to crossing the Veil, she pointed them towards Cormac and Fenris.

There was no sneaking into Bartrand's house this time. Varric had a key and let them in the front door, holding the door open for his friends as though he were inviting them over for dinner. "Do come in," he said.

Artemis looked around at the mess, the overturned furniture, the broken tiles. "Aw," he said, hooking an arm through Fenris's. "It reminds me of when we started dating." For certain values of the word 'dating', he supposed.

Fenris huffed, tugging at one ear. "Our house did not look like this," he said unconvincingly.

"Mm, you're right," Anton said, looking around critically. "Your house had more corpses lying around. Really pulled the Murder Chic look together, I think."

"Murder chic. Remind me why our sister with the corpse fetish isn't here?" Cormac groaned, glancing around the place. "Right, right, because I should be able to call on my innate mystic nature and figure out what's wrong with the Veil. Should have brought Anders. He's actually _seen_ holes in the Veil."

Fenris suddenly looked curious, having not actually heard the story. "Is that what happened with Justice?"

"Kind of. It's a long story, and it's not mine. But, yes, that's how Justice ended up on this side." Cormac backed into the room, toward one of the doors, looking up at the vaulted ceiling. "I'm told my cousin actually closed some rifts, but she's a big damn hero. Also a totally other school of magic."

"You're telling me he just... walked out of the Fade?" Fenris looked utterly horrified. "No summoning?"

"Not intentionally. More stumbled. Maybe 'was firmly assisted in that direction'. But, from the Fade side, not our side. He pissed somebody off, in there." Cormac was squinting at everything that looked portable and non-Orlesian that they passed. "I'm not really seeing any--"

Varric shushed him, patting the air in front of him and tilting his head. "Do you hear that?" he asked after a moment. "That music. Where is it coming from?"

Artie exchanged a look with Fenris. "I don't hear anything," he said, and Fenris hummed in agreement.

Varric opened his mouth to argue, only to shake his head and gesture them on. "Forget it. Maybe it was the wind."

As they walked into the next room, the door behind them slammed shut. "And maybe that was the wind too," suggested Anton. "Shall we start taking bets? 'Haunted or draughty'. Artie, where do you stand on this?"

"Ten silver says haunted," Artie said. "I mean, with our luck? Please."

"I'm with Nervy on this one," said Varric. "He has a point."

They continued down the ruined hall, poking their heads into each room. Anton swatted Varric's arm and pointed, and Varric followed his line of sight to the urn hovering in the air.

"That is very talented wind," drawled Fenris.

"You have got to be kidding me," said Varric, jaw dropping open as he stepped closer, swiping an arm under the urn and shaking his head.

"That would be a great party trick," Cormac said, squatting down next to the urn to get a closer look. His fingers glowed as he stuck his fingers under it, and he jerked back, with a stunned blink. "Okay, it goes without saying that this is Kirkwall, and there's a thousand years of terrifying shit buried under this city. But, this is... Blight take it, I wish we'd brought Anders. I really want Justice's opinion on this right about now."

"And I really wish whoever was singing would knock it off and show themselves," Varric muttered. 

Fenris looked around. "There's no one singing, Varric. Are we sure Bartrand wasn't catching? Does this sort of thing run in families? Not to be hopelessly rude, but there is really no one singing."

"No," Cormac said, standing up again. "He might be right. Whatever's in here may like him. Maybe he reminds it of Bartrand, but there's something here, and I don't know if it's a demon."

"What do you mean you 'don't know'? Is it likely?" Varric paused. "Right. It's Kirkwall. What am I thinking?"

"Demons," Artemis sighed. "Is it Marketday already?"

The urn fell back to the table with a hollow clunk, but Varric's attention was elsewhere, head tilted as he listened to a voice that wasn't there. "It sounds like it's coming from this way..." he muttered to himself, wandering back out into the hall. As he walked by it, a chair lifted from the floor and spun to stick upside-down on the ceiling. Anton muttered something about creepy magic shit.

Fenris stood directly under the chair and poked it with his sword. "Our house never did this, Amatus," he said over his shoulder.

"Are you disappointed?" Artemis asked. "I would be more than happy to throw some chairs at the ceiling when we get home."

Varric kept on walking, looking around. "We're getting closer," he said distractedly. "I can feel it." He pushed a door open at the end of the hall, Bianca ready in one hand. "Look at this," he huffed, shaking his head and gesturing the others inside. "My brother's junk was left here."

Inside the room was a clutter of furniture and crates, frames and paintings leaning against each other in a stack against the wall.

"Where else, exactly, would it go?" Fenris asked. "It was his house. Then it was your house. Now you've sold it, and the new owners are having ... difficulties moving in."

"Shit. You're right. I know you're right." Varric shook his head and poked at some of the stacked paintings. "You wouldn't know it, but Bartrand was a sentimentalist. This came from our estate in Orzammar. When I was seven, I knocked over one of Mother's plates and broke it. My brother yelled at me for an hour."

Anton laughed. "That sounds about right. I mean, if you assume I was the one knocking shit over." He hiked an eyebrow at Artemis.

"He'd knock shit over, you'd make fun of him, and I'd yell at you," Cormac clarified, rubbing his face. "It's amazing you're not more interested in punching me, after all that."

"Why would I punch you?" Anton asked, smiling sweetly as he could manage. "I'd just talk shit about you to Carver, and he'd do it for me."

"I may have even further regret about having found my sister," Fenris muttered. "Were the plates special, or was he just looking for an excuse?"

"Oh, they were... They wouldn't have been special in Orzammar. But, we weren't in Orzammar. Should've heard him. 'This was made by the artisans of House Saldras! The clay was from the Aedros Atuna river, which never saw the sun!'" Varric rolled his eyes and shook his head. "That stupid plate was the whole city of Orzammar to him." He trailed off, gaze turning inward.

A distant shriek caught their attention, and they all turned back towards the hall.

"What is going on, here?" Anton muttered.

Varric's brow smoothed in realisation, and he pushed his way past Anton, following the sound. "This isn't being caused by some random artefact," he called over his shoulder. "This idol is still in the house! It has to be."

"I thought Bartrand had sold it," Artie said.

"So did I," said Varric. "But I've just got this feeling..." 

Varric led the way through the house, barely sparing the bookcases a glance as books started flying off the shelves.

"Flying books," Fenris muttered. "Suddenly I am reminded of the Fade." And Isabela trying to pronounce Tevene. He cleared his throat, one ear twitching.

With a smirk, Artie turned to say something, turning just in time to see the vase as it came flying towards his face. It hit him square between the eyes, filling his vision with white starbursts. " _Andraste's flaming tits!_ " 

"Somebody's got a _death wish_ ," Cormac sang, glaive dropping into his hand, as he popped a snap and slung an arm back to meet it, reaching for Artemis with the other hand. "C'mere and let me see. Did it crack? You're not cut, are you?" He'd expected someone to get hit since the urn floated off that table, but he hadn't expected it to be Artie, and he sure as shit hadn't expected it to be _in the face_.

Fenris took it much less well, sword in his hand almost instantly as he whipped around, snarling, to face... nothing. Just like with the urn and the books. Doubly nothing, since Anton had vanished into some shadow, somewhere. "Anton? You should say something, or I'll assume the demons got you."

After a moment of no furnishings jumping out and attacking anyone else, Anton stepped out of the shadows, directly behind Fenris. "Please. Like any demons could catch me--" A book flew up, smacking him in the back of the head. He jumped, a dagger in one hand, the other rubbing his head.

Artie prodded at his face, eyes streaming. "I'm seeing three of you, Cormac," he said through his hands. "One of you is more than enough."

"Agreed," said Fenris and Varric at the same time.

Cormac snorted. "See if I keep you shielded," he scoffed, raising a barrier around himself and Artemis, as he brought what little healing he had to bear. "Should've brought Anders," he muttered, yet again.

"You shit!" Anton hissed, ducking under another book.

"Put your back to a wall, and you'll stop having this problem," Cormac pointed out, without looking away from Artemis's rapidly bruising cheek. Sweat broke out across his forehead, as he worked. He'd never been good at this, but he'd _always_ taken care of Artie. "Isn't that what you always used to tell me?"

Artemis leaned into the hand soothing healing magic into his face. He blinked and squinted, wiping his eyes. "Ah, only one Cormac now. Thank you, Maker." He squeezed Cormac's hand and pulled it away when his face stopped smarting. Anton was still cursing and swatting away books.


	271. Chapter 271

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go from interesting to worse. The house stops throwing furniture and starts throwing larger things.

"Hold on," Varric said. He hefted Bianca and shot down one of the books, pinning it to the wall. He stepped closer, peering at the title, and swore under his breath. "Son of a bitch. This is one of mine. This crazy house is attacking us with _my books_."

" _Us_?" repeated Anton. He grabbed one book out of the air and used it to bludgeon the other books.

"Well. You." Varric shrugged.

After taking a moment to watch Anton flail a bit, Artie clenched a fist, and the books were sucked to the floor, where their pages flapped uselessly.

Cormac let the barrier fall, as the books ceased to be at head height. He looked at a few covers as he made his way down the hall. "They are...! These are all Varric's books! I had no idea you'd gotten quite this, er, prolific."

"Because you're missing out on the finest literature to come out of the Marches, obviously," Varric told him. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe mentioning to a friend that you are unfamiliar with the breadth of his catalogue might be taken amiss?"

"Not once. Better you should know that up front." Cormac laughed.

"I couldn't get a copy of the last one!" Anton complained, kicking a few books out of the way. "Serendipity and I tried every bookseller in Kirkwall, but they were all sold out!"

"When did you go?" Varric asked.

"As soon as it was supposed to come out! We were sure of it!" Anton squinted at the books on the floor. "And there are four copies of it right here. Move your foot, Cormac. I'm taking one of those with me."

Fenris twisted to read the book's title around Cormac's foot and then Anton's hand. "I did not know you were looking for that one," he said. "We have the full series." He offered Anton a wry look. "Artemis would not display it if we were missing one."

"I would too!" Artemis protested. "I just... wouldn't be as happy about it."

Shaking his head, Varric continued on, stepping around the books. "Well, I know what to get everyone for Wintersend this year," he said. He kicked open the door into the main hall. "Better duck, Nervy. We have some more dancing vases."

Artemis stepped behind Cormac.

A glow built along Cormac's limbs, brightening as he strode into the room, glaive first, and started crushing the vases into dust. "I realise that I've very likely just destroyed antiquities in the range that I could never hope to afford, but I'd like to think the continued safety of the faces of my friends and family far outweigh such concerns. Besides, I don't expect they'd have made it anyway, with whatever blatantly pissed off Fade-creature is traipsing around in here winging them at us."

"Not really worried about the furnishings, Shouty. Bartrand's too far gone to have any concerns, and I never really liked the look of those ones, anyway. I'm not much for dwarven crafts. Give me Antivan, any day." Varric reloaded Bianca, as he talked, trusting the sudden silence to get him through at least that.

Fenris looked toward the stairs. "Do you hear that?"

"Not you, too," Anton groused, checking for more flying furnishings, as he made his way across the room.

"No, no, not singing. I thought I heard a scream." Sword still in hand, Fenris jogged toward the stairs. "Someone might be in here. An actual someone, not just... ghosts or demons or whatever this is."

Fenris scaled the stairs two steps at a time and tore open the door at the top. Anton had disappeared again by the time he got there.

A woman peeked out at Fenris from around the dresser, where she'd been huddling. "Are you real?" she said in a tremulous voice. She dashed up to Fenris, glancing nervously over his shoulder. "You've got to get out of here before it comes back!"

"It?" Fenris asked, only for Varric to push past him.

"Where's the idol?" asked Varric, an edge in his voice.

The woman recoiled. "What idol?"

"Don't waste my time with your lies!" Varric snarled, a strange light in his eyes. "Tell me where it is!"

"Varric," Fenris said. "Calm down. I don't think she knows anything." He exchanged a look with Artemis.

"She's hiding something!" Varric insisted. "Don't lie to me! I know it's here! You must have found it!"

The woman cowered back. "I swear, I don't know anything about an idol! Please!"

The ground trembled and the walls shook. Cormac shot a look at Artemis, but his brother didn't look upset, which meant this was actually serious. "Ah..." He looked over his shoulder, turning slowly.

"Maker, no!" the woman cried out. "It's starting again!" She ran out into the hall, unarmed, trying to get to the door.

"Wait!" Fenris called after her, but it was too late. The woman was halfway down the stairs when the golem shimmered into being in the middle of the front hall, and she didn't make it past.

Fenris threw himself over the railing, sword in his hands, and Varric fired on the thing.

"Are you insane?" Cormac shouted, bringing up a shield around Fenris, as he dropped to the ground. "Shields aren't meant for that kind of impact!"

The woman's screams became gurgles and then stopped, as the golem squeezed her, and then threw her aside, turning to face its attackers.

"Okay, I've met golems. I ruined some very nice knives on golems. Golems do not magically appear in the middle of the room." Anton looked over the balcony rail in horror. "They do that, though. Ogres do that, too. Have I mentioned, recently, how glad I am that ogre didn't do that to you?"

"Not in a couple of years, but thank you." Cormac still wasn't quite certain what qualified as a vulnerability on a golem, but he focused on compressing any part of it he could get a grip on.

"That's not just a golem, that's..." Artie squinted at the thing even as his lightning arced through it, lighting it up from the inside. "I don't even know what that is. It's translucent. It's a translucent golem. What the actual fuck."

Fenris snarled and blazed bright blue, stepping onto the same side of the Veil as the golem as he charged, sword swinging in a punishing arc. The creature roared, chunks of translucent rock shearing off. It turned to swat at Fenris, but the elf had already darted past, out of range.

Anton slid out of the shadows on the other side, trying to find a weak spot in the not-golem and knowing he was going to have to replace these daggers after. Annoying.

Blades, bolts, and magic came at the golem from all sides, and it staggered, catching itself with a hand on the ground. Its fingers dug into the floor, and when it straightened, it brought a chunk of the floor with it.

"Get back," Artie warned Fenris and Anton as the golem turned, aiming its new projectile at the balcony, where the mages and archer were spread out. As the golem wound up to throw the chunk of flooring, however, Artie clenched his fist again, and it overbalanced, slamming on its back into the ground.

"How's your aim feeling? That looked pretty good," Cormac muttered, squinting down at the golem. He wrapped a barrier around its head to keep it down. "Because I'm thinking you can shake it apart. Just, you know, hit the golem, not the wall, or we're all going to die." He laughed and tried to squeeze an ice spell into the cracks in the stone.

"Did you just suggest we bet our lives on Nervy's aim?" Varric asked, pulling something out of his bag and shaking it violently. "Clear!" he shouted, giving Anton and Fenris a few seconds to reconsider anything they might have been considering before he lobbed the bottle down at the golem. A decent-sized fireball followed, with enough force to shake the chandelier and rattle the stair-rails.

Cormac tried the ice again, getting a better grip, this time. "I really think we can take it apart. I just don't know what's going to happen, if we do. Spirit golem? Is that even a thing? Balls, balls, and the balls of which I am most fond, why in the blighted fuck did we not bring Anders?"

"He was whining about his potions and his patients, again," Varric said with a shrug, trying not to think too much about the balls of anyone in the room.

"I really wish we had Justice here, to make this make sense..." Cormac shot a glance at Artemis. "Artie? Earthquakes? You're looking a little contemplative, over there."

"Well." Artie cleared his throat, peering over the rail. "I was just thinking, maybe the golem should buy me a drink first." He dropped an earthquake on the golem before anyone else in the room could make a smart comment.

The ground trembled, and the golem shook, rocks knocking together and shaking loose. Light rippled through the creature, crackling over it like lightning, and the golem fell into pieces -- six large pieces that shifted into six shades.

"Uh," said Artie, the ground still shaking. "Well, at least that's a shape I'm more familiar with."

"I don't need to be familiar with six of them," Varric muttered, shooting the one closest to him through the head. It disintegrated. "Then again, this is easier than the ghost golem thing."

"I have no idea what you just did, but thank you!" Anton called, digging his blades into the back of a shade.

"That is not how golems work," Cormac declared, squinting down at the shades as he drove a wall of ice through them.


	272. Chapter 272

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric finds what he's looking for. Fenris talks him out of keeping it.

The lack of golem didn't last long, though, and the remaining shades dove toward each other, once again, bringing up a smaller, more translucent golem, this time. It stretched and batted at Anton, who was trying to scramble out of the way, knocking him into a wall hard enough to be heard on the landing.

"No!" Cormac barked, as if he were scolding the dog, before returning to spells that were distinctly not the sort of thing he'd use on the dog. He clenched his fist and seconds later, wobbled as the ice sputtered into a dusting of snow at his fingertips. "Shit. Blighted shit. Damnable blighted shit, why did we not bring Anders?" he rambled, clawing at his bag until he found a lyrium potion. He supposed there were other ways to handle this, but lyrium was probably less dangerous than getting decked by a golem, at least in these quantities. Again, he forced the ice into the cracks that had opened when he squeezed its foot, widening the gaps.

Artemis threw in spells where he could, exploiting the cracks Cormac was making and tossing another earthquake at the golem, once it had moved away from Anton. Between the two of them, they were able to break the creature apart, ghost-rock and ice clattering to the floor. Fenris kept his sword raised, waiting for more shades -- or for something else -- to appear out of the wreckage. It didn't. Not even after Fenris poked the phantom golem-bits with his sword.

"Anton, you all right?" Artie called over the railing.

Anton lay where he landed, but he looked up at his brother. "I'm seeing two of you," he drawled. "One is more than enough."

Artemis chuffed and looked at Cormac. "I know. Should have brought Anders," he said before trotting down the stairs to check on his idiot brother.

Varric came up beside Fenris, head tilted curiously as he bent to pick up something from the debris. It glowed red in the palm of his hand. "This... this is a piece of the idol," he said. He barked a laugh and shook his head. "I should have known Bartrand would lie to me. Of course he'd keep a piece of the statue for himself."

"Varric? I hope to the holy name of Andraste you're wearing gloves if you're touching that thing!" Cormac called out, kneeling beside Anton. "You'd best hope two of me are better at healing than one of me."

"Think of what we could do with this!" Varric went on, gazing rapturously at the red shard in his hand.

"Like going mad? I'm absolutely sure that's something we could do with that." Fenris's grip on his sword remained firm. For all that he would prefer to get through this without stabbing Varric, he had no intention of ending up a victim of another lyrium-mad dwarf.

"I'm not my brother, Fenris!" Varric looked up, annoyed. "The idol drove him mad, but this is just one tiny piece!"

"We don't know _how_ the idol drove him mad, Varric," Cormac said, loudly, not looking away from where he was flashing his fingers at Anton and checking for any more damage. "Lucky you're not dead. Sorry. I just didn't see it coming."

"Neither did I!" Anton laughed and rubbed the side of his head Cormac's hand wasn't on. "I just got caught up on that busted statue... Should've made it. Three fingers."

"I need this thing!" Varric said, clenching the idol piece in his fist. "Six years of my life have gone into this!"

"Oh, this sounds familiar," Artemis muttered. "Looks familiar, too. Just add a beard. Varric, maybe you should put that down."

Varric narrowed his eyes at Artie. "The shard is my only hope of curing Bartrand," he said, only clutching it tighter. "It's my only chance to set any of this right."

Artemis glanced at his brothers, where Anton was still rubbing his head but looking less cross-eyed. He tried to think of what he would do if any of his siblings had been affected that way. Cormac was arguably crazy, anyway, but that was without the lyrium. "No one's saying you can't keep it, Varric," he said, patting the air. No one was saying he should, either, but. "Just... set it down for now? Where you found it? Until we can figure out what to do with it?"

"He's right," Anton said, batting Cormac's hands away, as he sat up, dusting crushed vase and broken stone off his shirt. "If it means that much to you, you can keep the shard of craziness, but we have to make sure it's not going to bite any of us in the ass. Most of all you, since you're actually touching it."

"Put it down and go wash your hands," Cormac urged. "I don't know if that will help, but I'm pretty sure it won't hurt. I'll try to figure out how to carry it. It's processed, obviously, so it's less dangerous, as far as lyrium goes, but most lyrium isn't _red_. The delusions, well, that's pretty typical lyrium poisoning, unfortunately."

"Please, Varric," Fenris said, softly. "Of all of us, hear me." He held out his hands and the lines in them lit, tracing up his arms. "We've already identified it as lyrium, or mostly lyrium anyway, and you shouldn't be touching it, even if you are a dwarf. You're not your brother, but think of how quickly it got to him. I am familiar with the effects of lyrium. Quite personally. And even I haven't touched it in a state in which it would do that to someone, nor will I now."

Varric nodded, looking from one to the next of his friends. "If I put this down, you're not going to destroy it or steal it or something?"

"As much as I would firmly urge you to have it destroyed, I don't know how," Cormac said, with a shrug. "And if nothing else, you may be right about it being the key to Bartrand's troubles. At the very least, it'll give us an idea of what it did to him, assuming the answer isn't demons, which I'm pretty sure it's not. I think Justice might've noticed that."

"It's just about always demons," Anton sighed. "But it's bound to be something else at some point. I think we've used up most of Kirkwall's demons."

"Don't." Artemis cringed. "Don't say that. That's how we end up with _more_ demons."

Varric looked down at the lyrium in his hand, watched the way it reflected the light. "Right," he muttered, scrunching his eyes closed a moment. "Not destroying it. Just setting it down." Slowly, he placed the idol piece back where he'd found it. Fenris motioned for him to step back from it, and Varric did. Artie let out the breath he'd been holding.

"So," Anton said. "Now that the crazy shard is back on the floor, what do we do? It's not going to form another weird ghost-golem thing, is it? Because being slammed into the wall once was plenty for me, thank you."

"Lyrium is lyrium," Fenris said, finally sheathing his sword. "Maybe we should ask a dwarf." 

Varric made a face and threw out his hands.

Fenris gave him a flat look. "You are as much of a dwarf as I am an elf," he said.

"Is this because I don't have a beard? That's stereotyping, Fenris."

"No, it's because you're the least dwarfy dwarf in all of Thedas," Cormac laughed. "About the only thing you and actual dwarves have in common is height and chest hair."

Varric tried to scowl, really he did, but the laugh ruined it, and he hung his head, leaning forward, as his shoulders shook with it. "Really, though. What do we do with it?"

"You live with a rather talented runecrafter, do you not?" Fenris said, with a glance at Cormac and Anton.

"We do." Anton nodded, checking to make sure he wasn't missing any blades. "But, he's not really the most talkative person. I'm sure he knows a great deal, but he seems to be limited to expressing things in terms of 'enchantment'."

"We could ask Bodhan," Cormac pointed out. "He might not work with it, but he does have to buy it and transport it for Sandal."

"There's an idea," said Artie, pointing at Cormac. "Bodhan is a much dwarfier dwarf."

Varric scoffed. "Then let's get out of here and talk to him. I've seen enough of this damnable house to last three lifetimes." He looked around at the mess, at the debris of the golem and shattered attack-vases, and shuddered. He could use some air, anyway. "And I'll have you know that Sandal doesn't have a beard either."

"Still dwarfier than you," said Fenris, clapping Varric on the shoulder and nudging him towards the door.


	273. Chapter 273

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen learns about bureaucratic magic. Anders has some concerns about Varric's continued mental health.

"Captain," Keran said, arms full of paperwork he was sorting into the file cabinets in Cullen's office, "I know I've said it before, but it is a joy to have you back."

"Is that because you're not doing my job as well as yours, any more?" Cullen asked, pulling another report that jutted from the middle of a pile and adding it to the stack of reports of the same type.

"It's because I'm actually allowed to do my job," Keran grumbled, cramming bundles of paper into the drawers. "Time to start moving things downstairs, again."

"It can't possibly be. How many months was that? Not nearly enough. She really is trying to drown us in paperwork, isn't she?" Cullen slumped, hanging his head over the back of his chair. After a moment, he sat up, eyes clear. "Allowed to do your job? I heard Lieutenant... _Denis_ was my temporary replacement. Carver had some things to say on the subject, but Carver's... You know Carver."

"I do know Carver. And I know ... _Denis_." Keran let that pause hang a long time. "It was like he was trying to make sure you'd be buried under the paper, when you got back. He set me to patrolling the alienage, looking for elven apostates! Like anyone's going to cast a spell in front of a man in platemail?"

Cullen thought about the Hawkes, and the number of spells they cast in front of him, with or without platemail. He swallowed and went back to shuffling the paper around. "Well, you never know," he said neutrally.

"I do know," said Keran. "And even without the platemail, do you know who elves aren't going to talk to? 'Shem', apparently. Have you ever been called a 'Buckethead Shemlen'? Because that was a new one, for me."

Cullen tried not to smile at that. He did. If he wanted someone to look into something in the alienage, he would've gone to Carver. The elves were, at least, used to his presence, and many even seemed to like him. "No, I can't say I've had that pleasure," he drawled. "Though I've been called worse things. Some by my husband, actually."

Keran looked up from the stack of files he was sifting through, cutting one hand through the air. "Don't need to know, Captain. Don't want to know, Captain."

"How's your girlfriend?" Cullen asked, after a long pause. "Speaking of things we didn't need or want to know about each other..."

Keran had the manners to blush, remembering how Cullen had found out about that. "She's... ah... she's not Tranquil. I haven't been able to see her, much, since I got moved out to the streets, but you're back, now, and you can see her handiwork on your desk."

"And I thank her for that. Where did she learn that? Do you know?" Cullen asked, increasingly curious about what other bureaucratic problems might be solved with magic. If that wasn't magic serving man, he didn't know what would be.

"Starkhaven. Apparently, it's a local speciality, like the mages here with throwing things." Keran grinned and wedged the last stack into the back of the correct drawer. "She tells me there's all kinds of magic that can be done with ink and paper -- that it's some combination of healing, summoning, and throwing things."

"Creation and Force." Cullen had been around enough to recognise the descriptions, at least, and attach them to the names of the schools. "I'm actually really interested in how that works, and what else she can do with it. Starkhaven must have had the neatest archives in Thedas."

"Well, she did show me a neat trick, one day. She told me to write her a letter and hide it in the lamp next to her door, and then give her a few sheets of blank paper." Keran leaned back against the file cabinets and folded his arms. "And then she went into her room without looking at the letter at all, and handed me an exact copy of it, after a few minutes. I got my letter and put it next to the other one, and they were the same. It might as well have been me writing it twice, but more exactly than I could have. She said something about it being the same magic that she uses to look for words in these reports, but instead of moving them based on what she finds, she just summons ink in the same pattern onto a new sheet. She can read through closed doors, Captain, as long as she knows where to find the document."

Cullen stared at Keran, then down at the papers on his desk. "She can do that?" he asked. "Magic can do that?" She could be reading a copy of what was on his desk right now, if she wanted to. Granted, she was the one who put that copy there, but.

"Yes!" Keran replied, nodding emphatically and grinning. "It's incredible! I could ask her to show you, if you like."

Cullen continued to shuffle with the paper in front of him without reading it, just to give his hands something to do. He suddenly had a terrible feeling. "She can copy documents without looking at them, and she learned how to do this in Starkhaven." There had been other mages transferred from the Starkhaven Circle, or there were supposed to be.

"Yes," said Keran again, his smile slipping at the look on Cullen's face. "Captain, is something the matter?"

"Starkhaven. As soon as I can see my desk, pull the files for the transfers from Starkhaven. The full files. I want to see the transfer letters for them, too," Cullen said, attacking the paperwork on his desk with new vigour. "I have a very bad feeling, and I would like very much to find out that I am wrong."

"Captain?" Keran asked, eyebrow drifting upward.

"I need to see it before I try to explain it. If I'm wrong, I don't need to be worrying you for nothing." Cullen shook his head, but he was strangely certain he was correct. If the Commander was aware of this particular Starkhaven talent, that might explain a few disappearances. He couldn't imagine that someone as intent on violating Chantry law as she seemed to be would want record of that getting out, however carefully disguised that record might be. He'd been watching long enough to start to see the hallmarks of her hand in things she'd sworn she had no part of, and she was getting less and less discreet as time went on.

* * *

* * *

Anders thought he was being subtle, the way he was watching Varric. The dwarf had just finished telling his latest story -- to much applause -- and Anders brought him a drink. "I thought you must have worked up quite a thirst," he said, sliding the tankard across the table and sitting across from Varric with one of his own. "So... how many golems did you say you fought? Or were they shades? I was a bit confused on that point."

"Believe me, so was the golem," Varric huffed. He tapped Anders's tankard with his and took a drink, never taking his eyes of the mage. "Go ahead, Blondie."

"What?" Anders asked, all innocence.

Varric waved a hand, slouching back in his chair. "I'm sure one of the Brothers Hawke told you about the shard, and now you want to make sure there are no 'ill effects'." He tapped a finger to his temple and raised an eyebrow. "Don't make that face, Blondie. You never come here on a Satinday, and you're doing that nervous, twitchy thing that Nervy usually does, picking at the edge of the table."

Anders stopped poking at a knot in the wood and slipped his hands under the table. "Am not."

"Don't worry, Blondie. I'm being careful with the shard. Promise."

Anders shrugged and looked like he might be trying to find the next sentence. Instead, he found the knife he kept at the small of his back, and he leaned across the table, driving it into the wood, between Varric's hands.

Varric, not being an idiot, leapt back, knocking over his chair to get out of the way of the crazed mage with the knife, who was still, just watching him. "What in the name of all my ancestors was that about?" he shouted, before leaning over to pick up the chair.

"Had to make sure you weren't possessed. Demons defend themselves. So do spirits. It's quite visible." Anders struggled to get the blade out of the wood.

And that, Varric had to admit, was probably a fair point. He'd seen Justice get angry about Anders's safety. "My father's father's teeth!" he swore, shaking off the chill sweat that had burst out across his chest. "I'm not possessed. Not even a little."

"I'm happy to hear it," Anders said cheerfully. And he was. He hadn't been sure what he'd do if Varric _had_ turned out to be possessed. "And you can stop looking at me like that. The knife's going away, now." He slipped the knife back into his belt.

"And I'm happy to hear _that_ ," Varric muttered. He took a long drink, still eyeing the mage. "Anything else you want to test while I'm here?"

Anders grinned. "I'll let you know. And you're getting the next round."


	274. PART L: ARRIVALS FROM AFAR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elthina has some concerns about a possible Exalted March. Bethany and Sebastian agree to meet with an agent of the Divine. Anders is delighted to be invited along.

"Lady Amell." The sister looked away from the conversation she was having with a distraught lesser noble and nodded at Bethany.

Bethany smiled and returned the nod, catching the end of what the noblewoman was yelling about. "-- grandchildren! Jatia is my only child and she's not getting any prettier!"

"You must be patient, my dear. I'm sure Jatia has a wonderful personality," the sister reassured her.

The noblewoman threw her hands up. "What man cares about personality!?"

"The kind that won't give you grandchildren," Bethany said, as she passed. "In fact, I'm on my way to see one of those, right now." With a wink, she made her way toward the altar, where she could see Sebastian speaking with the Grand Cleric.

"The First Enchanter oversteps his bounds!" Sebastian insisted, crossing his arms.

"He was provoked." Elthina sounded tired.

"The people want to know which side you favour," Sebastian insisted. "It weakens you."

"Strength will not win this fight, Sebastian." Elthina smiled gently. "If the Maker is merciful, he will help them find peace. We can only be waiting when they do."

Bethany could see the frustration in the set of Sebastian's jaw. "Do you never intend to give a public answer, Your Grace?"

Elthina shrugged. "What have I been asked?"

"About the mages! You could calm this fire if you stepped forward."

But Elthina shook her head. "The Chantry's teachings are clear. Those who turn against them would not listen more to me than to Andraste."

"Mage this, templar that," Bethany singsonged as she approached. She slipped her hand into the crook of Sebastian's arm, and his expression softened. "Is there anywhere in Kirkwall people don't talk about this?"

Sebastian squeezed Bethany's hand. "The last time mages rebelled against the Chantry, they ended up ruling Tevinter," he said. "You know that. We can't just ignore them."

Bethany's sweet smile told Sebastian that, yes, they could.

"I did not expect things to deteriorate so fast. I thought after the Qunari, no one would wish for more violence." Elthina shook her head and looked at Bethany, before her eyes moved back to Sebastian. "It has drawn more attention than I would like. Sebastian, if I may ask--"

"Anything, Your Grace," Sebastian assured her, flustered by the chance to be of service, at last.

"And perhaps you as well, Lady Amell?" Elthina asked.

"You may _ask_ me anything, Grand Cleric," Bethany replied, snapping her fan open across the lower half of her face. The implication, she hoped, was sufficiently clear.

"You honour me," Elthina replied, with a shallow bow. "The Divine is concerned about the situation here. She does not want to see the Free Marches become another Imperium. She has sent an agent to ... assess the danger. Meet with her, please. Tell her drastic measures won't be required."

"I certainly don't want to see the Divine's armies march against Kirkwall," Bethany said, nodding. 

"Surely the Divine wouldn't treat the whole city as enemies?" Sebastian looked mildly horrified at the idea, if a bit disbelieving.

"The Exalted Marches of the past say otherwise," Bethany pointed out. "If the city is contaminated with heresy, it must all be rooted out and destroyed."

"She is concerned," Elthina said, resting a hand on Sebastian's arm. "It is never wise to draw the concern of the powerful."

"She is the voice of Andraste! She cannot turn the might of the Chantry against the innocent due to ... proximity!"

"Were no innocents harmed in the Exalted Marches?" Elthina pointed out. "She will do her best, Sebastian, but she must act first to protect the faith."

"But I am sure it won't come to that, after we have spoken to this agent," Bethany assured them both. "Your Grace, what can you tell me about this servant of the Divine?"

Elthina looked grateful. "I was not told her real name, only to call her Sister Nightingale." She drew in a breath. "She is said to be the Divine's left hand, sent to do work that might blacken the Divine's name."

Well, that was interesting. Bethany fluttered her fan in front of her face as she considered. Perhaps she ought to talk to Anton about this. "And do you have any advice on how she might be persuaded?"

"The Divine has heard my protests already," Elthina said tiredly. "I must trust your own powers of persuasion now."

"Then this should not wait," Bethany replied. She squeezed Sebastian's arm, and he smiled tenderly, thankfully, down at her.

"Thank you," he said softly. "We cannot allow this... mage rebellion to turn into holy war."

"The agent, Sister Nightingale," said Elthina, "will be waiting in the viscount's throne room tonight. She wishes to remain... unseen."

Bethany's eyebrows rose. "Has anyone even been in there since the Qunari invasion?"

"The room has been sealed," Elthina told her. "It may be difficult to get in without attracting attention."

Bethany simply smiled. "I doubt that will be a problem," she said, offering her arm to Sebastian. "Come, Sebastian. We're going to be late for tea with my brother and the Knight-Captain."

 

* * *

 

"An agent of the Divine!" Anders marvelled, on the steps of the keep. "And you just... thought of me? I could kiss you, Bethany, but all of your brothers would beat me bloody and I'd never get laid again."

Sebastian cleared his throat.

"You don't actually worry me as much as you think you should, Chantry Boy. You're standing too close to shoot me." Anders laughed, quietly, squeaking when Isabela slipped in behind him and pinched his ass.

"You truly are missing out on the best the Hawkes have to offer," Isabela assured Anders, wrapping an arm around his waist as she ducked under the arm that held his staff.

"I'm going to pretend you mean me, Izzy, just so I don't have to beat my head against this statue until I forget you said that," Anton said, slipping out of the shadows at the far side of the stairs. "Late night break-ins? Sneaking around? Spies working for the Divine? You knew I couldn't stay away."

"Oh, I thought Cullen might have kept you in with his _profound virtues_ ," Bethany joked, with a sly glance at her brother. 

"Oh, if we're talking about virtues, it doesn't get more profound than Anders's virtue," Isabela volunteered, and Anders looked like he was seriously considering whether he could become part of the stone of the steps. Maybe he should have studied a bit more earth magic.

"I do hope you're talking about Justice," Anders groaned.

"If that's what we're calling it," Isabela said with a mischievous smirk. "And if that's what you mean by 'doing Justice'."

Anders passed a hand over his eyes but could not unsee the pained look on Sebastian's face.

"Beginning to wish I _had_ stayed away," Anton groaned. He passed them on the stairs and pulled open the keep's heavy doors in an attempt to escape this conversation.

Inside, the night guard greeted him with a smile and a nod of his head. "Champion," he said, and Anton replied with his most charming smile. 

"Good evening, Maecon!" Anton said. "Did you draw the short straw tonight?"

Maecon laughed, dipping his head self-consciously. "I must've," he said. "Doesn't matter. I'm off in an hour, anyway."

The guards were used to seeing him come and go from the keep, visiting Aveline, and as Anton and the others walked by, Maecon didn't even stop to question them. Aveline would probably thrash him for it, if she saw, but Anton wasn't about to complain.

Bethany walked close to her brother as they walked down the hall. She knew that he was thinking the same thing, that they hadn't been in this part of the keep since the battle with the Arishok. It was unsettling, standing in front of these doors again.

"Sealed off, like Elthina said," Sebastian murmured after trying the knobs. He shook his head. "A strange place for a holy sister to be."

Anton and Isabela stepped forward at the same time, eyeing each other. At the end of a brief, nearly silent scuffle, they bumped the doors, which swung open.

"That was mine," Anton declared, barely above a whisper.

"Liar," Isabela accused.

"Professionally," Anton agreed, and they walked into the antechamber, patting each other on the back.

"I shouldn't ask, should I?" Sebastian's eyebrow arced up.

"No, you really shouldn't. Any answer you get, at this point, _I'll_ regret hearing." Anders shook his head and followed, leaving Bethany and Sebastian to bring up the rear.

As Anton and Isabela held open the next set of doors for the other three, a group of mages -- obviously mages, to judge by the staves -- made their way down the stairs from the throne.

"So, even the Divine fears us, now." The mage leading the group smiled proudly. "She should."

Anton and Isabela shut the doors and barred them, meaning to keep whatever this turned into from spilling out into the rest of the keep.


	275. Chapter 275

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Politics, politics, and wild parties some people are sorry they missed, even as others are grateful.

Anton and Isabela shut the doors and barred them, meaning to keep whatever this turned into from spilling out into the rest of the keep.

"Kill the--" The leader's eyes lit on Anders. "Anders? What are you doing here?"

"Negotiating with the Divine," Anders replied. "What is more fear going to do for us, Cecile? If they're afraid of us, they'll push even harder to have us locked away or killed."

"Then they will learn we cannot be contained!" Cecile insisted, slamming her staff against the stone steps. The red carpet down the centre dulled the sound.

"Then we will _die_ ," Anders replied. "And we _can_ be contained. Look at us. How many of you know how to use those staves for anything but magic? What happens when the templars come? What happens if the Divine gets wind of this and decides the city needs an Exalted March to bring it back in line? You're going to get us all killed, and they'll start with the ones who _can't_ escape! If we go to the Divine, she'll fix this. The Knight-Commander is breaking the _law_. And Elthina does nothing, but the Divine will. I have to believe that she will, or she would have made a move to change the law."

Sebastian threw Anders a surprised look.

"Anders," Cecile scoffed, shaking her head at him pityingly. "You still put that much faith in the Chantry?" She spat out that last word. "After all that's happened? You're many things, Anders, but I didn't think you were naive. The Divine won't side with us. The Divine won't _listen_ to us. Now, unless you're going to help me, back away."

Anton exchanged a look with Bethany, and she nodded, lips twitching up at the corner. He slipped into the shadows, and she flexed her fingers, reaching for her magic.

"I can't do that, Cecile," Anders said sadly. "Not when there is so much at stake."

Cecile lifted her chin, raised her staff, and finished the command she'd started to give before: "Kill the spies!" But this last word ended in a shriek as she clutched her head, staff falling to clatter down the stairs and rolling to a stop on the carpet.

Behind Cecile, the other mages clutched their heads too or dropped to their knees. Sebastian saw Bethany's hand raised out of the corner of his eye. This woman never ceased to amaze and frighten him.

Anders rushed forward to help the fallen mages down the stairs, laying them side by side along the rug that ran from the base of the stairs to the door. Gathering their staves, he leaned those in a corner of the first landing, where he could still see them, and none of the mages could reach them. They'd have to have a talk about this, but later.

"Anton, go grab some curtain ties or something, and give your sister a break," Anders said, kneeling beside the row of mages, to check for injuries. On the forearms of two, he found slashes and scarring consistent with one of two conclusions -- either blood magic or attempted suicide. Or both, and that was the most terrifying prospect of all. Both implied an active desire to become an arcane horror, and he'd... missed that, thankfully, at Kinloch Hold, but Solona and Cullen hadn't. Demons were never the solution. They couldn't be allowed to become the solution.

Anton and Sebastian made quick work of tying the mages down, as Anders tried to explain what was happening.

"Resolutionists," he said, as if that explained everything. When all he got were blank stares, he tried again. "In the Circles, there are, they call them Fraternities, but I'm not sure how much 'brotherhood' you could find in all that backstabbing ... I suppose you could say political factions, each pushing for a different future for magic. The Loyalists believe the model we have now works. The Aequitarians believe mages should hold themselves to higher standards and shame the templars into proper behaviour or something. The Libertarians -- that's me, for the record -- believe in freedom and self-determination for all mages, and a split of the Circle from templar oversight. And the Resolutionists... they're extremists. I understand them, we come from the same base ideas, but I don't like them. They're fighting oppression with terror. It's not going to end well for anyone, and those least involved in the rebellion are going to suffer first, because there's no one to protect them. And then there's the Lucrosians, and they're just in it for the money."

"I'm not sure I understand the difference," Sebastian admitted, after a moment. "Magic is dangerous. Mages are dangerous. You really should be locked up for everyone's safety, possibly even your own. 'Self-determination' is just going to lead to a reign of terror, no matter how it begins. The demons will come, and without the templars, without the walls of the Circle, what will be there to protect anyone?"

Bethany cleared her throat. "Sebastian, have you stopped to consider the words coming out of your mouth?"

"You're different!" Sebastian insisted. "You're not like them!"

"You're right. I'm not. Because I have a good family, and I don't live in fear." Bethany waved a hand and cleared the spell she'd cast, and the mages became less tense, panting and blinking as their minds returned to them. "Fear turns people into savages. If you back a sweet dog into a corner and yell and shake a rolled pamphlet in its face, you'll get bit. If you lock people in cages and tell them they're cursed and should never have been born, well... you'll get bit, but it'll be much worse than any dog. But, just like you can recover a dog, you can recover a person. Just look at Anders. The man should be canonised for his work. Or Fenris, who is kind and relatively righteous, despite his history."

Sebastian sighed and rubbed at his forehead. "And you don't think that is a bit of an exaggeration?" he asked. "The Circle is not without its flaws, of course, but..." He trailed off, letting the thought disappear as he looked past Bethany at the door behind her.

A red-haired woman leaned against the door-frame, a pair of daggers at her back and a smirk on her lips. "Oh, please," she said, speaking with an Orlesian accent, "do not let me interrupt. I find this quite fascinating." He pushed off the door-frame. "I see you have handled the Resolutionists--"

"Leliana?" Isabela's voice cut through hers.

Leliana's eyes went round as saucers. "Isabela?"

Sebastian looked back and forth between them, while Anton bit his lip around a grin.

"'Sister Nightingale', indeed," laughed Isabela, cocking her hip and looking Leliana up and down. "I remember it didn't take much to make you sing."

Leliana laughed nervously, blushing and rubbing the back of her neck.

"Wait, wait." Anders stood up, hands out. "You... and _her_?"

"Oh, yes. And Solona and Zevran. It was quite a party." Isabela laughed and Anders looked horrified.

"And you didn't invite me? Is that what I was hearing all night? Andraste's flaming tits, I've been blaming that elf this whole-- that was Zevran? Why do I not remember that being Zevran? Perhaps even more importantly, why do I not remember that being Solona? And again, why didn't you invite me!?" Anders clutched at his chest, stricken.

"I don't think I knew you, then. Not for almost another year, wasn't it? Didn't I meet you on your way out of Ferelden?" Isabela asked.

"Ah, I don't remember. I spent so much time at the Pearl, it's a miracle the templars didn't get me sooner than they did." Anders shook his head. "You still should have invited me. I was gorgeous. I'm still gorgeous."

"You live in the sewer, and I'm not letting you any closer to my cousin than you've already been," Anton protested. "And can we please stop talking about things my cousin may or may not have done with two beautiful women and an elf?"

"Would I be wrong to assume the Resolutionists are behind the unrest, here?" Leliana asked, suddenly changing the subject, to Anton's lasting relief.

Bethany stepped around Sebastian and her brother, presenting herself to Leliana with a deep curtsy. "Bethany Hawke, Lady Amell," she introduced herself. "I believe the blame might more rightly be placed at the door of the Knight-Commander. Not the Templar Order, but the Knight-Commander, herself. My brother has gathered evidence that she has repeatedly violated Chantry law in her pursuit of 'order'. I trust you remembered to bring copies, Anton?"

Anton pulled a bundle of paper out of the front of his shirt. "If the accusations are brought from above, they will find support in the ranks," he said. "I did not find all this alone."

"Ah, but the Divine sent me to investigate the possibility of a rebellion in Kirkwall. The Divine has long suspected Kirkwall's problems were spurred by an outside group." Leliana accepted the papers, weighing them in her hand. "But, you say it is a problem from within? From within not just the city, but the very Templar Order?"

"The Knight-Commander takes extreme measures," Anders answered. "She uses Tranquillity as a punishment, and the mages fear for their lives." Sebastian held up a hand, opened his mouth as though to argue, and Anders pointed a finger in his direction. "Don't you start. I want a peaceful solution to this too, and the only way to do that is by disposing of Meredith."

"Dispose?" Sebastian asked, a touch loudly, his eyebrows arcing towards his hairline.

"Or at the very least _de_ pose," Anders replied. "Don't look so scandalised. Better her than the whole city."

Leliana listened, her expression carefully neutral as she slipped Anton's papers into her vest. "I will look into this," she said. "Divine Justinia takes the situation here very seriously. She believes it is the worst threat to Thedas since the Qunari invaded."

"A handful of apostates?" Sebastian sputtered, throwing his arms out wide. "How can that possibly--?"

"The whole world is watching Kirkwall," Leliana interrupted. "If it falls to magic, none of us are safe."

Anders made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. "None of _you_ ," he scoffed. "Tell the Divine to take care of Meredith, and it won't be an issue."

Leliana looked at him for a long moment, taking his measure. Eventually she turned back to Bethany. "Tell Elthina to leave," she said. "There is refuge for her at the Grand Cathedral in Orlais." She shook her head. "She will not be safe here."

"I would be happy to see her go," Bethany said with a smile. "She is a woman well suited for peace, and these violent times do her no mercy."

"She is a woman who needs to do her blighted job," Anders muttered.

Sebastian smirked. "That is a point on which we might agree, though I know we disagree on what course her work should take."

"Boys, boys..." Isabela stepped between them, an arm around each. "Can't we all just get along? A pretty girl and a lack of pants might help with that problem. What do you think, Leliana?"

Leliana made a small sound that might have been a chirp, as her eyes widened again. "I think you are the obvious choice for such a venture, Isabela! I have heard of your talents even outside my experience, and I cannot imagine anyone better suited to that sort of peacekeeping."

"Hey, I was pretty good at it, once upon a time!" Anders protested.

"Too much information," Anton declared, covering his ears. "Lalala."

"So that means there's two of us!" Isabela looked delighted, as she leaned closer to Sebastian's ear. "What do you think, Chantry Boy? Can we make peace with you?"

Bethany leaned toward Leliana. "If she manages this, I would pay in sovereigns to see it. She really is quite talented, isn't she?"

Sebastian flushed up to the tips of his ears, eyes round. He stepped away from Isabela. "I'm sure you two can make your own peace. Without me." He shuffled closer to Bethany, who hid her smile behind a cough.

"Not quite talented enough, I guess," Leliana drawled. She winked at Sebastian. "Though you don't know what you're missing." With a final half-smile at Isabela, Leliana turned and sauntered back through the heavy doors.

"And suddenly, I wish I spent more time in the Chantry," Isabela said, watching her go and more than appreciating the view.

Sebastian tried to respond, only to let his mouth clack shut again.

"Well, now's your chance, Izzy," Bethany said, slipping an arm through Sebastian's. "Though I don't think Elthina is as nice of a view."


	276. Chapter 276

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian tries to get the Grand Cleric out of Kirkwall. A shipment from Tevinter finally arrives.

Still arm-in-arm with Sebastian, Bethany led them straight to the Chantry. Elthina knelt in prayer in front of the sculpture of Andraste, but she rose when she saw who approached.

"We have met with Sister Nightingale," Bethany told her. She drew in a breath, exchanged a glance with Sebastian. "And she says you must leave Kirkwall."

"What?" Elthina blinked and leaned forward, assuming she'd heard that incorrectly.

"You were right," said Sebastian, his grip tight on Bethany's hand. "The Divine will be taking action against Kirkwall, though the sister didn't say what. You must take the holy relics from the chantry and leave for safety."

"Sebastian!" said Elthina. "I'm surprised at you." For the first time, Bethany heard her voice grow hard. "Andraste would not thank me for saving a few dusty finger bones and my own skin at the cost of people's lives."

"Would you martyr yourself, then? To what end? To what cost? What would your death be used to say?" Bethany asked, snapping her fan shut, as she gestured with it. "There is a revolution coming, and one side or the other is going to use you, if you die in it."

"When I became Grand Cleric, I took a vow to the people of Kirkwall and the Free Marches. I will not leave my flock," Elthina insisted, quite firmly.

"Would you let yourself die?" Sebastian's concerned tone was marred by the scepticism on his face.

"There is no greater devotion than to lay one's life at the Maker's feet. There is no greater death than to take the blow for another." Elthina's face remained still. She seemed unshakeable.

"Sister Nightingale took a great risk to warn you. Don't be rash." Bethany said, fan cracking open in front of her face. "It matters not who you have died for, but who benefits from your death."

"Please, Your Grace," Sebastian pleaded, the concern reaching his eyes, this time. "Sister Nightingale thinks there will be war."

"Then I must make peace." Elthina missed the way Bethany turned her fan to hide a smile, but simply misread the sudden flush across Sebastian's cheeks. "Settle yourself, Sebastian. I'm in no personal danger. I am grand cleric -- who would dare attack me?"

"If you will not shield yourself, then I will be your shield," Sebastian declared squaring his shoulders and tipping his chin up. "You will come through this safely, by the Maker's name I swear it."

* * *

While Anders, Anton, and Isabela dealt with the Resolutionist mages, Bethany stayed with Sebastian. He paced restlessly in front of the stairs, and she watched. He would speak eventually -- she knew he would -- and she was there to listen when he did.

A deep breath, and Sebastian finally spoke. "If Elthina won't leave Kirkwall, neither will I." He turned to Bethany, drawing her into the internal argument he'd been having. "I can't abandon her when the Divine's own agent warned her away."

"And here I thought you'd want to stay to enjoy the many charms of the Hawke family," Bethany teased. "But then, I have all of those anyway."

Sebastian's smile was unconvincing, and Bethany stepped forward, taking his hand in hers. "Well, there is that too," Sebastian said. "But, if these maleficarum rebel against the Knight-Commander, Elthina will put herself between them and be torn apart." He shook his head. "You heard Anders. And those mages in the keep. I must try to make her see reason. This cannot end well."

"And what of Starkhaven in the meantime?" Bethany asked, blue eyes searching his.

"I owe Elthina my life," said Sebastian. "I cannot abandon her."

* * *

 

* * *

Orana answered the door to find a runner from the docks. The young man held out a manifest and tried to read the name off it. "Says I'm looking for a Messere Da... Danoniaz? Donanas? I can't read this."

"Danarius?" Orana asked, confusion crossing her face. She supposed the house had once been his, but why -- Oh! Of course. Fenris had said something about expecting a shipment addressed to Danarius, but that had been months ago.

"That's gotta be it. We're unloading into the warehouse at dock thirty-two. Just let him know to bring the slip when he comes to pick up the goods. It looks like an awful lot of crap. Er. Things. Stuff. Furniture." The runner coughed into his hand and looked embarrassed.

"I'll let the Messere know his shipment is in," Orana said with a smile, as she slipped the runner a coin and took the manifest.

Fenris yawned as he staggered through the door from the kitchen, a warm mug of mulled wine in one hand. "Was that the door?"

"Yes, messere. A shipment for Danarius." Orana held out the manifest, and Fenris took it, squinting stupidly at it for a long moment.

"What-- Oh! Fasta vass, I was thinking we'd made a mistake!" Fenris shook his head, looking slightly more awake. "Amatus," he called up the stairs, yawning so widely his jaw popped in the middle of the word. He tried again. "Amatus? We need to go down to the docks with Varric. The dwarf and his cousin came through for us, after all."

A noise filtered down the stairs that might have been acknowledgement or a particularly loud snore.

* * *

The ocean carried a chill wind to the Docks, and Varric stuffed his hands into his jacket, the tunic underneath almost laced for the occasion, as they made their way to dock thirty-two.

"I have no idea why it took this long, Broody," he said. "Sorry about that. I was beginning to think they'd seen through us." He laughed as though the very idea were ridiculous.

"Maybe it took them this long to figure out what to do with all this stuff," Artie said, taking the manifest from Fenris and looking at it, head tilted. "And I'm still not even sure what all of this is. I mean, I see 'chair', 'desk', but... what about these numbers down here?" He pointed to the bottom half of the manifest. "They look a bit like..." Artemis blinked. "Is it livestock? Maker, did they send you _livestock_ from Tevinter? No wonder it took so long. I am telling you right now, we are not keeping any bulls or chickens."

"Not even roosters?" Varric asked, swatting Artie's arm. "I heard you liked those."

"Why would I--?" Artemis paused, getting the joke. "Oh. Ha. You're hilarious."

Fenris took the paper from Artemis's hand, examining the lines near the bottom. "Chickens do not live to twenty-four years, Amatus." A chill crept up his spine. Age, sex, catalogue number, distinguishing marks. And the numbers all started with E5230. His own record number had begun with the same sequence, and he hoped that wasn't the kind of identifier he thought it was. Perhaps it was just the base catalogue attribution for things belonging to the house in Minrathous.

"Cows might," Varric suggested. "Maybe that's it. They sent you the livestock needed to set up house in a new city."

"I hope you're right," Fenris muttered under his breath. "What will we do with all this?" he asked, identifying several pieces of furniture that he recalled. "These are full sets. This must have taken an entire ship."

"That Rivaini backed out of the deal, after the thing with the golem. I got a house you can keep shit in, until you figure it out. I don't think anyone else is going to be crazy enough to buy it, after that. Not for a few more years, at least." Varric shook his head and sighed.

As they approached the warehouse, Varric took the manifest and flashed it to anyone who asked, introducing himself as the local guide to these travelling businessmen. A few people recognised Artemis, but Varric shook his head as soon as their eyes lit up. Finally they got to the doors.

"Let's see what we've got!" he said, hauling back one door. The light fell across tall stacks of boxes in all shapes and sizes. 

There was no movement for a long moment, and Fenris stepped inside, lighting the palm of one hand to use for more light. "I don't hear any--"

A pair of terrified eyes appeared in the space between two stacks of boxes, followed shortly by the rest of a face. "Fenris?" The voice was small and nervous, much like its owner.

Fenris's eyes lit on the elf, recognising that there were more behind her. "Venhedis," he breathed. "I was afraid of this. Those numbers..."

"Maker's beard," Artie breathed. That was not a cow. Or a chicken. 

Slaves. All of these slaves, kept in here like they were part of the furniture. Artie ran a hand through his hair and tugged at the ends.

"How many...?" He tried to make out their shapes in the dark. With a shake of his head, Artemis squeezed Fenris's arm. "Can... can we get them out of here?"

Fenris nodded, and even in the dim light his face looked grey. "Yes, it's Fenris," he finally answered the first elf. He tried to conjure a reassuring smile for their sakes, but it just came out stiff. He gestured with his lit hand. "Come out into the light. Please."

The shapes moved in the dark, and after a hesitant moment they shuffled forward, eyes scrunching and squinting when the light hit them. Artie started counting and started turning grey himself.


	277. Chapter 277

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An abundance of elves move into a dilapidated, haunted estate. What could go wrong?

"So, like I was saying," Varric said, examining the increasing number of elves in front of them, "I have this house I'm not using. I'm not sure I'm going to find a better use for it, suddenly. I mean, you've seen it. It needs a little help and probably some decent magical mumbo jumbo, but..." He shook his head. "For right now, I don't really need the money that bad."

Fenris stepped forward, and the elves closest to him flinched back. "It's all right," he told them. "Most of you know me. I'm called Fenris. This is my husband, Artemis. We're going to be taking care of you, for a while."

"Is it true the master has moved to the Marches?" One of the elves asked. "We were told it was so that he could search for you. But, you're here."

"You no longer serve Danarius," Fenris told them. "I found him."

"Is that our new master?" another elf asked, pointing at Artemis.

"No, that's... that's my husband. We have no slaves. There are no slaves in Kirkwall." Fenris said.

"Liar," Varric coughed. "Suppose it depends on how you define the word, though."

"If you're not going to help, go get Orana and Bodhan. Orana is the most important. I will need her help." Fenris paused for a moment. "And Anders. I cannot imagine a healer would go amiss."

"What are we to do?" The elf who asked sounded panicked. "How will we live with no master?"

"As free men do," Fenris assured the man. "As I do."

The elves exchanged uneasy looks. They were still queued up, still waiting for instructions even though Fenris had just laid their freedom at their feet. Artemis had to wonder how long it had taken Fenris to lose that hollow-eyed look.

"We'll help you," Artemis said. "Varric has..." He glanced over his shoulder, but Varric had already slipped away, hopefully to get Orana, Bodhan, or Anders, as requested, but who knew with him. "...has shelter for you that he has graciously offered, and we'll make sure you find employment."

He hoped. Maker. More than twenty elves, some of them still children.

"Did... did you say Orana?" one elf asked, a sunken-cheeked young woman who couldn't be older than seventeen.

"Yes," said Fenris. "She works for us now, as our cook. We pay her," he hastened to clarify.

A smile broke over the young woman's face. "She's alive? When we heard about Hadriana, we all thought she'd been killed."

"No, she's... she's very much alive," Fenris replied. "And free."

"And her soup is delightful," Artie added.

"We will leave the furnishings, for now. If you have come with any food or clothing, personal things, gather those. We will take you to Varric's, er... folly," Fenris said, before turning his head to mutter to Artemis. "I sincerely wish we'd actually cleaned up the pieces of that golem, now. I'm sure it's still sitting in the entryway. Perhaps not the best introduction to Kirkwall, even if it is accurate."

Some murmuring in Tevene ran through the crowd, as they shuffled between the towers of boxes, retrieving tiny bundles. Many carried nothing at all.

"Let us have Varric see to the delivery of the goods. He will know when the house is ready to receive yet more heaps of ostentatious crap." It was all, in Fenris's mind, ostentatious crap. Of course, he hadn't seen any of it since he left Tevinter. Perhaps his more refined noble tastes might endear some pieces to him, now. He doubted it, though.

* * *

 "You know Artemis is going to faint, right?" Anders said, as soon as Varric opened the door.

"He's not gonna faint," Varric scoffed, tripping over a busted stone. "He's going to start cleaning everything in sight. Like a whirlwind of vinegar and dustrags. There'll be no stopping him."

"You do have a way with words," Anders admitted, as Bodhan and Orana slipped past him, into the house. "And we may not be able to move that... _thing_ without his help," he said, gesturing at the broken pieces of golem all over the floor.

"By my Ancestors," Bodhan said, looking around, agog. "Messere Varric, were you robbed?"

A snicker caught in Anders's throat as Varric laughed uneasily. "Not exactly," he said. "At least, not recently and not here. You can blame my brother for the mess." That was skipping over quite a few details, but he didn't want to get into the story just now. Not that story, at least.

Orana pulled the tattered curtains off the windows, letting in streams of light that turned the disaster of a great hall into a better lit disaster of a great hall.

Artemis, Fenris, and their gaggle of elves found the four of them hard at work moving around all the rubbish.

"Wow," said Artie with a weak laugh. "Somehow, this place looks even worse in the daylight." He eyed the urn at the far end of the foyer and prayed it didn't decide to smack him in the face.

Fenris held the door open and ushered in the former slaves with a tilt of his head. Bodhan greeted them all with a smile and a wave and assured them they'd have this place sparkling clean in no time.

"That's Bodhan," Artemis said, indicating the dwarf with a wave of his hand, and Bodhan ducked his head in a quick bow before turning back to the shards he had been sweeping up. "And this is Anders." Artie gestured at Anders next, tugging at his hair with his free hand. "He's a friend and a healer."

"Andraste's flaming tits aflame," Anders muttered, eyeing the elves still coming in the door. "This... how many?" Horror spread across his face as they gathered in the corner by the stairs, out of the way of most of the golem bits.

Orana recognised the young woman who'd been asking after her. "Elaiodora? Is that you?"

"Who--? _Orana_?" Elaiodora blinked and stepped out from behind several other elves. "Look at you! Your new master takes good care of you!"

"I don't have a master. Messeres Fenris and Artemis pay me to take care of them, and I take care of myself, now." Orana laughed. "They definitely need me. Maybe someone like you, too. I could use some more time to spend with my, er, friend."

"Are you kidding me?" Elaiodora asked, squinting at Orana. "Is that what they said to tell us? 'Messere' Fenris? Really?"

"He's technically a nobleman, now," Anders said, fighting back the blue glow that pressed at the corners of his eyes. "Me, I'm just your average sewer apostate. Speaking of which, let's get you all checked out. Anybody got any pains? Coughs? Anything I should be worried about? If you do, I want to see you first. Otherwise just make a line, and I'll see you one at a time. My friend Cormac's on his way with some food for all of you." His stomach growled. "All of us."

Artemis tried not to look so relieved at the sound of his brother's name. Cormac was much better at this sort of thing than he was. Well... except for the cleaning part. Varric pressed a rag into his hand with a wink, and Artie relaxed.

Obediently, the elves formed a line. Or something approximating a line that was more a huddle of bodies. Anders started at one end and worked his way down, his hand glowing with blue light. The first elves he looked over cringed away from his touch, eyes wide and wild, only to relax when they felt the wave of healing. In the middle of the group, a middle-aged woman murmured assurances in rapid-fire Tevene to a pair of children. Anders wondered if they were a family, but did not ask.

At the far end of the line, Elaiodora still looked dubious, one arm holding the other close to her body.

"They are good people," Orana assured her, squeezing Elaiodora's arm. "You will see."

The injuries, overall, were small and of the sort one might expect from travelling in the hold of a ship -- splinters, scrapes, a few punctures from whatever else was down there. As Anders knelt to get a better look at the foot of a man who seemed to have stepped on a nail, the woman in front of them turned around.

"Don't worry," she said. "Our new master is a good man."

A blue glow radiated out from under Anders's hair, crackling lines of it racing down his fingers. This was not right! This was not something they would stand for! This was wrong! "Justice, no," Anders hissed, pressing a palm against his eye, as he tried to maintain the healing.

Varric saw it happen and laughed, loudly, calling the attention away from Anders. "Master? _Anders_? Nah. Like he says, just some sewer apostate. And a hero. But, don't call him a hero to his face. He gets a little offended."

"Fuck you, Varric." The words drifted up from the twist of limbs and feathers on the floor, where Anders struggled to contain Justice with assurances that they were doing the right thing, and the elves would eventually stop calling them 'master'.

"I'd really rather you didn't. I've heard stories. It'd be like taking a harpoon to a nug." Varric held his hands up defensively and laughed again.

"That is disgusting, but potentially not entirely inaccurate. As I understand it." A smile tugged at the corner of Fenris's mouth.

Varric's eyebrows shot up. "As you understand it?" He barked a laugh, and those arched eyebrows waggled at Artemis. "Has Nervy been telling stories? Should I expect a future Page Six featuring a sewer apostate and his staff?"

Artie threw his wet rag at Varric's face. Luckily for Varric, he missed. "Please shut up?"

Cackling, Varric threw the rag back, and Artie caught it before it hit him in the face. "Hey, Nervy. Wanna give me a hand with these... bits?" Probably best not to say 'golem' in front of the frightened former slaves they barely knew. "And by a hand, I mean..." He waggled his fingers as though casting a spell. "Just aim away from me."

"Now where's the fun in that?" Artie huffed. 


	278. Chapter 278

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders is nobody's master, but none of them quite believe that.

By then, Anders had finally wrestled Justice back, blue striations flickering before fading away. He took a moment to just kneel there and breathe, feeling the slide of sweat down his temples. Finally, he stood and smoothed down his coat and feathers, clearing his throat and smiling. "Right," he said with a too-cheery smile. "Where was I?" He scanned over the line of elves until he spotted the one who had called him 'master'.

The elves seemed a little more reluctant to speak to him, after that, but he just kept working his way down the line, eyeing a pair of children who looked oddly familiar. Whose face was that? Zevran's? No. That was going to bother him, until he figured it out. As he made it to the end of the line, exhausted and starting to feel the numbness creep in from the tips of his fingers, the front door swung open again, and two figures stood outlined in the daylight.

"Honey, I'm home!" Cormac called out, and his voice echoed off the walls. He and Merrill carried sacks from the market, and a small cart sat at the bottom of the stairs, with more.

Merrill leaned around Cormac to get a better view. "Fenris? Would you get the beer from the cart? I don't think I can pick it up."

Bodhan scoffed and slapped Varric on the back. "Can't send an elf to do a dwarf's job! Come on. We'll get it."

Varric swallowed and stepped back. "Now--"

"I promise you I can pick up more than Varric can. I can pick up Varric. I could probably use Varric as a weapon, if called upon to do so." Fenris raised an eyebrow at Bodhan and led the way down the few short steps.

"Apples, bread, and beer first!" Cormac declared, making his way to the front of the line Anders was finishing up. He handed one sack and then the other to the first elf. "Help yourself and pass it back. Find somewhere to sit down, although I think my brother's cleaning, so you may want to sit on the stairs. We'll get you something to drink in a minute."

The elves readily obeyed, peering at each other and the sacks of food curiously. The two children Anders couldn't place huddled together, the boy tugging at his sister's sleeve. She had to be his sister, anyway, with those green eyes and that red hair. "Estne dominus noster?" he hissed, looking at Cormac.

The little girl shook her head. "Nescio," she whispered back.

Fenris shook his head vehemently. "Non est!" he said, cutting his hands through the air, and Anders agreed with a grimacing nod. "Fasta vass, non est!"

Artemis paused in his scrubbing to eye them curiously. "What was that about?" he asked Fenris. "I'm... well, aside from 'I love you', the only words I know in Tevene ought not to be repeated in front of children."

Orana leaned in. "They were asking if Cormac is their new master," she answered. "I am sure from his tone you could tell that Messere Fenris answered with a vehement 'no'."

Merrill crept up beside Fenris, to get a better look at the children. "Fenris? I think these may be ... You know your sister has children, don't you?"

Fenris's eyes widened and a chill shot down his spine. "Ridiculous." But, was it? That red hair, the green eyes, the way the girl looked almost exactly like he remembered Varania, when they were young.

"Think about it," Merrill said, handing him an apple, before offering another one to the children. "Maybe ask them."

Fenris took a bite of the apple, to avoid saying anything at all, for a bit.

Cormac was showing off, again, sparks of electricity and flurries of snow leaping from his fingertips, as he told stories to the elves on one side of the stairs. Bodhan had sent Varric back to find something to put the beer into, once they'd gotten the barrel into the house, on the assumption that it was Varric's house, and he'd know where to find that sort of thing.

Flashes of light reflected off the elves' wide-eyed faces as Cormac cast, and they watched raptly, apples and bread held close to their chests as they ate. Fenris gnawed on his apple but barely tasted it. That little girl's smile and braided hair tugged at a memory, and it was like an itch at the back of his brain. And he was better off not scratching, he thought, after the disaster that was meeting his sister.

Varric was kind enough to interrupt his thoughts, sauntering into the room with all manner of cups and goblets -- even a couple of small bowls -- balanced in a battered old shield he was using as a tray. "Hey, Shouty," he interrupted Cormac. "If you're going to be the entertainment, at least let them have some alcohol first."

"Good plan," Fenris muttered around his apple, plucking a cup from Varric. There was beer enough for everyone, and he could use the drink.

Varric handed out cups to the elves like a hawker selling his wares.

Anders picked up a small bowl three times, and every time it slipped through his fingers. Faint traces of blue flickered under his skin, or at least he thought he could see them, and he wasn't sure if it was the numbness in his fingers keeping him from taking something to drink from or Justice objecting to the beer. Beer, he was sure, was safer than anything else in this house, right now.

"C'mere, pretty thing," Cormac said, leaning back against the wall with a teacup of beer in his hand. "I'll hold it for you. How fast did you try to go through them?"

"Too fast, obviously," Anders muttered, glaring at his hands, as he made his way across some scattered chunks of stone to slide down the wall, next to Cormac, resting his head on Cormac's hip.

Cormac crouched down. "Drink from the cup, in front of company, gorgeous," he joked, holding it in front of Anders's face.

"You..." Anders stopped trying to talk and took the cup in his teeth, tilting his head back. It worked better than he feared it might, and he only missed his mouth a little bit.

"I am amazing," Cormac said, snatching the cup and getting up for another drink. "You need to sit down for a few minutes."

Orana was speaking quietly to Fenris, by the barrel of beer. "Elaiodora says they're from the kitchen, and no one knows their parents. That's not unusual, but if there's any chance Merrill's right, never mind your sister, you owe it to these children, messere. Would you have them grow up never knowing what happened to their mother?" She would never have spoken that way to _anyone_ , even a couple of years ago, but this was Fenris, who had come a long way, but knew what he was seeing. He had started out much as she had, much as everyone off that ship still was, and she wasn't afraid to push him to do the right thing.

Fenris sighed, pressing his fingers into his eyelids until he saw stars. "No," he muttered, ears pressing flat against his skull. "You can stop giving me that look. I'll reunite them with their mother -- assuming she _is_ their mother, which is something I will need to be sure of first." The last thing he wanted was to even think about his sister, let alone see her again.

"And if she is," Orana went on, unperturbed by Fenris's sour expression, "that makes you their uncle. That might be your niece and nephew over there, Uncle Fenris."

Fenris made a frustrated noise somewhere between a whine and growl and bent to refill his cup.

Merrill managed to coax Artemis away from his cleaning long enough to have a drink with the rest of them. The goblet she pressed into his hand was better suited to rich wine than to watery beer, but he supposed it was a safer alternative than the bowl that was left.

"It's just beer," Merrill insisted, taking his hand and tugging him over to join the group.

'Just beer' was still more alcohol than he'd had all week, but he supposed one drink wouldn't hurt.

After a few teacups of beer, Cormac waved everyone away from the pile of golem parts and started compressing the smaller chunks into easy to roll stone spheres, pulling in as much of the broken pottery and other detritus from the room as he could. The elves watched, concerned and amazed, muttering among themselves.

One of the elves got up and dashed across the room to get more beer and another roll, bringing them to Anders, who still sat dizzily against the wall. He looked up with a surprised smile.

"Thank you," Anders said, confused, as he accepted the roll and the goblet, before tapping the stack of books beside him, invitingly. The elf leaned down to pick them up, and Anders stopped the man. "No, no, I mean sit down. Tell me about yourself. Who are you? They call me Anders."

Frightened, the elf knelt at Anders's feet, eyes on the floor. "Yes, master. I am called Troilus."

Anders split the roll he was holding and offered half to Troilus. "Break bread with me, Troilus. Least I can do, since you went to the trouble to get it. I don't think I'm standing up for a few minutes, yet."

"Yes, master." Troilus took the half roll, but still didn't look up from the floor.

Anders took a swallow of beer and set the goblet aside. "Not 'master'," he said, holding the rest of the roll in his teeth as he pushed up one of his sleeves and slapped at the back of his forearm until the scars showed white, while the rest of his skin reddened. "Never 'master'."

Troilus's eyes were drawn to the sudden flurry of motion, and he recognised the lines. Iron cuffs, most likely. But, that made no sense. The man was human, and he had magic. "I don't understand," he said, brows knitting.

Anders smiled at him over his beer. "You've never been this far south before, have you, Troilus?"


	279. Chapter 279

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Welcome to Kirkwall. I envy those of you who didn't understand a word of that."

Washing his bread roll down with beer, Artie watched Cormac move about the room. "Ah, so you _do_ know how to clean!" he exclaimed, pressing a hand to his chest and faking shock at what he was seeing. "All these years, and I never knew. What else have you been hiding from me, brother-dear?"

"Sometimes I wonder if I have any secrets left from you, you little shit," Cormac laughed. "You just going to flit about and look dainty with a dustrag, or are you going to help me shove this shit outside? I'll put a barrier on the steps so you don't break them, rolling stuff down."

"Is this what it was like?" Orana asked Fenris. "I hear people talk about what your house was like, before I came to it. Did they--" She cleared her throat. "-- 'throw shit down the stairs' there, as well, or did Messere Artemis do all that by hand?"

Fenris tugged at one ear and smiled self-deprecatingly down at his feet. It had seemed like an age ago that their house looked like this, when he'd been used to the mess. "That was Artemis," he said. "He was... very particular about doing things a certain way. I helped, a bit, but mostly we stayed out of his way." Artemis had been hollow-eyed and exhausted those weeks. Skittish too -- more so than usual -- and Fenris remembered how difficult it had been between them for a while. "As I understand it, he still cleans Cormac's room, back at the Amell Estate."

Fenris watched in amusement as Artemis pushed around the debris, 'accidentally' knocking Cormac back a step or two and dropping the dustrag on his brother's head. Orana giggled and shook her head.

"Have they always been like this?"

"As long as I've known them," Fenris replied with a shrug. He looked back at the other elves, saw them watching with wide eyes as the brothers threw around their magic.

Cormac snatched the rag. "Oh, is it my turn to flit about daintily, while you do the heavy lifting? Better be careful, Artie, I might get used to this," he teased, fluttering the rag and winking at Anders.

"This is not what I expected, when we were put on that ship," Troilus admitted, eyeing Cormac.

"Nobody expects the Hawkes." Anders laughed and shook his head, instantly regretting it. "Those kids over there -- red hair, green eyes -- do you know them? They look like someone I know, and I just can't place who it is."

"I don't know. They were supposed to be sold, when the master returned. I think he was holding them for a debt that never got paid. I suppose they got sent with the kitchen staff because they were being trained for scullery work. I don't know their names. I don't know if they have names." Troilus shrugged, eyes on the children, now. "I worked upstairs, in linens."

The children noticed their stares and huddled closer together, prompting Anders to look away. It still nagged at him, though, and he found himself sifting through his memories. It was something about the shape of their eyes and about their colouring, the rich red against porcelain skin. How many red-haired elves did he know?

....Merciful Andraste. Those better not be Tallis's kids. He'd had enough dealings with Qunari to last him a lifetime. But, no, the eyes were wrong.

"I should ask them if they do," Anders murmured. "Have names, that is." His lips twisted in something that wasn't quite a smile.

"They probably only speak Tevene," Troilus warned him. "Shall I ask them for you?"

It was tempting to say 'yes' just so he wouldn't have to get up, but there was still something servile in the way Troilus asked. Anders shook his head with a smile. "I speak enough Tevene to exchange pleasantries," he said. "But let's let them finish eating first."

Varric pulled up a stool in front of the elves and, tankard in one hand, began to tell a story. A familiar story about a family fleeing from Lothering. By the time Varric stood up on his stool to describe the mass and weight (and ugliness) of the ogre, his elfy audience was rapt.

"...and that was when Cormac puffed up his chest, looked the beast square in the eye, and said--"

"FIGHT ME, JIMMY!" Artemis shouted around the corner, in his best Cormac impersonation.

Cormac groaned, staring at the ceiling. "I promise you, I was not standing there like a puffed up pheasant. I charged it. There was running involved."

"Rolling," Varric scoffed. "Like a giant pudding, covered in --"

"The next word out of your mouth had better be buttercream!" Cormac jabbed a finger at Varric. "Ask Anders. I'm much better as a dessert!"

"Andraste's flaming knickerweasels," Anders squeaked, resting his head against his knees. "I decline to comment on Cormac's appropriateness as a dessert." Though, he thought for a thick slab of meat, Cormac would go terribly well with buttercream. Maybe he'd actually suggest it, once they got back to the house. Just not in front of all these elves. Especially not in front of Fenris.

"Really, Varric, he's not that much like a pudding," Merrill protested, climbing over a few stone globes to poke at Cormac's sides. "Maybe a meat pie. Isabela says he's very meaty. Succulent and juicy, too."

Cormac's face darkened and his eyes squeezed shut. "Varric? I want it known that I will kick you straight down the stairs from the keep if I ever hear you refer to me as a succulent meat pie. Or say a word about my juicy meat."

The back of Anders's neck was a brilliant red as he cackled against his knees. Artie leaned against the wall, wheezing with laughter.

"Varric?" he said, wiping tears from his eyes. "Don't listen to him. I will pay you if you do. A gold coin for every Cormac-as-a-meat-pie metaphor." He clapped a hand over Cormac's mouth before his brother could protest or respond.

"Please don't," Fenris said, lips curled in a grimace. He looked mournfully down at the apple in his hand. "To think I used to enjoy meat pie..."

Merrill shushed them all, refilling cups and returning them to their elven owners. "I want to hear the rest of the story! Go on, Varric. What happened after Cormac rolled after the ogre?"

Artemis raised his hand. "Oh! I know what happened!" He smiled sweetly at his brother and finally pulled his hand away from his mouth.

"Are you going to tell this part, or am I going to tell this part?" Cormac asked Varric, squinting at his brother, side-eyed.

"Oh, you go right ahead, Shouty. Let's hear what you've got to say for yourself." Varric grinned broadly, patting Merrill's arm, as she brought him another cup of beer.

"And, so, I shouted, 'Fight me, Jimmy!' and ran at the thing like I meant to do it massive harm. Which, let me be entirely honest, at that moment, I'm not sure I could have set fire to my brother's ass, if he farted and I was holding a torch. But, I could still hold up my shields, and that was the important thing." Cormac braced himself, spreading his hands, heroically. "And the ogre swung back its mighty fist, and nailed me right in the face, and that's the last thing I remember until I woke up covered in blood and mud, with a dragon shouting from the clifftop. Killer headache, too. I think I sprained my neck."

"And this is why you let me tell the story, Shouty. You sound less like a whiny little mushroom and more like a hero." Varric laughed. "He took the blow and distracted the beast long enough for the beautiful witch Bethany to seize its mind and turn it against the other darkspawn."

"I may object to that description of my sister," Cormac muttered, filling his cup again.

"Carver's called her worse things," Artemis reminded him. "And at least Varric said 'beautiful' instead of 'buxom' this time."

"It's called level of discourse, Nervy. There are children present."

"But I'll tell you," Artie said, pointing his broom handle at Varric, "what it actually looked like. Bethany started casting her spell, but it would take time, so I made a gamble. I planted my feet, ready to pull the thing into the ground, when _this_ maniac came charging in front of me screaming bloody murder." He hooked a thumb in Cormac's direction. "Which was probably a good thing since his skull is thicker than mine, and the last time I tried that tactic, my insides ended up outside." He gave Cormac a look that was as much affectionate as sardonic. "He went down like a sack of potatoes."

"Why do we keep comparing Cormac to food?" Fenris asked no one.

"Clearly because I'm magically delicious," Cormac said, clapping Fenris on the back, as he passed, looking for more detritus to compress.

Artie's pained expression said that he'd heard that, but he went on as if he hadn't. "Anyway. Bethany finished the spell, and the ogre decided it would rather punch uglier things. Cormac was a bit of a mess after that, slurring his words like he was drunk. Oh, and yeah, there was a dragon..."

Varric waved him off. "No, no. That's not how you introduce a dragon. This is why I'm the Hawke biographer. You are both terrible at storytelling."

Artie shrugged and moved into the next room to start clearing away the mess in there, keeping an ear on the conversation.

"Oh! You should ask Anton to tell the story," Merrill chimed in, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "He's very good at it, especially when he gets to the dragon..." She smiled brightly at the other elves, who were all varying levels of amused, bemused, and confused.

"I hesitate to hear Anton say anything about dragons, after the things I've heard out of his room, lately." Cormac shook his head and kicked another ball of tattered curtains and broken pottery toward the door.

"Has he been making the best of that Page Six?" Varric asked, with a laugh.

"Do you know somebody got him some ... artificial dragon accoutrements? From the sound of it, he and the Knight-Captain have been putting those to good use. Turns out I'm not the only screamer in the family, and I think my brother just discovered good sex." Cormac turned, holding up one finger. "Which I did not need to know. Ever. I have mostly moved into the cellar, since this started, for which the cats are grateful. At least Assbiter appreciates me."

Varric winced and held up his hands. "Please don't tell me what you're doing with Anders's pussy. I know more than enough about what goes on behind closed doors in that house."

Anders staggered to his feet, winging the brass goblet at Varric's head. "You take that back! There is nothing obscene going on that involves my cats!"

"You have a cat named Assbiter," Varric pointed out, drily. "Forgive my presumptions."

Fenris wiped a hand over his face and wished he was holding something stronger than beer. He turned to the elves clustered on the stairs. "Welcome to Kirkwall," he drawled, with a half-hearted flourish of his arm. "I envy those of you who didn't understand a word of that."


	280. Chapter 280

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little elfy drool-beasts. One amused Hawke. One distressed Hawke. Fenris making spooked cat faces.

Fenris was grateful to Cormac, although he'd never admit it. The sound of five little elves screaming gleefully drifted up from the back yard, and he was so glad he didn't have to deal with any of them. Yet. It had been decided that the children would stay with him and Artemis, until Varric's house was clean enough to be safe for them, which was likely to take a few weeks.

At first, he hadn't been concerned. They spoke Tevene, he spoke Tevene. All he would have to do is make sure they had food and somewhere to sleep. Except it hadn't been that simple at all. They shrieked and knocked things over. They pushed each other and cried. They climbed all over him. Eventually, Artemis had sent for his brother, and Cormac had shown up with Bodhan and Sandal in tow.

Cormac had sung utterly stupid songs, and let the children climb all over him, interspersed with the occasional, 'Hey, Artie, do you remember when we used to...' while Bodhan tried to explain to Fenris the basics of keeping children entertained. Fenris was totally lost, but the children seemed to like Sandal, all of them chasing each other around the yard, shouting, 'Enchantment!' He wondered if the children even understood what the word meant.

Fenris hadn't meant to avoid his maybe-niece and maybe-nephew, but if he was honest with himself, he had been. It was easier to put it off, to go back to pretending like his past didn't exist, but he knew that was the coward's way of dealing with things.

Fenris called them over while the other children laughed and played with Cormac in the yard. "Venite huc," he said. Come here.

The children looked up at him from where they'd been pulling up fistfuls of grass, and Fenris cringed on his husband's behalf.

"Enchantment?" the girl chirped as she bounded up to him, and Fenris didn't quite hide his smile at that. Her brother joined them.

"Sure," said Fenris. "Enchantment." It occurred to him that he didn't even know their names, and he tried to hide his embarrassment. Tugging at one ear, Fenris squatted in front of them, so that he was looking up at instead of down at them. Two matching sets of green eyes watched him. "Habetisne nominia?" he asked. Do you have names? Where slaves were concerned, he had learned it was best not to assume they did, at least not at this young age.

"Nomen mihi Paulla est," the girl said, proudly, pausing for a moment before she pointed at her brother. "Ei Spurius est."

The boy waved, shyly, from behind his sister's arm.

Fenris tried to keep the horror off his face. 'Little' and 'Bastard'? If these were his sister's children, they were going to have some _words_. But, then, they were elves, and even as the children of a free woman, they'd apparently ended up as slaves. "Fenris est," he said, nodding to the kids.

"Lineas in tibi facie habes," Paulla pointed out, gesturing to Fenris's face.

"Habeo," he agreed. He did, in fact, have lines on his face. Perhaps not as many as Merrill, but he was sure the rest of his body more than made up for that. "Qui parentes vobis sunt?"

"Mater nobis mater est! Bellissima in omnibus Qarini est! Capillos rufos longos bellissimos habet et quoque magicam! Crescam et SICUT EA ERO!" Paulla declared, hands on her hips, chin tipped up.

She really did look like Varania, Fenris decided. He glanced to the side, blinking helplessly at Artemis. "Amatus, I don't... How do...? They cannot name their mother, but she sounds like my sister. I am increasingly certain they are hers."

In the background, Cormac hung from the branch of a tree with one arm, feet propped against the trunk, as one of the other children climbed his free arm and the other two cheered. He seemed to be singing about a Dalish hero who hunted Orlesians. Sandal bounced from foot to foot, clapping along, and Bodhan stood back to watch, smiling proudly.

Artemis twisted his fingers in his hair, smiling helplessly down at the red-haired children. "What did she say, exactly? All I got out of that was 'mother' and 'have'."

Fenris sighed. "That her mother is beautiful, has long red hair and magic. And that she wants to grow up to be like her." And that should not have twisted at his heart. It shouldn't have. This sweet-faced child adored Varania -- he was assuming Varania -- the woman who had betrayed him and nearly gotten him and his husband killed. "Do you think it's her? Is there still a chance there isn't?"

Artemis folded his arms across his chest and shrugged uncomfortably. "Oh, sure," he said drily but not unkindly. "I'm sure there are plenty of elven women in Qarinus connected to Danarius who have long red hair, magic, and two children about this age." He reached out to squeeze Fenris's arm, taking Fenris's hand in his. "It's her, Fenris," he said. "The only way to be completely certain now is to bring her to them or them to her."

Fenris ducked his head, screwed his eyes shut. "I don't know if I want to see her, Amatus."

Spurius watched the two of them with large green eyes, first two fingers of one hand in his mouth, his other hand clutched in his sister's.

"You don't have to if you don't want to," Artemis said. "Cormac and I could take them to the Alienage."

"I'd rather they didn't see that." Fenris paused. "That's foolish, isn't it? With all they must have seen to get here..."

Spurius reached out with his damp and drooly hand and tugged at the bottom of Artemis's trousers. He said nothing, but smiled somewhat gooily up at the round-eared man towering over them.

"Hello," Artie said, looking down at Spurius with a strained smile. Drool. There was drool on his trousers. He patted Spurius's head and fought the urge to pull away. To Fenris, he said, "It's not foolish. It's sweet."

Sighing, Fenris stood, with a last smile at the children. "I'll have Orana send for Merrill, then. Merrill will know where to find her. Shall I bring you a change of ... I don't suppose that would help. Shall I bring you a long apron, while I'm inside? Why am I asking foolish questions. Of course I should." He kissed Artemis's cheek and made his way back into the house.

Cormac crossed the lawn, one little elf sitting on his shoulder and another sitting on his hip. The last was playing a hand-clapping game with Sandal that Bodhan said had something to do with patterns in lyrium folding for runecrafting. Exactly the sort of thing suited for wild elven children, Cormac figured. He eyed the elflet currently holding on to his brother's trousers, and then spotted the pained look. "What, did he wipe snot on you? You used to do that to me. You used to blow your nose in the tail of my robes." Cormac laughed.

"I did not," Artie sniffed, giving Cormac a scandalised look. "I was a clean child with impeccable manners. A delight to all who knew me." Spurius tugged at his pant-leg and gurgled something up at him. Artemis's smile softened into something less strained. The little bastard was, at the very least, extremely cute.

"You absolutely did!" Cormac protested, as the elf on his shoulder started pulling at his hair and ... he hoped that was plaiting it and not tying it in knots. "You blew your nose in my robes and wiped slobber all over my face! Several times a day! You didn't get all tidy and petulant until you were a little older. You had a name, before you started crying because you weren't clean. Anton had a name before you started crying because I wasn't clean."

The elf at his hip had started a conversation in Tevene, with Paulla, and he set the boy down beside her, so he could finish dealing with his own brother, who clearly had some delusions about their youth.

"I think you are confusing me with Anton," Artemis insisted, lifting his chin. Spurius pulled at his pant-leg again and, haltingly, Artie picked him up under the armpits and rested the boy on his hip the way Cormac had carried the other child. Spurius stuffed his fingers in his mouth again, and Artemis tried not to grimace.

"Enchamment," said the boy around his fingers.

"Enchantment to you too," Artemis sighed. He angled Spurius towards Cormac. "Now wipe your enchanted drool on Uncle Cormac."

"That. Exactly that. You used to do exactly that -- suck on your fingers and wipe them on my face," Cormac insisted, as the girl on his shoulder pulled his hair again. "And I do not have you confused with Anton. Anton used to eat his boogers. You'd just wipe them on me. And he didn't drool on me; he peed on me. Constantly. I think he made a sport of it for a while."

Spurius grabbed at Cormac, and Cormac caught the boy's hand in his own, and then wiped his fingers off on Artemis's cheek. "Just like that."

There was a strangled sound caught behind Artie's teeth. Face scrunched, shoulders rigid, Artemis set Spurius back down in the grass. Which looked like it had been pulled up in tufts, now that he was looking at it. "I hate you," Artie grumbled at Cormac, grabbing his brother's sleeve and using it to wipe off his cheek. He could still feel the ghost of drool on his skin. "I am never having kids." 

"Of course you're not," Cormac laughed, as the girl on his shoulder climbed over to sit behind his neck, drumming her heels against his chest as she continued to do ... something to his hair. "As Anders has pointed out, even at the height of the Imperium, nobody was having assbabies." He paused, gaze softening, as he watched Artemis struggle with the lingering sensation of drool -- a feeling he knew well. "Hey, you know I love you, right?"

"And yet, you're still an asshole," Artie huffed. It occurred to him that they probably shouldn't be using that kind of language around children, but it wasn't like they knew any Common, anyway. He tried to scowl at his brother but ended up smirking instead. "But yeah, I do." He tugged at Cormac's beard and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "And I appreciate you proving it by baby-sitting while I go inside and pretend like there isn't drool on all of my furniture."

"There isn't drool on your furniture, Artie. That's why the automatic drooling machines are all outside." Cormac grinned and got up on his toes to bump his forehead against Artie's. "I assume his sister's on the way? Let me know when she gets here, so I can make sure small and smaller, over here, are presentable, and not, say, damp, muddy, or hanging from the trees like Nevarran sloths."


	281. Chapter 281

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varania is reunited with her elflets. Cormac is there to make everything comedic and horrifying.

Orana opened the door to Merrill and a red-haired elf she recognised as Fenris's sister. Varania looked haggard, her cheeks hollow and eyes shadowed, and Orana smiled and ushered them both inside. "I will fetch Messeres Fenris and Artemis," Orana said as Merrill guided Varania into the lounge.

Varania sat for all of two seconds before getting up to pace, hands twisting in her skirts.

Fenris came in first, uncertain of how to handle the situation. "Your children. We... may have found them," he said, not bothering with a greeting.

" _Where are they_?" Varania's entire body tensed as she turned toward him. "Where are my children?"

"They are playing in the yard. Artemis has gone to get them." And Fenris hoped that worked out -- Artemis had seemed as clueless as he was, and the lack of a language in common wouldn't help. But, Cormac and Bodhan were out there. Surely one of them could help. The children seemed to like them. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you _what_ , Leto? That I had children, but they were being held hostage for your return to Danarius? That I'd been promised an apprenticeship if I helped, but that my children would be sold as slaves, if I didn't?" Varania jabbed a finger into her brother's chest. "I didn't know you were you, at all! And even if you were, I didn't know who was reading what I sent to you! If I warned you -- if I warned you..."

"Maybe not in your letters, but what about when you were in my house?" Fenris hadn't planned on having this argument, not now, but the wound was still raw. "When you saw that it _was_ me and you had the opportunity to tell me something, anything--?"

"Fenris." Artemis cut him off, and Fenris turned to see him in the doorway, brows raised. 'Not in front of the kids', that look said, and Fenris closed his mouth with an audible clack.

"Mama!" yelled Paulla before Fenris even saw her. She ducked around Artemis's legs and ran straight towards Varania. Spurius toddled after her.

Varania let out a sob of relief, dropping to her knees and pulling her children tight into her arms. Paulla rattled off a flurry of Tevene against Varania's shoulder while Varania shook, eyes screwed shut against her tears. "Vos amo," she murmured against Spurius's hair. _I love you both_. 

"Enchamment," Spurius mumbled against her dress.

"Enchantment?" Varania asked, looking up at her brother in confusion.

Fenris rubbed a hand over his eyes and stared off into the corner of the room, for a moment, somewhat embarrassed. Which, he assured himself, was ridiculous. There were far worse words they could have picked up, here, particularly from Cormac. "You haven't met Sandal," he settled for, after a moment.

"Enchantment?" Cormac asked, from the doorway, having only heard the mention of Sandal, as he wrapped his arms around Artemis's waist and stepped into the room before putting his brother down and not letting go. "Oh, yeah, Sandal's great! But, that's the only word he can say, the poor kid. Says it when he's happy, says it when he's sad. Really taught me to pay attention." He knew he had no business in the room. Artemis either, most likely, but the two of them would probably be more effective than Merrill, if anything went wrong.

"You have children?" Varania asked Cormac, surprised.

"What? No. I raised two kids that weren't mine, and that was enough. And this one wiped snot on me all the time. Don't listen to him when he says he didn't. He's lying." Cormac raised one hand and tapped on Artie's chest, the other arm still wrapped around his waist.

Artemis cleared his throat awkwardly. "He means when I was a child," he said. "I don't just... walk around wiping snot on him, no matter how much he annoys me. Not that I ever did, even as a kid." He tried to give Cormac a narrowed look but couldn't quite twist that way.

"So that... answers my question then," Fenris said, changing the subject. "They are your children." His niece and nephew. He still hadn't quite wrapped his head or his heart around that, but at least he'd gotten them here safely, however unintentionally.

"That they are," said Varania coolly as she wiped her cheeks. She still looked wrung out and tired, but some of the lines around her eyes had eased. "Thank you," she said. She struggled to say the words but clearly meant them.

Fenris nodded in acknowledgement. One foot scratched the other as he tried a few times to find the right words. "What will you do now?" he asked.

"I don't know. There is no place for us here, but I can hardly return to Qarinus. The apprenticeship is gone, if it ever existed." Varania glared at Fenris as Paulla climbed into Merrill's lap and poked at her vallaslin, curiously. "You ruined our lives, Leto. You wanted us free, but what was freedom, in that place? Now, here I am in the south, and what is freedom in this place? At least at home I had magic. I've seen what happens, here. Merrill's warned me. Nowhere is safe."

"I thought..." Fenris looked helplessly at his sister, trying to justify something he had no memory of. "I don't know what I thought. I have no memory of any of it. Blame Leto all you want, but Leto is dead. Danarius killed him."

"I know a place where your magic may be welcome," Merrill volunteered, after a few moments of silence. "I have friends in a nearby Dalish clan. They've been very good about taking in elves fleeing the city life. And there's always a shortage of magic."

"Then why aren't you with them?" Varania asked, looking over her shoulder.

"The Keeper and I had a disagreement about an ancient artefact." Merrill's eyes slid off Varania's face. "But, they're good people. They'd be happy to help, if you have skills to offer."

"What skills _do_ you have, other than your magic?" Cormac asked, resting his chin on Artie's shoulder. "My brother and I are noblemen, our other brother's a hero. If there's something you want to be doing, we can probably find you a good place to do it, somewhere in town. We've got some influence, and I'd be willing to throw it around if you stop trying to get Fenris dragged back to Minrathous. Your brother's kind of married to my brother, and I've got a serious investment in my brother's happiness." It wasn't really that he had any investment in Varania, but he'd gotten attached to the kids, and whatever their mother might be like, he thought they deserved the opportunity to grow up under better circumstances than Fenris had.

Varania straightened, lifting her head high. "Back in Qarinus, I worked for a tailor," she said. "I can sew. In fact, I can sew very well." There was a fierce pride behind her eyes as she said this.

Artemis looked at Cormac out of the corner of his eye. "I'm sure we could find someone interested in a Tevinter seamstress," he said. "Fran, for instance." He cleared his throat and pretended not to notice the scandalised look that crossed over Fenris's face.

"Oh, I love Fran's!" Merrill said, eyes lighting up. "Her designs are lovely."

Fenris grabbed hold of one of his ears to keep it from twitching. Fran's designs certainly were... lovely, but he wasn't sure he wanted his sister associated with them. At least not when he still liked to shop there on occasion. For Artemis.

Varania wore the guarded look of someone afraid to hope. "Fran?" She looked between her brother, Merrill, and the Hawkes. "Is she a dressmaker?"

"Er... I don't know that I would say _dresses_ ," Fenris managed, intently observing his toes as they curled nervously against the floor.

"She specialises in more intimate apparel," Cormac supplied. "Very tasteful. I've worn her work. In fact, all of us have. My brother -- other brother -- throws some genuinely wild parties. Merrill looked just like a flower and the Knight-Captain looked like he was waiting for the Maker to strike him dead, but he still looked good. Not something I thought I'd ever say about a templar."

"Templars... as in the people who imprison mages?" Varania looked completely confused at the idea. "A templar in 'intimate apparel' at a party thrown by your family?"

"Corsets." Fenris held his hands up, defensively. "It was a party at which corsets were required. Not... Orlesian negligee or the like. Very tasteful. Strong lines. Cullen looked every bit a man of his rank in it."

"You were there?" Varania struggled to hold back a smile, as she looked up at Fenris, eyes wide. "Leto! You wore a _corset_!? He didn't. Tell me he didn't. I can't imagine..." She looked around the room for some confirmation of her suspicions.

Artemis tried -- and failed -- to bite back a smile of his own. "Oh, he did," he said as Fenris groaned, hiding his eyes behind his hand. "And it suited him too. All leather and spikes. I'm sure we still have it somewhere upstairs..."

"No," said Fenris. "We are not showing -- no. Yes, I wore a corset. Yes, I looked quite good in it. Fran has excellent taste." He couldn't quite keep his ears from vibrating. At least the others had the presence of mind not to mention Artemis's attire... or at least the leash and collar his Amatus had been so fond of. Fenris didn't need his sister jumping to erroneous conclusions.

"It was a memorable party," Artie assured Varania, who smirked at Fenris behind her hand.

Fenris's ears vibrated harder as he looked from one Hawke to the other. He knew exactly what made that party 'memorable', and it wasn't just the attire.

"I think Fran needs another assistant," Merrill pointed out, as Spurius tried to climb into her lap to sit next to his sister. "I heard her telling Aveline she had a month-long wait on new orders. She's become very popular, since that party."

"If you like, I'm sure my brother and I could go put in a good word for you. I know she has no qualms about working with elves, and sadly, that's always one of those things that counts." Cormac grinned over Artemis's shoulder. "Besides which, I'm looking for an excuse to go down there, again. Thought I might pick up something dainty for Izzy, though if she's out to a month, maybe I should get something from Gytha's instead."

"Thank you," Varania said, finally standing, stepping closer to her brother. "And I'm sorry, Leto. I didn't know what else to do. You remember -- Do you remember what it was like? It was never about you or me -- not really -- it was about them. I had to protect them."

"I don't remember," Fenris admitted, "but I do understand." He reached down to tweak one of Spurius's ears just to make his face scrunch. "I am... sorry it had to happen this way, but I am glad to have gotten to know them, at least a little. They both adore you, you know." He didn't quite meet his sister's eyes as he said this, didn't quite see the guilt that crossed her face. He also didn't quite say what he thought of the names his sister had given them.

"I am glad too," Varania said softly. Turning to her children, who were still trying to climb all over Merrill, she stretched out her hands. "Venite, mi carissimi. Let's go home."


	282. PART LI: SEX AND DEATH

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Herein begins a quest to find a certain elven assassin of certain notoriety.

"A month!" Isabela draped herself across Cormac's shoulders, plucking another sweet from the box he held and stuffing it into her mouth. Her teeth were already stained pink from the dyes in the marchpane. "Can you believe it? I've never seen that shop so busy!"

"Well, that's why we were there!" Cormac grinned and turned his head to lick a spot of sugar off the corner of Isabela's mouth. "We might have found someone to clear up some of that wait." He offered a strawberry-shaped sweet to Artemis, as they came to the top of the stairs, but any further comment was cut off by the man hurrying toward them.

"Ah, the Champion of Kirkwall! Your reputation precedes you," the man said, eyeing Artemis. "Forgive me. I should introduce myself properly. My name is Nuncio Caldera Lanos. I am a noble from the beautiful country of Antiva." As if his accent hadn't already said half of that. He bowed deeply, as Cormac watched in amusement.

"Why does he think Artie--" Isabela started, but Cormac shook his head.

"It's a long story. Don't ask," Cormac muttered, remembering that night on the docks -- what he could remember, anyway. "This should be fun."

Artie darted a look over his shoulder, just to make sure Anton hadn't appeared behind him. "It must have taken a lot of practice to say that all in one breath," he said. He tried to mimic Anton's body language, the disarming smile, all while frantically wondering what this 'Nuncio' had or had not seen that night at the Docks.

"It's mostly to impress the ladies, I assure you," Nuncio said through a crooked smile. He winked at Isabela. "I've come to ask your help, Champion."

"I see," said Artie. "And I, as the Champion, would be happy to give it. Within reason. As the Champion." He gestured for Nuncio to continue.

"Hiding among the Dalish is an elven assassin I have been chasing for months," Nuncio said. "He's a master manipulator who will endanger even his own kind to ensure his survival."

Artemis eyed the man up and down. A nobleman, he'd said. "You don't seem the type to hunt assassins," he said. "Why are you after him?"

"At first, it was merely duty to Antiva," Nuncio answered humbly, "but after losing so many good men to him, it became personal. He's nothing but a murderer, a thief, and a liar."

Artie cut a glance to his brother and Izzy. Izzy grinned back at him, munching on sweets as if this were first-class entertainment. "And you want me to use my wily, wily ways to find out where the Dalish are hiding this elf?"

"That is part of it, yes," Nuncio agreed. "This elf is very dangerous and he must be brought in, before he kills again."

"Didn't you know a--" Cormac whispered to Isabela.

"Shh." She cut him off, stuffing a candy peach into his mouth.

"I've heard of your dealings with the Dalish. I was hoping you could go where my men could not," Nuncio went on, apparently uninterested in the conversation going on behind the 'Champion'.

Cormac choked on the marchpane, leaning forward to cough, one hand over his mouth to catch not only the half-chewed sweet but the laugh that followed it. Isabela wrapped a supporting arm around him and thumped him on the back a few times.

Nuncio finally looked at them, blankly.

"We're drunk," Isabela volunteered. It wasn't true at all, but it was a marvellous all-purpose excuse. "Trashed. Utterly shitfaced. Just waiting for you to finish up this proposal so I can put these handsome men to good use." She wiggled her fingers at him. "Strong hands, you know?"

Cormac wheezed, helpless in his hysterical cackling. Nuncio watched the pair of idiots for a bit longer, before returning his attention to the 'Champion'.

"Your friends are... getting a good start on the evening, it seems." He tried to be tactful. "But, perhaps you can find out where this assassin is hiding and apprehend him."

Artemis cleared his throat, doing his damnedest to not look at his brother. "I'll see what I can do," he said. He'd punch Cormac's shield later.

Nuncio looked pleased. "One of the Dalish," he said almost as an afterthought, "a woman named Variel, is a friend of his. I suggest speaking with her first."

"Of course," said Artie, ignoring Izzy's snickers.

The man at Nuncio's shoulder finally spoke. "We won't be here when you get back," he said. "We got a campsite outside the city. Look for us there."

"I'll look for you," Artie agreed. "After I have... dealt with this elf." He ignored the snickers that followed that too.

Nuncio ducked his head in thanks and vanished into the streets of Hightown. Artie took a strawberry candy from his brother and glared at the pair of them.

"I knew that was going to come back to bite me in the ass at some point," Artemis sighed.

"What, your 'dealings with the Dalish'?" Isabela teased. "And here I assumed there was already some ass-biting involved, where that was concerned."

Artemis held up a finger as he chewed. "Leave Anders's cat out of this."

* * *

As with so many trips up Sundermount, an indecent amount of the walk involved Anders and Fenris singing bawdy songs in Tevene at each other, each trying to find one the other didn't know, as Cormac and Isabela stuck to dirty songs involving sailing puns, in Common. Artemis found himself used as a prop for the occasional line by everyone else, squeezed, dipped, and serenaded.

"I still can't believe Merrill wouldn't come with us. Is she still so afraid of this old witch?" Isabela asked, between songs, picking through Cormac's bag for another bottle of cinnamon ale.

"The Keeper's not just any old witch," Cormac pointed out. "She's a very politically important old witch, as far as the Dalish go. I mean, she's up there on the list of people you probably shouldn't piss off, right next to the Knight-Commander, except, you know, Dalish. And magical. And Merrill's pissed her off quite a bit."

"And this Mahariel's the drunk who was making eyes at Cullen before the wedding? The one whose wife's seen your brother naked?" Izzy bounced the cork from the bottle off the side of Artie's head. "Which is completely unfair. I've known you longer, and this wench gets a look at the glorious and mysterious final Hawke ass."

"I don't know if I'd call it 'mysterious'," said Anders, "but it _is_ glorious."

Fenris's growl was unconvincing.

"This 'wench'," Artemis said, "is married to a suitably gorgeous, _male_ elf who also saw my glorious ass. That she saw it was incidental."

Isabela eyed him askance as she drank from the bottle. "Is that how it works, then?" She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. "I bring you a gorgeous elf-man, and we share the plunder?" She waggled her eyebrows. "Or at least admire the booty?"

"Er... depends on the elf?"

"What about this one?" Isabela hooked one arm around Fenris's. "Gorgeous elf right here. I hear he even comes with a glowstick. Or is it the glowstick that--?"

" _This_ gorgeous elf is already taken, glowstick and all, but nice try." Artemis hooked his arm around Fenris's other arm. Fenris exchanged a helpless look with Anders.

Isabela snapped her fingers. "I know!" she said. "I'll bring you Jethann!" The grin she gave Artemis around Fenris was predatory.

Anders groaned. "No. Not Jethann. Please."

"And I don't think my husband needs any more elves," Fenris drawled. He quirked an eyebrow at Artie. "Or do you?"

"Fen, my love, you're all the elf I need." Artemis winked at Fenris and gave his ass an appreciative squeeze.

"Too much elven culture? Finally? Has such a thing actually become possible?" Cormac clapped a hand over his heart, turning around to gape at his brother in shock. "Are you... getting old? Are you finally slowing down with age? Is this what marriage does to a man? Holy balls! Let's never marry, Anders! I'd hate to lose my everything else." He reached out and wrapped an arm around Isabela, pulling her to his side.

"I said he's all the elf I _need_ ," Artemis replied, looking at his brother over Fenris and Izzy's heads, "not all the elf I _want_. There is a difference." Artie's arm slipped around Fenris's waist. 

"No such thing as 'too much elven culture'," Fenris added wryly.

"So I guess we'll be--" Cormac started, but a voice from further up the mountain cut him off.

"Couldn't stay away, could you?" Theron called down to them. "Need another lesson in real elven culture?"

The woman beside him -- probably another guard for the camp -- shoved him and he stumbled off the overhang of rock he was standing on, staggering into the road.

"You know these shem?" The woman asked.

"I know them all, but I only _know_ the one." Theron looked up and wiggled his eyebrows at her, and she kicked dirt on his face. "My wife's pretty familiar with a couple of them, too."

"Hey, Theron," Cormac waved and tossed him a bottle of ale. "We're not here for your... culture, this time. I bet you could still talk Artie into another lesson, though. Something about some assassin who might be up here?"

Theron pried the cork out of the bottle. "An assassin?" he asked.

"Our contact said he was an elf and hiding with the Dalish," Artie added. "Have you seen anyone like that recently? Any elf pass through who wasn't part of your clan?"

The woman on the overhang answered for Theron. "An outsider wanted to talk to Variel a few days ago," she said, "but he didn't stay with the camp. You'll have to look elsewhere." She glanced back down the road in an obvious hint.

"I remember him, yes," Theron added, eyes lighting up as her words sparked a memory. "Blond. Antivan accent. Best ask Variel where he ended up. Come on, I'll bring you to her." He ignored his fellow guard's scowl.

Anders didn't step forward with the rest of the group. He held up a hand for patience. "Hold on," he said. "I got the 'elf assassin' part, but no one said 'Antivan'." He looked at Isabela to see her smile splitting her face. "No," he said, shaking his head. "No? No. It can't be."

"It might be. That's why I'm up here." Isabela grinned up at Anders, nudging him forward. "You're hooked, aren't you? He's like that. Always catchy, never catching."

"I'd like him a lot less if I'd caught anything," Anders admitted, as they followed Theron into the camp. "But, he can't be the only one. He used to talk about the Crows, and how they were all like him, if less dashing and delicious. And he was ever so intent on that last. I mean, really, what are the chances? It's probably not him. He's probably still in Gwaren, driving the locals mad."

"Is that where he ended up?" Isabela asked. "I haven't seen him since I went to Orlais."

"Acting Teyrn of Gwaren." Anders nodded, a smile finally creeping across his face. "Can you imagine? _Him_?"

"I think if he's still the Acting Teyrn, it's an act of the Maker he hasn't gotten himself lynched." Isabela cackled, leaning heavily on Anders, as she picked his pocket for a sprig of the mint he'd been gathering the whole way up the mountain.


	283. Chapter 283

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More elves, and the return of an ancient elven horror.

"Is this that shem your wife was talking about?" a young woman with green vallaslin asked Theron, as they got closer to the fire.

"No, that's the tall one. This is the shem _I'm_ always talking about." Theron laughed and slung an arm around Artemis, to an intense growl from Fenris. "Oh, calm down, Fenris. You know I'll give him back."

Artemis offered the woman an awkward smile. "I probably don't want to know the things he's been saying about me, do I?"

"Not nearly as bad as the things I say _to_ you," Theron growled in his ear. Artemis blushed and prodded Theron's ribs with his elbow. "But perhaps I'll save those words for later. This is Variel." He nodded at the woman.

Variel tilted her head curiously. "Did you need something?" she asked, looking between Theron and the shem under his arm.

"Yes, actually," Artemis replied. "We're looking for someone. An elf, obviously. A particular elf, not just any elf in general." He cleared his throat. "An Antivan assassin. I have heard he's hiding among you."

Variel scoffed, looking him up and down. "He is not among us," she said. "He has set up a cave away from our camp. He said there would be people looking for him and to tell anyone who asked where he was."

"Isn't the point of hiding not to be found?" Fenris drawled.

"He said he didn't want to endanger our people by asking us to lie for him," Variel said. She smirked. "Not something you'd expect from a cruel and evil murderer, is it?"

Anders and Isabela looked at each other. "It's him," they both said, nodding.

"He'll be waiting for you at the cave. Good luck trying to reach him, though." Variel's eyebrows lifted suggestively, and then she left them, calling out to a boy carving wood on the other side of the camp.

"It's ... _who_?" Cormac asked, finally.

"Your cousin," Isabela said, wrapping an arm around Cormac's waist.

"By marriage," Anders clarified. "Your cousin's husband, technically."

"Are you related to everyone in Thedas?" Fenris asked. "Related to or sleeping with. I will be terribly surprised, the day we meet someone neither related to nor sleeping with any Hawkes."

"He's not sleeping with any Hawkes, that I know of," Cormac pointed out. "She's an Amell. Other side of the family."

"He's still married to her, and therefore related to you," Fenris drawled, looking thoroughly unimpressed with the entire situation.

"Varric," Artie pointed out. "That is someone you know who is neither related to nor sleeping with a Hawke. I think. I'm assuming. He isn't, is he?" He shot Cormac a worried look.

"No, I'd know if he was," Isabela sighed. "But we could change that when we get back in Kirkwall." She arced her eyebrows at Artemis meaningfully.

Fenris somehow managed to look even less impressed.

"Sorry, Izzy," said Artemis. "I'm not terribly into dwarf culture. Even if it's Varric's." He squeezed Theron's arm and smiled at him. "Thanks for your help. I don't suppose you could point us towards the cave she's talking about?" There were a few caves around the camp, and he really hoped it wasn't one of the caves they'd already been in.

Theron cleared his throat. "Do you remember the varterral? He chose that cave. Fortunately, your bravery already removed the thing, so he could move right in."

"Bravery." Cormac coughed. "That's... one word for it. I like to think we did a lot of screaming and running around, with a bit of setting things on fire."

"You survived. It didn't. That puts you on better footing than a lot of people, around here, four I could actually name," Theron pointed out, drily. "And I am not coming with you, this time, either. Unlike dear Merrill, my family still has a home in this clan, and I'd like to keep it that way. No offence to Kirkwall, but ... no, all offence to Kirkwall. You people eat like barbarians."

"Two barbarians, a mountain savage, and two more people from actually civilised places," Cormac counted.

"Tevinter is not a civilised place," Theron said, and Fenris nodded his agreement. "Have you eaten Tevinter food?"

Fenris stopped nodding and glared. "Weren't you going away? I believe we have an assassin to capture."

Theron laughed. "It was nice seeing you too, Fenris," he said. "But better to see you." He winked at Artemis, who smirked and waved him away.

"I'm so glad we defeated the varterral just so an assassin could move in," Fenris muttered, sliding an arm around his mage's waist as Theron walked away. "Even if he is related to you."

"Not as glad as I am," Isabela said, nudging Fenris with her elbow. Fenris looked still less impressed.

They left the Dalish camp and headed for the appointed cave, one Fenris had hoped to never set foot in again. As they drew close, a cluster of spiders scurried over to greet them.

"Oh, good, a welcoming committee," Artie muttered. He drew out his staff and made a fist with his free hand. The spiders flattened to the ground, legs flailing. As they got back up, Artie cast again, smacking the spiders into the ground as many times as necessary.

"That's definitely one way to solve that problem. Like a rolled broadsheet, but for _giant_ spiders." Whatever spell Cormac had been holding flickered out, suddenly entirely unimportant.

"Tell me he didn't hit me with spider guts," Anders groaned, patting at his hair as he looked down his coat, which was, refreshingly, spider-guts free.

Isabela swaggered toward the entrance of the cave, daggers in her hands. "Oh, it's going to be one of those caves, is it?"

Down the stairs, then down the stairs again, and Fenris opened his mouth to say something about the contrast of the primitive architecture with the fact that two great civilisations had done battle on this peak, but he was cut off by the descent of more spiders.

"No," Anders said, and the floor beneath the spiders turned green as they touched down on it.

Cormac followed by stunning them all, and clenching a fist. One spider collapsed into a sphere a bit larger than a fist. "You want the rest of them, Artie?"

"Sure." Artemis flexed his fingers on his staff. "Just make sure none of the splatter gets on me?" He was already standing strategically behind Anders, but the barrier that shimmered to life in front of him was an added relief. Clenching his fist again, Artemis flattened the spiders into the floor. "Thanks, brother dear."

"Well, you boys know how to clear a room," Isabela said, slipping her daggers back into their sheaths. She sauntered off ahead of them, stepping over gooey spider corpses. Down a rickety set of stairs, Izzy held out a hand for them to stay where they were. "Oh! Looks like our favourite assassin left us a present." She squatted to examine the pressure plates and tripwire she'd found. "Lots of presents," she amended. After a few minutes, she stood and dusted off her hands. "Come on down, boys! Just try not to step there, there, or... there."

Down more steps and Isabela's eyes stayed on the ground, checking for more traps. Or other things, it seemed. "Ooh! A real present!" her hand darted into a pile of bones at the bottom of the stairs, and came back with a wide-banded wooden ring, with strange carvings on it. Of course that might have been because she was holding it upside down.

"Let me see?" Cormac reached for it, but it disappeared into Isabela's pocket. "Or not."

"How far underground are we?" Anders complained, as the stairs continued, one flight after another.

"Not far enough," Fenris grumbled. "I'm sure they can still hear your whining on the surface."

"Oh, boys," Izzy sighed, stretching herself between them to squeeze both their bottoms at once. "Play nice."

"That is my ass!" Anders protested. "That is my ass, and I'm using it!"

"No, you aren't," Isabela scoffed, eyeing him sideways, as Fenris tried to get his ears to stop twitching.

"The point remains, that ass is mine. Which makes it not yours."

"Well, there's no fun in grabbing my own ass, is there?" Isabela laughed, giving Fenris a firm squeeze and an eyebrow raise as she stepped forward to resume her search for traps.

"I remember this room," Fenris said, looking around. "And I do not see the wreckage of that thing."

Cormac took a deep breath and spread shields to all of them. "I am really hoping this isn't the holy miracle to test my faith, because I could do without that kind of miracle," he muttered, turning in a circle and eyeing every niche in the walls.

While Cormac looked around, Artie looked up. "Shit!" He tugged Cormac back as a familiar seven-limbed monstrosity slammed into the floor in front of them. The ground trembled under its impact, and Fenris pulled the mages behind him. "Didn't we already kill this thing? I thought we already killed this thing?"

"We did," said Anders. "And rather thoroughly, I thought." His fingertips glowed blue, and ice crackled along the varterral's legs. The creature shrieked and tried to shake off the ice, and Isabela and Fenris darted in while it was distracted.

Artemis spread out from the other mages, pulling sheets of rock armour to him and then throwing lightning at the creature.

"What is this thing?" Isabela shouted over the noise, ducking and darting around the creature's stomping legs. Her daggers glanced off as though it were made of stone.

"A pain in my ass," Fenris growled, glowing blue and hacking at the varterral's joints.

"A sacred contraption," Cormac called out, pinning the leg Fenris was hacking at, with a quick spell, and then taking a moment to consider. "I'm going to do something stupid, and I need everyone to back up! Anders, throw a storm on that, just to light the edges. I'm going to pull something about the same size. As soon as everyone's out of the way, I want you to break my nose."

"What!?" Anders fumbled his staff, nearly dropping it. Still, the tempest exploded in a hail of lightning and wind around the varterral, and Isabela danced back out of the way.

Fenris's ears tilted back as he started to put the pieces together. "You're not going to--? Venhedis. You are." He finished the swing he was in the middle of, with no mind to how it glanced off the wood of the creature's leg, grabbing Artemis as he ran past. "Move. You weren't there. _Move_."

Anders looked at Cormac. "I really don't think --"

"Punch me in the fucking face, before that thing moves!" Cormac insisted, flames licking at his fingertips.

"Andraste's tits, if I don't end up dead from this thing, I'll be dead when the Maker strikes me down for punching an ally in the middle of a battle against something greater than I really want to tango with for a second time. Third time." Still, he hauled off and slammed his fist into Cormac's face, praying he didn't knock the man unconscious.

Cormac's entire body lit in blue and grey-green, lightning sparking between his fingers as the flames ran up his arms, and then the ground ripped itself apart, under the varterral, fountains of flame spurting up from the cracks, icy winds and lightning striking down from above. He supposed their arrival wasn't a secret any longer, if ever it had been, and there was still the assassin to be dealt with.

The varterral fared ill against the onslaught, wooden limbs catching fire, stone and metal splitting and twisting. It finally wrenched its leg free, but found no culprit to fight.

"What did you just...?" Artemis stared first at the varterral, then at Cormac. "Did he just _punch a spell_ out of you?"

"Killing now, explaining later," Anders said. 


	284. Chapter 284

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turning from the brutal dangers of ancient Elvhenan to the delightful dangers of Antiva.

The varterral was already in sad shape, lurching around on twisted, mangled legs. A few more applied spells, and it crumpled to the ground, limbs twitching feebly until Fenris hacked them into submission.

"Phew!" Isabela fanned herself and poked at the smouldering thing with her toe. "You've killed this thing already, you said? It's not going to jump back up and start flailing again, is it?"

"If it does," sighed Fenris, "I volunteer to punch Cormac this time. For the sake of expediency."

Izzy smirked. "Well, it looks pretty charred, anyway. Maybe we killed it better this time?"

Fenris gave her a flat look over the thing's corpse. "I tore off its legs last time," he said. "And it still came back. In one piece."

Izzy's smirk wilted a bit. "Ah. That's less reassuring."

Anders's hand glowed blue as he cupped Cormac's face, sending healing into the growing bruise.

"Offering to punch me?" Cormac slurred, Anders's hand holding his jaw in place. "Gonna start thinking you like me or something."

"Or something," Anders volunteered. "Carver?"

Cormac's eyes widened. "I take it back. I take it all back."

"Besides, you're not that into punching, last time I checked," Anders murmured, pressing a kiss to Cormac's forehead as the blood stopped and the bruise retreated.

"Got me there."  Cormac shrugged and Anders's hand slid down his face, checking for broken bones. "You really think you did that much damage?"

"I pulled that at the last second. Didn't want to knock you out." Anders shrugged back. "You forget I've been in fistfights with darkspawn and won."

Isabela's eyes lit up. "Have you, now? Oh, this I have to hear!"

"Wait until we find Grandmaster Stabbypants. I'm not telling all the same stories twice, if I don't have to."

A blond elf in Dalish leathers swaggered out of a doorway, on the other side of the varterral. "Now, you I wasn't expecting."

"I thought I smelled Antivan leather," Isabela purred, one dagger still in her hand as she held her arms out invitingly.

"Isabela! If it isn't my favourite pirate wench!" The elf laughed.

"Shouldn't you be dead by now?" Isabela asked.

"I could say the same, my dear. Seems we were both fortunate to have found powerful friends, no?" His eyebrow arced up, before his gaze shifted to Anders. "Mage-Warden. The Asshole with the Flagpole."

"None other!" Anders coughed and rubbed one hand over his eyes. "It's good to see you, Zevran. So... how's Solona?"

Zevran's crooked grin turned wistful. "Ah, I am sure she is as beautiful and deadly as ever," he said. "But I cannot attest to it. I left shortly after you did."

"Oh." Anders blinked, taken aback. "Rough patch?"

Zevran chuckled and shook his head. "No, no, nothing like that. I got dragged back into the wonderful world of Antivan politics. Mostly, I had to get the Crows out of the bedroom."

"Personally," said Isabela, "I've rather enjoyed the Crows in _my_ bedroom."

"There's also a horse in your bedroom," Fenris muttered, earning a pair of raised eyebrows and a barking laugh from Zevran.

"You're still dealing with the Crows?" Anders asked, brows knit, as he side-stepped the subject of Isabela and horses.

Zevran shrugged insouciantly. "Well, there was still a contract floating around," he said, "as well as the attached reward. I disposed of both. The reward was enough to purchase a few young elves, and I sent them to Solona. And she thought I'd never give her children."

Anders chortled, and Fenris's ears flattened against his skull.

"You look concerned, handsome," Zevran said, picking up on Fenris's sudden tension. "Perhaps you have misunderstood. Where I am from, in Antiva, the Crows purchase children to fill their ranks. I was once sold, to a house of assassins. Ah, look where it got them. Or don't. No one can find them." Zevran shrugged expressively, smile still light. "Solona is my wife -- a good woman. A good _commander_. But, she is a Warden, you understand? So, we adopt. I bought children destined to grow up like I did and sent them to Amaranthine, to be with her."

"I hope she has a full household staff," Fenris muttered, thinking of the condition of his own house, in the wake of the children he and Artemis had temporarily inherited. He paused. "You were sold? In Antiva? I didn't think that happened in the south..."

"So, that _is_ a Tevinter accent!" Zevran grinned at Isabela. "You always find the most entertaining companions, you know that?"

"You didn't hear what went on in Denerim," Isabela said to Fenris. "That Loghain who wanted to be king of Ferelden was selling elves right out of the alienage to Tevinter. Zevran, here, sliced a few slavers in the pockets they'd really miss."

"Oh, yes, because taking money--" Fenris started.

"That wasn't money, unless they were prostitutes, on the side," Zevran said, with a smile.

Cormac looked up at Anders. "Can we keep him?"

"Only if it's in your bedroom!" Zevran clicked his teeth and winked, before returning his attention to Anders. "So, tell me about all your whys and Howes."

Anders's smile turned rueful. "He didn't come with me."

"No?" Zevran cocked his head to the side. "And here I was, thinking he came after you. Well. Aside from in the usual manner, eh?" Zevran's eyebrows arced up suggestively. Anders just blinked at him. "No? Well. I suppose that was my mistake. I have to wonder what he was doing in Kirkwall, then, if not to, ah, renew your acquaintance."

Anders sputtered, eyes round. " _What_? What do you mean... _what_?"

"Oh, I'm sure it is nothing," Zevran said with a wave of his hand. "Forget I said anything, yes? But, where are my manners?" While Anders continued to sputter, Zevran bowed to the Hawkes and Fenris. "All this talk, and I have not yet introduced myself. My name is Zevran Arainai, adventurer and occasional assassin. At your service." He offered Cormac another wink as he said this. "Here I was, waiting for the Crows to swoop in, and instead I am beset by much more... attractive company. A pair of Hawkes, no less. Much better than Crows, hm?"

Artemis exchanged a look with Cormac. "And... how do you know we're Hawkes?" he asked warily.

"Slayers of Qunari, Deep Roads explorers, and may I say two fine specimens of manhood? You underestimate your fame! Also, I may have met some friends of yours, when I stopped to trade with the clan down the hill." Zevran smiled wickedly. "The earthquakes sound intriguing. I'm going to have to ask Solona about that, if I ever make it home."

"Oh Maker," Artie groaned, putting a hand up to hide his reddening face. "I am going to kill Theron."

"Now, now, there's no need for murder. He made you sound nothing but delightful." Zevran continued to smile.

"So, you and Izzy?" Cormac asked. "How'd the two of you meet?"

"How does anyone know Isabela?" Zevran asked, with a dramatic shrug.

"Yes, well, you'll never know Isabela again, if you keep that up!" Izzy shot back.

"Okay, I want you both to know I am still upset about that night at the Pearl, speaking of 'knowing Isabela'." Anders crossed his arms and glared down sulkily at Isabela.

"You know, we could solve that problem..." Isabela grinned back up at him.

"No. We can't. I'm not that young, any more, and we're short two."

"Worried about keeping up?" Isabela asked.

"Worried about _catching_ up," Anders replied.

"Now, now, there's no need for this kind of bickering. There's more than enough of both of us to go around... after we solve this problem I am having with the Crows." Zevran held up a finger, as he said the last.

"Why is it that I think you're not talking about birds, when you say 'Crows'?" Fenris asked.

"Possibly because you were paying attention when I said I was from Antiva?" Zevran grinned. "We are the finest guild of assassins, an object of fear throughout the land for any man with wealthy enemies!" Zevran proclaimed.

"And yet, Solona beat your ass in single combat," Anders reminded him.

"She did! And then I married her." Zevran's smile was anything but apologetic. "Well, I should say 'they' are the finest... I am no longer a Crow, a fact they find unacceptable."

"And that's it? You quit, and they've chased you across half of Southern Thedas?" Cormac asked, finding the concept ridiculous, but oddly believable, after everything they'd been through. Templars, magisters, Qunari...

"That is offence enough to the Crows! Believe me!" Zevran barked. "I may have also killed the last four assassins they sent after me. And all their men. Oh! And the Guildmaster," he admitted, after a moment, almost as an afterthought. "In fact, if you were a Crow, you would make a fortune bringing me in! You should consider a career change." He laughed. "No, really."

"Antivan politics," Anders sighed, nodding.

"So, let me guess," Zevran said, folding his arms across his chest as he eyed the Hawkes, "a man named Nuncio has asked you to capture a dangerous killer, yes?" His face twisted in a bitter smile. "What did he say this time? That I killed his wife? Butchered his parents? Sold his children into slavery?" He paused, gauging their reactions. Then his smile sharpened. "Or did he tell you he was a lawman from Antiva, charged with apprehending a ridiculously handsome fugitive?"

"Well, he... didn't mention the handsome part," Artemis said, earning him a flat look from Fenris. Artie blinked at him innocently.

"Ah, so you've noticed," Zevran purred. "I credit my high cheekbones and pouty lips." He heaved a dramatic sigh. "Bring me to Nuncio if you wish, but I warn you: he surely intends to kill you. The Crows do not like loose ends, unlike myself. But you can clearly handle yourselves, yes? Why worry?" He shrugged one shoulder. "So you can either tie me up, gag me, and then manhandle me... or you can take me to Nuncio. Which will it be, I wonder?"

Artemis tried not to think too hard on that. "Er..." He looked between Isabela and Anders. "You two know him best," he said. "What do you think?"

Izzy shrugged. "I've had better."

"I think he meant about letting him go or not," Fenris drawled.

"I'd let him go," Anders volunteered. "If he's hunting Crows, they've probably got it coming. That list of options, though... Does it have to be in that order?"

"Ah! But, I'm not offering to you, am I, Warden?" Zevran laughed. "I already know you can't resist my obvious charms. You never were much for bound and gagged, though. Pity. Howe could've used it."

Anders turned several brilliant shades of red and made a wheezing sound that turned into a fart noise as his hand clapped over his mouth. Cormac applauded. Anders replied with a single finger salute, as he attempted to recover his breath. "Were you there for that? I didn't think you were there for that! I didn't see you until breakfast, the next week!"

"Of course you didn't see me. I was occupied." Zevran's eyebrows lifted suggestively. "Definitely within hearing distance. The lungs on that man, I'm surprised half the city of Amaranthine didn't hear that. Which they didn't. I had some friends in town."

"I hope my name was attached to those questions. I'd hate to think I missed the opportunity to have news of my talents spread around by a man renowned for his own skills in the field," Anders drawled, face still red.

"The absurd number of pretty young things turning to watch you pass in the street wasn't enough of a hint?" Zevran asked.

"Why would that suggest anything out of the ordinary?" Anders shot back, eyes sparkling.

"If I was going to turn him in," Isabela offered, tipping her head toward Artemis, "it would be for this. It's why he advises the gag. He _never stops_. But, no, I'd probably let him go."

"Looks like you're being vouched for," Artemis told Zevran with a shrug. "I don't think we're going to hand you over to someone who lied to us."

"The Champion has spoken," Isabela drawled. "Lying is wrong!"

Artie swatted her arm, but she merely cackled. "Besides," Artemis went on, "you're technically our cousin. Hawkes don't make it a habit to turn in their family members... unless that Hawke is Anton, and he decides it would be funny."

"As a suggestion," Zevran replied, "you might want to deal with Nuncio. If you don't, he will only come after you."

"Chasing us while he's chasing you?" Fenris muttered. "Nuncio is a busy man."

Zevran chuckled and offered them another bow. "It's been more than a pleasure," he said. "Fare you well." He offered them one last crooked smile and disappeared through the doorway. Anders waved.

"So," Cormac said, after a moment's pause, "I vote we stop for lunch. We'll eat, I'll wash off the blood, and then we can go murder some Crows, what say?"

"That was a foul pun." Fenris grimaced. "You're lucky I'm married to your brother."

"No, it's a 'fowl' pun," Anders corrected, fluttering his hands to bring out the difference in the words.

"If this pun goes any further, I'm going to stab someone," Fenris declared, and then considered who he was with. "With my sword. The large metal one. It will not be enjoyable."

Isabela pointed at Cormac. "Depends on who you stab!"

"Nope!" Cormac backed up a few steps. "Sword's a bit much. Sword's a lot much. Not that into stabbing, really."


	285. Chapter 285

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A great lot of trouble is made. Stabbing, and then offers of ... _stabbing_.

A few hours later, they found themselves at the camp of the Antivans. Whether they were actually Crows was irrelevant, Cormac supposed -- the point was that they were probably going to make life difficult. He figured to give them the chance to pack up and go back to Antiva, but somehow, he doubted they'd accept the sensible offer.

He presented himself to Nuncio, nudging Artemis back with a quick, "You don't get to have all the fun!" and his bow was as tart as the look on his face.

"We let your assassin go. Were we not supposed to do that?" Cormac said, smiling impolitely, eyes glittering. He had a shield. He wasn't concerned.

"You had him and you _let him go_?" Nuncio looked baffled, before he managed irate. "I am thoroughly disappointed. No one fails the Crows and lives."

"That's not what I heard," Anders coughed, feeling Cormac raise a shield around him.

"Ah, poor, stupid Nuncio," said a voice with a familiar Antivan accent. Zevran slipped out of the shadows, and the sun lit his blond hair and cheeky grin. "The Crows do like that saying, but I am living proof it's a lie." He clucked his tongue and turned to Cormac. "Why they insist on thinking they can kill people like you and the Warden, I will never guess."

Artie patted Cormac's shoulder. "People trying to kill Cormac is a burden he bears on a daily basis."

"You're nothing but a traitor and a coward, Zevran," Nuncio snarled, jabbing a finger in Zevran's direction while reaching for his dagger with his free hand. "You'll die here!"

From behind, quick footsteps approached them through the sand. Anders barely got out, "Zev-!" before Zevran was turning, a dagger no one had seen him draw flying from his fingertips. The charging Crow slowed to a wobble before falling at Zevran's feet, a dagger through the eye.

"Yes, well." Zevran's smile was more of a sneer now. "Let's see how that works out for you."

Daggers flew from every direction, pinging off of Cormac's shields and showing them just how surrounded they were. Nuncio and a few of his cronies darted towards the group, flanking them with blades drawn. Artemis threw out a hand, and their approach slowed to a crawl. Fenris drew his sword and blazed into the battle, leaving behind a streak of ghostly blue. 

None of the Antivans had been expecting what they got. The Champion of Kirkwall, after all, was said to be a man with a certain skill with _knives_. If this was the Champion, the stories were lies. Even expecting some magic hadn't prepared them for this. Two ghostly warriors no one could land a solid shot on, two mages dragging their enemies to a halt, the assassin they'd been chasing and a woman with delightful taste in accessories darting between them and slitting throats.

It was over almost as soon as it had begun.

Cormac shouldered his glaive and shook his head. "A varterral. We slew a varterral before lunch, and they thought they could get the better of us?"

"Well, they didn't know that," Anders was quick to point out, sliding his own staff into the rings on the back of his coat to free his hands. "Anyone actually get hit? Should I be healing any of you?"

"You can heal me any time, Sparklefingers!" Isabela called across the camp.

"Is 'healing' a euphemism now?" Fenris asked. "No. Never mind. I don't want to know."

Zevran sucked in a deep breath before expelling it, as though he were enjoying the sea air. "Excellent," he said. "Killing my former brothers-in-arms is oddly satisfying." He approached the pair of Hawkes, wiping blood from his cheek with the back of his hand. "I've... little reward to offer you for your help, but perhaps this will serve as a token of my thanks." He pulled out a wicked-looking dagger with dual blades and held it out, handle towards the mages.

"Oh, the 'Champion' would love this," Artemis laughed, accepting the dagger and turning it over in his hands.

"Do you have a dagger for me too?" Izzy asked.

Zevran bowed to her. "My dear Isabela," he said, "it has been a delight to see you again." He bowed to Anders as well. "You as well, my dear Mage-Warden. You both travel in fine company."

"That's it?" Isabela huffed. "You're leaving? What about sex?"

Anders choked on his horrified laughter, while Artie shook his head. "And Varric calls _me_ Slutty," Artemis muttered.

Zevran shook with his own laughter. "Still blunt as a dwarven hammer, hmm? Well, why not?"

"Please don't catch anything," Anders sighed, rubbing his face as he fished through his bag for a lyrium potion.

"You say that like you're not coming with us," Zevran said, eyeing Anders.

"Oh, don't mind him. He's gotten _boring_ over the years," Isabela scoffed.

"I object to that characterisation." Cormac jabbed a finger at Isabela. "And you know exactly how boring I'm not."

Zevran looked speculative. "What about a Hawke? Can we bring a Hawke?"

"What a delightful idea!" Isabela turned her hungry eyes on Artemis. "Does this count as bringing you a handsome elf? Now can I ogle your bare ass?"

Fenris sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes. Anders shrugged sympathetically.

Artie answered with a nervous laugh. Still, he looked speculatively between Anders and Zevran before turning a shrug of his own and a questioning look at Fenris.

Zevran interrupted. "The skinny one? No, no, I was talking about that thick slab of Fereldan meat standing next to him. The one who is 'not boring'. But, you know, both would be good. Are you adventurous enough for both?"

Cormac blinked, surprised. "What?"

"I think the question is whether they're adventurous enough for both." Isabela laughed. "They're brothers, remember?"

Anders eyed Fenris and Fenris looked back.

"It is not my place to speak to how adventurous my husband is. I am certain his decision on the matter will speak enough for both of us." Fenris wondered if he was carrying dice. Maybe Anders had a deck of cards in that bag, somewhere.

"I, ah, you know, I don't usually... elves, but..." Cormac sputtered, feeling Artemis's eyes on him. "Not necessarily averse, just... I... You know what? That's my brother, and I'm going to let him speak for us, since I seem to have misplaced my tongue."

"Well, I can only hope you've placed it somewhere both interesting and worthwhile," Zevran teased.

"Speak for...?" Artemis was no less flustered than Cormac. He ran a hand through his hair and tugged at the ends. "No. I am not speaking for both of us. Speaking is, however, a thing we need to do. With each other. Speaking. Give us a moment, while I help him find his tongue. Metaphorically." Izzy bit back a snicker. "Not in that way!" Artemis scowled at Isabela and tugged Cormac by the elbow, pulling him away from the camp and behind an outcropping of rock.

Artie took a moment to flail outside of view of everyone but his brother. "How do we...? What do we...? _Um_?"

"Everybody and their dog knows we shared Anders, by now." Cormac lowered his voice even further. "And, Creators, do I miss watching him writhe between us. So, if you want to do this, we can do this. I... don't really care, one way or the other. He's a good-looking elf, but... not really my style. But, you know what I like. Anders seems to be under the impression he's worth a try, though. Or at least that he was, at one point. He wants me, you want him, Isabela wants a good look at you. And, then, of course, there's the idea that someone who doesn't have an interest in holding their tongue is going to have seen us both naked at the same time, but... with the number of Orlesians through Kirkwall, I'm not sure anyone would actually care."

"Fuck the Orlesians," Artemis huffed, though his smile looked more relaxed now. "All right. We could... I mean, if Isabela says anything about it, we can always blame Anders." Artie took a moment to make sure no one could see them from where they were, and then he took Cormac's chin and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. "This should be interesting."

Artemis ducked back around the rock to find Zevran standing considerably closer to Fenris. Whatever the Antivan was saying set Fenris's ears vibrating. Isabela didn't bother hiding her eagerness when she spotted the Hawkes. "Well?" she asked. "How many Hawkes for our Crow?"

"Former Crow," Zevran corrected, holding up a finger.

Artie glanced back at Cormac. "Two, it seems," he said. Fenris's eyebrows twitched up.

"What can I say? He's convincing!" Cormac grinned at Anders.

"Oh, no no. That was not him. That was _me_." Anders folded his arms before realising he was still holding a lyrium potion. He drank it.

"Was that your fault? It was a good time, either way. You make good sandwich meat." Cormac laughed, trying to look easier about this than he was.

"So I've been told." The look on Anders's face was somewhat less than entirely amused. He sighed. "All right, all right, anyone who's getting naked in the same room with Isabela step over here. Healing and curatives for all."

"You're not even getting involved, are you, Warden? I'll admit I've missed your talents." Zevran eyed Anders lecherously, as he stepped forward to accept the healing.

"No, I'm not. But, Cormac is, and that's close enough for me." Anders parted his hands, swirls of blue and green winding around Zevran and spreading outward to settle over the group.

Cormac looked impressed. "Really? All at once?"

"I've been working on that. What, you think you're the only one doing research into exciting magical techniques?" Anders smiled smugly.

"Not to be rude, but where, exactly, were you thinking of hosting this orgy? It seems terribly sandy out here, and we're right off a public road, in what seems a popular place to camp," Fenris pointed out.

"That was surprisingly tactful," Anders said. "I've seen rude from you, and that's not it."

"I could show you some more of it," Fenris offered.

"Ooh, have we started on the foreplay already?" Zevran asked. "How exciting!"

"That's... not..." Fenris's ears stuck out at odd angles. "That does not answer my question."

"I don't mind a bit of sand," said Isabela with a careless shrug. "Or an audience, really. But, Ser Fussypants, if we set up up there, that copse of trees should give us some privacy." She pointed over Fenris's shoulder. "Does that suit you?"

Fenris hummed as he considered. "It is sufficient," he said.

Artie grimaced and ducked into the nearest tent, reappearing moments later with a bedroll under his arm. At his friend's questioning looks, he threw up his free hand and said, "If we're doing this near trees, I'm going to do what I can to avoid bark-burn on my more sensitive bits. And I'd also rather not find rocks and sand where they don't belong. So." He gestured at the other tents, still full of their own bedding. "Shall we?"

"The man has a point," Zevran said. He ducked into the next tent to see what he could grab. And also to get the bedroll.


	286. Chapter 286

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isabela learns that one looks with one's eyes and not with one's hands. Fenris discovers Warden whiskey.

It didn't take long for them to create a heap of bedding, and Anders pulled down a couple of tents to tie them to the trees, creating a decent sized room with a blanketed floor, a little bit back from the places anyone was likely to be walking.

"Fereldan ingenuity at its finest," Zevran said, kicking off his boots, at last, and spreading himself out, still clothed, on the blankets. "So, which one of you extremely attractive individuals is going to test my talents, first? I warn you, I am married to a Grey Warden. I have learnt to keep up."

"Literally no one is impressed," Fenris drawled, pointing at Anders, as he sat down with his back against a tree. "Have you brought cards? Perhaps we can play Diamondback, while they are otherwise occupied."

"Afraid I wasn't expecting this." Anders shrugged, sitting back against the next tree over, as he fished a bottle out of his bag. "I did bring this!"

"By the Maker, don't put that in your mouth!" Zevran groaned. "The Wardens are all mad, and the only way that would pass for whiskey is if you were stranded in the Deep Roads with no other alcohol, for months on end."

"Which is exactly what it's for. That's why it's Warden whiskey." Anders laughed and took a swig, before offering the bottle to Fenris.

"I made that mistake exactly once," Cormac said, lowering himself down beside Zevran. "I am greatly fond of Wardens, but it would take an act of the gods to make me drink that again." He prodded Zevran. "I'll be behind you. My brother's rather particular about his delights."

"I don't even get to look at you? Oh! Struck! Struck to the very soul!" Zevran complained. "Can you feel the very will bleeding out of me?"

"Don't be dramatic," Isabela scoffed, unbuckling her boots. "He's going to _end up_ behind you. You can stare at him all you like until then. And I do advise staring, where he's concerned. The Hawke ass is incomparable, on every Hawke but one, as far as I know. What is wrong with your little brother?"

"Which one?" Cormac asked with a smirk.

"The one who doesn't have your gorgeous ass, obviously." Isabela rolled her eyes.

"Not in the habit of looking at my brothers' asses," Cormac teased, knowing damn well she meant Carver.

"I keep insisting he's adopted," Artemis answered instead. "Carver, that is. Sometimes, I think he looks at Cormac and wishes that were true." He grinned down at his brother before nudging his husband's thigh with his toe. "Are you not joining us, love?" He batted his eyelashes at Fenris hopefully.

Fenris harrumphed but looked up Artemis's long legs appraisingly. "I think I'd get in the way, at the moment," he replied. "But I'm sure the view will be entertaining." His lips didn't tilt up, but his eyes still crinkled in a smile.

"Entertaining is certainly one word," said Zevran, one finger reaching up to trace Cormac's tattoo, "but I'm sure you will find better ones later, assuming you can find any words at all by then."

Fenris sighed and took a drink from Anders's bottle. He sputtered at the taste, ears sticking straight out, but swallowed it down. "Venhedis," he choked, staring at the bottle as though it had caused him personal harm. Anders didn't quite bite back his snicker.

"I warned you," Zevran said.

Isabela threw a boot at his head. "Why are all of you still wearing clothes?"

"Patience, my dear," Zevran chuckled even as he reached for his baldric's buckle. "A gift should be unwrapped with care, no?"

"I prefer to tear open my gifts," Fenris muttered, making Artemis blush and smirk.

Artemis settled down on the other side of Zevran, trying not to look at his brother.

Cormac wasn't usually much for showing himself off -- not least because he didn't find himself that good to look at. He was him. Other people weren't, therefore they were worth looking at, by virtue of him having a much better angle for it. He thought if he was one of them, he'd get sick of looking at them, too. Still, this seemed like the time and place for something a little out of the ordinary, and he stood up, after tugging off his boots and tossing them next to Anders.

"If you're not going to play, just make sure wild nugs don't eat my boots," Cormac said with a wink, before turning his attention back to Zevran. "So, why are you playing with your own buckles, instead of carefully unwrapping your gifts, hmm?" He leaned down nose to nose with Zevran, where the elf still sprawled on the ground. His hair caught up, after a moment, the oils that kept it sleek unsticking and letting a few finger-width locks fall forward.

"Will you look at that ass!" Isabela enthused, smirking at Fenris. "Assuming your Hawke's is even half as shapely, I might start thinking you got the good one! Well, maybe not. Best of the brothers, maybe."

"Even more shapely than this," Fenris assured her, trying very hard to avoid looking at Cormac's still-clothed, if brazenly-presented ass.

"Having had both asses in question very much in my personal space," Anders gestured suggestively with both hands, before picking up the bottle again and continuing, "I venture they are, in fact, almost the same ass. I would put forth that they are both actually the same ass, in two places at once, but I've managed to prove otherwise through intense study." His smile was wide and smug, before he interrupted it with the bottle.

"Oh, and he does mean that," Cormac assured Zevran, before bringing himself back to his full height, stretching upward, even as he looked down.

Zevran purred, eyeing the full length of Cormac's -- regrettably clothed -- body. He rolled gracefully onto his knees and tugged at the hem of Cormac's robes. "I look forward to doing some studying of my own," he said. "For purely scientific reasons, of course."

"Of course," said Anders with fake seriousness. He offered the bottle back to Fenris, shaking it under his nose. Fenris leaned away, face twisting in disgust, only to grudgingly take the bottle and another long drink. He looked no more pleased with his second sip.

Zevran trailed his hands up Cormac's thighs through the cloth, tracing their shape. His hands slid up to the sash around Cormac's waist, toying with the fabric before untying it and tossing it to the side.

Artemis forgot to pretend he wasn't watching for a moment. The press of cold fingers against his stomach made him jump. He looked at Isabela.

"What?" she said innocently. "I've seen this show before. Well. Not this exact show, but different parts of it. Can I unwrap you?" Her grin was a shade too broad, and she waggled her eyebrows at him.

"Er..." Artemis looked at Fenris and Anders for help, but they seemed too amused to intervene. "I'd rather do my own unwrapping, but I appreciate the offer."

Isabela pouted until Artemis dropped his trousers on her head.

Cormac kept his eyes on Zevran, or he'd have noticed Isabela trying to manhandle Artemis. Still, he heard it happen. "Izzy, look with your eyes, not with your hands. You want to look with your hands, _my_ ass is over here."

"Protective!" Zevran murmured. "And yet, you'll still let this happen..."

"He can take care of himself, and very effectively, but stepping on the hospitality of the Hawkes comes with penalties from the rest of the family, too." Cormac rolled his shoulders, and the top layer of his robes slid down off his hands dropping to pool at his feet. "Do you really want Anton to hear you were trying to manhandle Artie, Izzy?"

Isabela scoffed. "What's Anton going to do?"

"Considering he put me in a chastity belt over a minor disagreement, I'm not sure you want to discover the answer to that question," Cormac pointed out, just before Zevran slipped the second layer up over his head. He tossed his hair and smiled as Zevran investigated the cut of the third layer.

"So many layers of wrapping! This is either a marvellous gift or someone's trying to hide some deficiency..." Zevran joked, one hand sliding up Cormac's waist to cup the curve of his ribs.

"Well, I'm not _Anders_ ," Cormac replied, with a little shrug.

Anders groaned. "Can we leave me and my knob out of this?"

"Nope, sorry, not when my deficiencies are being brought into the conversation! Deficiency number one: not Anders. Very simple, that one. I lose points right off the top." Cormac's grin was interrupted by the collar of the third layer catching on his nose, as Zevran twisted it up and off him. He finally stood in only a thin, long robe in a washed-out shade of saffron, that buckled across the tops of his feet, in the front. It was thin enough that his skin was obviously dark, beneath, and despite its loose fit, it concealed nearly nothing.

"Either this is a marvellous illusion or this is the last one," Zevran said, rubbing the fabric between his fingers. "This is a lovely colour for you, my friend. But do you know what would look better against your skin? Mine." He took his time with this layer, savouring the suspense.

Izzy, on the other hand, was busy wolf-whistling at Artemis. She was at least a foot away from touching range, but that gave her a better view. "Well, that looks promising," she said eyeing his smalls and what looked like another Hawke ass beneath them. She wore his pants around her shoulders like a trophy, and Artie's tunic soon joined it.

Under his burning cheeks, Artie smirked, but he considered asking Anders for some of that whiskey. He wasn't used to being this much on display while sober... at least not in front of Izzy. Or women in general.

Over Zevran's head, Artemis caught Cormac's eye, and his smirk widened. Standing in front of Fenris and Anders, Artie worked his smalls down his legs and kicked them off. They landed, for once, in Fenris's lap instead of on his head.


	287. Chapter 287

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A great lot of negotiating and awkwardness.

Cormac raised his eyebrows at his brother, just a quick twitch. His eyes dropped back to Zevran's face, and he attempted to look as enthused as he should have been. A legendary Antivan Crow wanted to get him naked! Of course, this legendary Crow was also kind of elfy, small, and his cousin's husband. But, Artemis had asked for more difficult things, over the years, and even if he hadn't quite asked for this he'd looked relatively enthused, at the offer, so Cormac tried to find the whole affair similarly pleasing.

"You don't looked entirely thrilled," Zevran pointed out. "Something not to your liking?"

"What?" Cormac blinked, panicky for a moment. "No, no, ah... That-- that's just my brother. It's a little awkward. We're usually a lot less sober for things like this."

"The Warden is carrying potent, if barely potable, alcohol, as usual, if you feel the need to become spectacularly drunk, before undertaking this. Although, personally, I prefer to take my pleasures sober." Zevran grinned, caressing the robe over Cormac's chest, feeling the soft depth of the fluff beneath. "Of course, I also do not have any siblings. That may be of some assistance in that matter."

"Oh, it might take a little bit of effort to get us going, but we're worth it." Cormac reached up and slid his fingers into the back of Zevran's hair, curling them against his scalp. "Did you say something about manhandling?"

"Indeed," Zevran purred. "I do enjoy a good manhandling." His hand slid down to curve around the dip of Cormac's waist.

Izzy's applause echoed around them, and Zevran cast a curious glance over his shoulder. Ah. The other Hawke. "So it's true!" Isabela exclaimed, looking terribly pleased with herself.

"Yes, yes," Artemis sighed, the blush spreading up to his ears and down his chest. "The Hawke ass reigns supreme."

"Cheers to that," Anders said, raising the bottle. Fenris had hooked Artie's smalls around the neck.

Isabela let out a deep sigh, her ample chest heaving dramatically. "And I still can't touch?"

"Sorry, no," said Artie, looking the opposite of sorry.

"Not even a little?"

"No."

"A pinch?"

"No. But there are plenty of other men within pinching distance who would, I'm sure, be more than happy to be so pinched by you."

"Mm, pinching and manhandling," Zevran purred. "Did Wintersend come early?"

Cormac winked at Zevran and then jerked him aside, by his hair, to clear the path for Isabela. "Andraste's tits and bits, Izzy, I'm standing right here!"

"But, all the mystery is gone," Isabela said, sadly. "I know every little thing about you, mage-shoulders."

"And if you keep your eyes on him and your hands on me, you'll learn a whole lot more about him, without getting smacked into any trees, along the way," Cormac pointed out, tugging a couple times on Zevran's hair, as warning, before yanking him to his knees. "I still have clothes on," Cormac noted, leaning down to rest his forehead against Zevran's. "Why do I still have clothes on?"

"No doubt because I wasn't in a good position to enjoy a long, slow revelation of the skin, beneath. Perhaps because I'd rather be wearing less, so I can enjoy it all the more." Zevran's eyes sparkled, even if his smile was a bit more subtle than it had been.

"Turn around and face my brother. Let's see what kind of show you can put on for us." Cormac's fingers trailed along the underside of Zevran's jaw, as he straightened back up, shooting a longing glance at Anders.

"You are thinking," Zevran said, as he turned, still on his knees, and stretched one leg before him to unfasten the buckles along it, "there is not enough of me to keep the two of you from touching. There is definitely enough of Anders. But, maybe you should try touching. Nothing serious. Nothing important, but just a little bit. For the frisson. I'm told there is a certain spark in doing things just a little bit wrong. Of course," his hands wandered up to loosen the leather on his chest, "I have no siblings, so what do I know?"

Fenris managed to not choke on the whiskey, but it was a near thing. He wiped the back of his hand along his chin, catching the whiskey that had dribbled down it, and managed not to make eye-contact with Anders. 

Zevran looked up at him, hands still moving over his fastenings. "Or is that too debauched for our audience?" he teased.

Instead of reaching for a reply, Fenris reached for more whiskey.

"Oh, please," said Isabela, saving him from answering. "You should have been there when we played Spin-the-Bottle, Zev. There was some lovely Hawke-on-Hawke 'frisson' there. Or was it friction?"

Artemis held up one finger and controlled his sputtering enough to say, "That was the game, and we were trying to gross out Anton." He held up a second finger next to the first. "There was alcohol." His fingers twisted in his hair again, and that whiskey in Fenris's hand was looking more and more tempting.

"There's alcohol right here," Anders reminded him, taking the bottle back. 

Fenris cut him a warning look, and Anders wondered if he had missed something. "Don't."

Then again, drunk Hawkes would likely end in disaster, anyway.

"But to the point," Artemis said, folding his arms across his chest. "I have no problem touching my brother. In a... non-sexual way." That wasn't exactly a lie, but it might have come out a bit defensive anyway.

"He's got less and less of a problem with that, the drunker he gets," Cormac said, with the sudden realisation the only person who hadn't been at that party was Zevran. "So, let's not pour more booze on this situation than necessary. I'd rather any sudden and inexplicable hands not be the result of getting mistaken for someone else."

"I think we should get him shitfaced!" Isabela announced. "I'd love to get mistaken for someone else!"

Fenris rubbed at his face in annoyance. "Come here. The view is better from where I'm sitting."

"You know, Broody, from anyone else, I might take that as a come-on." Isabela grinned at Fenris, not moving an inch.

"As delightful as I might find your posterior under other circumstances, it is currently blocking my excellent view, which I protest is still much better than yours." Fenris snatched the bottle back from Anders. "And we have other amenities, as well."

"Terrible whiskey and devoted non-party people! That sounds like a great time!" Isabela put on the most ridiculous grin she could manage. "But, you are holding the only alcohol for miles in any direction, and I suppose you did just invite me to sit in your lap..." She looked contemplative. "If you put up a running commentary in Tevene, I'll move."

Fenris's ears twitched, and he shot a look at Anders. "What if he gives you a running commentary in Tevene, and I just correct him when he's an idiot?"

"Ooh! You'll both say dirty words in foreign languages? Here, bend your leg out, so I don't break your knee!" Isabela looked entirely too pleased with herself. The last Hawke ass and an invitation to sit in Fenris's lap and listen to dirty Tevinter words. And nobody was even drunk, yet.

"Oh?" said Zevran, slithering out of his armour and revealing tanned, long limbs. "Anders, I did not know you could talk dirty in Tevene! All these years, and I did not know. I feel I have been cheated!" He tossed his armour to the side and put a hand to his bared chest as though wounded.

"I doubt you have," Fenris drawled. "His pronunciation is atrocious."

"Pedica te," Anders said with a sweet smile.

"It's pronounced _teh_ , not _tee_ ," Fenris grumbled, one ear twitching.

"I know," said Anders, still smiling. "And you're one to talk. Artie told me about the time you recited a grocery list in Tevene and pretended it was dirty talk."

Fenris shot Artemis a betrayed look over a cackling Isabela's shoulder. Artemis offered him a sheepish look.

"I still liked it," Artie said, shrugging. Fenris grumbled a few choice words in Tevene into his whiskey. Anders's whiskey. If it really qualified as whiskey.

"Well, my dear Hawkes," Zevran said, hands on his hips and absolutely no shame in the way he displayed himself. "Your gift is unwrapped. And now what are you going to do with me, hmm?" The smile he gave Cormac and Artie was wicked.

"Why, tie you up and manhandle you, of course." Cormac grinned, easily. This was the easy part. He didn't have to be interested, he just had to make it look good, for his brother -- his brother who'd taught him all those little ways to make a little bit of control go a long way.

"You two strong humans going to savage this dainty elf?" Zevran joked, and Cormac almost tripped over a pile of blankets and something as he suddenly backed up.

"Nope." Cormac held his hands up, close to his shoulders. "Nope, nope. I'll play at control, if you want it, but leave your elfiness out of it. I'm not-- I don't-- That's a little much, even for me."

"I should point out that carving his chest like a ham isn't too much for him," Anders noted, drily, from the sidelines. "So, 'a little much' is something you've really got to work for."

"Well. I don't think I've ever gotten quite that response." Zevran remained unmoved, hands still at his hips, except that his eyes narrowed very slightly into a significantly more intent and curious gaze. "You say you will play at control. You don't think you could take it?"

"I know I couldn't. I can protect myself from you. I might, if I were very lucky, be able to kill you. But, you were a Crow, and now you are not. I couldn't make you do anything you didn't fully intend to do. Not," Cormac raised one finger and lowered the other hand, "that I would try, even if you weren't so obviously as you are. I don't even play in not wanting. You want, we give. You don't want, we stop."

"And who takes care of your interests? Who makes sure I don't push too hard on either of you?" Zevran asked, eyes sharp.

"I do. For both of us." Cormac's smile was as impolite as it had gotten all day. "That's my little brother. You even suggest you might do that _intentionally_ , and only one of you and I will walk out of this clearing."

"And unintentionally?"

Cormac flicked his fingers and a barrier sprung up around Zevran. "I stop you."

Zevran eyed Cormac through the barrier, head tilted and eyes narrowed in consideration. "So those are the stakes," he said, lips pulling up in a grim smile. "I step over a boundary, and you remind me where they are. Physically. Little room for misunderstanding, there."

Artemis cleared his throat pointedly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Not that we think that will be necessary," he said, quirking an eyebrow at Cormac. "And despite my _wonderful_ brother's posturing, I am capable of looking after myself."

"Oh, of that I have no doubt," Zevran said, pulling his stare away from Cormac to land on Artemis instead. "From what I saw outside, you could manhandle me without even touching me. Gives an elf ideas."

"Not good ones," Anders muttered. "His aim is terrible, and I'd rather not need to cast any healing this early in the... proceedings."

Zevran shrugged one shoulder and turned back to Cormac, leaning nonchalantly against the barrier. "The old fashioned way, then. Though this might get in the way." He rapped his knuckles against the barrier. It didn't make a sound, but the barrier shimmered where Zevran touched it.


	288. Chapter 288

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some more awkward humour. Zevran has knives. Cormac is thrilled with this plan.

Cormac dropped the barrier and moved closer. "So... Manhandling, then?" he asked, reaching out to stroke the side of Zevran's neck, with one finger.

"Definitely," Zevran agreed. "Do you happen to have any spells for the tying up parts? My Solona keeps promising to look some up, but she gets so busy... alas!"

"I... don't think I'd considered that," Cormac admitted, sliding his hand up to cup the back of Zevran's head, fingers twisting into his hair again. "I could probably figure out some limited use of barrier, like we used to do with the fruit trees, but, I'm not sure that's something I really want to test for the first time on living flesh." He pulled Zevran closer, leaning down to purr into one pointed ear as he shot his brother a smouldering look. "Magic can get a little dangerous, when there's sex involved. I don't want to come so hard I accidentally sever your hand, even if we do have the best healer in the Marches right here beside us."

"Yes, please don't," Anders sighed. "If anyone's blood ends up all over things, it should be Cormac's, and it should be done _carefully_."

"Ah, perhaps that is not such a good idea, then." Zevran shrugged and dipped his head to make sure Cormac's hand came with him, as he sank to his knees, again, dipping his fingers under the bottom of the last layer of Cormac's robe. He slid his hands up thick, hairy legs, thumbs tracing the lines of muscle. "You like to bleed?"

"I like a little pain," Cormac replied.

"A little," Isabela scoffed, snorting as she wriggled in Fenris's lap. "He likes to be sliced and slapped and bit."

"I do," Cormac admitted, eyes bright at the thought.

"And... Anders gives you this?" Zevran turned his head, pulling against the hand in his hair, to get a look at Anders. "You are a very different man, I think."

"I'm also the best healer he knows, so it's probably for the best," Anders joked, just to avoid admitting just how very different he was.

Zevran beckoned Artemis closer with a curl of his fingers. "No surprise? No disgust?" he asked Artie. "As I have said, I have no siblings, but one would expect..." He trailed off meaningfully.

"My brother is loud," Artemis said flatly, affecting a pained look. "Consistently loud. And descriptive. I could write a treatise on his sex life, but Bethany already did. That's our sister, by the way."

"Who also has the Hawke ass," Isabela helpfully supplied. She squeezed Fenris's thigh through the leather, pleased when he didn't bat her hand away. "You're right," she said to him in a stage whisper. "The view here is better."

Artie realised that was because her eyes were at ass height. He laughed sheepishly and scooted a little behind Zevran. Izzy didn't mind this view either.

Artemis trailed a hand down Zevran's arm, his touch light, a question. "So, er... how are we doing this?" he asked, glancing at Cormac over Zevran's shoulder before looking away. He hoped his stomach would untie itself from its knot of nerves once they started, once he had the touch of skin to distract him.

"I can think of two ways to do this. We can do it like we've done before -- I'll take the bottom and you sit in his lap -- or we can put you on the ground and I'll set the pace from the top," Cormac offered.

"There are a hundred other ways, but those are the simple ones. Perhaps we should start simple. There's no sense in beginning in the middle and getting too confused to make it to the end." Zevran rose up, pressing himself against Cormac as he finally tugged the robe off. "You are a lucky man, Anders," he said, leaving the robe tangled on Cormac's neck and arms, as his hands explored the thick muscle of Cormac's body.

Cormac shrugged out of the robe, letting it fall, and beckoned Artemis closer with the hand away from their audience. "I'm the lucky one," he insisted. "Have you let him tear you apart with that incredible pole?"

"Ah, I have not. Not that he was offering. It did seem perhaps a bit large for anyone's good, but Messere Howe seemed to enjoy it quite a bit," Zevran answered, an amused lilt to his words.

"You're an elf, Zev," Anders groaned, taking back the whiskey. "It would probably have been fatal."

"Nonsense! You're an excellent healer!" Zevran laughed. "But, I do appreciate you sparing me the trouble."

"I can think of worse ways to die," Artemis quipped. He shifted closer, his hands roving over Zevran's back and sides, over muscles leaner than Fenris's but with their own raw strength. "We could tell the world you were defeated by a mage and his mighty staff. A hero's death, to be sure."

"No," Anders sighed. "No one is dying on, in, or around my staff."

Fenris quirked an eyebrow at him. "In?" 

"Whatever." Anders shrugged and pried the drink out of Isabela's hands. "Pick a preposition you like. Still a fact."

"Cum," was Artie's contribution to the conversation, with a devilish smirk at the trio on the ground.

"Pardon?" Isabela asked, eyebrows shooting up while Anders dribbled whiskey down his chin.

"That's a preposition," Artie explained innocently. "In Tevene. Isn't that right, Fenris?"

"Oh good," Zevran laughed. "I was thinking, 'Well, I'd like to, but it's a bit soon'."

Fenris let his head thunk back against the tree at his back. "I don't know if I should be pleased or horrified that you remember that. You barely know how to say 'hello' in Tevene, but that you remember."

"I know how to say 'hello' in Tevene," Artie huffed, wrapping his arms around Zevran. "I also know how to say 'with'. And a few other choice phrases that make your ears vibrate." He nibbled at the curve of Zevran's shoulder, and the elf all but purred. 

Artemis laid back on the bedrolls, pulling Zevran along with him.

Cormac followed them down, settling on Zevran's other side. "Artie? Give me your hand. Why don't you work him open for me, while he works on ... catching my interest." He smiled apologetically at Zevran. "It doesn't just... work. You want me to fuck you, you're going to need to hurt me, until I can." Zevran didn't know them. He'd never know if that was true -- and the thing was, it would work. And no one would ever have to know quite how ambivalent Cormac was about this whole affair. Even their audience would assume he just wanted it that way, this time, and threw in a little extra incentive to be sure he got it.

"Biting, slapping, and slicing, hmm?" Zevran dragged the corner of one short, squared nail down the edge of Cormac's chest. "Doesn't the blood end up matting--"

"Yes." Cormac laughed. "But there's nothing like the smell of blood and the feeling of being torn apart and fucked so hard that all I see is stars. I thought, knowing Anders, you might be familiar with that particular pleasure. But, maybe not."

"Oh, I think that came after he left the keep. That... I might not have expected of the Anders I knew." Zevran's teeth gleamed wetly as he smiled. "But, I think I can give you something to remember."

"Sharp pains. Stinging, not aching," Cormac said, casting a grease spell in one closed hand and holding it out over Zevran's hips. Artie touched Cormac's hand, dipping his fingers in the grease.

"Stinging, hmm?" Zevran said, watching the two of them. He twisted his fingers and pulled a knife from the fold of his palm. "I believe that can be arranged."

Greased fingers still in the air, Artemis blinked at Zevran, looking the elf up and down. "Where did...? You're _naked_."

"Ah! So you've noticed!" Zevran's grin was all teeth.

"Yes. Yes, I noticed the naked elf next to me," Artie said flatly. "I did not, however, notice him pulling a knife out of his ass! Metaphorically. I hope. Maker, you didn't _actually_ \--?"

Zevran barked a laugh. "Oh, no, no. That would be most uncomfortable. There were no knives in my ass, I assure you. Well. Not recently." He gave Artie's wet fingers a pointed look. "Now, are you going to do something with those, hmm?"

"Er." Artemis tried not to wonder about it too much. Zevran shifted into a more accommodating position, and Artie caressed his flank, his hip, with dry fingers before applying wet fingers to the seam of Zevran's ass.

Zevran ran the tip of the blade down Cormac's chest, not hard enough to cut, but to make the point that it was there. "You know, there were many things my time with the Crows taught me. Perhaps not so strangely, this was one of them." 

And then the blade bit in, four quick, tiny slices, in places Cormac had never much considered until that moment. Every thought in his head evaporated, and he was sure someone, somewhere, was having a good time, but it took a few seconds to realise the voice was his. His eyes gleamed, as his wits returned to him, and he grabbed Zevran by the hair, yanking his head back for a savage kiss that was as much teeth as anything. Cormac's mouth moved down, lips soft and teeth sharp against Zevran's slender neck.

"That," Cormac panted, as words came back to him. "Do more of that and I'm yours."

Eyes sparkling, Zevran smirked, empty hand sliding down between them, as he rocked his hips against Artemis's hand. "Oh! That _is_ working, isn't it?"

"This might not take as long as I thought it would," Cormac admitted, suddenly realising he'd poured the grease in his hand all over Zevran's hip and ass cheek, at some point. "Sorry about the... You got me by surprise."

Zevran chuckled softly, a huff of breath against Cormac's lips. "Do not worry. I've been covered in worse things." Zevran writhed between the two of them, canting his hips to pull Artemis's fingers deeper. He tilted his head, not enough to pull free of Cormac's grip but enough to let Artemis know he was being addressed. "You do not need to be so delicate with me," he said.

Artie wondered if that was what _he_ sounded like, and he had to bite off a laugh. He nuzzled at Zevran's nape before nipping at his spine, biting the base of his shoulder. That brought his face perilously close to Cormac's, but he could pretend that was an accident.

Zevran's hand moved, almost too fast to see, opening rivulets of blood across Cormac's chest. He purred at the sounds Cormac made, while Artie pretended they didn't affect him. Artemis waited until Zevran's hand was still before finally taking his suggestion and twisting his fingers, shoving them in hard enough to make Zevran gasp. So the elf liked what he liked, for the most part. That made things easy.


	289. Chapter 289

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isabela declares the situation a 'festival of fuck'. Further pants are removed.

Body tense and taut, Cormac struggled not to writhe, his breath coming in quick, short pants, between desperate rambling pleas for more. His eyes had slid closed, at some point, and he made no effort to open them, letting himself be caught up in the visions playing out in his head, inspired by the little sounds of delight his brother made, every so often. The image of Artemis with the knife, cutting him like this, tasting his blood -- he was becoming a great deal less ambivalent about the idea of fucking, and as long as he kept his eyes closed, maybe he could pretend. 

Zevran's hand and blade traversed Cormac's skin, every slice precise and quick, each caress kneading Cormac's chest hair. He ground his hips against the hand behind him, riding the long fingers that fondled his insides. "Ah! I would wonder if you both were demons, but I have met demons, and they were not nearly so delightful. Will you hold me down and have your wicked way with me, now? Ravish my magnificent body? Take your pleasure in my perfect flesh?"

Cormac choked on a laugh. "Hey, Anders, is this where you get that from?"

"A pox on your house to the eighth generation," Anders shot back, one hand on the bottle and the other spread between his hips, thumb tracing lazily along a suspicious curve in the fabric of his tunic. "I'll have you know my absolutely justifiable pride is entirely my own. I don't need some half-cocked assassin to inspire me to praise my own features and talents."

"I protest that I am whole-cocked, as your delicious companions are now well aware. Just because you are of some entirely unnatural size does not make any less of me," Zevran purred over Cormac's shoulder, as he set the knife down, trailing his fingers over the undamaged skin of Cormac's back.

"No, I think it does," Isabela protested, snatching the bottle back from Anders for another swig. She'd had worse things in stranger places, over the years. "You're half-cocked and he's double-cocked. Cormac makes up the difference."

"I, for one, would really appreciate less talking about cocks, and more using them," Cormac declared, mostly intent on doing this before his knob lost interest again. It was a fairly delicate situation, really, and Cormac fingered the wounds on his own chest, to keep himself going. "So, why don't you throw my brother down and mount him, and I'll spread you open and pleasure you --" _both_ , he'd almost said, choking on the word and covering it by lifting his bloody fingers to his lips, the implication being that he'd pressed just a little too hard. This could be interesting, though. He'd essentially be using this elf to fuck Artemis, because he'd be the one setting the rhythm.

"Please," Artemis breathed. His lips were close enough to Zevran's ear for the elf, and their audience, to assume he was talking to him. He trusted Cormac to know the difference.

"Please, is it?" Zevran purred, twisting to look at Artemis with dark eyes. "How dreadfully polite." He reached behind him to pull Artie's fingers free and kept a grip on his wrist, rolling gracefully on top of Artemis and pinning that wrist to the ground over his head. Without hesitation, Artie hooked his legs over Zevran's hips, and Zevran chuckled smugly. With a rock of his hips, he said, "This is what you like, is it? Being held down and ravished by handsome elves? Well, I can see the appeal." 

He winked at Fenris, who growled and twisted uncomfortably under Isabela. Izzy bit her lip, throwing a coy smile over her shoulder at Fenris. "Didn't know you carried a second sword, Fenris," she teased, wriggling in his lap. "I'd _love_ to see you wield it."

"I'm sure," Fenris rumbled, arms tight around Isabela's waist as he watched over her shoulder. He heard the catch in Artemis's breath as Zevran slid into him and thought of how his mage felt from the inside. His hips pressed up into Isabela, and he didn't need to see her face to know she was smirking.

For a time, Cormac simply watched, eyes lingering on his brother's face, the way those long legs wrapped around Zevran. This, he could enjoy. But, he was meant to be doing something else. Something else that might totally incidentally give him an excellent excuse to run his hands along those legs. He felt his knob twitch encouragingly, as he thought of Artie making those faces, those sounds, for him.

"I know I am beautiful," Zevran said, at last, eyes sweeping over Cormac's body, "but it is your fault you only get to see my back, if you do as you have offered."

"Hm?" Cormac was shaken from his reverie. "Distracted," he apologised. "Just a little more than I was expecting. Your... Watching you... Those are some very attractive scars."

"Yes, they are." Zevran grinned and his eyebrows twitched up suggestively. "And there are some equally nice ones you can only see from behind."

"Are there?" Cormac purred, the enthusiasm that surfaced having nothing to do with that idea, as he sat up and moved himself behind Zevran. "Spread your legs a little wider? I'd rather not kneel on you, unless you're into that."

Zevran laughed and then buried his face against Artemis's neck, nipping at the skin behind one ear. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words left him as two of Cormac's fingers plunged into him, stroking and twisting.

"He did a good job on you, didn't he?" Cormac asked, sliding in another finger, not because he needed it, but because he thought it might make Zevran's hips roll again. "Stretched you open so wide, you could probably take Anders."

Anders snorted but managed to hold back the usual snide commentary about the flagpole and elves.

"You want this?" Cormac asked, lining up his knob with his fingers still buried in Zevran. His eyes were on Artemis, over the elf's shoulder. "You want me to hold you down and fill you up?"

"What is it with you humans always needing so much reassurance?" Zevran joked. "You know what I want. We've been over this. Or do you just like teasing me? Ah, that must be it. You are a terrible tease. I am struck. Aching, even. It's a very good thing I have something to take my mind off that." He rolled his hips and drove himself deep into Artemis, before lifting himself up again, for Cormac.

Cormac met him halfway into the motion, pulling out his fingers and sliding in his knob, slow and unceasing, until he was buried as deep as he could go, panting and shivering, eyes still on Artemis.

Artie choked back a sound at the way Cormac's hips rocked Zevran into him. He didn't know what was better, being wrapped around this gorgeous elf or knowing that Cormac was essentially fucking him through Zevran. Like those times they'd shared Anders, and Artemis had pretended that it wasn't his brother he wanted. The hand not pinned over his head clutched at Zevran's shoulder, nails leaving crescent-shaped marks in the tanned skin.

Zevran hummed, nipping and kissing the line of Artie's throat as he pushed back against Cormac as though greedily wanting more of him, more than Cormac had to give and more than he could take. And then forward again, just to hear the younger Hawke gasp in his ear.

One leg hooked over Zevran's hips shifted, stretching to brush an ankle over Cormac's flank before retreating. The kind of deliberate touch Artie could pretend was an accident.

Eyes still on the delicious tangle of bodies, Isabela turned to address Anders. "And you've been with all three of them? You lucky bastard." Fenris nibbled at her shoulder.

"Not all at once, though," Anders muttered, knowing he could fix that oversight right now, and he probably wouldn't have to touch anyone but Cormac to do it. And then Justice had an opinion, so he just didn't get up.

"You could fix that," Isabela pointed out.

"Or I could just sit right here and enjoy the show. _Both_ shows," Anders noted, shooting a sly look at Fenris, who simply smirked in return.

"So, you'll look, but you won't touch? A little hypocritical, don't you think?" Isabela asked, twisting and stretching her legs, before reaching down to pick up her smalls and hook them on Fenris's ear.

"I can like just watching. And I do." Anders snagged the bottle again, as Fenris untangled himself from the smalls on his face. As Anders took a breath to start another sentence, Fenris cut him off.

"Stop speaking, or I will come over there and stuff these in your mouth."

Anders's eyes lit with delight, first, and then with Justice. The sassy retort died on his tongue, to be replaced with, "Please don't."

Only vaguely aware of the conversation beside them, Cormac slammed into Zevran, still watching Artemis writhe beneath them. He smiled at the touch of Artie's foot against his side, and that encouragement drove him to push harder, to pretend this was Artemis right under him. "Is this what you were expecting?" he panted. "Is this how you want it, rough and hard? Let me hear you..." His hand slid down the back of Artemis's thigh and then back up the side of Zevran's, clutching for purchase, some way to support this desperate pounding.

Meeting Cormac's eyes, Artemis knew that question was for him. He ached to answer, and he did without words, every other thrust knocking a needy sound from his lips.

Head thrown back, Zevran let out a sound of his own, somewhere between a laugh and a groan. It was certainly a pleased sound, one way or the other. "Still with the questions?" he gasped, voice sounding strained. "But yes! This is--" He opened his mouth to keep talking, but the shove of Cormac's hips knocked the breath out of him. His mouth hung open instead around panting breaths.

Fenris's hand opened and closed around Isabela's hip, and the way she was rocking in his lap made him very much aware that his leathers were the only thing between them. "Fasta vass," he hissed against her skin.

"Ah! Finally some Tevene," Izzy said, grinding back mercilessly against him. "Wasn't that the agreement? I sit in your lap in exchange for some naughty words?" She reached behind herself, fingers searching for the hem of Fenris's pants and then landing on the laces. Without looking, she started to toy with the knots. 

"That won't work," Fenris muttered, taking her hips and easing her off of his lap. At her disappointed -- and indignant -- look, Fenris smirked and pointed at the laces she'd been trying to untie unseen. "Qunari knots. Third loop from the top."

"Is that how you keep your pants on, when the ladies at the bar get too interested?" Isabela asked, watching Fenris's fingers as he untied the knots. She'd learn it. Maybe not right away, but if she could pick locks, she could learn to untie the broody death elf's pants.

"They rarely get close enough to try. Unlike a select few individuals of my acquaintance." A hint of a smile touched the corners of Fenris's mouth as he looked up at Isabela and eased himself out of his trousers. "Is this what you were looking for?"

"Oooh! And so much more!" Isabela looked delighted. Leaning in beside Fenris, so she could still watch the festival of fuck in front of them, she traced her fingers along his length, only to pause and rub at a couple of spots more intently, before looking down.

"Yes, I do. Yes, that is. Yes, he did. No, I don't want to talk about it," Fenris sighed. "And yes, apparently it does burn, so be careful with that."

"It..." Isabela's eyes darted back to Artemis. "He's into that? You two are kinkier than I thought!"

"Perhaps more of a tingle than a pain," Fenris said, with a shrug, running his fingers up the inside of Isabela's thigh, questioningly.

"Well, how about I give you the good kind of tingle?" Isabela asked, her surprised look melting back into interest. Still, she watched his reaction as her hand moved over him, making sure that that look, that hitch of breath, wasn't the pained kind.

He answered by pinching her thigh, making her leg jump. "And I'll see about returning the favour." He eyed her half-clothed curves, the sounds and smell of sex heavy around them. With a hand on her hip, he guided her back onto his lap.

"I think I like this side of you, Broody," Izzy purred, angling herself so that she was still facing the show as she sank down onto him. Fenris's breath shivered out of him, his grip tight on her hips.

"Which side?" Anders drawled. "His lower half? You love that side on everyone." He gave his own 'lower half' a squeeze at the sight next to him.

"Not _everyone_ ," Isabela protested between sighs. "I do have standards, you know! ...they're low, but they're there!"


	290. Chapter 290

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pain, pleasure, and uncomfortable realisations.

Anders let his eyes drift back to Cormac. He wondered if he'd ever get used to watching Cormac this way -- demanding and raw, grabbing and taking. It was so different to how they were, together. Cormac was always so gentle with him, sometimes to the point of making him crazy, but this... Sometimes, he wanted this, too. Just never asked. Just never wanted to know Cormac could give him that. Another one of those strange, sick-feeling things, and while none of those had ever ruined anything for them, he didn't want to take that chance, didn't want to break something irreparable -- especially after the last time he'd talked Cormac into giving him what he really wanted. So, he took what was safe, let Cormac touch him softly, tore Cormac apart afterward. That, he could do, however long it had taken him to come into it. And he wondered if he would be so obviously, unignorably pleased, if he asked Cormac for some of the things he wanted. If he let Cormac do things to him that had never been done kindly -- well, Howe, but he wouldn't really count Howe as 'kindly'. Much more 'drunkenly'. 'Stupidly'. 'Half-assedly'.

He watched Cormac's whole ass piston forward, driving him into Zevran, over and over, listening to the sounds wrung from the three of them. Something wasn't right, here, and Anders couldn't tell if it was that his own perceptions were off -- it had been years since he'd seen Zevran -- or if Cormac was actually just... He thought it might be that this was someone new. Wasn't him, wasn't Artemis or Isabela. That might explain why the rhythm seemed off. And if he was trying not to pay too much attention to Artie, maybe that would do it.

And then Cormac howled, wordless, at first, then, "Please! Aah--" The next word turned into a groan, but Anders's ears caught the gist of it, having heard that sound so many times. That had almost been Artemis's name.

"And now you are pleading?" Zevran panted. "Oh, I must be talented!"

Artie's eyes snapped open at the sound that was almost his name. Had he heard that or was that just his imagination? He met Cormac's eyes with a heated look, a groan shivering past his lips, before turning his attention back to their guest. "Incredibly talented," he purred in Zevran's ear, biting at the pointed shell and writhing under him.

Zevran's grip on Artie's wrist tightened, and he panted against Artie's neck. First Solona, and now these two. He would have to commend their family on the excellent genes. He didn't know such talents were hereditary.

"Oh, yes! Like that!" Zevran hissed over his shoulder at a particularly merciless thrust, and the Hawke under him agreed, a fine tremble running through his skin.

Long legs left Zevran's back to wrap around Cormac too, and Artie's heels dug into the small of Cormac's back to spur him on.

Artie's whimpers turned to shouts, and Fenris tightened his grip on Izzy as he rocked up into her. "Brace yourself," he said in her ear. "There's about to be an earthquake."

"Ooh! Is that a promise? Doesn't feel like a position where you're going to get that kind of force, but all right!" Isabela grinned over her shoulder at Fenris, who simply snorted and cocked his chin at the pile of bodies.

"Doesn't matter what position you're in," Anders pointed out, bracing the bottle between his knees, as his other hand moved more quickly over the space between his hips. "Matters what position Artie's in."

Isabela just looked confused for a moment, but that faded into another smug smile as Fenris's fingers caressed her.

"You want this?" Cormac snarled, barely able to force his breath into words. "You want me to pound you down and empty myself into your tight ass? Because that's what I'm going to do. I'm going to come inside of you. I'm going to paint your insides white."

Zevran's breath stuttered as his hips rolled of their own volition, grinding down into Artemis, deep and hard. "Yes," he demanded. "Yes, give me that!"

Cormac licked his lips and watched his brother's face, dreamed of being the one to put that look there, to wring out those desperate sounds.

Artemis was past coherence, past words or sense. He pried his white-knuckled grip away from Zevran's shoulder to reach down between them, wrapping a hand around himself and pumping desperately. His toes curled, and his shout filled the air.

Then Izzy felt the ground tremble, heard the rustle of leaves overhead, and she gasped at the sensation, eyes wide and nails digging into Fenris's leg. Fenris's laugh was breathless but smug.

"Earthquake," he and Anders pointed out at the same time. Izzy had so many questions.

"He...?" She panted, paused to collect her thoughts while Fenris continued to be distracting. "That's a thing?"

Fenris cackled against her shoulder while Anders grinned and nodded.

"Not every time?" she asked.

Anders nodded again. "Every time. Well. Mostly."

Zevran almost didn't notice the earthquake, the way Cormac was slamming into him, the way Artemis was clenching around him, but he managed a breathless laugh of his own when he did. "So it is true," he said, his smug grin interrupted by a gasp.

"I want you," Cormac panted. "Oh, b--" _beloved_ "--blight, I want this!" He fought to ignore the elf between them, but Zevran got louder and more desperate, as he got closer, and that voice wasn't the one Cormac wanted to hear. Or even the other one he wanted to hear. Any of them, really, and the list wasn't short, but this elf wasn't really on it, however talented he so clearly was.

Cormac pounded in harder, the frustration driving his hips, and Zevran arched beneath him, head coming to rest against Cormac's shoulder, as the moans and gasps grew louder and more intent. "Do it," Cormac insisted. "Come for us."

It wasn't that he cared, but this little charade would fall apart if he left Zevran unsatisfied. Artemis was pleased -- thrilled, to judge by the force that rattled the earth beneath them -- and that was enough. Still, Cormac rutted into the elf beneath him, as if sheer force would be enough, tears of frustration gathering in the corners of his eyes as he squeezed them shut and thought of Artemis begging him for any number of things. Maybe he'd get lucky, if he could just keep his mind in the right place. If not, he'd pretend, and take the rest out of Anders, as soon as they had a minute alone. But, every time Cormac edged closer, Zevran would make another sound -- of delight, at least -- and that same rush of numbness would lash through Cormac's body.

Zevran moaned, a long, slow sound, broken up by the merciless thrusts into his body, and his eyes widened, as he gazed down at Artemis, a stunned look on his face, as the pleasure of the moment washed over and rolled through him.

Artemis wound his legs tighter around the two men on top of him, one more soft groan catching in his throat as Zevran spilled into him. Zevran finally let go of Artie's wrist to better brace himself against Cormac's thrusts, palms flat on either side of Artie's head, and over his shoulder, Artemis caught the determined look on his brother's face and saw the sweat dotting his skin.

Artie stopped himself from saying Cormac's name and from making a growl of frustration when Cormac kept his eyes shut. Hoping Zevran wouldn't notice, Artie wrapped a hand around Cormac's wrist and sent a jolt through his skin and then another, setting up a pulsing rhythm a hair faster than Cormac's thrusts.

"More," Cormac pleaded, with barely enough sense left to leave his brother's name out of it. He pressed himself closer against Zevran's back, writhing, the drying blood sticky between them, tugging the wounds open with every motion. "Fuck," he panted, and then again, "fuck, I _can't_ \--"

Anders watched Zevran pick up the knife, again, weight shifting to support him single-handed, as the elf reached back with it. Anders considered saying something, but really, knowing Cormac like he did, it would probably work. Besides which he was sitting right here. It wasn't like it would scar.

Cormac screamed as the blade slid around the curve of his hip, a thin line opening in his skin. Finally, he emptied himself into Zevran, despite himself, the sparks running up his arm soothing and sweet. After a moment to catch his breath, he eased himself back, as slowly as he could make himself move, trembling and dazed.


	291. Chapter 291

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of an evening, complete with terrible humour and a pile of tangled apostates.

"Anders?" he called, falling back to sprawl against the blankets.

Anders rolled to his knees and up, handing the bottle back to Isabela as he picked his way over the pile of bedroll to Cormac. "How bad?" he asked, casually, a smile not quite making it to his eyes, when he saw the look on Cormac's face.

"Not bad. Just ... a little outdoors for this," Cormac said, pushing the concern aside with a shake of his head. He'd done exactly what he meant to do, and now he was through. "Close it up before I get something unfortunate in it?"

Blue healing light washed over Cormac's skin, closing the knife-wounds so that only dried smears of blood remained. "Look at that," said Anders. "Pierced by a Crow's knife, and yet you still live." The light faded from Anders's fingertips, and he sprawled next to Cormac on the bedroll, their shoulders touching.

"Former Crow," Zevran reminded him, holding up one finger. "And technically he was the one doing the piercing."

"You did some piercing of your own, you know," Artie replied, legs falling back to the bedroll as Zevran disentangled them. "And no, that's not a complaint."

"I'd certainly hope not!" Zevran said, a hand over his chest. "I have a reputation to uphold! You understand. And speaking of reputations..." Zevran looked back at the tree, where there was still the slap of skin on skin. "Ah, Isabela," he sighed, taking in the sight. "I borrow one husband, and she borrows another."

Cormac wrapped his fingers around Anders's hand, just to touch something familiar. "She's been trying to make use of both of them, since before they were married! Not that she'll ever get any closer to my brother. He's ... well, she's not a handsome elven gentleman, if you get me."

Zevran laughed. "I had a feeling he might be that way. Not many nobles would have married an elf, however fond they might be, though -- and doubly married a man -- so credit where it's due. Have your parents recovered from the shock?"

"I don't think their ashes mind," Cormac said, with a shrug that bunched the blanket under his shoulders. "Our mum while she was alive, though? She was much more disapproving of my choices than his, I think." Frankly, he often thought their mother was grateful Artie wouldn't reproduce.

"Oh, was running around with pirates and Wardens not quite the life she envisioned for her son?" Zevran asked, crawling slowly toward Fenris and Isabela. He still had some services left to offer, and Isabela, at least, never objected.

"She might have minded less if I weren't the heir. As it goes, our younger brother inherited, anyway. I didn't need the trouble." Cormac tried to sound nonchalant, but his voice was still a little tight. He'd pass it off as too much screaming, he thought, unfolding his legs from under him and stretching until he could rub his ankle against Artie's.

"She didn't want you running around with dangerous apostates, as I recall," Anders muttered. "No room to talk, there, really. Especially since _you're_ the dangerous apostate in this relationship. I'm a fine upstanding citizen."

"Mmm," Cormac purred reaching across to run his other hand up Anders's chest. "And how up is your standing, right now?"

"Straight up," Anders replied with an upward twitch of his lips. "Which is the fault of a certain dangerous apostate. I might even mean you."

Artemis cackled, wriggling until the bedrolls sat flat underneath him and shifting just enough to get a view of his husband. Well, his husband's feet, Zevran's backside, and Isabela's... buoys. Fenris's grunts of pleasure settled as a pleasant tingle at the base of Artie's spine.

In the afterglow, Artie wanted to curl up next to a warm body, preferably Cormac's warm body but that was asking for trouble. It took a while to will his loose limbs into motion, but he rolled up to his knees and crawled to the other side of Anders. That, at least, wouldn't seem so strange to Izzy and Zevran.

Though truly, Artie needn't have bothered with how distracted the two of them were with each other and with Fenris. Zevran swallowed Isabela's pants of pleasure as she bounced on Fenris's lap.

Anders tucked an arm under Artie, pulling him even closer. "You know, I'd hold on to him, too, but I don't want to rub blood into my coat. It's going to be hard enough to get what's on there out."

One hand leapt up and Cormac flicked Anders on the tip of his nose, before settling back down on Anders's chest, this time wrapped around Artemis's hand. "Or you could oil the leather more often and stop worrying about it," he joked, a faint trickle of electricity running down his fingers. This was good, he decided. Anders in one hand and Artie in the other. Still, he tried to remember where he'd left his glaive and how long it was going to take him to grab it if anything went wrong. They were, after all, just a bit back from a common rest spot.

"But, where's the fun in that?" Anders asked. "I'd be spending far too much time putting oil on my coat instead of in more interesting places."

"Considering your coat is currently what's preventing you from putting oil and other things in more interesting places, I'd question the conclusion, there." Cormac stayed on his back, listening to the muffled sounds of Isabela's pleasure. Those were sounds he could appreciate. Had appreciated. Continued to appreciate.

"Or you could just take off the coat," Artie suggested, rubbing his cheek along the feathers at Anders's shoulder. "Save the oil for those interesting places." A feather tickled his nose, and he whined, trying to blow it out of the way.

Anders chuckled, burying a hand in Artie's hair and mussing it. "Well, if this isn't like old times... And whose interesting places are we talking about? Yours? Your brother's? Fenris's? Isabela did say she'd love to see him glisten."

The feathers muffled Artie's bark of laughter.

Isabela's throaty groans rose in pitch, and Artie lifted his head enough to see Fenris's feet flat on the ground, toes digging wrinkles into the bedroll underneath them.

"Oh, I'm pretty sure he's about to be glistening, and not with oil," Cormac remarked, head turned to watch the three of them.

Fenris choked out a few things that might have been words, if he'd managed to finish them, knuckles white where one hand clutched Isabela's breast.

"Not so tight!" Zevran objected, slapping at Fenris's hand, before returning his own fingers to where they'd been inciting Isabela to ever closer moans and squeals. Every few thrusts, he could feel wet lyrium drag against his fingertips, and if he hadn't already been well aware of Fenris's history -- at least what went on the handbills -- he might have asked where the man had gotten that done. It almost seemed like the kind of thing he might seek out, although, with a little less angry magister. There were enough people trying to kill him.

And suddenly, one of them was Isabela, as her fingers bit into his shoulder, clutching at his collarbone as she arched back, slamming the back of her head against the top of Fenris's. That was going to leave a mark, Zevran was sure. On him. They probably had enough hair to cover any bruises, but the bite of nails into his skin... maybe he'd just ask Anders to take care of that for him.

The sounds and sights certainly weren't helping Anders and his upstanding problem, not when the next shout was Fenris's and not when it made Justice sit up and listen, remembering what Fenris had felt and tasted like. Anders closed his eyes in case they decided to flash blue.

Panting, Fenris ground up a few more times into Isabela just to wring a few more mewls from her. Tree bark was rough against the back of his head, and he stared up dazedly at the leaves as Zevran and Izzy exchanged another sloppy kiss.

Artie pressed two fingers to his lips and let out a wolf-whistle. Isabela grinned against Zevran's lips and sat back to look at the other pile of limbs. "Well, boys, he does know how to use a sword," she said, reaching behind her to pat Fenris's ribs. "Can I keep him, Artie?"

"You may _borrow_ him," Artie replied, resting his elbow on Anders's chest and propping his chin in his palm. "But no, you may not keep him. No one keeps him. He keeps me."

Fenris huffed a laugh, giving Isabela's thighs one last squeeze before she pulled off his lap.

"I strongly support making use of this place for its intended purpose," Anders said, after a few moments of squishy thumping-fumbling sounds from closer to the  trees. "It being a campsite and all. I'm sure there's water somewhere near here. And then we should catch a nap, before we hike back down and into the civilised world. I'm tired just from watching the lot of you."

"Oh?" Zevran asked. "Where's that Warden stamina now?"

"It started two days ago, in my clinic, and is finally getting to where I might consider a couple of hours down, before I leave Cormac in need of another round of healing. And then, back to my lovely home. I call the place 'A Sewer Runs Through It', a delightful dwarven-carved hole in the ground, between an actual sewer and the stairs leading down to another actual sewer. If you're ever in Kirkwall again, perhaps you'll find me there, and you can tell me how your Crow count is coming along."

"Ah, if I am ever in Kirkwall again, I hope it will be to catch a boat back to Amaranthine," Zevran said, making his way back to the pile of armour he thought was mostly his. "It might be nice to rest, before I move on again, though."

Trousers still unlaced, Fenris made his way to the pile of mages, to curl up behind Artemis. "I leave you alone with an assassin, and find you curled up in a heap of apostate filth," he drawled, eyes sparkling. "Magical bears! And I thought I only had to worry about you with elves!"

"I have shields and the mountain savage is a healer. It _is_ the elves you have to worry about him with," Cormac muttered, retrieving his hand from Artemis's grip to find a corner of a blanket he could wipe the blood off with, before he wrapped himself around Anders. He was a mage. Clothes were optional.

"Hear that, Fenris?" said Artie, wriggling back against his husband. "The magical bears are safe from me, but you're not." He twisted in Fenris's grip to click his teeth in front of his nose.

Fenris smirked. "When have I ever played it safe?" He kissed Artie's cheek and closed his eyes.


	292. PART LII: WRITTEN IN BLOOD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran leaves behind a gift. A rather ... questionable gift.

A scream woke Fenris hours later. He sat up, wild-eyed, and reached for a knife that wasn't there under a pillow that wasn't there, tattoos flaring threateningly. And then he heard another scream, and his brain caught up. 

"Fasta vass," he groaned, grimacing and looking away from the rutting pair on the other side of his mage. "Can't you shut him up?" Anders threw him a rude gesture and didn't slow.

Eyes still serenely closed, Artie reached up and tugged Fenris back down onto the bedroll. "Just think of it as background noise," he said, voice gravelly with sleep. "Like... birds chirping or something."

"Amatus, the birds outside our window don't sound like that unless they are being killed."

Anders took mercy, as Cormac's breathing picked up, and he muffled the next several blood-curdling shrieks with his own mouth, as Cormac's fingers tangled in his hair and clutched at his back.

"Mmm," Isabela purred, from elsewhere in the pile of blankets. "This is a delightful vision to wake up to. What do you think, Zev--" She glanced around, but the elf was nowhere to be seen. "Ah, shit. He does that."

She pulled on her boots and got up, knowing he'd have left something behind, like he usually did. And there it was -- a roll of parchment tied around a stick jutting from the ground. Odd that he hadn't set it with a dagger, she thought, until she unrolled it. Inside was a smaller scrap of paper, explaining that he'd found the thing on his way up to the Dalish camp, and couldn't think of anyone better to leave it with than these delightful mages, who might actually be able to decipher the thing. The scroll itself appeared to be written in blood -- fairly fresh blood. That was something Isabela had seen before, from blood magic to threatening letters, and there was no question of what had been used for ink, stains remaining no matter how many times she smeared it. Oddly, the blood seemed to smear, but it soaked back into the page where the letters weren't.

Cormac and Anders, she knew, were probably going to be useless for another hour or two. At least, if they were with each other anything like either of them was with her. "Artemis?" Isabela sang out, sweetly. "I think you need to see this. I don't know what it is, but it's written in blood, and it looks like the kind of thing maybe you'd know what to do with."

Artemis whined, the sound muffled against Fenris's chest. He sat up groggily, one hand trying to flatten sleep-mussed hair. "'I don't know what it is, but it's written in blood,'" Artie repeated, raising his voice an octave and mimicking Isabela's accent. He dropped back into his usual register and muttered, "Those are always promising words."

Isabela batted her eyelashes and waved the scroll in his direction. Artemis left his husband's warmth to take a look.

"Ha. Yes," he said. "That is blood. That is definitely blood." He squinted at the words and read them aloud, "'Of binding a symptom, no vial can contain you. Two of three, three yourself, asunder. Caged, but still meddling, you will not goad me. Truth will hold you, or it is no longer true.' Oh, wonderful. An ominous poem written in blood. Lovely parting gift, Zevran."

Izzy's grin was razor sharp. "You should have seen what he left me last time," she said in a voice that dared Artemis to ask. He was afraid to.

"Right," Artie drawled. He frowned down at the scroll. "Sounds a bit like a riddle, but... I'm not sure what to make of it. This, though. This right here is a map. A bit badly drawn, but a map, nonetheless. Plus a hand-print. From a hand missing part of a finger."

"Ooh, a map?" Isabela said, eyes lighting up as she snatched the scroll back. "Did Zevvy leave us a treasure map?"

Anders groaned and sat up, dripping sweat, with Cormac's legs still wrapped around him. "I heard 'blood' and 'treasure map'. Whatever this is, it's a terrible idea."

"Oh, I'm sure you know everything there is to know about the horrors of bloody treasure," Fenris drawled, trying not to be awake until Cormac put clothes on. "We should burn the blankets, when we leave, just to be sure no one uses them to summon demons."

"Can't use _dried_ blood for that," Anders pointed out, assuming it would be, wrapping one sweaty lock of his hair around the rest and tying it. Long hair, he'd decided, actually looked good on him, if he kept it ... well, better than he'd been able to, the last time. He ran his hands over Cormac's body, stroking and squeezing, regretfully considering ending this interlude now that they'd woken up the whole camp. Somehow, they'd managed to keep it quiet, for a little while, at least.

"Let us see the blighted thing," Cormac groaned, holding his hand out. "It's got to be more than just that."

"It is. Isn't this...?" Isabela turned the paper and squinted at it. "Isn't this the mark that used to be on the crates from the mine?" Isabela passed the page to Cormac.

"Hubert's family. I heard they used to be some kind of nobles. Never very good at it, but it's Orlais. Bit funny for a family that's been traders for long enough to have been named for it, but I guess if you really make a good play in The Game, they'll drag even tradesmen into the noble ranks." Cormac sat up, shifting his weight in Anders's lap, and Anders choked on his next breath, catching himself with both hands as he tipped back. "I have to assume my Orlesian isn't as good as I think it is, because this first part doesn't make proper sense. 'Our line is dead, but still walking. I know not if it is because of the old ways, but my three boys are now something other because of want. If He can be called on, I ask you, Scholar, do so, and the price is paid.' The old ways? Because of _want_?"

"You're sure it's Orlesian? Not the language, but the subject." Anders's eyes were squeezed shut, his head hanging back as he spoke, and Cormac ground down in his lap. "Sounds Nevarran. But, they tell me the Mortalitasi came from an old Tevinter school, so maybe they were in Orlais, too. Walking dead and maybe a desire demon? Is this a contract to get _someone else_ out of a deal with a demon?"

"Want. Desire." Artemis nodded. "Plus walking dead and -- oh. Demons and corpses? That is a bad combination."

Fenris rolled to his feet and peered at the scroll over Cormac's shoulder. "Revenant?" he suggested. "Arcane horror?"

"And three of... whatever they are," Artie muttered. "Sorry, Izzy. Looks like your map leads less to treasure and more to angry dead people."

"But maybe they're angry dead people _with_ treasure?" Isabela suggested. "It wouldn't hurt to check, would it?"

"No, I'm pretty sure it would hurt," Anders sighed, shifting his weight so he had one hand free with which to grope Cormac. "Angry dead people do that."

Fenris tilted his head, eyeing the crude map at the scroll's bottom. "Where does this lead?" he asked. "Is it somewhere on the mountain?"

"That would explain why Zevran found it," Izzy said, shrugging. "Not that much can explain Zevran, really."

Artemis joined his husband, bumping him with his shoulder and peering at the map over Cormac's other shoulder, ignoring the fact that his brother was naked and still attached to an equally naked Anders. "That looks... hm. If this is Sundermount, that smudge there, that could be a cave entrance. Hang on. This route looks familiar." 

"Wait, that's a road?" Isabela leaned over Anders's shoulder, to get a better look at the map -- and whatever Anders's hand was doing to Cormac. She definitely liked that look on him. "If that's a road and these splotchy things are caves, then there's a road through two caves and what is that symbol?"

"Buried dead," Cormac panted, struggling to keep at least some focus on the discussion at hand, which was not easy when he was the only one of the five of them naked and impaled, and Anders kept doing... whatever that was, with his fingers. "It's a graveyard. It's probably that one at the top of the ridge over the Dalish camp. Or, alternately, it's some other place on a totally other peak, and we've never seen it before, and this map is a couple centuries old, so maybe we never will."

"No, I think you're right," Fenris muttered, squinting at the lines. "If that's a road, and that means graveyard, look at the other marks on the map. Two more caves behind the road, this large empty spot where the trees -- I assume those are trees -- aren't drawn. That has to be where this is. I would be very surprised, if it were not. But, did we not already do battle with those dead? Perhaps there is nothing left."

"I'm always happy to check for places we might not have dug up and looted! Last time you were all trying so hard not to offend anyone, I could hardly get any treasure hunting done!" Isabela grinned widely, raising her eyebrows suggestively at the Hawkes before her.

Artemis sighed and tilted his head back, shaking his head at what he could see of the sky. "And now we're robbing graveyards? Lovely."


	293. Chapter 293

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As expected, that's not a treasure map, so much as a trouble map.

They made their way back up Sundermount, towards the Dalish camp. This time Theron didn't fall into the road to greet them, but the woman who'd stood guard with him earlier was there, likely with a second guard still tucked out of sight.

"Back again, shems?" she said. "Here to give Theron a longer goodbye?"

From her tone, Artie couldn't tell if she was teasing or sneering. Probably sneering.

"We are merely passing by," Fenris answered, meeting her stare. "Our destination is farther up the mountain." He jutted his chin towards the peak. 

The elf guard seemed mollified. "Go on then. Make it quick." She stepped to the side to let them pass, only to call out to them before they were out of sight. "Shems! Hold on a moment."

"Not sure how I feel about being called a shem," Fenris muttered.

The woman approached them, pulling a scroll from her belt and holding it out. "I found this on the road shortly after you'd left. Did you drop it?"

Izzy snatched it for herself before anyone could answer. Unrolling it, her eyebrows shot up. "Well, well. This looks familiar." She nudged Cormac with her elbow and showed the scroll to him.

"That's Rivaini, isn't it? Read it to me." Cormac rubbed the back of his head. He could read a lot of things, but oddly enough, Rivaini was not on the list. He kept meaning to get to that, but Antivan had seemed more important, the last time.

"You, of all people, can't read Rivaini? You _are_ a dogshit barbarian, aren't you?" Isabela laughed. "'He was our hero against Par Vollen, and we were in awe. Perhaps it was our fault. There was a day when he changed and saw us as servants, not those he offered to serve. And then he was infested. We need a seal, Scholar, in the faith you choose. The price is paid.' And then the next part's in Common. You need me to read that, too?"

Cormac rolled his eyes and read the rest. "'Of binding a symptom, no vial can contain you. Three of three, you perverted a man elevated by others. I will not yield, even as I must turn to face you. Truth will hold you, or a new truth we will create.' This really doesn't sound good, but at least there's only three of whatever these are. I wonder what happened to the first one, and I really wonder why these things are showing up now. They don't look new."

"We've made a name for ourselves, in certain circles," Anders pointed out. "I wouldn't be surprised if every demon in the Marches doesn't have a bounty on our heads, by now."

"You think it's a trap?" Cormac asked, squinting at the map at the bottom.

"Let's just say I wouldn't be surprised."

"A bit complicated for a trap," said Artie, frowning. "A pair of scrolls on Sundermount handed to us by elves who, I assume, don't want us dead." He glanced back at the guardswoman. "Or who at least don't care enough to go out of their way to harm us. I hope. This is also implying that there is a third scroll -- or a first, technically. Where is that?"

"Maybe a third elf will appear and hand us that one," Izzy said, sidling up to Fenris. "Or maybe Fenris has it hidden in his pants somewhere. Let me check."

Fenris snorted. "I think you checked my pants rather thoroughly earlier."

Artemis chuckled and wrapped an arm around Fenris's waist on his other side.

* * *

If it was a trap, they decided to walk into it, beginning with the map on the first scroll they'd found. It shouldn't have been hard to find the cave they were looking for -- the path up was fairly plain and wide enough not to be mistaken -- but they hadn't quite realised it led through the middle of the mark on the other map, until the shades began to surface around something more ragged and humanoid.

"That's not on the map!" Cormac objected, unshouldering his glaive and striking lightning through the demonic forms rising out of the earth.

"Did you expect it to be? They weren't here the last time we were up this way," Fenris pointed out, cleaving a shade in two. "I'm sure I would have remembered that."

Isabela jammed her knives into what was now, obviously, an arcane horror. "Ah, nature. It just keeps changing around to screw with you."

"Pretty sure this is the opposite of natural," Anders quipped, laying more lightning across the group. "Is that thing wielding an axe?"

"Don't know what you're talking about!" Artie said cheerfully, even though his eyes were wide. He threw rock at the Arcane Horror, sheets of stone appearing and surrounding the creature's head. "What's more natural than a reanimated pile of bones trying to kill you?"

Anders quirked an eyebrow at him as he continued to cast. "Is this Bethany's influence? Because suddenly I am so much more concerned about your childhood."

While the Arcane Horror was distracted -- unable to see through rock even without eyes, apparently -- Fenris charged in, Fade-blue hand punching through what was left of the creature's skin and tearing out its spine. Anders winced in sympathy.

Isabela darted in and out of the shadows, knives slicing through shades. "I'll have you know," she said over her shoulder, "that Bethany is the _best_ influence." She grinned, and Artie groaned.

"No, nope. Don't need to know." Artie switched to lightning.

Cormac's glaive sliced through two shades, and he glanced around. "Did we get them all? I don't want any going down the mountain..."

One of Isabela's daggers flew over his shoulder. "Missed one."

Anders finished that one off with a blinding lightning strike that melted a palm-sized spot on the ground.

Fenris set to disarticulating what was left of the horror, after setting the axe aside. "Strange mages, in the Marches," he muttered. "Spears and glaives and axes... isn't magic enough?"

"Come on, you know better," Anders reminded him, sloshing a little water on the axe blade and cleaning off some of the design. "Just like there's always magic, there's always a way to stop magic. Just like you can stop a sword with a shield. Nothing's good for everything." He and Isabela puzzled over the axe, for a bit.

"This looks like a really nice reproduction of that axe from the stories..." Isabela said, at last. "With the goodman and the reaver, and the bloom of bone and gut, or whatever that line is. I mean, I don't know if it's a real axe, in the story, but this looks like it was made to look like that one, and it's very definitely a real axe."

"How do you know these things?" Fenris asked, looking up from the pile of bones he was crushing.

"I spent a lot of years in dockside taverns. I know all sorts of wild stories, and I have no idea if half of them are true. Of course the longer I spend in Kirkwall, the more believable some of them become."

"And here I thought you were only into the Page Six kind of 'wild stories'," Artemis drawled, kicking aside a bit of bone that had rolled next to his foot. Ew. Then he paused to consider his words. More ew. "Unless that is the kind of story you're talking about? Do I want to know what the 'goodman and the reaver' were up to?"

Isabela shrugged. "They were kin in 'blood and sin', so I don't know. Probably summoning demons. And then the one got bent and killed the other. I really found the talk of the axe more exciting than what was being done with it. Same things you usually do with an axe."

Fenris nodded at Artemis. "So not Page Six."

"Oh good," said Artie, looking marginally relieved.

Fenris shouldered his way between Isabela and Anders to get a better look at the axe. Anders handed it off to him, and Fenris hefted it, testing its weight. "It's a well-made weapon," he said, nodding his approval. "If in need of some cleaning." He caught Artie's amused glance.

* * *

"Should fetch a good price, either way," Izzy said with a shrug. "Or maybe we could show it to Varric and see if he'll tell us his own version of the story." Her grin broadened. "I'm sure his version would be much more entertaining."

"And horrifying," muttered Fenris, shouldering the axe.

"I wonder how horrifying his stories are when he's not talking about us," Cormac wondered, aloud, as he swiped the maps from his brother. "If we just get some special treatment because we're -- Ah!" He stopped talking and turned one of the maps around as he turned in a circle. "Well, I didn't quite recognise it before, but this... is here. Weird. I thought this one was further up."

"I guess that sets the tone for the next 'buried dead men'. How's the treasure suiting you, so far?" Anders asked Isabela, as he kicked the pile of shattered bone around the wide spot in the road.

"I've seen better, but that's just one of them. These are numbered. We're missing at least one! I bet you if we follow them all, we'll get clues to a proper treasure, a treasure fit for kings! Maybe even a king's treasure. There's been a lot of war in the Marches. A whole lot of lost history and hidden treasure out here." Isabela set forth, again, toward the cave. "Come on, we'll dig up a few graves, bring the treasure back to the living, and burn the bodies so they can't turn into horrors. It's just taking payment for our service to the world!"

"She really can justify absolutely anything, if you give her a minute," Cormac murmured, following Izzy up the path.

"I suspect it's the only reason she's still alive," Anders sighed.

Fenris nodded. "Though I'm sure the knives help."


	294. Chapter 294

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of more undead and one very much alive.

With the map's help, they were able to pick their way through the right cave, which was blessedly free of varterrals, and reappeared in the foggy air, the stone gray and damp underfoot.

Anders drew in a deep breath as though enjoying the air. "Ah, doesn't this bring back fond memories," he said. "If I had known, I would have suggested we bring Merrill, for nostalgia's sake."

Fenris padded behind Isabela, looking around warily, as though expecting that odd dragon woman to reappear. When a shriek cut through the air, he looked up automatically for dragon wings. Instead, movement came from ground level, in the shape of a limping undead, a skeleton dragging a sword behind it.

In a moment, Isabela's blades were out, and then she was out of sight.

"More angry undead," Fenris called over his shoulder boredly. He hefted the axe he'd just taken from the Arcane Horror. He'd rather not blunt his sword hacking at bone.

Anders stretched out his hand, and the ground glowed green under the skeleton's shambling feet before those feet stopped, stuck to the ground.

Cormac clenched his fist and the skeleton began to crumble under the weight of his will. As bone crunched, two more shambling creatures made their way up from the path Isabela had disappeared down. Actually, they shambled rather quickly and nimbly for a pair of corpses. "Three brothers," Cormac muttered. "Artie? If you ever find yourself considering demons as an appropriate answer, think of this moment. I know I'm going to..."

Anders quickly discovered the other two couldn't be stunned or stopped. And then he realised at least one of them had magic, as he found himself dragged toward the point of the rather large sword the thing held. "Revenant!" he shouted, as Cormac's barrier flew up around him, and he stopped moving, stumbling against the wall of it.

Fenris had swapped the axe for his own sword and plunged it straight through the revenant, as it dragged him in. Artemis -- where was -- Oh. Right where he'd been standing. Of course. Sometimes he forgot his mage didn't move if he didn't mean to move.

Whooping, Isabela slammed down from above, daggers drawn, driving the revenant to the ground with her knees on its shoulders. As the undead collapsed, the sword wrenched out of Fenris's hands, dragged down. "Great minds!" Isabela laughed, driving her daggers into the thing's neck, trying to pry its head off. "Sorry about that."

"Izzy!" Cormac shouted, landing a solid lightning strike against the other revenant, as Isabela caught its attention. A second later, a stone fist collided with its face, knocking its head back.

"Finish that one," Fenris growled to Izzy, picking up the axe again and hoping that other damned creature hadn't bent his sword.

"No problem," Isabela huffed, still hacking at the thing's neck.

Fenris sprang at the standing revenant, swinging the axe in a wide arc and cursing when it met the creature's shield instead. Another heavy swing knocked the shield to the side, and a third broke the arm holding it with a sickening crack of bone. A fourth swing caught in the meat -- or what was left of the meat -- of the revenant's shoulder, and as Fenris fought to tug his axe free, the revenant made a swing of its own...

A swing interrupted by the head of its revenant-brother colliding with its face. The axe tore free, and the next swing sheared off the creature's head. It dropped to the ground and rolled next to its brother's. Fenris squinted at both heads but couldn't tell which went to which undead body.

"Thank you," Fenris told Izzy.

"What can I say? I used my head. Or his, I suppose."

"Three of them," Anders said, sadly, as the barrier dropped. He stepped closer and crouched to get a better look at the sword. "Someone knows who these three were. This is a trophy sword from a tournament. I can't tell which one -- Maker knows it's not like I ever got invited to these things, when I was an age to appreciate them -- but, it's got names of probably the previous winners carved into it."

"Etched," Fenris corrected. "Etched into the metal. Carved into wood."

"You're probably right, but why do you know that? It's not even your native language." Anders squinted up as Fenris brushed corpse dust off himself. "Nevermind. I don't want to know. What I do want to know is if that was all one demon, which I'm really kind of afraid it might have been."

"I'm not sure why it would be more dangerous if it were one demon instead of several. Isn't more demons worse?" Cormac asked, as he set to work helping Fenris destroy the bodies.

"If that's all one demon, we have a single, very large problem," Anders pointed out. "And it looks like someone else was strong enough to contain it for a little while, but not to destroy it. I really don't know if this is something we should be messing with."

"You and I, Anders, we took on one of the biggest, baddest demons ever to cross the Veil. Centuries of legends about this demon, and we wiped the floor with him. Actually, you and Justice wiped the floor with him, while the other four of us hid in a bubble and threw things at other things, so you could focus on the demon. Either way? We kicked its ass. Whatever this is, unless it's one of the other three, it can't possibly be that bad. Also, we should get Merrill and Bethy, if we're going after the nastiest things ever to cross the Veil, again. Just on principle. Can never have too many people." Cormac leaned on his glaive and looked a lot more enthusiastic than he felt.

"We should write down those names and take them to the Hanged Man. I bet somebody knows what tournament this thing's from," Isabela decided.

"There's a tournament in Tantervale, you know. Not often, but it's the only one I know. I wish I'd had a chance to stay longer, maybe to enter," Fenris sighed and stretched. "But, no, instead I killed a man and made for Kirkwall, which is apparently the mage capital of the South. An excellent and well-considered decision, on my part."

Artemis bumped him with his shoulder. "I'd say it worked out for you," he teased. "Found a mage of your very own in the mage capital, didn't you?" He slipped an arm around Fenris's waist.

"Yes," Fenris drawled, the smirk on his lips ruining the effect of his scowl. "And a gaggle of other mages, besides."

While they talked, Izzy poked around the newly dead corpses -- or rather un-undead corpses -- for any loot. She used the trophy sword like a walking stick. Once she was finished, Fenris kicked over the revenant lying on top of and impaled by his sword and tried to pry it free, with a great deal of cursing.

"So what now?" asked Artie. "Do we try to track down that first scroll?"

"We could," Cormac said, with a shrug. "Or we could just wait for it to come to us. It's Kirkwall. We're some of the best known faces in town. If it shows up, it'll end up becoming our problem. I mean, assuming it's up here on the mountain, we could spend weeks looking for it and never spot it. It's paper." He gestured to the leafy drifts and composting leaf-fall along the edges of the trail. The whole floor of the wood was about the colour of the pages they had, even this time of the year.

"But, what if it's serious," Anders countered. "What if we broke the binding or something?"

"What if we did? It's Kirkwall. It's still our problem. We'll stop and talk to Theron on the way out. Get him to let us know if any of the hunters find anything." Cormac shrugged again and stretched his arm, trying to shake the feeling back into a few of his fingers. Casting while he was nervous always put a strain on his hands. "I'm a little curious that two of these things came up so easily, but one came into the hands of an assassin who was being hunted and the other to a hunter -- I think she was a hunter, and if she wasn't she was a scout -- either way, two people who are extremely accustomed to spotting things that are subtly out of place. Which we, to be entirely honest, are not. Well, maybe you, Artie, but I think even you'd have to know what it was supposed to look like, out here, right down to the way leaves land when they fall. We'd do better if this were happening in Kirkwall, itself."

"I'm just glad that, for once, whatever this is actually isn't happening in Kirkwall," Fenris muttered. "I thought coming to the Marches would make my life less exciting, but no, now I'm stuck on a mountain with a bunch of mages, hunting some horror of the Abyss." He paused. "Still better than Minrathous."

"At least the view is better," Isabela said with an exaggerated wink over her shoulder as she headed back the way they'd come, back towards the caves. "And did you really want 'less exciting', anyway?"

Fenris opened his mouth to respond, only to shrug and follow. He supposed the pantsless pirate had a point. Two points.

"And we're not so much hunting this horror of the Abyss," Anders added, "as having this horror of the Abyss fall into our lap. Not that I'm sure that's any better."

"It's not," Fenris assured him.

Anders shrugged and cast a light spell as they ducked back into the caves, highlighting stalactites with a diffuse glow. "No, but that has become a theme with us, hasn't it?"

"Hanged Man when we get back?" Izzy called back to them, her voice echoing off stone. "All this looting and killing of undead has made me terribly thirsty."

"Me too," said Anders, squeezing Cormac's rump through his robes. After a moment of thought, he squeezed Artie's rump with his other hand. For good measure.

Fenris growled and swatted that hand away. "You have your own Hawke!"

"I've got gold, and I've got silver, I've got copper, and I've got brass, I've got all the world can give me, all I want is a nice Hawke ass!" Anders sang, and Isabela howled with laughter, the sound echoing through the cavern.

"The nicest of the Hawke asses is mine, of course," Fenris replied, smugly, taking a moment to appreciate Artie's backside. "But, mage, that is your Hawke, and this is mine."

Anders cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck, as he looked off down a side passage. It was Cormac who actually managed the objection. "Oh, hey now, I don't know about _that_. I like to think I'm my own Hawke. And really, with all the claims on my ass, there'd be a fight for sure. So, let's not do that, shall we? I like all the users and misusers of my ass to be merry and in good heath."

"In good h--" Anders started, cutting off as the glint of armour shone from the lyrium lights in the room at the bottom of the stairs.

"Mage, you say?" the templar asked, blocking the stairs and dropping a smite across all of them. "Well, that certainly does look like an outfit right out of the Gallows. Who would have thought you'd be foolish enough to keep using this place. Me. I thought."

Anders swallowed his panic as the magic left him, and the cold sensation of Justice's power lanced through him in its place. He wasn't defenceless. He wouldn't have been, even if he'd been without magic. Not any more. But, the first flash was always terrifying.

Fenris stepped in front of the mages he'd only just been complaining about, but before he could reach for a blade, there was another one at the templar's throat. One of Isabela's blades. The templar stilled, and Fenris could see the whites of his eyes in the gloom.

"Mage?" Izzy said sweetly at his ear. "Goodness, no! He said 'maid'. Meaning me. Perhaps you should get your hearing checked? I hear there's a charming healer in Darktown."

The blade flashed, and the templar's response cut off into a wet gurgle. It was too dark for Fenris to see the blood, but he could smell it.

"Ten copper?" sighed Izzy, as she dropped the body out of the way. "What templar leaves the house with just ten copper?" She shrugged and pocketed the coins anyway.

"Was he alone?" Artie asked, knuckles white around his staff.

Isabela looked around, poked her head into tunnels. "Looks like," she said. "But let me check." She cupped her hands around her mouth. " _Mages_!" She waited and shrugged when no one appeared. "Looks clear."

"So, we'll be getting a little exercise, if they're waiting to ambush us. I, for one, am completely all right with that." Cormac smiled like his father used to smile, when everything had to be fine. "It's a fine day for a bit of practise. You think Bethy'll be up for trying to put a hole in my spleen, when we get home?"

"Why, you feel like venting it a little?" Isabela asked, wrapping an arm around Anders, as Cormac stepped  forward, glaive in hand.

"Just a little. How did they even get up here?" Cormac's smile was unfaltering. "There's something wrong with this picture."

"What's more wrong is that he just confirmed it. The templars got the underground, and they're still looking." Anders shook his head, holding on to Isabela as he walked. "I knew. I did. Carver told me as soon as it happened, but... I don't know. I was hoping he was wrong. That maybe it was a different cave, a smaller group..." He paused and looked up. "And that templar just walked through a Dalish camp to get here. And so did the others, on that raid. There's no way up here except to go into the camp."

"It is Kirkwall, where the templars are in complete control. This clan is small and getting smaller. I do not think they can afford to make war with the Chantry," Fenris pointed out.

Anders nodded. He understood that, he did, but that didn't make the reality any easier. "Too bad this isn't the cave with the varterral," he said. "That would take care of any templars." He smiled grimly, but his chest still felt tight. "Let's get out of here." Maybe Justice would let him have that drink.


	295. Chapter 295

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A time for changes and moving forward. Cullen's allegiances are shifting. Varric has a need for literate and witty assistants.

Keran closed the door behind him. No one needed to overhear what he was about to say, and he didn't speak until he'd crossed the room, which caught Cullen's attention, entirely. Keran was usually quick to speak, these days, and this was unusual.

"What's happened?" Cullen asked, blotting the last lines of the report he was writing.

"It's Ella," Keran said, quietly. "She's been threatened with Tranquility."

Cullen opened his mouth, but Keran held up a hand. 

"Understand that if she has gone over, I will see her handled, but I want to know why someone's pushing for it. She's already Harrowed -- was before she got here -- so Tranquility shouldn't even be an option." Keran was familiar with how far off the course of Chantry law the Gallows had gotten, and he was willing to see things done by the law, if need be, but not really against it.

"You would see her killed, rather than made Tranquil? Possibly sent to Aeonar?" Cullen asked, eyes hard.

"I would. For all that I doubt that she is dangerous to need it, I would stand by that, if that were the case." Keran's fingers clutched at the edge of Cullen's desk, and Cullen knew this would destroy Keran, if it had to be done, just as he knew the young man would do as he said. He'd been the same, once.

"I'll pull the records. Bring her here. If anyone asks, I'm looking into the complaints," Cullen said, making up his mind, as he rose from his chair. "We'll find out what's going on."

"Thank you, Captain," Keran said, ducking his head in relief.

The next time he appeared in Cullen's doorway, it was with Ella at his side, standing closer, perhaps, than a templar and a mage should have been, in public. But Cullen was not about to berate them now, not when Ella was a trembling, fidgety mess.

"Good afternoon, Captain," she said cordially, wringing her hands, as Keran closed the door behind them both.

Leaning his elbows on his desk, Cullen spoke gently. "Ella, can you tell me what happened? Keran has told me a little, but I'd like to know the details." He gestured for Ella to take a seat. She sat for all of five seconds before getting back up to pace.

"It doesn't make sense," she said, voice shaking. "I've been Harrowed! After Alrik was gone, I thought..." She shook her head despairingly. "But it's the same as it was before. Maybe _worse_."

Keran squeezed her shoulder and folded her under his arm.

"Let's start with the easy part. _Who's_ giving you trouble?" Cullen asked. He'd gone through the records and found that Ella hadn't been causing problems until the latest report from Lieutenant Denis, who seemed to suggest she was harbouring 'dangerous philosophies', refused to follow orders, and encouraged others to do the same.

"Ser Vartan and Ser Denis," Ella said, quietly, studying the edge of Cullen's desk. "I shouldn't have come here. Ser Denis said I'd be made Tranquil. Please don't tell them!"

"There's no reason for me to tell them anything. As far as I can tell, you've never caused any problems. The only things that stand out are that incident with Alrik -- it says here that he brought you out of the tower for his purposes -- and that time you helped us save Ser Carver -- and thank you, again, for that. There's always a question of blood magic, in cases like those, but I've made the case that you were trying to save the man's life, and that blood magic was a ridiculous accusation." Cullen shrugged easily, watching Ella's face. "And I want you to know that I am aware that it would be illegal for you to be made Tranquil, and I will do everything in my power to prevent that from happening."

Ella seemed to relax a little. "Ser Denis said the law had changed, in Kirkwall, because of the all the demons that have turned up in the city, in recent years."

"Ser Denis is incorrect, and Tranquility doesn't work on demons, anyway. Known abominations are put to death." Cullen sputtered for a moment. "Not that I have any reason to believe you're an abomination. I've... I've met abominations." He paused awkwardly, thinking that he hadn't suspected any of the mages in Kinloch Hold, either. But, this girl was no Uldred. "So, that's Denis. Where does Vartan come into it?"

At the name, Ella tensed up again and looked down at her hands as though they were the most interesting things in the world. She picked at the skin around her nails, until Keran gently folded her hands in his. "He... he has a reputation, ser," she said in a small voice. "Among the mages. Especially among the women."

The way Keran's jaw tightened said he'd heard about this. Cullen was surprised Keran hadn't tried to 'deal' with the man himself. Surprised and relieved. This was enough of a mess as it was.

"And this... reputation," Cullen said carefully. "I take it you found out it was true?"

Ella nodded but still didn't meet his eyes.

Cullen wiped a hand over his face, tugging at the bit of scruff at his chin. "Can you tell me what he said to you, Ella? I know this is difficult, but I need to know the details."

"It wasn't really what he said. It was what he did. First he took my magic -- you can ask Tenar, from next door. He wasn't really subtle about that. And then-- and then--" Ella choked up and buried her face in Keran's shoulder.

"It's all right. Take your time." Cullen found himself reminded of a conversation he'd had with Anders. Two Circles, and things like this had happened in both, although he still had a feeling it was more common, in the Gallows.

"He pushed me back against the wall, and told me I was going to do what he told me," Ella said, picking at a ridge on Keran's armour. "I don't know what I was thinking. I told him-- I told him to think of how well that had worked out for Ser Alrik."

Cullen's eyebrows twitched up. He didn't know Vartan well, but he had heard the man had a temper. And a penchant for cursing, judging from his behaviour during sparring matches. "And I suspect he didn't take that well," Cullen murmured.

Ella shook her head, and Keran wrapped his arms more tightly around her.

"Lieutenant P-- Denis sided with him," Keran added. "That was when he threatened her with Tranquility."

Ella nodded and choked out that this was true.

Cullen rubbed at his forehead where he felt a headache beginning. This was the environment Meredith had created, where Tranquility was used as a punishment. As coercion. "I won't let that happen," Cullen said with determination he wanted to feel.

"Something must be done, Knight-Captain," Ella said. 'I thought it was over. I thought with Alrik gone, it would be different."

"I've tried very hard to change attitudes here, to bring in recruits with better manners and a sense of duty rather than a sense of dominance. I thought I could jockey them into open positions, set them up to come up faster. I thought it would be enough, but it takes time for something like that to work." Cullen folded his hands on his desk and stared at them.  "And you mages don't have the time to wait." The city might not have the time to wait, either. He'd heard the Divine was considering an Exalted March on Kirkwall.

"I want to do something to help," Ella declared, after a moment. "We're all locked up for all but an hour a day, in these tiny rooms that were built for slaves. I'd help just to get out of that room, but I know the mages won't trust you. I hope I'm not wrong to trust you, but you've always seemed like a good man."

Cullen was intrigued by the offer. "So, you want to help me protect other mages and bring the Order back to its proper duty in service to the community. What would you do? How can you help?" He paused for a breath. "I mean that. I'm open to ideas."

Ella squared her shoulders. "I can do what I've been doing for you," she said meaningfully. "Paperwork. Copies. But it doesn't have to be _your_ paperwork, if you get my meaning."

Cullen sat back in his chair. That was, he suspected, what Meredith had been afraid of from the other Starkhaven mages. But if he could gather evidence against Meredith and present it to the Divine... "I can't save you from Tranquility if Meredith is the one who catches you," he said.

Keran cleared his throat and waited until he had their attention. "Not if she's already Tranquil," he said. "I have an idea."

* * *

* * *

The house had started looking like a house, again, Varric noticed. The broken tiles were re-seated, the walls were clean -- he could almost imagine his brother living here, amid his countless treasures of the history of Orzammar -- including the rest of that set of their mother's dishes. Bartrand had hung on to that for a long time, and Varric had few doubts they'd find those somewhere in the house. The elves seemed less nervous around him, too. Even the ones who didn't speak Common would gesture while they talked, until he understood what they were telling him -- and he'd picked up a couple of words of Tevene along the way.

But, today would be different. Today, he was here to receive delivery of his printing press, which a handful of trusted friends -- employees, really, he figured -- were hauling up from Darktown. It had just gotten a little too active down there, between the work on the Chantry and the continuing pursuit of the 'Enigma of Kirkwall'. Some mage was going to stumble over that fake door, and he was going to wind up out of business. So, he moved the press to the one place nobody had any business looking -- the cellar of his brother's house.

Two elves -- not from Tevinter -- came through the door carrying another case. They'd been Varric's printers from the beginning, Hamman and Gitane, and they'd get the thing moved and reassembled, just like they had the last time, when they'd had to move the Gazette from the docks to Darktown.

"Thanks, boys," Varric said, propping the next door open with his foot. "Put it with the others. You know where."

"Sure thing," said Hamman, grunting as he adjusted his grip on the case. He and Gitane lumbered down the stairs while other elven faces peered at them curiously from the hall. They whispered to each other in Tevene, and Varric only caught a few of their words.

"What's all this?" asked Elaiodora, at Varric's shoulder.

Varric twisted to grin up at her. "My pride and joy," he said.

Hamman and Gitane trotted back up the stairs and returned with yet another case.

"That is quite a bit of pride and joy," Elaiodora said, watching them pass with wide eyes.

Varric looked up at the woman, contemplatively. "So, you speak Common. You speak it pretty well. Do you read, too? I ask because I know it took some time for Fenris to learn. Good guy, Fenris. Don't believe the rumours."

"I do. Some of us were expected to keep records of what everyone else was doing, to make sure everything was written down, so we would know if something was wrong or missing." Elaiodora nodded, eyeing Varric curiously.

"Do you know what a good story looks like? I ask because I've got a little bit of work to offer a couple of people who can read, pass judgement, and be discreet," Varric said, casually, watching more cases and crates come in.

"We are all excellent at discretion." There was humour in Elaiodora's voice. "But, I think if you show us what you need, we could learn to do it. Danarius had little patience for stupidity or clumsiness."

"Did he? Well. Me, I rather like stupidity and clumsiness -- they're good for a laugh -- but less so from employees. Which is what you'd be, you know. Put some spending money in your pocket." He paused to help the movers with the door again. "I don't suppose you've read the Kirkwall Gazette at some point in your travels? I know you haven't been in the city long."

"You left an issue on the side table a few days ago," Elaiodora said, cutting a sidelong glance in Varric's direction. "Thania was using it to teach some of the older kids some Common. Not the... Page Six story. They are not quite old enough for that." She cleared her throat. "Is that what you mean by 'a good story'?"

"Might be," Varric said cheerfully. "I imagine, for instance, that publishing a broadsheet like the Gazette takes quite a bit of time and energy."

"And machinery," said Elaiodora, one eyebrow arcing at the next crate coming in. "Is that why it's your 'pride and joy'?"

Varric chuckled softly and held up his hand palm out. "You got me," he said. "So, what do you say?"

"Even your Page Six does not compare to the things most of us witnessed in our previous residence." Elaiodora's smile was slim, but it was there. "What do you want us to do with these 'good stories'?"

"Find them," Varric replied, simply. "I got runners doing pickups around the city every day. Most of what they bring in is garbage, but there's always something good. Scandals, news, history, magic, politics -- a little of everything. If you can find the interesting stuff, it'll take a load off my editorial team. Submissions have spiked, with the tension in the Gallows, and I just don't have enough people to be leaving it all to one team. So, I'm putting together another team. You find it, they polish it, and then the boys downstairs print it."

"That seems simple enough." Elaiodora nodded. "What would you like us to do with the ones we decide against?"

"Set them on fire at the end of the week, for all I care. Just don't leave them around where people can see them." Varric looked up, completely serious. "The Knight-Commander has a strong interest in shutting down the Gazette by whatever means necessary. I don't want to leave her any unexpected clues."

"I see," said Elaiodora, though she didn't, not really. Why would the Knight-Commander want to shut it down? Perhaps she should get her hands on earlier issues. "It will be nice to earn our keep," she added. This new city was bewildering and exciting, but sometimes she missed the simplicity of being told what to do. 

Varric beamed at her and clapped her on the shoulder. She rocked forward under the force of it. "No one needs to 'earn their keep' around here, but I do appreciate the help. Talk to your friends for me, would you? Explain my offer and see who's interested. And capable. Reading Common is a prerequisite, for obvious reasons."

"I think I know just who to ask," Elaiodora said. This time, she held the door open for the movers.


	296. PART LIII: NATHANIEL'S FOLLY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The arrival of an unexpected cat and a beautiful woman bearing interesting news.

"I'm telling you, this is going to turn into something horrible. It's a binding. It's a binding with blood magic and a severed finger. And whatever was bound is getting back out, because this wasn't enough," Anders insisted, gesturing with the pages rolled up in his hand, as he and Cormac came into the house. "You and I both know this. We went to these places, and we didn't have to do anything to free these things or wake them up. They were already there, waiting for someone to walk by. We have to figure out what happened to the other one, before it attacks a merchant caravan or something, because I promise you most of the people travelling the roads into Kirkwall aren't even going to know what a revenant is, never mind how not to get killed by one!"

Cormac opened his mouth to once again protest that they had no reasonable way to find the last one, without putting more people in danger, when Bodhan cleared his throat.

"Messeres? There was a visitor for Messere Anders," he began, and terror flashed across Anders's face. "A Serah Howe."

" _Nathaniel_?" Anders gasped, the weight of the idea suddenly heavy on him.

Bodhan shook his head. "A Delilah? She begged me to get word to you, having heard that you're a friend of the Hawkes. She said she knew you from Amaranthine, and also that she would be visiting three times a day until someone could put her in contact with you. I believe she's due to return within the hour." His eyes wandered to the window in the room behind him, judging the time.

"A bath," Cormac said, jabbing a finger into Anders's side, before his eyes returned to Bodhan. "And food."

"Food for two or for three?" Bodhan asked.

Anders still looked dazed. "Delilah... here?" He shook his head. "Ah, three. If, ah, if she gets here before we're back, invite her for supper. She's... an old friend. I worked with her brother."

"That's one word for it," Cormac laughed, hauling open the cellar door. "Come on, we should be presentable. Aren't the Howes a noble family?"

"Not any more," Anders said, and told the story on the way down the stairs.

* * *

Dinner was minutes away from Bodhan deeming it finished when there was a knock at the door. Anders answered the door to see Delilah on the front steps, a bit older and more travel-worn than he remembered her, her cheeks hollower, but she was every bit as attractive as he remembered her. Delilah blinked at him and rocked back. 

"So it's true," she said, regaining her composure and straightening a fold on her dress. "I never thought I'd see you again, Anders."

"Hello, Delilah," Anders replied, eyes softening in a smile. He'd forgotten how much she looked like her brother. "Did you come all this way just to see me? I'm terribly flattered. I mean, I --" He cut himself off mid-flirt when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He looked down, spotting the yellow fluff weaving between Delilah's legs. Words cut off in an unmanful squeak. " _Pounce_? Is that Pounce? That's Pounce!" 

Anders picked up the cat and cooed happily, while Pounce squinted up at him, mewing questioningly.

Delilah cleared her throat. "May I come in?"

"Wha-- Of course!" Anders stepped back, still holding Pounce in both hands. "You'll stay for dinner, of course. Both of you, I mean, not just the cat." Still cooing giddily at the cat, he led the way into the house. "Cormac! Come down here! I want you to meet my best friend from Amaranthine, and also this beautiful woman!"

"Oh, stop," Delilah scoffed, rolling her eyes, as Bodhan came up the hall from the dining room. "Is he always like this? Still?"

"As long as I've known him," Bodhan said with a smile, holding out a hand for Delilah's coat. "Here, let me hang that for you. Messere Anders can find the dining room for you. He doesn't usually get lost."

"One time," Anders groaned. "That was _one time_."

Anton appeared at the top of the stairs, wrapped in what appeared to be an extremely expensive dressing gown. "Why is it loud in my house?"

Anders held up Pounce, as if in explanation. The cat squinted up at Anton and meowed.

Anton stared down at the cat, then down at the stranger in his foyer. "Sweet Maker," he said to her. "It's finally happened, hasn't it? He's become the crazy cat-lady we always feared he would be."

Delilah bit back her smirk while Anders scowled. "This is Pounce!" Anders said, cradling the cat back to his chest. "The cat the Wardens made me give up." He scratched Pounce behind the ear, and the cat tilted his head into the touch, purring and swishing his tail the way Anders remembered.

"Technically he's my cat now," Delilah gently reminded him, and Anders's shoulders sagged. "Why?" she asked Anton. "Has he been hoarding cats here?"

"Two cats is a reasonable number," Anders said defensively. "And Purrcy and Assbiter were gifts!"

"Don't ask," Anton told Delilah when she opened her mouth to. "Just trust me."

Cormac slapped Anton on the back as he came past. "You coming to dinner? Real food. Actual people from places other than Kirkwall."

Anton rubbed his face and patted vaguely at his hair. "Five minutes. I have to get dressed. I'm not eating supper with actual people fresh out of bed."

"You eat supper with us all the time, in less than that," Anders declared, as Pounce settled on his shoulder and nuzzled his ear.

Anton raised an eyebrow, pointedly, and Anders glared up at him.

"We resemble that remark!" Cormac exclaimed, hip-checking Anton into the wall, before continuing down the stairs, to say hello to the cat. And Delilah. "So, you're the other Howe?" he asked, holding out the hand Pounce wasn't chewing on. "Cormac Hawke, of the Kirkwall Amells. I swear that makes more sense than it sounds like."

"Hawke... Are you the Champion, then?" Delilah asked, and Anders laughed.

"Anton's going to be so pissed... That's the second time this week!"

Cormac cocked his thumb at the stairs. "Actually that was the Champion. My little brother. He'll be with us as soon as he's got pants and another five drams of whatever he uses to hold his hair."

Delilah glanced up at the stairs where Anton had been a moment before. "That... was the Champion?" she asked. She cleared her throat. "Well, the rumours _did_ say he was a handsome scoundrel... But, dining room?"

Anders cocked his head in the dining room's direction and ushered her in. Delilah fidgeted with her skirts as she walked.

"I apologise in advance if I don't have much of an appetite," she told Cormac. "It is not a reflection on your staff's cooking. I am simply concerned about my fool of a brother."

Anders's ears pricked up. "Nate? What concerning thing has he done now?"

"Nothing worse than gotten himself lost, I hope," Delilah said.

"Well, he's done worse than that, and I was there for a lot of it." Anders laughed and pulled out a chair for Delilah, before dropping into the next one and setting Pounce in his lap.

"Is this the part where I tell you you're definitely an improvement on being lost?" Cormac asked, pulling up the next seat and pouring himself a glass of wine, before passing the bottle down.

Anders's face paled a little and he hissed at Cormac. "Only in Darktown," he quipped, after a moment, hoping Delilah had missed the part where he'd obviously been done by her brother.

"Well, he's lost in the Deep Roads, this time. The Wardens mounted an expedition to retrace the Champion's route through the Deep Roads, to find whatever it was he'd stumbled upon, all those years ago," Delilah explained, picking apart a roll. "It's a fool's errand, and my poor, bloody-minded brother is with them. Nathaniel, I mean. Not Thomas, obviously, although Thomas was just as bloody-minded, in his time."

"Well, put me in a dress and call me a Templar. He's up this end of the world again? How's the old boy been doing?" Anders asked, slipping a sliver of roast nug to the cat. "Nathaniel. Not Thomas. I know how Thomas is doing."

Still chewing, Delilah gestured at Anders with the roll. "He's missing, Anders," she said flatly. "Haven't you been listening?"

Pounce pawed at Anders's hand, looking up at him with pleading eyes, and Anders sighed and gave him another piece of nug. "I'm not worried about Nathaniel," he said. "He's crawled out of worse places alive."

"This the same 'Nathaniel' you mentioned at Wicked Grace?" Anton asked as he sauntered into the room, hair slicked back and immaculately dressed. "The one with the drinking and the arrows?" He slid into the chair by Cormac and offered Delilah a polite smile. She hid her flush behind a long gulp of wine.

"That's the one!" Anders said before a slice of nug finally made it to his mouth instead of Pounce's. "We were Wardens together in Amaranthine. Hordes of darkspawn, psychotic broodmothers -- usual Warden business. I wonder if Nate ever found a sense of humour."

"So do I want to know why the Wardens were interested in our expedition?" Anton asked. "And why they didn't just ask us? Anders is a Warden. He was there. Technically the Wardens have already investigated."

Delilah threw her hands up. "Maker help me, I have no idea," she said. "My brother never tells me these things."

"But, Wardens go into the Deep Roads all the time. What makes you think he's lost?" Anders asked, distracting Pounce with one hand as he stuffed food into his own mouth with the other.

"He's been gone too long. Much too long. Something terrible has happened!" Delilah insisted, pouring herself a glass of wine. "I'd get the Wardens, but by the time I reach Vigil's Keep... My poor brother..."

Anders choked down what was in his mouth. "Whoa, wait. You came here _with him_? Because if you didn't, the Keep's much closer than Kirkwall."

"I didn't like the sound of this one. I followed him." Delilah looked at Anders like he'd suddenly gotten stupid.

"What about the husband and the kids?" Anders asked. "I mean, obviously, you brought my cat, but..."

"They're safe at home, in Amaranthine. Where Nathaniel should be. You know he's caught the eye of Elissa Cousland? He's trying to raise this family out of the hole our father buried it in. And that's not going to happen if he's running around the Marches getting stabbed by darkspawn!" Delilah dipped her roll in the wine and took another bite.

"It took us a few weeks, but we had some ... unexpected difficulties, down there. How long has he been gone?" Anders asked, as Pounce decided Cormac's plate was more interesting.

"No, cat. You are incorrect." Cormac flicked his fingers and a barrier wrapped around the cat standing in his lap, trying to steal his food. Pounce pawed at the barrier, looking terribly confused.

"I'm not sure the number of days, but... it's been more than a month," Delilah answered gravely. She picked her roast nug into bits without eating it. "More than 'a few weeks'. I wouldn't be quite this concerned over a few weeks. Well, maybe a little."

"Hold on." Anders turned in his chair to look at her properly. "You've been in Kirkwall a month, and you're only dropping by _now_? Only after you were sure Nate was missing? Delilah, you wound me."

"It's not like I knew you were here all this time!" Delilah said defensively. "And when I did, I..." She shrugged one shoulder. "I was afraid you'd want Pounce back. And I'd miss the blighted thing." She smiled at the cat meowing up at Cormac.

"Two cats, a dog, a goat, and Cormac is enough for one house," Anton drawled. Anders nodded sullenly.

"I am not a magical bear! For the last time! No matter what Fenris has to say on the subject!" Cormac gesticulated violently with his fork, eventually jabbing it in Anton's direction. 

Anton snorted derisively. Anders shrugged innocently at Delilah.

"The two of you sound just like my brothers," Delilah noted, with a slightly flat laugh. "I'm already short one. I don't need to lose the other one, too."

Bethany swept into the room, squinting intently at a bejewelled skull. "Cormac, Bodhan said you were in here, and I need you to take a look at--" She looked up and noticed the table was set and there were more people than usual sitting at it. "Oh, do we have company? Were you not going to tell me supper was on?"

Cormac looked back and shrugged. "We just got in. Not even an hour and a half. I haven't seen you since we came through the door. Figured you were out having Nevarran with Sebastian, again." He held out his hand for the skull. "Sit. We've been invited back to the thaig none of us ever wanted to lay eyes on again, to rescue Anders's... ah..."

"Friend," Anders supplied.

"Friend like you are with Varric, or like you are with my brother?" Bethany asked, leaning over Cormac's shoulder to grab a roll, as she handed him the skull.

"That depends on the brother," Anders answered. "This is Nate's sister, Delilah. A month, she's been in Kirkwall, _with my cat_ , and she doesn't even stop in to say hello, until something's wrong. Say hello to Bethany, Pounce."

The cat huffed and poked at the barrier with one paw.

" _My_ cat," Delilah grumbled, grabbing another roll. "Bethany, is it? Delilah. I too am familiar with being outnumbered by brothers."

Bethany sat on the other side of Cormac, pausing to scoot her chair closer. "Hopefully not as outnumbered as I am. Four to one is terribly unfair. Even the pets are male."

"That's because strength in numbers is the only way we can match you, dear sister," Anton said. "And I resent that. Goathilda is certainly a she-goat of the highest order." He looked back at Delilah and sighed. "We're going to have to go back there, aren't we? As... fond as I am of my memories of the place, I'd rather not relive them."

As Anton spoke, the clack of claws against stone warned them of Mintaka's approach. Halfway to Anton's chair, he paused, ears perking, and stared directly at the cat in Cormac's lap. That cat that was currently arching up and doing a passable impression of a porcupine, fur spiking out in tufts. Mintaka woofed happily and bounced over, stub of a tail wriggling, and Pounce hissed and swatted at the dog on the other side of the barrier.

"I have long been of the opinion that magic is really essential to peace in a household with cats," Cormac said, helping himself to another serving of nug, with one hand, while he studied the skull in the other. "Are the teeth coated or replaced?" he asked Bethany after a moment, elbowing the dog away from his plate. "Don't think I won't put you up just like the cat, Mintaka."

"I could go my entire life and never set foot in the Deep Roads again, and it would still be too soon," Anders groaned, sliding down in his seat and stealing a slice of nug from Cormac's plate.

"How did you ever manage to become a Warden, Anders?" Delilah sighed. "You're not very good at it, are you?"

"Nobody said I had to be good at it. They just said I had to drink this shit that might kill me. Sounded better than going back to the Tower." Anders shrugged and stuffed his mouth with an impromptu sandwich. "I don't like being underground," he mumbled around the food in his mouth.

"And yet, you work in Darktown," Anton pointed out, not for the first time.

Anders swallowed. "You know what Darktown isn't full of? Raw lyrium, acid-spitting lizards, and darkspawn. Also, I have windows that look out over the sea."

Cormac looked back from the conversation he was having with Bethany, and she took the opportunity to recreate Anders's sandwich with what was left on Cormac's plate. "We're still going back down there. And this time we're not taking Bartrand, so it should be a much less traumatic experience."

"At least until someone gets bit by a Hurlock," Anders grumbled. "Fine. Fine! I'm going back underground. There had better not be any scary dwarven magical rock things. Golems. Rock wraiths. Demon-infested piles of mining refuse."

Delilah gave Anders a flat look over a bite of bread. "Somehow, that does not reassure me about my brother. Who is currently down there. Right now."

Anders gave her a sheepish look and a shrug. "He's a Warden. He's used to all that. I mean, come on, he survived the Broodmother and with fewer scars than I did, the shit."

Anton pushed his food around in his plate until he decided he was far more interested in the wine. "I'll pull out the maps after dinner. Varric's going to tell us we're idiots."


	297. Chapter 297

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Venturing down to the thaig no one ever wanted to see again, this time with more caution and a different dwarf.

"You're idiots," said Varric. "You want to go back down there? Because we had such a grand time last time?" He laughed nervously. "No thanks. I'm not in a hurry to end up like my brother, thank you, or like the pile of bones I almost ended up _because_ of my brother. Sorry, boys. You'll have to get another dwarf."

Anton leaned his elbow on the back of Varric's chair. "But, Varric," he wheedled, "what other dwarf is as clever, fun, and beardless as you?"

"No one, of course." Varric bent over his scroll again. "Though Natia is a close second. At least with the clever and the fun part. She does have a bit of fuzz on her chin, though, if you look closely." He ran a hand over his jaw as he spoke. "She'll go with you. Just be sure to mention Shouty's coming."

"Really?" Anton eyed Varric in disbelief. "You think she's... That's ridiculous! That's my brother! And on top of that, he's human!"

"Careful, Stabby, someone might think you're not," Varric teased, poking at Anton's face with the end of the next document in the pile. "And quit leaning on my chair before anybody starts questioning your intentions toward me. I'd hate to see that get back to Cullen."

"Lord Dog is not interested in buggering the worst dwarf in creation, thank you, and I trust most sane people to have figured that out." Anton grabbed the rolled paper in his teeth. "If that was going to happen, it would have happened years ago. What can I say? I move quick, like a man of my talents should."

"Is that a fact?" Anders asked, drily, one eyebrow arcing upward. "I'm surprised I haven't heard more complaining from Cullen. You know, I think I have a potion for that, if you need some help."

Cormac turned around and coughed into his hand, not to laugh. After a minute of trying to remember how to breathe, he eyed Varric. "Really? She's actually interested? I thought she was just flirting because I was there."

"Well, she wasn't exactly hitting on me or Anton," Anders pointed out.

"I think that's the first time I've ever had a dwarf take an actual interest. Not that I've been trying. I also don't spend that much time with dwarves, on the whole. Maybe I should." Cormac tugged his beard, speculatively.

"Don't," Varric advised. "Most dwarves really don't want anything to do with surfacers, except if you're paying them for something."

"Okay, so, now that we've established that I'll be spending this trip to the Deep Roads listening to my brother scream his head off all night, every night, can we get going?" Anton asked, spitting out the scroll and straightening up.

"Well, I'm joining you, aren't I?" Anders asked with an innocent smile. "The screaming was a given."

* * *

Natia, it turned out, was thrilled to be asked along. She said she was curious about the thaig and its architecture, but now Anton couldn't unsee the way she eyed Cormac.

Fenris, on the other hand, was less thrilled, but that might just be because the baker down the road was out of apple tarts. Fenris, Anton discovered, was not a fan of strawberries. Luckily, Anders was, so the box didn't go to waste.

The taste of strawberry tart on his tongue helped Anders chase back thoughts of the deep and the dark and where they were heading. Most of the expedition was still a blank spot in his memory, and he had been content to keep it that way. But the red glow that suffused crumbling floors and solid, dwarven columns was like an itch on his brain. "Nate better appreciate this," he grumbled, walking close by Cormac's side.

Cormac put his arm around Anders, kneading the still-sharp jut of Anders's hip. "I'd be happy to appreciate you for him, if he doesn't. Maybe even in front of him. Because if he doesn't appreciate both this and you, he obviously needs a reminder."

"We haven't even been down here an hour, and the two of you are starting already?" Anton complained.

"It's either this or Justice, and I know which one I prefer," Cormac warned, eyes settling on his brother.

"Oh, stop," Anders muttered, not talking to either of the Hawkes. "No. No, I am not, you are not, we are not saying that. What are you taking lessons from Oghren?"

Natia looked up. "Oghren? You mean that drunkard who married Paragon Branka?"

Anders looked up, having been unaware he was speaking aloud. Usually, he didn't, when he was talking to Justice. That or Cormac just didn't tell him about it. "Yeah, did you know him? He became a Grey Warden. We used to drink together, in Amaranthine."

"A Warden? _Oghren_?" Natia looked horrified, using the shift in the conversation to walk closer to Cormac. "Are you sure it was really him? I mean, not just some surfacer claiming to be the husband of a Paragon?"

"Solona -- that's Warden-Commander Solona Amell, Cormac's cousin -- dragged this guy out of a tavern in Orzammar. I'm pretty sure it's the right guy. Apparently they went looking for Paragon Branka, too, but neither of them would talk about how that ended up. I guess they're not together any more, though, Oghren and Branka. He's got somebody else now. And a kid, too."

"Oghren. With a kid. Are you _sure_?" The horror didn't leave Natia's face. If anything, it took a deeper hold.

"I am so very sure. I was almost that little dwarfling's godfather. Or whatever you call it when you don't have gods." Anders grinned. "And then Oghren found some sense, and picked an actual dwarf. I mean, to be fair, he was pretty drunk when he picked me, but I was pretty drunk, too."

"I was under the impression that there wasn't any other kind of Oghren," Natia drawled.

"Sounds like a charming fellow," Anton muttered distractedly, poring over the map in the red glow. All dwarf architecture looked the same to him, but Natia gasped every now and then, tugging at Cormac's sleeve and pointing out details.

"Now that's real dwarf craftsmanship," she said, swelling with pride. She grinned at Anders. "Not like that pseudo-dwarven stuff we found under the Chantry. See? The way that stone connects to the archway there..."

Anders nodded indulgently. Her excited rambling was, at least, another pleasant distraction from the dark.

"Nah, look, she's right," Cormac said, pinching Anders. "You remember when we were in that fuckawful pit of Blight and demons, with a magister on top? What's under the Chantry looks like the upper floors. This looks like it did down below."

"A fuckawful pit of Blight and demons?" Natia asked, after a moment. "That sounds... ah, should I even ask what you were doing there, or is pursuing adventure into the depths of the Deep Roads just something the two of you do?"

"It was a family holiday," Anton grumbled. "A visit to our father's last great work."

"Don't ever go on holiday with the Hawkes," Fenris advised. "It always ends this way."

"That wasn't his last great work. Bethany was his last great work," Cormac argued, snatching the last tart from the box and offering it to Natia.

"Your sister?" Natia asked, completely confused. "What does a dwarven-style ... pit of Blight and demons have to do with your father's work and why would your sister compare?"

"You have met my sister, haven't you? The only way I can imagine her more terrifying is as a Warden. Which our father wasn't, but he did some work for them, up in the Vimmarks. Ancient dwarven surface settlement, apparently. Built to contain... something. I don't really know what, but after hearing that it turned people into liquid, I didn't really want to know." Cormac shuddered. "And then I guess Tevinter put up a tower, there, while they still occupied the Marches."

"I want to see it," Natia decided.

"No you don't," Anders said, shaking his head emphatically. "That, I promise you, is one place I am definitely never setting foot in again, thank you."

"How many times have you said that about the Deep Roads, I wonder?" Fenris grumbled. Anders's scowl didn't faze him.

"Still want to see it," Natia insisted. "And the more you say I don't, the more I want to." She smiled serenely up at Anders. He wondered if this was how she reacted to Varric's stories of the Primeval Thaig.

They walked for days through the stillness, amidst the glow of red lyrium and crumbling stone. The first sign of life they found was the sound of battle, roars of rage and shrieks of pain over the clang of metal.

Anders's knuckles tightened on his staff. "Darkspawn up ahead," he said. His eyes flickered blue before settling back on brown.

"Of course," Fenris muttered, drawing his sword boredly. "It wouldn't be the Deep Roads without darkspawn. You owe me more than apple tarts after this, Anton."

"I'll buy you drinks until you forget even coming down here," Anton offered, knives appearing in his hands.

"Done." Fenris nodded.

"And I'll put the next one through your other eye!" a ragged voice shouted from in front of them.

"Howe!" Anders called out, hands already filled with brilliant glowing cold. "By me!"


	298. Chapter 298

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catching up with Messere Howe and all the latest Warden gossip.

A greasy figure in Warden armour shoved its way between two genlocks, both of them falling, bloody, behind. And as they came down, so did the ice storm, frost and snow whipping through the darkspawn. Cormac followed with a tempest, lightning leaping between weapons and armour, crashing across the horde. Fenris held them back, the huge Tevinter sword as threatening as it was damaging, and Natia and Anton vanished, only to return over the bodies of the fallen.

There were fewer than they had expected, really, and Anders looked around, expecting more to appear from some other niche in the stone. But, the pile of bodies stood deeper than just the ones they'd slain, and the rest were thickly spined with blue and grey fletched arrows.

"Well, Howe in the fuck have you been?" Anders asked, finally convinced they were out of immediate danger.

"Shut up," Nathaniel growled, reflexively, taking in the sight of his rescuers.

"Why, Howe, I've missed you too." Anders's grin crawled higher as Nathaniel looked at him, mouth dropping open.

" _Anders_?" he finally said.

"Making friends as always, I see," Anders said, arcing an eyebrow at the piles of dead darkspawn.

Nathaniel's expression softened to something dangerously close to a smile. "There's no escaping you, it seems."

"I'm special that way."

Nathaniel huffed and shook his head. "That's one way to put it," he replied, earning a smirk from Fenris. "The Warden-Commander said you were in Kirkwall. I wondered if I might bump into you, but I didn't think it would be down here."

"It didn't have to be down here," Anders said with a flat look. 

Nathaniel shrugged one shoulder. "Warden business. You know how it is."

"So, your sister tells us you followed our expedition's route," Anton cut in. "Why would you _do_ that?"

Nathaniel's eyes peeled away from Anders. "You're the Champion of Kirkwall, aren't you?"

"I am. And that's not the answer to my question." Anton tried to lean on Fenris's shoulder, but the elf sidestepped, and he staggered into Anders, instead.

Nathaniel shifted from one foot to the other as he checked himself for new wounds. "You went further into the Deep Roads than anyone believed possible. The First Warden, himself, ordered the investigation. I was offered a generous share of the salvage, plus extra coin up front, to discourage any ... curiosity."

"And to think, they could have done that much more effectively and less expensively, by taking away your whiskey," Anders joked, healing finally coming to his hands, as he waved it over Nathaniel.

"You're an ass," Nathaniel grumbled.

"I _have_ an ass. A very attractive ass. An ass I'd be happy to remind you of the better features of, if we weren't in front of strange dwarves," Anders quipped, stepping closer to make sure he hadn't missed any wounds. "How bad--?"

"It's not that bad." Nathaniel looked up and smirked. "Have you started wearing smalls, yet, or will we all be subjected to your flirtatious flashing?"

"My flirtations have become much more subtle and effective, I'll have you know. I've used the Champion's brothers for bookends." Anders sniffed haughtily, touching the corner of Nathaniel's mouth with his thumb, before he stepped back.

"Wow, hello, the Champion did not need to know that about his brothers!" Anton announced, intently studying the surrounding area for more darkspawn. "Looks like you ran into some heavy resistance down here."

Nathaniel shrugged, bending to retrieve a few arrows from the darkspawn corpses. "After the Warden-Commander spared the Architect," he said, "we thought the ensuing struggle among the darkspawn might make the Deep Roads safer." With a grunt, he pulled an arrow free from a hurlock's stomach. "The Warden's allies assured us these tunnels would still be mostly clear. But it seems they were wrong."

"Looks like," Natia agreed. She narrowed her eyes at Nathaniel. "So these 'allies'. They seem to know a great deal about darkspawn. Dwarves?"

Nathaniel traded glances with Anders and rubbed his forehead with the pad of his thumb. "No, not dwarves. It's... complicated. Let's just say we live in strange times."

"All right," Anton drawled, not sure what to make of that non-answer. He'd ask Anders later. "And who is the Architect?"

"Haven't I mentioned him?" Anders asked with a pained smile. "Or have I only mentioned broodmothers and tentacles?"

Natia quirked an eyebrow at Anders. "Tentacles?"

Anders nodded, grimacing. "Tentacles. I'll show you the scar later."

Nathaniel cleared his throat and answered Anton. "The Architect was the first of the speaking and thinking darkspawn. Very dangerous. He spread his 'gift' to other darkspawn -- the disciples. Fortunately, their numbers are few."

"And speaking of the Architect, Howe, we need to talk about that, later. I expect you haven't heard what we were _keeping_ in the Marches. And by 'we', I mean the Wardens." Anders's eyes were steady, his face a little too smooth.

"Have they spread up this far, already? I haven't encountered any, down here..." Nathaniel glanced around, as if expecting to be beset by hurlocks intent on conversation.

"No, not them, but... Let's just say the Hawkes discovered some exciting family secrets, up in the Vimmarks, and I am almost willing to guarantee the Architect is relevant to what we found. I don't think he's the only one of his kind, and I don't think he's what he says he is -- or, he is, but in a very different way than we thought."

"Natia, stick your fingers in your ears," Cormac said, finally. "I can only expect that's the problem, since the rest of us were there."

"Oh, fuck off," Natia replied. "I'm down here, tits deep in darkspawn corpses, and you expect me not to hear this? I'm not the only person in the room who's not a Warden, and if this trip goes bad, I might end up one."

"Lady's got a point," Cormac said, shrugging. "What he's not telling you is that there was something imprisoned up there, and our dad helped with that, that all the books in that tower claimed was a darkspawn, and then some jackass let him out -- to be honest, that might have been us, but we killed him -- and he claimed that he was a Tevinter magister."

"Not just a magister," Fenris corrected, hand pulling out the medallion he always wore, "but one of the Seven, who claimed to have breached the Fade, itself. He called out again and again to Dumat, expecting an answer. This _thing_ thought the Imperium still ruled the whole of Thedas, and it didn't know about the Blights."

"And you think--?" Nathaniel recoiled, face bunched with confusion.

"It called itself Corypheus," Anders pointed out. "And it looked an awful lot like our friend the Architect, if a little less stylish."

Nathaniel blanched. "That can't be right," he said, shaking his head.

"Maybe, but you know what else isn't right?" Anders said. "Talking darkspawn. 'Not right' is the theme of the day!"

Dazedly, Nathaniel stowed away the rest of his arrows. "Does Solona know about this?"

"Ah. Not from us, no." Anders's forced smile faltered. "Maybe I should send her a note."

Nathaniel nodded. "When we're out of this shithole, you're buying me a drink and telling me all about this."

"What?" Anders huffed. "We're the ones who just came to _your_ rescue. You should buy the drinks!"

"Speaking of this shithole," Anton interrupted, "I don't remember drawing anyone a map to it. Who told you about the thaig?"

"An unfortunate dwarf named Bartrand," Nathaniel said.

Natia let out a dry laugh. "Good thing you boys got me and not Varric." 

Nathaniel shrugged. "We weren't sure his information was reliable, but contacting you or Varric was deemed risky."

"Really?" Fenris drawled. "You came down here on the word of an insane dwarf but talking to a slightly less insane dwarf or the Hawkes was 'risky'?"

Anton hooked a thumb over his shoulder. "What the elf said."

"We feared you might return if you learned of our interest in the thaig," Nathaniel explained, looking awkward.

Anders's hand shot out, and he grabbed Nathaniel's ear. "Hey, asshole, guess what? We're here."

"Ow, shit, get off! Anders!" Nathaniel turned into the hand and punched Anders in the crotch.

Cormac flinched as Anders crumpled, grip still as tight as it had been, pulling Nathaniel down with him.

"Don't punch the healer in the junk. That's not going to end well for you," Cormac suggested, looking at the pile of Warden at his feet.

"This blighted nug-fucker stabbed me in the tit. That didn't end well for him either. Takes him a while to catch on." Anders rolled over, healing rushing through him as he pinned Nathaniel to the floor.

"Ended better for me than it did for you," Nathaniel shot back. "Now get off me. The rest of the expedition is still down here somewhere, and some of them might have survived. And they stand a much better chance of staying that way, if you quit bouncing in my lap, so we can go get them."

"It's what happens when you touch my junk, Nate," Anders retorted. "You know that." Nathaniel shoved him off. 

"We must go deeper into the tunnels," Nathaniel said, glaring at Anders and trying to regain his composure. He tilted his head at one passage. "That way."

"You know, this is just how I wanted to spend today," Anton said with a rictus grin, "playing hide-and-seek with Wardens in the Deep Roads!"

Anders caught up with Nathaniel as he led the way, bow in hand. "So who else is down here with you?" he asked. "Or... well, who might be alive, in any case?"

"A few new recruits," Nathaniel said, brows knitting as he went over a checklist of names in his head. "You never met them. Plus the dwarf..."

Anders grabbed Nathaniel's arm. "Dwarf?" he repeated, eyes wide.

"Not Oghren, relax. I'm pretty sure we would have found him by the smell alone by now. Remember Dworkin? His cousin, Temmerin."

Anders only looked slightly less concerned. "So an explosive dwarf instead of an... _explosive_ dwarf? Well, at least that should make him easier to find."

"Well, let's go!" Natia slapped Nathaniel on the back as she ducked around him, her hand actually connecting with his ass. "We have survivors to find!"

"We should move. Stay alert for darkspawn." Nathaniel squinted in the blue lyrium-light of the chamber before them. "And stop taking lessons from Anders. My ass is there to hold my legs on, not for the squeezing pleasure of the general public."

"Pretty sure it can be both," Anders teased, following Natia down the stairs. He and Nathaniel both froze, halfway down. "They're coming."

"That way." Nathaniel gestured with his chin as he nocked an arrow.


	299. Chapter 299

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justice is late to this party. Natia has opinions about explosives. Messere Howe is just gonna look dismayed and roll with all of this.

The rush of hurlocks came moments later, and Fenris held them off, at the bottom of the stairs, while magic, arrows, and grenades rained down from behind him. He reflected that it was a good thing he'd spent so much time in Tevinter, otherwise this might actually have disrupted his concentration. Darkspawn after darkspawn fell before them.

"Round two!" Nathaniel called, as more of them spilled through the same passage, but fire broke out on the stone, burning bright and hot, and nothing made it through.

When the flames died down, Anders leaned against the wall at the edge of the stairs, breathing heavily, lines of blue light crawling across his skin, where it was exposed, and Cormac was pressed tight against his side, holding him up and whispering in his ear.

"Well, that's new," Nathaniel said, an arrow still nocked in his bow. He palmed the arrow as he approached his friend, his eyes a shade too wide. "Anders, why are you glowing?"

Anders drew in a breath, but the voice that answered wasn't Anders's. It was a familiar voice, a deeper voice that resonated in Nathaniel's bones. "HELLO, NATHANIEL," he said, and when Anders opened his eyes, they were a molten blue.

Nathaniel staggered back, half tripping on a jut of rock. He held up a hand palm-out, shaking his head. "No. Oh no. Justice, you did _not_."

"I DID," said Justice. "I RECALL OUR CONVERSATIONS ABOUT POSSESSION. YOUR THOUGHTS ON THE MATTER STAYED WITH ME, BUT IN THE END, IT WAS NECESSITY THAT FORCED OUR HAND."

"My 'thoughts' on the matter didn't involve using Anders as a host," Nathaniel said sharply. "Solona would kill you. Both of you. Likely at the same time since you so conveniently make only one target."

Justice's voice changed, even if his eyes stayed blue. "Anders has some regrets," Anders admitted, "but is generally just happy to be alive. Things went bad. Then they went stupid. Then they went tits up."

"Yes, I gathered as much from the charred remains of half a forest you left in your wake," Nathaniel remarked, tartly. "Templars? Again? One would think they'd have given up."

"One would be mistaken. The templars believe themselves wholly above the law, and they dislike being thwarted," Anders replied. "And, if you want to get me naked, later, after we finish saving your friends, I'll be happy to show you exactly how much giving up they didn't do."

"Don't tell me they cut off the--" Nathaniel looked ill.

"The flagpole's right where you left it, slightly more used but in good condition." Anders's smirk slid off as Justice pushed forward. "I DO NOT SEE WHY SOLONA WOULD BE UPSET WITH US. WE HAVE SURVIVED A GREAT INJUSTICE AND GONE ON TO FIGHT MORE OF IT. WE ARE, IF NOTHING ELSE, HEROES, DESPITE ANDERS'S DEVOTED LAZINESS."

"Humans require sleep, Justice," Cormac reminded him. "And food. And a good many of them are happier and healthier if they get laid, too, Anders included."

"DISTRACTIONS," Justice muttered, but he didn't argue, not when he found his eye drawn to the lyrium elf off to the side. Fenris's ears flattened against his skull when he noticed the scrutiny.

"Never a dull moment with you lot, is there?" Natia said with a strained laugh.

Nathaniel shook his head again, wiping a hand over his face. "Well, I'm glad you're alive, Justice," he said. "If that's the word for it."

"I HAVE A PURPOSE," said Justice. "THAT IS BETTER." He turned and headed up the stairs while Nathaniel was still trying to decide what to think.

There was a lone figure up ahead in the red glow, and the blue along Anders's skin, in his eyes, faded away. Even from a distance, Anders could tell this was no darkspawn.

"Temmerin," said Nathaniel as they approached. A relieved smile broke over his face. "Good man! Are there any other survivors?"

"Master Howe," the dwarf replied, "you live." He looked tired, eyes bloodshot and face and beard caked with dirt. "As for survivors, hopefully up ahead." He pointed his thumb over his shoulder. He looked at Nathaniel's companions and told them, "Well met are strangers in the belly of the earth."

Natia inched behind Cormac, ill-inclined to present her face to a dwarf who might never have seen the sky. Fenris picked it up, instantly, and moved closer, to shield her from view, giving no acknowledgement she was there at all, no reason to look.

"I hope Ser Fenley won't mind, but I set up the explosives here and there. Figured I'd blow up as many of the 'spawn as I could before I embraced the Stone.

"How'd you manage to get Qunari explosives?" Anton asked, examining one of the barrels.

"These aren't Qunari explosives. They're dwarven made, and don't you forget it," Temmerin snapped.

"Temmerin's cousin Dworkin made the explosives back in Vigil's Keep," Nathaniel explained.

Anders rubbed the back of his neck and said nothing, the memory of the mad exploding dwarf clear in his mind. Dworkin had made powerful things, with no magic in them at all, and Anders often thought the dwarf was an excellent rebuttal to the 'mages are dangerous' argument.

"Aye, that he did," Temmerin agreed, "before the sodding Qunari forced him into hiding."

"What were you planning to do with the explosives, if not blow up darkspawn?" Cormac asked.

"We were intending to do extensive excavations around the entire thaig you found," Nathaniel said, looking over his shoulder at Cormac. 

"A few well-placed 'booms' prove most efficacious at clearing rubble," Temmerin added.

"But, what about the structural integrity of the thaig?" Natia's voice rose up from behind Cormac, and Temmerin looked surprised until she pushed her way between Cormac and Fenris. "An ancient structure, one that is, as I've heard, older than anything the Shapers have records of, isn't going to have the kind of resilience, necessarily, as something only a couple thousand years old!"

"Only?" Nathaniel asked, squinting at Anders in amazement.

"Dwarves, Howe. They built the Vigil and they taught the Tevinter builders how to make a decent tower. That's what she tells me." Anders shrugged. "But, 'a decent tower' is something that starts to give after a few centuries, and a proper dwarven build should stand for ten times that long."

"You were listening!" Natia smiled up at Anders.

"That's why I said 'well-placed'," Temmerin said, an edge to his voice. He folded his arms across his chest, sizing Natia up with a look.

"You're _saying_ it," Natia agreed, "but I don't see it." She gestured at the barrels lined up by the wall.

"That's because I'm a little more concerned with the integrity of my skin," Temmerin shot back, "and how many holes a darkspawn could punch in it. And I don't need some casteless tart telling me how to do my job!"

"Who're you calling a tart?" Natia roared. A hand on her shoulder and a pleading look from Anton kept her from punching the other dwarf.

Fenris cleared his throat. "Well, they say you are what you eat," he muttered, with a shrug.

Anders stood bolt upright, gaping at Fenris in feigned horror. "You take that back! Her mouth hasn't been anywhere near me!"

Cormac slapped Anders with the empty box from the strawberry tarts and offered Nathaniel an apologetic eye-roll.

Nathaniel cleared his throat. "Temmerin, the way behind us is clear," he said pointedly. "I need you to send word to the Wardens in case we don't make it."

Temmerin nodded, pulling his glare away from Natia. "Aye," he said. "I've set explosives all along the tunnels. Blow up as many of the sodding 'spawn as you can. Luck to you lot." He patted Nathaniel's arm on the way by and disappeared back down the tunnel.

"Well, this should be fun," Anders said with exaggerated cheer, looking around at the barrels of explosives and down the tunnel he knew was crawling with darkspawn. He could hear them, chittering like insects in the back of his skull. "Though if we time this right, we might not even need the explosives." He nudged Cormac's shoulder with his. "Just past that bit of rubble, there. Think you can make it rain?"

Nathaniel trotted a little ways ahead, an arrow nocked in his bow.

"Just water, or you want me to scramble them a little?" Cormac asked, eyeing the length of the floor and counting.

"Scramble them a lot," Anders suggested.

"Follow me quick." Cormac winked at Anders and a storm rose up out of the stone, wind and rain and the deafening roll of thunder as the entire tunnel flashed a pale blue with lightning.

Before the thunder had died down, Anders chased the storm with a blizzard, freezing things inconveniently to other things, as the lightning cracked down again and again.

Natia laughed and looked up at Fenris. "Remind we why we're here again?"

Fenris lifted an eyebrow without looking away from the stormy mayhem in front of him. "Because they can only do that about a dozen times without getting stupid and falling down."

Nathaniel blinked. "Maker's aching balls, Anders, a _dozen_? What have they been feeding you?"

"Breakfast, lunch, supper, dessert, and some Hawke on the side," Anders joked. "And a fairly constant stream of exotic texts from places I don't ask too many questions about."

"Should I be concerned?" Nathaniel asked, squinting side-eyed at Anders.

"It's not blood magic," Cormac and Fenris replied, at the same time.

"Some of it's several centuries old and Nevarran, though," Anders admitted, pointing to the ogre that pressed out of the frozen wreckage, looking none too steady on its feet.

"Death magic!?" Nathaniel looked horrified, but put an arrow through the ogre's eye.

"What? No! There's other magic in Nevarra! I just ... know a girl who studies the death magic, and Cormac and I get everything else she finds." Anders grinned and kept pointing. "Ah, Fenris? You should probably cut that up, just to make sure it doesn't get back up."

"Why does it always fall to me to cut things up?" Fenris complained, drawing his sword, all the same.

"Because you have something to cut things up with," Anders pointed out.

"Maker, I love having mages in the family!" Anton exclaimed, as the storms in the tunnel finally faded.

"You're related to ... who?" Nathaniel asked, looking at the rest of the group. The man looked more like him than anyone else.

"Me," Cormac answered.

Nathaniel looked back and forth between the Hawkes. "Aren't you a little--"

"Don't say it," Anton warned.

Nathaniel let his mouth fall shut but looked no less confused. With the roar of the tempest gone, the sounds of sword hacking flesh and Fenris's grunts of effort filled the space.

"Oh, yuck," grumbled Natia, scrunching her nose and sticking out her tongue at the stink and the black ichor that pooled at Fenris's feet. "I'm glad that's not _my_ job."

Fenris muttered a curse under his breath and kicked the corpse at his feet for good measure. "You get the next one," he said, pointing at Anton.

"What? Me? All I have are daggers and knives!"

"Then you'll just have to work twice as hard," Fenris replied dispassionately.

"Keep it down," said Nathaniel, stepping over fallen darkspawn and heading deeper in. "There's more darkspawn around and not far." Anders nodded.

"You know, as handy as that is," Anton said, "it still creeps me out that you guys can do that."

"Creeps me out too," Anders replied. "It's like having spiders crawling over your brain." He walked his fingers up the back of Anton's head, just to watch his shoulders scrunch and to hear him squeak. Anton swatted Anders's hand away and had a knife out and ready, pointed warningly at Anders's nose.

Nathaniel shook his head and did his best to ignore them, leading the group down another set of stairs and into an expansive room that made Natia gasp. She craned her head back, marvelling at the height of the columns and the intricate weave of stone overhead, and almost stepped on Cormac's heels.


	300. Chapter 300

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How many ogres can you fit in a thaig? Our correspondents investigate.

"Shit," Cormac hissed, as more darkspawn filtered toward the centre of the room, from whatever they'd been doing along the walls. Judging from the smell, he didn't want to think too much about it, but the storm was just as quick to his fingers as it had been before, and Anders's ice storm was quick to follow. This room, though, was larger, and the storms didn't stretch to all the walls, even offset like they were.

"A little help?" Anders asked, the floor under more of the darkspawn lighting up green, as they stopped moving forward. "Like shooting fish in a barrel, I'm told. I've heard you're good at that. Do you still have that little wind-up bronto?"

"Of course I do. What kind of barbarian do you take me for?" Nathaniel replied, between shots.

Anders opened his mouth and then closed it again. "I'm just going to leave off on any comments about taking you as a barbarian, until we're not up to our eyeballs in darkspawn."

"So, it is possible to teach you new tricks!" Nathaniel exclaimed, looking on in disgust as darkspawn began to implode, one after another. Better than exploding, he decided, after a moment, if only because the tainted blood didn't spray across everything in the room. Not that he cared, but with four more people who weren't Wardens...

Anton and Natia edged around the outside of the storms, the occasional flash of fire indicating where Natia had gone. After a few moments, Anton came racing through the centre of the room as the storm started to fade. "Hey, Cormac, come down here and get punched, again!" he shouted, as an ogre followed him, one huge slow step to every ten steps he took running, and closing almost as much distance.

Anders and Cormac moved at the same time, the ground glowing green and the ogre's head lashing back for a moment. Neither seemed to hold it long, but Anton got a bit of a lead -- enough that Anders felt comfortable greasing the floor under it. Cormac followed with a lightning strike, and the room burst into flame.

"Shit," Nathaniel breathed, grabbing Anders's arm and pulling him around to face away from the flames. "Hold this," he told Fenris, as he aimed for the ogre's eye. Eyes, he'd noticed, were the best place to hit large things. Sometimes, you could actually kill them, but you'd almost always make them blind.

The creature recoiled with a gurgling roar, head snapping back. Blinded it was. 

Anton darted in while the ogre's defences were down, hamstringing the already-crippled creature and darting away again, the heat from the flames making him sweat. It wasn't until the ogre toppled over and he was standing triumphantly yards away that Anton took the grease on his boots into account. And that they were on fire.

Another arrow finished off the ogre while Anton hopped up and down, trying to stomp out the flames. " _Andraste's... flaming... boots_!" he swore.

"What's going on?" Anders answered, his eyes wild as he tried to read Fenris's reaction. A reaction that looked like he was trying not to laugh.

"The darkspawn are dead," Fenris told him, his grip on Anders's arm keeping him from turning around to look.

Anders tilted his head as though listening to something other than Anton's swearing. "Yes, they are," he said, face smoothing over. "I hear them, but not nearly as close."

Cormac coughed. "We set the room on fire," he told Anders, as he swept ice across the room and up Anton's legs. "We. Not you."

"Blight take you, Cormac!" Anton shouted back, stuck in an awkward position from being caught mid-leap.

"What-- what are you doing to your brother?" Anders demanded, looking over his shoulder and Cormac's to find Anton encased in ice from the knees down.

"Paying him back," Cormac retorted. "Next time don't keep the keys, asshole!"

Fenris finally did laugh, this time, a broken, coughing sound, as he struggled not to, and Natia looked at them and then shrugged at Nathaniel.

"I don't know. I'm not related," she said.

"I'd be a bit concerned, if you were," Nathaniel drawled. "Now, if magey fun-times are over, can we get back to the matter at hand?"

"Magey fun-times are just beginning, Howe," Anders teased. "And I don't think I've got matters in hand, just yet, but if you step a little closer, I'm sure I can solve that deficiency."

"I haven't seen you in almost seven years, and you're _still_ like this?" Nathaniel sighed.

"It's just because I keep encouraging him," Cormac admitted, before flicking his hand and releasing the ice spell. Across the room, Anton tumbled to the ground, unceremoniously.

Anton was back on his feet a moment later, dusting himself off primly and brushing his hair back into place. "Not my most graceful moment," he admitted. "And if Varric asks, this never happened, I landed gracefully after incapacitating a mighty ogre, and I was never on fire." He stomped his feet again, this time trying to regain some feeling.

Nathaniel looked at them all like they were idiots.

"If anyone else asks, however, we can tell them whatever we like," Fenris replied with a fierce smile.

"We can even tell them to tell Varric," Anders agreed, healing light rushing to his fingertips and curling around Anton's ruined boots. Some of the tension eased from the corners of Anton's eyes.

"In case there was any debate, you are both assholes," Anton informed them amid Natia's snickering. "Which, I suppose, explains how you each ended up with one of my brothers." He saw Anders purse his lips against a smirk and sent him a flat look. "Assholes and my brothers. I know. Don't say it."

Anders pursed his lips harder and held his hands up, palm out, in surrender.

"Right," Nathaniel muttered, rubbing the corner of one eye. "I don't see any survivors in here. What about that side room?" He pointed with his bow.

The smirk left Anders's lips when he recognised it.

Cormac's eyes followed Anders's glance. "I'm not going in there. I'm not going in there and neither is he."

"What are you--" Fenris started, and stopped as soon as he realised where they were. "Bartrand is not here," he grated, but he didn't sound any more thrilled at the idea.

"I don't really want anyone else picking up that red lyrium shit and getting any funny ideas," Cormac said, shaking his head. "Pheasant on the counter funny, not haha funny."

"The door's not even open," Natia started down the stairs. "What's in that room?"

"We were," Anton answered, boots momentarily forgotten.

"Of course you were, that's why you know what's in there." Natia glanced over her shoulder at the unmoving line behind her and then at Anton still standing just as stiffly as he had been while frozen, in the middle of the room.

Nathaniel followed Natia down. "Whatever it was, I'm sure it's gone now, or you wouldn't be standing here."

"Bartrand locked us in that room," Anders finally said, looking a little paler, the shadows in his face more obvious. "Packed up the expedition and pulled out. He laid hands on an idol we found -- not a paragon. Not even a dwarf. I don't know what it was. But, he touched it, and took it with him. Barred the door behind him."

Nathaniel slowed to a stop in front of the heavy door. "I did hear he was a bit of a shit," he admitted. "But if there are Wardens in there? I'm getting them out. The rest of you can stand there, if you like, but I'm going to open this door."

He palmed his bow and an arrow with one hand and tugged open the heavy door with the other. There would be no element of surprise if there were any darkspawn inside, not with the way the door groaned as it opened. Natia ducked under his arm and peered into the room, eyes growing wide. She scrambled, trying to shove the door back.

"Close the door!" she said. " _Close the door_!"

The door ground shut, and Natia held it there. 

"What?" Nathaniel asked. "What's in there?"

"No Wardens that I could see," Natia said, eyes still round. "But more darkspawn." Nathaniel nodded, unsurprised. "More ogres." She gave Nathaniel a pained look.

"Ogre _s_? Plural?" Anton repeated. "As in, more than one ogre inside that room? Maker. My boots can't handle all this abuse."

"Then maybe you shouldn't step in it this time," Fenris drawled, reaching for his sword automatically.

"Nothing walks out of that room," Cormac said, shaking his head. "There's a passage out the back. If anyone was in there, they're either dead or gone, but nothing comes out this door alive, unless we invite it."

"There could still be--" Nathaniel started.

"There are multiple ogres in the room. Anything that was alive and continues to be so is either a darkspawn, or it's gone out the back. And the ogres probably won't fit out the back," Cormac assured him. "I know. We went that way. It was not a spacious passage."

"You know, speaking of spacious passages," Anders started, with a grin a little too broad.

"Are you just incapable of being serious?" Nathaniel snapped.

Anders's face turned grim. "Howe, that's not fair, and you know it."

"What I know is that there were eight Wardens, when we came down here, and now there is only one."

"Two," Anders reminded him, strain obvious on his face, as blue light danced around the edges of his eyes. "And I've been down here, before. Cormac's right. If they were in that room, they're either out or they're dead. There's no reason for them to still be in a room with ogres distracted enough to be concerning themselves with us."

Finally, Nathaniel nodded, eyes locked on the floor. "I know you're right. I don't want you to be right, but you are."

"We can check the tunnels behind, after the ogres are out of the way," Natia pointed out. "But, we do have to get the ogres out of the way. Suggestions?"

"Burn them." Cormac's voice was tight. "Run grease under the door and set fire to the entire room."

"No," Anders said, hands curling close to his chest. "No, no, no. You can't. You can't burn them if they have nowhere to go. If you burn them and they run toward us, that's their fault. If you burn them and they run away, they're smarter than I thought. You can't burn them if they can't run. Can't do it. Can't."

"Anders, sweet thing, they're darkspawn," Cormac replied.

Anders looked up, one eye blazing blue and the other one getting there. "I've been on fire. Trapped by fire that shouldn't have been mine. You--" And then the other eye went. "CAN'T," Justice finished, unsure why he'd kept speaking.

"Freeze 'em and squeeze 'em?" Anton suggested, stepping back and pulling Natia with him.

"Can you keep it outside the stone? I don't want to damage any of the carvings," Natia chimed in.

"If I can use it to take a golem apart, I can also make sure I _don't_ do that," Cormac assured her.

"Anders," Nate said, quietly, his eyes coming up to meet the blazing blue ones above. "Justice, they're darkspawn. They destroy. They do nothing else. And I have to assume they killed seven recruits. I don't give a shit what happens to them, as long as they're dead."

Justice stared back at Nate for a long, breathless moment. Looking into Justice's Fade-blue eyes was like staring at the sun, until finally Anders squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "They're just darkspawn," he agreed, reassuring himself, but he still couldn't reach for fire as an option.

Nate nodded and reached for the door again, his hand on the handle as he looked Cormac up and down. "I trust you know what you're doing?"

"I do. Ogres and I have a history. I can do this." Cormac grinned and readied a spell. First ice. They'd both lay down ice until everything stopped moving, and then he'd start busting heads. Literally.

"You have a history of getting punched in the face by ogres!" Anton complained.

"Ogres aren't the only things that like to punch him in the face," Fenris replied, sword resting on his shoulder. "Or that like to try, anyway."

Natia looked horrified. "But it's such a nice face," she said in a loud whisper. A strangled sound caught in Anton's throat.

Nathaniel shook his head. "Right. Places, everyone." The door groaned open a second time. The ogres were waiting, but so were the mages, ice leaping from their fingertips, hitting the hurlocks and ogres and spreading over blighted skin. The hurlocks froze while the ogres slowed, mouths open in a roar and spittle freezing on their lips. More ice and more, until Anders's fingers started to burn, and finally the ogres slowed, slowed, and stopped, one clawed hand almost at the door.

Cormac switched spells as Anders pressed a potion into his hand. He didn't have to aim as well for the ogres -- they were a hard target to miss -- so he grabbed and crushed, pouring the potion down his throat as he waited to feel them crumple. That was something that had been happening for a long time, but the older he got, the more intense it was -- the feeling in his hand of squeezing whatever he'd caught in Crushing Prison. The first skull burst, and he moved on, leaving the ogre's body supported by the ice. The hurlocks went quickly, so many short pops, and then the second ogre, caught at the back of the room.

"One more," he told Anders, as he lost his grip, and the thing started to shake off the ice. "Hit it one more time."

"I don't--" Anders started, but Justice batted him aside and complied, the ice somehow both more dense and thicker than when Anders had been casting, a perfect structure that reflected and diffracted like a gem.

The second ogre's head folded in, and Cormac let it fall as a ball of bone and mush, which splashed across the floor. He turned to Nathaniel. "If any of yours were in there and alive, the worst they got from us is frostbite."

The twitch of Nathaniel's lips didn't quite qualify as a smile, but he seemed pleased. Fenris shouldered past him through the door, sword at the ready in case they'd missed any darkspawn. He blocked out the memory of that door shutting behind him, even though a part of him itched to look over his shoulder to make sure it was still open.

"Well. Here is a good argument for shoes," he said, tiptoeing around shards of ice and frozen darkspawn. Nathaniel followed close behind him, but neither of them saw movement. Slowly, Fenris eased the point of his sword down to the ground. "If any of your companions are alive, they are not in here." He gave Nathaniel a sympathetic look. "I am sorry."

Nathaniel nodded, his face grim and closed off. "And the tunnel?" He tipped his head at the chamber's back door, and a chill swept down Fenris's spine that had nothing -- or little -- to do with the ice he was standing on. The lyrium idol had been up those stairs, laid on that altar.

"I..."

Natia cleared her throat, boots crunching as she ambled past. "Why don't we have someone with shoes check that out?" she suggested, offering Fenris a wink. Nathaniel followed her.

"Keep in mind, that tunnel leads to the surface," Cormac called out, making no move to enter the room. "And for the love of Andraste, don't touch anything red!"

Nathaniel waved a hand behind him, unconcerned with the warnings. "There are no more darkspawn. Not here, not near here... there's nothing to worry about."

"THE SOULS OF THE DWARVES WHO ATE THEIR GODS," Justice called after him, not particularly needing to raise his voice to be heard.

"Dwarves don't have gods," Nathaniel said, glancing at Natia, as he turned back around.

"I dunno. We didn't have gods in Orzammar. Just the Paragons and the Ancestors. Everything returned to the Stone, they said. I mean, I guess if you're not from around there, the Stone could sound like a god, but that's just stupid." Natia shrugged. "Ate their gods?"

"THERE IS AN OLD CORPSE IN THAT TUNNEL, AND ON IT ANTON DISCOVERED A COPY OF AN OLDER INSCRIPTION. IT SPEAKS OF THE PROFANE, WHO CONSUMED THEIR GODS, BECAUSE JUSTICE COULD NOT BE DONE FOR THEM. DWARVES. I COULD NOT HEAR THEM, AND IF I COULD, COULD I HAVE COME TO THEM?" Justice looked almost sad, which was an unusual cast to that face, with the eyes lit blue. "THEY ASSAULTED US. I KNOW NOT IF WE SLEW THEM ALL, BUT WE SLEW THE DEMON WHO DROVE THEM TO MADNESS. SOME MAY STILL REMAIN."

"He's not kidding!" Cormac pointed out, and Fenris nodded.

Natia and Nathaniel exchanged another look. "I don't know about you," she said, "but the ogres were all the excitement I needed today. Though I admit to being curious."

"I am not," Nathaniel grumbled. "I just want to find those recruits and go home."

They searched the tunnel but tried to stay within ear-shot of the others. Red lyrium lit the way, and they scrutinised the walls, the floor, but could find no sign of anyone passing through there recently.

"Dammit," Nathaniel muttered, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. The tunnel forked up ahead, and any more wandering was bound to get them lost. "Dammit, dammit." He was used to losing his fellow Wardens, but only one survivor out of eight? And he was the senior Warden on this mission. "This is not my day," he said wryly, for Natia's benefit.

She offered him a half-smile. "From what I've heard about how long you've been down here, I'd say it's not your _month_."

"My month, my year, my lifetime..." Nathaniel laid a hand across his cheekbones and squeezed, before shaking his head. "And now I have to tell Solona that I lost them, and I've only found two corpses."

"But, you didn't find five more, which means they probably got out," Natia reminded him.

"Or they got more lost in here, and they're going to starve or get eaten by dead dwarves who had gods," Nathaniel retorted. "Can't you... I don't know, do something dwarfy? Figure out which way they went?"

"Not down here. Not with the ground like this." Natia shrugged. "I'd be able to tell you if they were dwarves, but they're not. I don't know what they'd do. What would Wardens do?"

"Doesn't matter. They haven't been Wardens long enough to know." Nathaniel shook his head. "How the fuck does Solona do this?"

Awkwardly, Natia reached out and patted Nathaniel's arm. She'd only just met the man and didn't know the proper way to console him in this situation. Or any situation. "I doubt she finds it any easier than you do," she said. Which was a guess, really, but how could anyone find this sort of thing easy? "Look, let's head back. There's not much we can do for them right now, if they're alive, but if the idiots behind us got out of here, then they know where these tunnels end up. We could always look there." 

Nathaniel considered that and nodded. It was something to do, at least, that didn't involve standing here and mentally flailing. "Right. But if Anders makes another joke about 'tunnels', I can't be held responsible for my actions." He turned around before he could talk himself out of it.

"Well, you heard Anton," Natia said. "He's a bit of an asshole. And I assume assholes would be experts on tunnels."

Nathaniel slowed to a stop just to give her a horrified look. Natia smiled sweetly up at him. 

"You said if _Anders_ made tunnel jokes," she reminded him.

"Definitely not my year," Nathaniel muttered.


	301. Chapter 301

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To sleep, perchance to have nightmares and seek comfort from an old friend.

The rest of the group lingered at the door of the room, talking among themselves. Anders seemed to be Anders, at a glance, now that the blue glow had left him. "We need to make camp," he argued. "And right here is probably the best place for it. I am not hiking all the way back out -- or even back out enough that we don't have a flat surface under us -- before I sleep."

"Getting lazy, Anders," Nathaniel teased.

"Don't," Cormac warned.

Anders whipped around and grabbed Nathaniel by the edges of the plate across his chest. "I haven't slept since we entered the tunnels. There were darkspawn, then. Now there are not. Now, I am going to sleep."

"Since you entered the tunnels? We're almost a week underground!" Nathaniel looked up in horror. Warden stamina was one thing, but a _week_?

The smile that spread across Anders's face was one Nathaniel had seen before, that little uptilt of the chin, the glittering brightness of his eyes. "Justice doesn't need to sleep."

"And so, we're making camp. Right here," Anton said, a little more loudly than necessary, with a bit of forced cheer. "Fenris, Natia, let's go get that set up. I think my brother can keep these two from murdering each other!"

"Thanks, Anton," Cormac sighed. "Look, if the two of you could move on from the antagonistic throttling to the sexy throttling, I'd be thrilled."

Nathaniel pushed Anders's hands away, eyes just a shade too wide as they took in his friend. Friends. Two friends, who were now in the same body, a body they were likely going to wreck if they kept this up. "Right," he said, looking green around the edges. "Let's camp. Preferably without throttling of any kind."

"I make no promises," Anders said, still with that unnerving smile.

The darkspawn were dead, but the atmosphere was still tense, still heavy, as Natia, Fenris, and Anton set up tents and bedrolls and took stock of their supplies. Without the crawling weight of darkspawn on his mind, Anders's fatigue hit him full-force. He was the kind of shaky over-tired where he wasn't sure he'd able to fall asleep if he tried. Anton pointed him to a bedroll anyway.

Anders forced himself to lie down, rather than just collapsing into a heap and staring at the awkward angles of the floor, his coat, and the ripples of blanket under him. His breathing slowed, but his hands still shook, even as Cormac eased down next to him, wrapping around him. Cormac was so warm. Cormac was always so warm.

"You're freezing," Cormac pointed out, like he so often did, unfolding his own bedroll to pull it up over both of them.

"You're like sleeping next to a forge," Anders slurred back, wondering when his tongue had gotten so sloppy.

Cormac snorted and shook his head. Anders made this argument every time he was tired enough to be cold. Once, he'd insisted on checking if Cormac was sick, only to find out his magic had left him. "Doesn't matter. As long as you get warmer."

"I like being warm. I don't like being underground."

"I know, pretty thing. I know." Cormac smoothed Anders's hair and pulled him closer, trying to touch as much as possible and making sure the blanket actually covered Anders, instead of only reaching from his shoulders to halfway down his shins.

"I'll take the first watch," Nathaniel volunteered. "I don't think I can sleep, anyway." He watched the way Cormac held Anders, didn't think he'd ever held Anders like that, but they'd been pretty drunk, most of the time. Maybe he had. It still looked like much more of a commitment than he'd ever have given the man.

Anders closed his eyes, his breathing slowing, but he did not sleep, at least not at first. It smelled like the Deep Roads, wet earth and rock and the pungent, sour stink of Blighted blood. He always did have trouble getting that smell out of his clothes, and Anders twisted, just enough that he could bury his nose in Cormac's sleeve. It also smelled like dirt and blood, but under that, it smelled like Cormac, like the estate, like the home he'd built in Kirkwall, far above this wretched place. It was enough to soothe him into sleep.

Sleep, but not rest. Through closed eyes, he saw the darkspawn they had killed, saw ogres twist free from their icy prisons, watched hurlocks rise from the dead. He reached for his magic, calling an ice spell to his lips, but it backfired, hands freezing solid, ice creeping up his arms and leaving him cold, always cold. In front of him, the pair of ogres shifted, melting, twisting, limbs and claws growing long and attenuated. Ice continued to crawl up Anders's arms as he stared down the Architect and Corypheus, side-by-side and speaking to him in whispers he wanted to but couldn't hear.

Anders woke with half a fire spell on his lips.

Cormac made an inquisitive noise, and Anders recognised that. Whatever else might be going on, that was Cormac, and he was still asleep, which meant it wasn't serious.

"Go back to sleep," he whispered against Cormac's hair. "I just have to water the bones of the Ancestors."

Cormac snorted and nudged Anders's chin with the top of his head, before drifting off again, as Anders got up. He actually did have to pee, he noticed, after a moment, but he really hadn't wanted to fidget against Cormac's side. At home, he'd have woken Cormac. Here... Here he'd let the man have what sleep he could get.

After a moment of splashing sounds in the lee of the stairs, he headed back toward the camp, and spotted Nate still lounging against some of Temmerin's dismantled gear.

"Nightmares?" Nathaniel asked, already knowing the answer.

Anders just nodded, as he sat down beside the other Warden. "Been a while since the last time we were in something like this together."

"Like you, I was rather hoping that would be 'never again'," Nathaniel replied, offering Anders the bottle he held.

"And here's something I never thought I'd taste again," Anders said, raising it to his lips. "Still vile. Mine's better."

Nathaniel huffed and snatched the bottle back.

"Missed you," Anders muttered, inching closer, raising a hand but not actually touching Nathaniel's face.

"Yeah, it's been kind of expensive, since you left," Nathaniel admitted, shaking his head and taking another swig.

"Just seeing you again," Anders admitted, running his fingers down Nathaniel's neck. "Smelling you again." He leaned in and pressed his lips to Nathaniel's, only to be met with a muffled sound of shock.

Nathaniel shoved him back and wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist, his other hand staying on Anders's shoulder to keep him at arms' length. "What the shit, Anders?" he hissed. "Why are you kissing me? We don't kiss! That's gross."

Anders sat back, feathers and expression equally ruffled. Colour rose high on his cheeks, but with any luck, the dark hid it from Nathaniel. "I don't know," he said defensively. "I just wanted to, just the once. But I'll rein in the impulse."

Nathaniel eyed him, checking Anders's skin for any blue cracks. "I'm surprised Justice didn't 'rein in the impulse' for you," he said. 

"Justice doesn't care any more," Anders said flatly.

"But he _is_ in there right now? Listening to this?" Nathaniel couldn't quite decide how he felt about that. They shared a body. Justice and Anders saw, felt, tasted the same things, right? "That is... unnerving."

"Why?" Anders asked, his grin sharp. "Which one of us do you not want kissing you? Justice or me?"

"Both!" Nathaniel sputtered, speaking perhaps a bit too quickly.

"Just kissing, or are you going to tell me you don't want us touching you, too?" Anders's smile was almost gleeful as he ran a charge through his fingers and swiped one across Nathaniel's lip.

Nathaniel batted the hand away, but said nothing.

"You know, he always thought you'd flirted with him, the time you said you wouldn't consider him a demon," Anders teased.

"I am not drunk enough for this. I don't know if there's enough alcohol in all of Thedas for this." Nathaniel's hands ran nervously through his hair. "He's really...? You're fucking with me, right? Thought I was flirting? He was a corpse at the time!"

"He was basing it off how you talked to Velanna, I think." Anders laughed. "And he's ... much less uptight about some things, these days. Cats. The spit-polishing of knobs."

Nathaniel choked on his whiskey, pressing his wrist to his chin to wipe the dribbles. "Now, I know you're fucking with me."

"I am not." Anders sat up straighter, pulling his shoulders back and lifting his chin. "But, I could be fucking you. Do you miss it? Do you miss me? Do you miss being satisfied?"

Nathaniel took another long gulp of whiskey, just so he wouldn't have to answer that right away. "I didn't miss your constant chatter," he said, but the way he looked at Anders, with hunger, answered his questions. "But I admit to missing... certain things." He'd admit that here, in the dark, with whiskey in his belly.

"'Certain things', hmm?" Anders purred, shifting closer, close enough that their thighs were touching, and took the bottle back for another long pull. It burned in a way only Warden Whiskey did, in a way only _Nate's_ whiskey did. Sitting in the Deep Roads, with this drink on his tongue and Nathaniel at his side, Anders could, for a moment, pretend that he was back at Vigil's Keep. "Is there one 'thing' in particular? I think there is. Or do you still need to be drunk to admit it?"

Nathaniel took the bottle back with a glare. "You never were very subtle."

Anders shrugged. "That tends to work in my favour. Usually."

They sat quiet, for a few moments, Nathaniel raising a hand when Anders opened his mouth, and Anders caught on almost immediately. They were, after all, keeping watch. Silence swirled behind Justice's mild objections, and Anders knew there were no darkspawn, whatever else might be down there with them.

"You've got trousers on," Nathaniel observed, at last. "When did that start?"

"I had to be a little more subtle, in Kirkwall. And living in the sewers was making my balls cold." Anders shrugged and smoothed the feathers at his shoulders.

"In. The sewers." Nathaniel turned a flat look on Anders. "Why am I not surprised you've come to this?"

"Because I'm gorgeous filth, and it's strangely fitting?" Anders smiled like he hadn't in a lot of years, that old antagonistic grin. "Besides, I live in a mansion, now. With my cats-- Don't give me that look! Your sister's been there! She'll tell you it's true!"

"And whose knob did you swallow for that?" Nathaniel asked, with nearly no malice.

"It's not like that," Anders said, looking back to where Cormac slept, a few steps away, thinking of how Cormac always looked out for him, right down to bringing him food and a few stiff drinks, in those first days after-- "He's a friend. Was a friend before any of this. Knows me now, somehow still a friend. Kind of like you, but, you know, actually pleasant and friendly."

"Pleasant and friendly?" Nathaniel said with an edge to his smile. "Where's the fun in that?"

"Surprisingly enough, I actually find the pleasantness pleasant," Anders replied. "You should try it on, some time. Like I tried on pants. Miracles happen."

Anders reached for the drink again, and Nathaniel huffed, handing him the bottle and swatting a stray feather out of his face. "If he's so wonderfully pleasant, why aren't you sitting on _his_ knob instead of sniffing after mine?" He asked it like an idle question, like he was genuinely curious, and not an accusation.

"Because he and his knob are trying to sleep. But if they weren't, I'd be sitting on his knob _and_ sniffing after yours."

Nathaniel choked out a laugh, glad Anders still had the bottle. He didn't need to dribble more whiskey down his chin. "Good to see that, pants or no pants, you're still a slut, Anders."

"Have I ever disputed this point?" Anders took another swig and then passed the bottle back. "And if you're glad of it, I could switch this to a no-pants occasion. I don't think anyone else would mind. And, you've seen me handle darkspawn, without pants, so I'm pretty sure that whatever might decide to sneak up on us is not going to be a problem, no matter how much knob I'm sitting on. Yes, I've gotten even better at that." He dragged a sparking finger down the side of Nathaniel's neck, as soon as the man had swallowed. "And this."

"Do it." Nathaniel didn't move, but for his lips. "No pants. On your knees."


	302. Chapter 302

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nate gets a sudden reminder of exactly how drunk he usually was, when things got this far. Anders takes a certain glee in rubbing those holes in his memory in his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may want to step out for the next few chapters if you have aversions to: antagonism in bed, Nate coming to terms with the idea of Justice!Anders (in bed), internal watersports, drunken blackouts with memory loss, voyeurism, "in bed" not actually involving a bed at all.

Anders didn't need to be told twice. Whatever he could have said about tone or politesse, it wasn't going to improve the situation, and by 'improve' he meant 'get him laid faster'. They were in the Deep Roads. This was going to be fast and hard and all the things he'd never ask Cormac for, and he _wanted it_. "I'm told that I have a pretty incredible ass, now," he remarked, standing up to work on his trousers, before remembering who he was talking to, and that he hadn't gotten sick and thin until after he came to Kirkwall. "Ah, but I've always had a pretty incredible ass, for you, haven't I?"

"Incredibly visible, perhaps. Always there, every time I turned my head," Nathaniel drawled, looking up as Anders stood across his lap, trousers unlaced.

"How dreadful for you," Anders teased, "being so afflicted by my glorious ass."

"'Afflicted' is one word," Nathaniel muttered, looking down from Anders only long enough to set down the bottle just out of easy reach, "but I'm sure I could think of a few others." He eyed Anders's legs as the trousers slid down them, landing unceremoniously in Nathaniel's lap.

"And you say I'm the one with the incessant chatter," Anders tutted. His boots were in the way from stepping out of his trousers completely, but he hardly cared. The important bits were readily available, at least. 

"That's because you are," Nathaniel said distractedly, one hand reaching up to squeeze a pale thigh.

"Well, at least the chatter comes with nice legs, attached to a nice ass."

"Of the asses I've known, you are pretty nice, aren't you?" Nathaniel smiled up, blithely, and Anders lifted his knob and slapped Nathaniel across the cheek with it.

"Have, not _am_."

Nathaniel huffed, shoving Anders back, just hard enough to watch him stumble over his trousers. "Why are you still standing up?"

"Because you always looked so pretty with my knob in your mouth." Anders stretched and purred, rolling his hips in a way he'd never have done if he thought anyone else was awake.

"What? No, I didn't! I never--" Nathaniel looked utterly horrified.

"Of course you did. How drunk _were_ you?" Anders sank to his knees, bemused. "More than once, too."

"Did I? No." Nathaniel shook his head and pulled himself up as far as his knees, lifting the Warden armour out of his way, to reach the knots of his own trousers. "You're mad, Anders. Dreamed the whole thing. I would never..."

"It was entirely your idea," Anders laughed, holding out a hand. "Come here and touch me. I'll get the knots. Your pants aren't that complicated."

"It's been a while," Nathaniel reminded him as he shuffled closer on his knees. "For all you know, I've learned more complicated knots since then."

Anders chuffed and tugged Nathaniel closer by the laces. "You know Fenris?" he said, tilting his head in the direction of Fenris's bedroll. "Qunari knots. If I can conquer his pants, I can conquer yours."

"His--?" Anders could see the whites of Nathaniel's wide eyes in the gloom. "Andraste's tits, have you slept with _everyone_ in this camp?" His hands came around to squeeze Anders's ass, comparing its weight and feel to what he remembered.

"Not everyone." Anders's hand closed around Nathaniel's bare knob, making him suck in a breath. "Not Anton, though Natia has made a pass at me. Granted, it was less a pass at _me_ , and more of a pass at Cormac, with me as an added bonus."

"That's more than half the camp," Nathaniel pointed out.

"But not all of it. Then again, the night is young."

"You are disgusting," Nathaniel marvelled.

"Yes, but you're fucking me," Anders reminded him, having had this very same exchange on so many occasions.

"Not yet, I'm not." Nathaniel snorted, grinding himself against Anders's hand. "Unless you've changed enough to count this."

"I've changed, but not that much." Anders leaned back, tugging Nathaniel with him, until he lay on the floor with Nathaniel atop him.

"Didn't I tell you to get on your knees?" Nathaniel asked, with a poor imitation of a scowl, hips rocking as Anders's leg wrapped around him. Only the one, with his trousers still caught on his boots.

Anders shrugged, the sound of his coat scraping the ground sharply. "I did say I'd changed a little."

Nathaniel leaned down, before he remembered that would align him with Anders's chest, not his ear. The point would still be made. "I hope you're still good enough to make this worthwhile," he grumbled, cramming a hand between them, to stroke both himself and Anders. Not that either of them apparently needed the help. Nathaniel's body remembered Anders even more clearly than his mind, and Anders had a certain taste for the memories of the way Nathaniel touched him -- like he was a perfectly made object of pleasure.

"You always did say the sexiest things, Howe," Anders drawled, fingers slipping into his mouth. He didn't need the spit -- he had grease spells -- but it was a warning of his intentions, and his arms were definitely long enough to make it work.

Nathaniel licked his lips at the sight, wondering if he'd had enough whiskey that he could blame everything on that later. That was later's problem, he decided, as Anders reached around him, following the contours of Nathaniel's body by memory as though it had only been days instead of years that they had last done this. Wet fingers trailed along the cleft of his ass, and Nathaniel arched forward, pressing Anders's hips down into the ground. 

It was less than comfortable. Rock dug into Anders's bare ass-cheeks, while Nathaniel tried to work around their tangle of clothes. With his knee, Nathaniel tried to nudge Anders's thighs wider apart, only to end up kneeling on his pants. He swore against Anders's chest.

"Liked you better without pants," he muttered. He pulled his hand off their knobs and sat up to tug at Anders's boot.

"That buckle -- there," Anders instructed, eager to have the heat of Nathaniel's skin against his again. The boot came off, followed by one pantleg, before Nathaniel descended upon him again. Both legs hooked over Nathaniel's hips this time.

And this would be awkward if any darkspawn decided to show up -- somehow _more_ awkward than being without pants altogether -- but Anders could cast just as well while tripping over his trousers.

"You going to fuck me, or do I need to seduce you all over again?" Anders asked, when Nathaniel hesitated.

"Please don't. We're not drunk enough for that." Nathaniel coughed out a laugh, one hand sliding up under Anders's tunic. There were scars he'd touched a hundred times before. Maybe he'd asked about them. Maybe he hadn't. He'd been drunk enough that he hadn't really been listening, anyway -- not to Anders or himself. "You still haven't healed that?" he asked, fingers brushing over the scar above one nipple.

"Needed something to remember you by, didn't I?" Anders reached back, again, fingers following the same path they had the first time, but with less half-tangled leg and pants in the way. "And don't touch that nipple. I should have healed it, and you don't want to know why."

Nathaniel's hand jerked to the side, brushing up over the unexpected swell of a new scar, and suddenly Anders's hand was clamped around his wrist, through the fabric, blue light skittering across his face.

"Not there, either," Anders breathed, eyes closed, swallowing hard.

"I don't re--"

"It wasn't there." Anders's eyes opened, slowly, and they were still his. "They killed me, Howe. They found me and they killed me. It just... didn't take. Justice was already with me. You knew -- you had to know we weren't _both_ coming back, that time."

"You, ah... you look better than the last corpse." Nathaniel twitched as Anders's fingers pinched the back of his thigh.

"I'm not a corpse. You know what you said about making him an offer? I made him an offer." Anders's fingers moved, caressing Nathaniel's ass, as he talked, kneading and squeezing flesh he thought he'd never touch again. "And then the templars decided we were an abomination. I suspect you know how that ended."

"I _did_ think you were dead," Nathaniel admitted, as Anders's hand finally released his arm, and he drew his hand back away from the scar.

"Well, I'm definitely not," Anders assured him, grinding up to rub his extremely not-dead knob against Nathaniel's stomach. "Unless you want to blame this on rigor mortis."

"That's disgusting." Nathaniel looked a bit ill at the thought, his hands slowing on Anders. "And the opposite of seducing me, for future reference."

"Relax. I'm not dead. I'm making terrible jokes, but I'm not dead. And you know how I like to celebrate being not-dead..." The pad of his middle finger brushed along Nathaniel's entrance, tracing its shape in small circles.

Nathaniel's breathing deepened, and Anders remembered the countless times he'd heard those breaths in his ear, heavy with desire and the promise of louder sounds later.

"Ass," Nathaniel grumbled, fighting not to squirm.

"That's the idea, yes," Anders teased, curling that finger and pressing it into Nathaniel. Nathaniel squeezed Anders's hips, another harsh breath rustling Anders's feathers.

He couldn't fight it. Or, rather, he could, if he'd had any desire to do so, but that was fading rapidly, under the touch of Anders's hands, the long finger hooked inside him. "Give me the grease," Nathaniel demanded, with way more breaths between syllables than he'd intended, turning a palm up to catch it.

And there was that wicked grin again. "You don't need it," Anders assured him. "I already took care of it."

Nathaniel looked a little confused, stroking himself, first, and finding no oil. He knew where Anders's hands were. Had he actually-- And suddenly, Nathaniel wondered exactly how drunk he'd actually been, even for those times he thought he was mostly sober. Unless this was something new. His hand moved down, fingers pressing at Anders's all-too-accepting hole. Nothing at first, but there, past the first joint, the grease swirled against his finger as Anders flexed around him. A moment passed, while he absorbed the idea, and then his hand was back on his own flesh, a sharp breath from Anders, as the finger suddenly slipped out, and then that long, slow inhale as Nathaniel shoved his knob into that waiting slickness.

That sound woke Cormac. Not that it was loud, but it registered as a familiar sound and something he should be aware of. That long drag of breath was something he'd heard so many times, over the years, sometimes waking up to Anders arched beside him, one or another of their toys buried inside him. This time, it took a little longer to figure out. First, Anders wasn't next to him. Slowly, everything filtered back. Deep Roads. Messere Howe. Messere Howe, whom Anders had apparently had quite a fling with, back in Amaranthine.

Rolling over, Cormac spotted the two of them at once, Anders with his head tipped back against the floor and Howe shakily pistoning into him. This was going to be much better than whatever he might have been dreaming, he decided, sliding his robes up as best he could, to wrap a hand around his own knob.

Magic had its uses, Nathaniel decided. Anders had proven that to him many times, only half of those times in the bedroom, and here was Anders proving it again. He was grateful Anders hadn't taken the opportunity to say he had a 'magic ass' or to make another joke about tunnelling.

And Nathaniel _had_ missed this, the way Anders opened around him, the way scarred skin felt in his callused hands.

"Nate," Anders breathed, his hands on Nathaniel's ass pulling him deeper, closer. A part of him wished they'd done this on the bedroll, on anything soft to cushion his back as it scraped against the floor, but a part of him savoured the physicality of it, the raw, aching need in each of Nathaniel's thrusts. "Nate," Anders said again, as though to remind himself whom he was with.

"Shut up," Nathaniel panted, licking his lips between ragged breaths. "Aren't you the quiet one?"

"Shut up? And I thought you liked it when I said your name!" Anders's eyes gleamed, just the way Nathaniel remembered. "When I begged for you to give me what I wanted. Oh, Nathaniel, put it in me! Oh, Nathaniel, fuck me harder! Oh, Nathaniel, piss in my asshole until my belly swells with it and come inside me again! Do you remember that? I remember you folding me in half so I'd come all over my own face. I remember watching the way your eyes rolled back, every time I breathed your name."

Nathaniel's body stiffened and froze, from the waist up, horror and confusion on his face. He barely remembered most of the nights he'd spent with Anders, and the ones he did remember, he'd tried to put out of his head. Not because they weren't _good_ , because they were definitely good. He never slept as well as he did after he was wrung out completely. But, some of the things he'd done were the things nightmares were made of -- but he'd been the one doing them, and he did them because Anders asked, teased, and antagonised him into them. They were never anything that could have hurt _him_. Still, his hips rolled and his knob throbbed, as flickers of things he couldn't quite remember danced through his head.

Anders's words weren't very loud. Anders was almost never loud, if he wasn't shouting about the plight of mages, but Cormac heard every word. He stilled, watching the two Wardens -- the way Nathaniel tensed, but kept grinding in, despite himself; the way Anders tipped his chin up, with that antagonistic grin that Cormac couldn't quite make out, but he knew was there. So, it was true, then. Not just Anders rambling drunkenly. Cormac had already known parts of the story, but he'd been missing this one. He'd been missing the part where Anders had apparently done that _intentionally_.

He laid back, considering it. Not something he'd want for himself, he didn't think. But, really, not something he could find a reason to deny Anders. They'd handled a lot more water than that, although he still wasn't sure quite how that ended, and neither was Anders, from what he could tell. And that was the only reason he had concerns about any of it. He didn't want to break Anders, again. And maybe that was why Anders hadn't asked. But, this? This was different, somehow. Anders wasn't afraid to ask -- hadn't been afraid years before, either, and Cormac couldn't help but wonder. Maybe he'd make the offer, anyway. Later, when they got home. Not in the cellar, on the floor, this time. Upstairs, in his bed, with the windows open.

"I think you do remember," Anders said, still in a whisper, still with that sharp smile, the kind of smile Nathaniel was determined to wipe from his face, judging from the next brutal shove of his hips. "And I think you want more of it. You already have me folded in half, so what comes next? Oh, right. You do."

"I said, 'shut up'," Nathaniel grit out through his teeth. He wondered if the wet sounds, the slap of skin, would be enough to wake up their companions, only to decide that he did not care. He ploughed into Anders, pleased when he finally jostled that smile off his face, if only for a moment, grinning teeth parting around a gasp.

Sparks danced around Anders's fingers, making Nathaniel's hips stutter in their rhythm. "Or maybe you don't remember and need me to jog your memory," Anders said, ignoring Nathaniel's glare and arching up into the next slam of his hips. "How much whiskey did you have?"

"You are disgusting," Nathaniel said again.

"You're still fucking me," Anders pointed out.

Nathaniel shook his head. "If that's what you want, wait for it. I just drank it. It's going to take longer than this, even with you--" The sentence cut off in a ragged gasp as Anders shot another jolt between his hips. Was this how it had always been? He couldn't remember. He didn't really care. Pounding Anders through the floor seemed much more important. This was what every trip into the Maker-forsaken Deep Roads had been missing, since this obnoxious mage had run off to the Marches. "You're fucking vile, Anders. But, if anything in Thedas can get me off like you do, I haven't met it. Looks like I'm stuck with you, robe trash."

Justice lunged forward, the glow flashing across the dim room, briefly, before Anders could drag him back, and the next jolt was a lot less friendly. "You want me to get you off? You want to come in my vile and disgusting ass? Don't piss him off."

"I don't suppose pissing in you is going to piss him off, too? Or maybe it'll just be pissing on him?" Nathaniel eased back a bit, uncertain of how he felt about the idea of banging Justice. But, it wasn't really Justice he'd had a problem with. It was the corpse. But, this was Justice. This was a spirit. Could he do the things Anders tended to argue him into with _Justice_? He was pretty sure this was some even deeper violation of the Chantry's every admonition than the things he tended to get up to with Anders.

"Shut your face and fuck me, Howe. I thought you were the one who wanted it quiet," Anders shot back, with another spark, this one pressed just into Nathaniel's ass.

The swear that tore from Nathaniel came out sharp, louder than their whispered taunts. Anders shushed him, heels at the small of his back spurring him on, even as his fingers continued sparking.


	303. Chapter 303

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris takes a dim view of the evening's entertainments.

Fenris's ear twitched. Whispering and nightly... _canoodling_ he was used to sleeping through, but that sound was different, in a voice he wasn't used to. Staying as still as he could, Fenris opened his eyes and peered into the dark. Dark shapes moved in a way he was familiar with, and since he'd recognised one voice as Anders's, Fenris assumed, for a moment, that the second shape belonged to Cormac.

Except that voice wasn't Cormac's. Fenris caught the flash of electricity and heard Nathaniel swear again, more softly this time. "Shit, Anders," he cursed.

"Shit's not what I want," Anders replied, and Fenris wondered what he meant by that. Except that, no, he probably didn't want to know, did he?

"I know what you want, mage," Nathaniel said.

Anders writhed, wringing Nathaniel inside him. "Give it to me. Give it all to me. Put it in me," he panted, sparks getting closer together.

Cormac had very little idea, really, how intensely erotic it could be to listen to Anders plead, in whispers. Which wasn't to say he hadn't heard other intensely erotic things out of Anders, just not that. And if Howe could resist that? Cormac decided that would make him both a very strong man and a profound idiot. In that moment, he regretted not being the one between Anders's legs.

A strangled sound dragged out of Nathaniel, and his hips stuttered. "Almost," he breathed. "Wish I'd saved more of that whiskey."

"Because you need to be drunk to fuck me?" Anders teased, eyes sliding closed as his concentration deepened, the electricity not just in his fingers, but inside him.

"Because I'd have a whole fucking quart to put up your filthy ass," Nathaniel growled, eyes fluttering as the creeping tingle ran up the length of his knob, met by another sharp spark from behind.

A memory shot through Fenris's mind, Anders drunk and bitter, sprawled across Jethann's bed at the Rose, mouth getting ahead of him. He was on his feet in an instant, wholly soundless as he moved across the camp, cutting to Cormac's side of the pile of dismantled dwarven gear in the middle.

Cormac caught the motion and the intent, and the barrier came up quickly, catching Fenris at his side. "Don't," he whispered. "Sit down. It's not what you think. Watch them." Cormac paused. "But, thanks."

The barrier was more of a surprise than a hindrance. If he wanted to, he could press through it, but it was Cormac's words that gave him pause. Cormac, who was very much awake and aware of what was going on and who wasn't trying to tear Nathaniel open. A growl caught in Fenris's throat, hands clenching and unclenching and ears pressing flat to his skull.

And then Fenris listened to Anders, to the desperate way he was pleading. He thought the mage might be pleading for mercy or for help, until he heard the word 'more'. The reality of the situation brought him short for a second time.

Anders wasn't enduring this. He was asking for this. Or maybe it was both.

Fenris sat, ready to step in the moment Anders needed him to, but he wasn't sure he could watch this. "It's not what I think?" he repeated, lip curling. "Then what is it? Because I am thinking of horrible things and also what horrible things I should like to do to this Warden." His words were soft, barely a ghost of a whisper, and the Wardens were too wrapped up in each other to hear.

"You know what Artemis likes? You know what I like?" Cormac paused until he caught Fenris's eye. "Anders is just a different flavour. Leave them be. Justice is with them. If it goes too far, it will stop."

Fenris growled, looking back toward the Wardens, and remembering the feel of Justice against his skin. "Will it? Justice..."

"Justice likes the way you taste," Cormac muttered. "These three knew each other before we knew any of them. They know what they're doing."

"Oh, fuck, Nathaniel!" Anders moaned, back arching, despite the awkward position, mouth open, as his shoulders rolled against the floor. 

The light wasn't very good, but Cormac could make out the way the flagpole jerked and twitched. He was watching Anders come all over his own face, pretty loudly, too, given that this was Anders. And that was it. Cormac made up his mind on the spot. "When we get home, I'm going to offer him exactly that."

Fenris looked ill at the thought. "That is... not something I needed to hear. Or to picture." He knew he didn't need to tell Cormac to keep his mage out of such... activities. Artemis would likely faint at the very suggestion. "I do not understand this," he admitted softly, shaking his head. He understood what Cormac had said and what he had meant, that this was something Anders wanted, but _why_ someone would want this... Fenris simply could not understand it.

But that was definitely pleasure on Anders's face, in the sounds he was making, and there was a fierce sort of enjoyment in Nathaniel's eyes as he continued to rut, body tightening, curling over Anders as a liquid moan dragged from his lips. 

Fenris looked at everything but the tangled Wardens. Anton, at least, was still lightly snoring, and Fenris envied him. Natia, on the other hand, was still, her breathing slow, but he could see her eyes open in the dark.

"More," Anders demanded, voice still low. "I swear if you stop, I will snap you in half between my knees."

"One," Nathaniel counted, and something like a laugh bubbled in his chest, but never quite made it past his teeth. "How good is your memory, if you think I'm going to stop at one? Did all that time away from the Vigil dull you? Maybe only half a Warden, now?"

"Twice the Warden," Anders insisted, swinging a leg across Nathaniel's back and rolling them over. "You know I always got the last one of the night. Or maybe you don't. You'll know now."

Nathaniel shivered and then sat up and knocked Anders back. "Don't you drip that on me. These are my only clothes down here."

Anders laughed and pulled him down, in a tangle of limbs. "Again," he purred, the word rumbling in his chest. "Give me more, Warden. You know I can take it."

"I know you can give it, too." Nathaniel muttered, eyeing the flagpole as he adjusted them into a more reasonable position. "How did you ever make that fit?"

"Magic." Anders smirked.

This time, Natia was at an angle to get an amazing view as Anders folded up on himself. And what she was watching should not have been possible. She glanced around, spotting Fenris sitting up by Cormac's bedroll. At least someone else was awake, for this. This was unreal. There was no way anyone could reach. But, well, apparently... That appeared to be Anders fucking his own mouth, as that other Warden fucked his ass. That was... not how humans worked, the last time she'd checked. Of course, the last time she'd checked humans also weren't hung like legends said the Qunari were, either. Polearm, indeed.

"Well, now that just seems excessive." Natia didn't realise she'd spoken aloud until Fenris twisted to look at her. She shrugged, unabashed. "Well, it does!"

"I have to agree with you on that," Fenris replied, his expression pinched. Surely one man didn't need that much knob. Being able to fit said knob in his mouth... well, that wasn't a talent Fenris knew Anders had.

Natia watched the Wardens for a long moment, shaking her head. "I'm seeing things, aren't I?" she whispered. "I've caught the Blight, and now I'm seeing things. That is the only explanation, since that shouldn't be physically possible."

"It's possible," Fenris protested. "If you're flexible. Or have a flagpole, apparently." Fenris cut a glance at Cormac. "Not that I've tried doing it."

In front of them, the Wardens kept at each other with a desperation and a hunger Fenris had never seen before. He wondered how long they would be at this. He would like to return to sleep, but he could not see sleeping through this.

Cormac's hand moved as subtly as he could manage under the blanket, fingers caressing his own flesh, as he wished he were invited to this revelry of bodies and fluids. He'd never seen Anders quite like this, definitely never _heard_ him like this, antagonistic and demanding, between wet suckling noises, and the sound of that voice he knew so well lashing out with taunts and wicked demands, cracking with pleasure, went straight to his knob.

A tiny, dry sound, like fingers on cloth, caught Fenris's attention, and he glanced at where Cormac lay beside him, propped up on one elbow, blankets pulled up to his neck. "You're not ..."

Tilting his chin in the direction of the Wardens in front of him, Cormac asked, "And you're not thinking it? I just have more blankets, so you don't have to watch."

Ears twitching in annoyance, Fenris opened his mouth, but the next sentence never made it out, drowned out by the other Warden's voice. " _Tighter!_ " The demand came in almost a normal speaking volume. "Yes-- Yes, fucking _squeeze_!" Breathy groans and gasps followed, interspersed with the occasional snarl, and Anders made little sound, but to moan around the knob in his mouth.

And something about that still upset Fenris, irrationally. He'd come to understand control, but this wasn't that. This was savagery and antagonism, an inexplicable brutality, even without obvious violence. And even the violence, the way Cormac took it, pleading during and laughing before and after, wasn't like this, somehow.

Anders choked as Nathaniel slammed into him even harder, a shrill screech wringing out of Nathaniel, as his entire body tensed.

"Ancestors," Natia giggled, in amazement, "the man sounds like a dragon getting fucked!"

Anton woke long enough to wing a boot at Natia. "S'not a dragon. Dragon's at home. Goin' home t'my dragon. Mmmm, dragon noises."

Cormac's hand stopped moving beneath the blanket. "He means Cullen. Don't ask."

"I really think that was more of a wyvern noise," Fenris said, finally, and he and Cormac looked at each other for a long moment, trying very hard not to laugh, as visions of Château Haine danced through both their heads.

A ragged sound of loss tore out of Anders as Nathaniel suddenly pulled out, slapping and tugging at Anders's arm. "On your knees. I wanted you on your knees to start, but you had to be difficult. Get up so I can fuck the will out of you, and maybe we'll actually get some sleep."

Cormac knew what that was about, as soon as he heard the last of it. Nine hours of Warden stamina could be shortcut into an hour or two, if they skipped the parts that made it pleasing, rather than just pleasurable. He'd done that enough times, for Anders, when there wasn't time for much else.

Fenris's ears twitched in different directions as he watched. He didn't want to, not really, but he couldn't tear his eyes away. He thought of all the times he'd pushed Artemis to his knees like that -- because Artemis asked him to, and because Fenris loved the way he begged -- but this... this, again, was different. This was ragged stone, and Nathaniel didn't seem to care if Anders skinned his knees bloody. Healer, Fenris reminded himself, and in the end, Anders was begging for this too.

Nathaniel shoved back into Anders, punching another shaky breath out of the mage, and Anders braced himself, palms flat on the floor. Nathaniel resumed his earlier rhythm. He showed no mercy, and Anders wanted none.


	304. Chapter 304

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natia makes an offer. The Broody Death Elf objects to being so named. The Wardens finally finish with each other.

"Oh my," Natia said in a small voice. She'd heard about Wardens, certainly, but had dismissed the rumours about their stamina. She wondered if everything about the Wardens was excessive: the excessive hunger, the excessive _appetites_ , and the excessive... well, that part she suspected was specific to Anders. She hoped. Then Natia caught the subtle movement under Cormac's blankets, movement the elf had already noticed too judging from his scowl. "Need some help with that?" she asked him and then flushed at her boldness.

Cormac froze, eyes still on the scene before them. She was nice and she was smart -- he'd give her that, but... was he interested? He really wasn't sure, and he was even less sure he should be interested in anything that wasn't the two Wardens in front of him, right this second. Shooting an uncertain glance at Fenris, he opened his mouth, only to have Fenris answer first.

"Please don't." The corner of his mouth on Cormac's side tipped up. "There is enough of a show without you adding to it."

Natia considered Fenris. Considered extending the offer to him, but... he just wasn't that attractive. Slim and hairless, like a nug. She was curious how far those tattoos went, but only curious. Not curious enough to do something about it. Cormac, though, was probably the best-looking human she'd laid eyes on. Not the best looking man, but definitely the best looking human. Those wide shoulders, the little bit of hair from his chest that showed at the collar of his robes.

"You know he can actually stick his hand through your chest?" Cormac said, quietly, tipping his chin toward Fenris. "I'm going to have to vote for not upsetting the broody death elf."

"Broody. Death. Elf." Fenris levelled a flat look at Cormac.

"Okay, less broody since you married my brother," Cormac admitted, watching the way Anders shifted his body to catch his knob between his thighs, so it wouldn't knock against the floor, as Nathaniel continued to pound mercilessly into him.

"So just Death Elf, now?" Fenris drawled, one eyebrow twitching up. He considered that for a moment before nodding, pleased. "That is not a bad title. Certainly not inaccurate." His grin was more like a baring of teeth.

Natia settled back down into her bedroll, pulling the blanket back over her as she squirmed a bit. She hadn't expected anything to come of her offer, and this probably wasn't the place for it anyway. "Why 'Death Elf'?" she asked innocently. "Because you kill the mood?" 

Fenris shot her a withering look, and Natia waved her hand.

"Just teasing," she said. "Please don't kill me."

Fenris harrumphed but chose to let her live. Another sound from Anders distracted him anyway, another long, liquid moan that seemed out of place on his lips. Was this what it took to wring a sound from Anders?

Nathaniel's hands had to be leaving bruises, the way they clutched at the mage, pulling Anders back into each thrust. Anders's fingers scrambled at the ground, his mouth falling open.

That was a look Cormac knew well, and just the sight of it ran sparks down his spine. He could almost feel the way Anders's body would relax in his hands, if he thought about it. But, that sound... He gripped himself tightly, digging his fingers in, to avoid making a mess. And still they kept on, Nathaniel barking out ragged shards of sound, little yelps and breathy growls, as he pushed Anders tighter against the floor.

One sound from Nathaniel seemed particularly loud and desperate, almost a whimper, and Anders folded his hands under his cheek to look over his shoulder. "Again?" he asked, tilting his hips up invitingly. "Do it, Howe. Do it. You know I want it."

Nathaniel only answered with another pleading whine, and Anders reached back to rest a handful of sparks against the back of his own hips, two fingers jabbing in just where the line of dark hair down Nathaniel's chest gave way to the thick thatch above his knob, and the lightning clenched the muscles, so Nathaniel curled in on himself at the end of every thrust.

"Fill me up, Howe. I want it. Fill me up until it runs out of me. Fuck me until I slosh!" Anders's eyes drifted back down and settled on Cormac. He knew Cormac would be watching, and... another shape beside him. Probably Fenris. Interesting. Well, this would make quite a show.

Fenris caught that look, eyebrows arcing towards his hairline. That was the look of someone who already knew he was being watched, and Fenris wondered if the mage had any shame at all.

"Always so damn demanding," Nathaniel growled, his thrusts breaking up the words, and Anders didn't deny it. More sparks crackled over Nathaniel's skin and behind his eyes, hips juddering as he curled tighter over Anders. 

Anders purred his approval. "Only because I know you can give me what I want."

Nathaniel paused for breath. "Only because you're a little shit."

Fenris wiped a hand over his face. This was ridiculous. This was ridiculous, and he was tired and uncomfortably hard despite his revulsion, and he had no idea how long _two_ Wardens could go at this. "I hate the Deep Roads," he muttered.

"I love the Deep Roads," Natia replied.

"You're the only one," Cormac assured her. "Lie down a bit, Fenris. It's easier  to ignore, if you're not trying to sit up."

That was probably an accurate statement, Fenris thought, looking over at Anton, who had pulled the blankets and his pack over his head, and seemed to be back to snoring. "Maybe."

"Okay, fine, lie down _by me_ , and I'll _put you to sleep_." Cormac rolled his eyes, but pulled his robes back down under the blanket.

"That sounds unwise," Fenris remarked, as Anders suddenly stopped making sounds, and loosened subtly, in that way he had. The sound of Nathaniel's thrusts had changed, as well, and Fenris didn't want to give that any thought, at all.

"That's because it is," Cormac agreed. "But, if you want to sleep through this, I'll help you do it. I used to get Artie back to sleep, when he'd wake up with nightmares. This is just a nightmare you're awake for."

"But, you agree it's a nightmare?" Fenris raised an eyebrow, unable to tear his eyes away from the way Anders twisted and writhed beneath Nathaniel, like an animal in heat.

"Well, for you, anyway. But, that's how it is for us, isn't it? I like it, you're horrified." Cormac shrugged, both his hands outside the blanket, now. "But, the way you keep watching them, maybe you want to go back and get your blanket before you lie down."

Fenris growled unconvincingly. He stretched out one leg and hooked a corner of his blanket with his toe before dragging it over. "For warmth," he said preemptively, defensively, as he laid it out over him. He stretched out on the ground, wriggling until he found a spot that was almost comfortable. Fenris was less than thrilled at the thought of Cormac using magic on him, but it was the better of two bad options. Especially when Anders let out a sound that went straight to his knob. "I am not taking the next watch," he muttered, staring determinedly at the ceiling and not at the still-writhing pair.

"I think we're doing plenty of watching between us," Natia drawled.

"I actually volunteered for it," Cormac admitted, resting a hand on the back of Fenris's neck. "Not going to hurt you," he whispered. "I like my brother too much to do that."

Fenris snorted. That was, actually, the best reason Cormac could have offered. Fenris wouldn't come to harm, because Cormac didn't want to explain it to Artemis. He supposed that went the other way, too.

"It's just going to be a little warm and a bit of a tingle. Just relax," Cormac murmured, bringing the warmth down into the floor, so it would radiate upward around Fenris, as a light trickle of electricity poured into the spot he was rubbing on the back of Fenris's neck.

Anders had touched him like this, once, Fenris thought, watching Anders get savagely ravished. And that was a combination of ideas that was doing him no good at all. The idea of Anders bent over and making those sounds for him, stroking the lines on his thighs with electricity and the blue glow of Justice... He swallowed and shifted uncomfortably.

"You all right? It's not too warm, is it?" Cormac asked, hand moving up to rub against the side of Fenris's head, just behind his ear.

Fenris grunted a non-answer, ear twitching against Cormac's hand. He certainly was too warm but not because of Cormac. Not directly, anyway. He closed his eyes, tried to push aside thoughts of glowy mages and their sparkle-fingers, but this other glowy mage with his sparkle-fingers was not helping after all. Fenris gave it another minute before pulling away from Cormac's hand, a frustrated sigh caught in his throat. "This is not working," he said.

"I could try to knock you out more directly," Natia offered. "That's... probably a much worse idea, but it's there. The headache you wake up to is not fun, but at least we have a healer."

"Please don't bludgeon me into sleep," Fenris sighed, even as he tucked that option away for later, just in case.

"Don't worry, Fen. I only bludgeon people who ask for it. Or who are asking for it, if you get my meaning."

Fenris wasn't sure how he felt about this dwarf calling him 'Fen'. Artemis called him Fen.

"Getting lazy, Howe!" Anders taunted, laughter stuttering under the onslaught of thrusts that hadn't slowed at all. "I know you can go faster. I know you can go fast enough that you just get one running right into the next. Don't tell me you can't do that any more..."

The memory, alone, was enough to push Nathaniel over the edge, again, and his body didn't slow, still slamming his knob into that tight, slick heat he refused to admit he'd missed. Half-faded memories of Anders red-eyed and shaking, under him, grinning like a broken bottle, still taunting him, demanding more, pushing him further than he'd meant to go. But, it had always been so good, and this time was no exception, not that he would admit any of that to anyone. And this time, Anders was pushing him to please himself. Pushing him back to that place he couldn't quite remember how to get to, without a lot more drink than he'd had. But, he focused on the feeling, the greasy squeezing around his knob, the jolts of current that shot through him from wherever Anders could land a -- that wasn't even just hands. The body beneath him was his to use -- and that thought didn't go where he wanted it to, so he let it pass. Justice was watching him, feeling him fuck Anders.

 _Justice_ was watching him. Watching without complaint, through Anders's eyes, as Nathaniel pounded into the mage's warm, inviting body. Justice made no move to stop him, that he could see. He was, he realised, fucking Justice, and Justice seemed to be liking it. A hot rush of shame lanced through him as he came again, harder than he had all night, Anders still clenched around him, trying to wring even more out of him.

Nathaniel paused a moment for breath, his bruising grip loosening on Anders's hips, but Anders kept squirming under him, trying to goad him on. "You're not done, are you?" Anders asked, twisting to peer at Nathaniel over his shoulder, still with that jagged, infuriating smile. "You're slowing down in your old age, Howe. Should I take it easy on you?"

With a growl, Nathaniel shoved into him, still seeing sparks even though he felt none from Anders's fingers. A part of him was insulted that Anders could still talk. "Maker, you're a pain in my ass," he grumbled, only to regret his choice of words the next moment.

"Not right now I'm not, but I could be," Anders replied, arching into him. Nathaniel's thrusts stuttered at that thought, and he spilled one more time, trembling with exhaustion. No. He was not nearly drunk enough for that, whether he was bedding the healer or not.

Nathaniel groaned. "Daylight. Once I've had daylight and several more drinks, you can try to convince me of that. But, there is not enough whiskey in this entire thaig to convince me that-- that-- flagpole belongs anywhere near my insides."

"Does hold a flag well, doesn't it?" Anders laughed, quietly, and shoved Nathaniel off him. "Well, if you're not going to finish me off, someone should."

"Isn't it your boyfriend's watch?" Nathaniel yawned, groping for a blanket and his dagger.

"Not my boyfriend. And he's been watching." Anders cricked a finger at Cormac, then raised an eyebrow and added another finger to the gesture, as he eyed what he assumed to be Fenris. Inasmuch as there was light down here, it wasn't on him or on Cormac, and the way it hung between them was just disruptive enough. Well, if that wasn't Fenris, it was Anton, and Anton wouldn't-- ah, no. It was Fenris. There was the sound of Anton's snoring again.

"Where did you leave my whiskey?" Nathaniel demanded. "Don't tell me that. Don't tell me anyone saw that. No one's ever seen that!"

"Except that one time on Solona's desk," Anders reminded him, and Nathaniel just groaned.

"Don't."


	305. Chapter 305

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders is not yet finished, but Nate is. The party moves a bit to the left.

Rising to his knees, Anders lit a wisp in his hand as he spread his knees and tipped his head back, gesturing down his body with the light. He thought of how Fenris tasted, until Justice rose to the provocation, darts of blue flickering across his skin. Smiling slyly, he held out his hand to the two bodies by the bedroll again. When a movement caught his eye -- not far enough over to be Anton -- he parted his knees further and turned an expectant eye in that direction.

Cormac chuffed a quiet laugh. "Come to me. Let Messere Howe sleep in peace. I'm sure you've worn him raw, although I might not mind another look at him in the light."

Fenris made a disgruntled sound deep in his throat as Anders shuffled over almost too eagerly. "I am unsure how much 'peace' he will get if you continue your Wardeny debauchery with Cormac. I am unsure how much peace any of us will get."

Anders looked more amused than deterred. "Are you offering, Fenris? I remember you being a bit quieter, if you are concerned for our companions." He couldn't see Fenris's ears moving in the dark, but Anders knew they had to be vibrating. He almost regretted the offer when Justice stirred again at the promise of lyrium.

"That is not at all what I meant," Fenris growled, eyes a touch too wide. Earplugs. That was what he needed when he travelled. Sure, something might catch him unaware, but that might be worth the risk.

Natia stifled a snicker in her blanket. Anders looked up in the direction of the sound, squinting at the dwarf-shaped shadow. Ah. So Natia had gotten a bit of a show too.

"Don't look at me," Natia said, holding her hands up palm-out. "I know I offered once, but that was before I knew about your, ah, staff. And I have to tell you, that is just excessive."

"Very," Fenris agreed.

"I said I wielded polearms well. You didn't think I just meant that, did you?" Cormac gestured at the glaive, behind him.

"I was expecting a little less actual pole!" Natia protested.

"Flagpole," Nathaniel corrected, burrowing deeper into his bedroll and possibly the floor, if he could figure out how. "If thankfully without the flag, this time."

"He's not kidding," Anders noted, sliding a hand down the pole in question. "Looked pretty good with that flag, too."

"You cannot be serious." Fenris raised his eyes to meet Anders's, looking for some sign he was kidding.

"Half the Vigil witnessed that. All the wardens, an awful number of the soldiers, the poor treasurer. It was a bit of an event." Anders's hand didn't stop moving, sliding down to tug at his balls. "But, are we just going to sit here and talk about my pole, or are one or more of you going to help me do something about it, hmm?"

"If we're supposed to be quiet, do you want me behind you?" Cormac asked. "Though, tonight, you sounded like you could use a little help keeping it down." The tiniest flinch darted across Anders's face, and Cormac went on. "I liked it. I've told you that, haven't I? Maybe you don't remember. Rough night."

"Then maybe you should find me something to keep in my mouth, if you want quiet. If you don't want quiet..." Anders raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. That wasn't an offer he was quite ready to make to Cormac. That wasn't something he was quite ready to bring home. Even with Nathaniel, it had never been in either of their beds -- always some random place in the Keep. "But, you're not the one who wants me quiet, are you?" His eyes shifted back to Fenris. "Are you going to shut me up, Fenris? Justice wants you to try. He always wants you to try."

Fenris remembered how Anders's mouth felt around him, the wet heat and teasing tongue, and he swallowed. The memory was tempting, but this wasn't, not this Anders with the serrated smile and with Maker-knew-what dripping down his thighs. The way Anders asked put him in mind of other memories, memories he often forgot he had, that were more grainy impressions than full scenes. Even though he couldn't make them out, they made his stomach twist.

"No," Fenris said simply.

Anders's smile slipped, if only for a moment. There was something off in the way Fenris held himself, in the way Fenris looked at him, but Anders would wonder at that later. Right now, he had Cormac and a great appetite for his spicy Fereldan horseradish. "Your loss, Broody." Anders settled down on all fours, his ass in the air in an obscene invitation, facing Fenris anyway just in case he changed his mind.

"I hear he's going by 'Death Elf' now," Natia said.

"With good reason," Fenris reminded them all. He rolled onto his side, facing away from Anders and closing his eyes, as though trying to sleep.

Cormac smoothed a hand down Anders's back, as he sat up, taking the blanket with him, still draped over his shoulders. Settling himself between Anders's knees, he leaned forward, dotting kisses along that still-clothed back. Something wasn't right, but this wasn't the time to talk about it. Anders wasn't going to be capable of carrying on a proper conversation in this state, as Cormac knew from years of trying. One hand still smoothing soothing circles between Anders's hips, Cormac slicked himself with the other hand. "Want me?" he asked, more as a warning than anything, knowing already what the answer would be.

And he was right, of course. As he lined himself up, Anders shoved back onto him, with a sharp catch of breath, hips already rolling.

"More," Anders demanded. "Cormac, don't you dare go slow with me."

"Shh." Cormac ran his hand down Anders's back one more time, before both hands found Anders's hips and took a firm grip. "Take what you need, if I'm not enough." Cormac's hips rocked, slow and hard, burying him deep inside Anders. He struggled with himself -- having watched what came before, he was not so far from the edge, himself, but this wasn't for him. This was for Anders, first, and then it could be for him. One hand slid down, fingers curling around the flagpole, stroking and tugging in just the way he knew Anders liked.

An anguished sound slipped through Anders's teeth as he rocked back into Cormac's every thrust, pushing back just a bit harder, just a bit faster, and hoping Cormac would follow his lead. "Come on, Cormac," he said. "Give me everything you've got. I want it. I need it. Please."

Fenris stared at the opposite wall, trying not to listen, trying not to match sounds with images in his head. The way Anders said 'please'... That struck a chord in his body that left him humming.

As though he knew it, Anders kept saying that word: _please, please, please_. It was maddening. Fenris tried to think of less tempting things, like Cormac, but that didn't help.

Somehow, through it all, Anton kept snoring.

"More," Anders panted. "I need... more. Fenris." Fenris's ears twitched, flattening against his skull. "Fenris, please. Let me taste you. Please."

 _Mages_.

"Let him sleep, sweet thing," Cormac breathed, hand still stroking and teasing the flesh it was wrapped around, a hint of electricity dancing between his fingertips.

That charge was what Anders hadn't known he'd needed and he throbbed in Cormac's hand, all trace of fluid long since wrung out of him. His chest pressed flat to the floor, fingers scrabbling at the stone, as he moaned again. This. This was what he loved. The freedom to give, the freedom to be taken, the freedom to just let go -- it was something he hadn't had since he'd come to Kirkwall, and something he'd never had in the tower. But, here, in the dark, it was like being drunk in the Vigil again. That tiny sliver of time where he'd almost believed he could be happy -- not just for a moment, but forever.

"Oh, Cormac, please don't stop," he begged, twisting his hips up to offer himself even more obviously. "Fenris-- Fenris, _please_ let me taste you. You're always so sweet on my tongue, _please_!"

Fenris grunted and glared over his shoulder, trying to pretend he wasn't palming himself through his leathers, listening to this fool mage plead to be fucked in the face. But, that wasn't really it, was it? He'd never taken Anders like that, never wasted the talents of his tongue, never been so rude as to take more than what Anders so freely offered. And, once again, Anders was offering -- pleading for him. _Anders_ , as far as he could tell, not Justice. Really, Anders wasn't all that attractive, and he didn't tend to the sort of raw enthusiasm Artemis had, but the man was amazingly talented with his tongue.

The pleading was driving him to distraction. He knew he shouldn't do it, but he was probably going to. Not because the temptation was irresistible, but because some perverse part of him actually wanted to, which was a very different thing. He wanted to look down into the eyes of this man he should have hated, should have been at war with, and let himself be pleasured, instead. To accept that gift Anders seemed so eager to give.

"Please," Anders said again on the edge of another ragged breath, and that was it. That was the last of Fenris's will breaking down. With a growl, Fenris turned over, rolling up onto his knees. Anders met his glare with a lust-drunk look of his own.

"You want me that badly, mage?" Fenris asked, as though Anders hadn't already said so, as though Anders hadn't been begging for exactly that. But Fenris needed to be _sure_. 

"Yes, _yes_ , please!" Eagerness lit Anders's eyes before the flash of blue did. He pushed himself up to his hands and knees as Fenris rose up, picking at the laces to his trousers, and Fade-blue lines flickered over Anders's skin at the first sight of Fenris's knob. He opened his mouth wide in invitation.

"Greedy mage," Fenris huffed, but his hand was gentle on Anders's chin. He guided his knob into Anders's waiting mouth and blew out a shaky breath when those lips wrapped around him, that tongue caressing his shaft. In the back of his mind, Fenris wondered if Natia was still awake, still watching, before dismissing the thought. She was quiet, either way.

Anders's eyes slid closed in satisfaction, at the first touch of lyrium against his tongue, Justice clamouring for more of it. But, the pleasure, the raw joy, was greater than even Justice, and Anders slid down into it, tongue just as talented as if he were paying attention. There wasn't really enough in him to slosh, but the wet slide made itself clear, all the same, as Cormac took him, touched him, just the way he usually liked. The little bit of warmth in Cormac's fingers spread through Anders's belly, before that hand moved down again, slick and crackling, to caress the flagpole again.

Swallowing, Anders shifted so he could afford to lift a hand to Fenris's hip, rubbing a faint charge against the sharp point of it, with his thumb. This was so simple to do, but so difficult to want. And here, he'd been given all of it. He hadn't really expected Fenris to get up. He'd expected this to end in more angry glares, in the morning, and maybe a couple of weeks of not speaking to each other. But, things had never been simple between them -- or they had been, once, but that was so many years gone it hardly mattered. What mattered was the way Fenris's hand slid into his hair, gentle and curious, the way Fenris's lyrium-lined knob slid into his mouth, sweet and commanding.

His hand slid back, cupping the cheek of Fenris's ass, fingers digging in as he throbbed in Cormac's hand again. He'd lost control, completely, and his body seemed to exist only to accept the pleasure being offered it. And there, he finally relaxed into it, the last sound a satisfied hum around Fenris, as the crackling tip of his finger teased at the edge of Fenris's hole.

Fenris's toes curled, the joints scraping against stone. Electricity pulsed through him like a second heartbeat, and he let out a long, ragged sound he'd probably be embarrassed by later. As Anders lost himself to the sweet taste of lyrium against his tongue, Fenris lost himself to Anders, his world narrowing down to nothing but sensation: the wet slide into Anders's mouth, the hard stone under his knees, the crackle of electricity shivering up his spine.

"Venhedis," Fenris breathed, the word thick in his throat, and Anders would have smiled if his mouth weren't otherwise occupied. Anders did not let up, and he wrung out a few more curses moments later. Fenris, at least, tried to keep his voice down for Anton's sake. No need to traumatise the Champion any more than he already had been.

But, Anders was relentless, tongue darting along the lines of lyrium, a faint electricity hanging in his mouth, like a crackling cloud. He pressed the tip of his finger hard against Fenris's hole, bending it back, not to penetrate, but just to provide that pressure, that cool, rippling sensation as the muscles responded to the sparks.

Fenris's head fell back as his thighs tensed, the only sound from him ragged gasps of breath, as Anders swallowed him down, nuzzling his belly. Or maybe less nuzzling than being shoved against it, as Cormac kept himself well-occupied on Anders's far side.

A soft whimper slipped out of Anders as he pulled back far enough to breathe, flexing the back of his throat to get the last of Fenris's spend to run down. His eyes rolled back and his hands clenched, one firmly gripping Fenris's ass and the other scrabbling at the floor again, as he came again. This time, the exhaustion weighted him down, and with a whispered apology, his face slid down the inside of Fenris's leg, hand following along the back.

"Cormac," he breathed, his whole body loose and satisfied, and Cormac knew this would be the end of it.

"One more?" Cormac asked, hands just as gentle as they'd been. "One more and then I'll lick you clean?"

Anders just purred wordlessly against the floor, and Cormac picked up the pace, intent on pleasing himself, this time, which didn't take long at all, even with Fenris still gazing confusedly down at where Anders's face had landed between his knees. Cormac finished with a sharp shout, and clutched at his own thighs, not to collapse onto Anders, who was still full of... however much whatever Howe had gotten into him, and now Cormac's own spend as well.

Easing himself out, Cormac lowered himself down to tongue at the raw edges of Anders's hole, his own terrible healing magic racing through that flesh. He licked until he could no longer taste the raw abrasions, until Anders panted against Fenris's feet, without the strength to chase his own pleasure. Anders came one more time, fists clenched, eyes squeezed until they teared up, with Cormac's tongue inside him.

"I have to get up," he groaned. "I don't want to get up."

"Then don't get up," Fenris told him with a shrug, slowly coming back down to reality. "You're supposed to be lying down, sleeping, anyway. Might as well lie down all the way and get to the sleeping part." Fenris assumed the sleeping part came next. Anders looked like he was finished, after all, though he knew some nights Anders's Wardenly stamina lasted for hours. But tonight was raw, fast, and intense, exhausting even for a Warden, it seemed.

"Stone," Anders reminded Fenris, and then, after a moment, "wet stone." He groaned, moving as though his limbs were made of lead, and crawled just far enough to flop onto Cormac's bedroll. He reached a hand out to Cormac in invitation, eyes already closed.

Fenris huffed and shook his head as though trying to clear it. He tried to decide if that all had really happened or if it had just been an odd and strangely real dream. He stretched out on his bedroll, again facing away from the mages, and wriggled until he was comfortable.

Anton was still snoring.


	306. Chapter 306

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next morning goes as mornings go. Mayhem, ripping on siblings, and punching Cormac in the face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The belated 300 Chapter Party is [currently happening](http://www.groundline.net/rhapsody/cols.html). You should be there.

Morning -- at least they assumed it was morning -- found Nathaniel hung over and trying to start a fire, while Cormac looked on in amusement, from where he sat beside where Anders lay wrapped in a damp blanket.

Anders groaned, as he woke up. "Oh, shit."

"Possibly literally," Cormac confirmed, under his breath. "Need a hand with that?"

"No. No, just... go distract people. Make breakfast or something." Anders looked completely disgusted with himself, as he sat up, folding the blanket down, but not pushing it off. He'd take it with him, when he got up. "And find my other boot?"

Cormac stifled a laugh, leaning over to kiss Anders's cheek.

"Really? After that?"

"We've done worse," Cormac said, with a shrug, eyes still sparkling with amusement as he dug through his pack for something resembling food. Natia didn't seem to be up, yet, and Anton, although definitely awake, was pretending not to be. He did that, Cormac knew, so he wouldn't end up having to cook. As he came up behind Nathaniel, still crouched over a pile of dried moss and swearing, Cormac snapped his fingers, and watched Nathaniel jump as the moss burst into flame.

"Magic," he said, with a sly smile, holding up a rope of bag rolls. "Water?"

Nathaniel squinted up at him, less in suspicion and more because even the dim light hurt. "Thanks," he grunted, taking the offered water. Were Anders not... busy, Nathaniel would ask him for healing. The hangover was at least partly Anders's damn fault, after all.

Behind him, Fenris stirred, stretching his legs and toes inside the bedroll before peering around him blearily. For a moment, he was confused, expecting daylight and not a campfire, before the past few days -- and last night -- came back to him. He groaned, pulling the blanket back up over his face. He was starting to make a habit of this, sharing mages with Cormac, and that was not the sort of habit he wished to have.

"'Morning," Nathaniel grunted at Fenris over his shoulder. Fenris answered with a grunt of his own before pulling the blanket back down. He shuffled over to the pair by the fire and took the water from Nathaniel next.

Cormac crouched by the fire, waiting for the water to come back to him, as he adjusted a few broken bits of statuary to hold a small pot. "You're stuck with me, because Anton's still passed out. Bag rolls," he announced, coiling them into the pot and fastening them to the hooks there for just that purpose.

Fenris groaned. "I have jerky. I will eat that." He handed the water back to Cormac, all the same.

"I ran out of food, yesterday," Nathaniel admitted, with a shrug. "So, the faster we get out of here, the happier I'll be."

"Did you not expect this to take even longer than it has?" Fenris asked, looking surprised.

"No, we did. But we didn't expect to... I got separated from the rest of them. I don't know where anything but my pack and my bow are. Most of the food was with the bronto." Nathaniel turned and gestured broadly. "Wherever that went."

Cormac stood up, having arranged for breakfast. "Just wait until the lard melts. It should have soaked up enough water to be food by then." He paused, taking a good look at Nathaniel.

"What?" Nathaniel asked, crossing his arms as he stepped back. "If you're upset about last night--"

"Upset? No! I just haven't really been looking at you, since we got down here. Kind of busy." Cormac laughed. "But, Anders talks about you, sometimes. He always said you were good looking, and he's right. You know, you look just like those old paintings of the Hero of River Dane."

Nathaniel's face drained of expression, and then his fist slammed into Cormac's shield just in front of his face. Watching, Fenris nearly choked on a bite of jerky.

"Take that back," Nathaniel said, hand still clenched in a fist.

"What?" Cormac staggered back, more from surprise than the impact. "No, I mean, that's a compliment! He's... well, old enough to be my father, but the man had a certain ... something, when he was young."

"I do not look like him," Nathaniel insisted, face and voice still blank of expression.

"Do you make it a habit of punching people who call you attractive?" Fenris asked, one eyebrow twitching up. "Not that I mind you punching Cormac, per se, but you will only end up punching his shields this way."

"I do not look like him," Nathaniel said again, as though repeating it made it so. "Do not compare me to him." The words came out through his teeth.

Fenris shrugged at Cormac. "I have not seen any paintings of this hero," he said. "I can neither corroborate nor deny." He took another bit of his jerky and waited to see if Nathaniel would punch Cormac again.

"Okay, you're hot entirely on your own, with no comparison to heroes of the Blessed Age." Cormac shrugged and crouched to check on the bag rolls. "You got something personal against the man?"

"Very personal," Nathaniel replied, gritting the words out through a tight grimace, before his lips pulled into a thin line. "At least he's dead."

"No shit?" Cormac asked, squinting into the pot and prodding one of the twists. "Who killed him?"

Nathaniel blinked at Cormac. "Did someone not say you were related to Solona Amell?"

"She's my cousin. Why?" Cormac put the lid back on the pot.

"She beheaded him in front of the entire landsmeet, during the Blight," Nathaniel spoke slowly, as if speaking to a stupid child.

"I'll be damned." Cormac looked up and laughed. "Well, if Solona had his head off, he must have done something worth it. Sit, tell me how the great hero fucked himself so badly as to get beheaded in front of every noble in Ferelden."

"Not all of them," Nathaniel grit out. "I wasn't there. Pity I missed it."

"Come on, tell me the tale. It'll pass the time until the rolls are done." Cormac refused to take this amiss. Obviously, he'd missed an important piece of Fereldan history, while he was scraping by in Lowtown, and he'd just inadvertently insulted a good man, because of it. "I'm afraid I was poor and in Kirkwall at the time. Not the best angle for Fereldan news. Is this about the thing at Ostagar? My brothers told me about that."

"Your brothers?" Nathaniel slid a look at the bedroll containing the Champion of Kirkwall.

"Not that brother, from what I hear," Fenris said. 

"How many brothers do you _have_?" Nathaniel asked Cormac, recalling what Anders had said about two of the Hawkes earlier.

"The same number of brothers I have," Anton said, rolling onto his back and pausing to yawn into his fist. "Which is too many."

"Five Hawkes," Fenris said to the confused look on Nathaniel's face. "Four sons. One daughter. I married the pretty one. The rest are insane."

"One might argue that 'the pretty one' is insane, too," Anton muttered. He joined them by the fire, poking at the lid and peering into the pot. His face twisted. "Ugh. Bag rolls?" He frowned at Cormac and then turned pleading eyes on Fenris, who chewed contentedly on his jerky.

"I am not sharing," Fenris told him. "And stop pouting. That only works for Artemis."

Nathaniel cleared his throat and turned back to Cormac, rubbing the inside corner of his eye with his thumb. "About... _him_. Loghain. If your brothers were there, you know what happened at Ostagar and to king Cailan." Nathaniel shook his head in disgust. "Cailan's death left a vacuum of power Loghain tried to fill. You didn't hear about that? Or the Landsmeet?" He laughed dryly. "Odd. At the time it seemed like the world was falling apart. Seems strange to know that most of the rest of the world kept going on just fine."

"Dragons. There were dragons and darkspawn. I let an ogre punch me in the head, just so my family would have a chance. I can't say I had a lot of concerns at the national level, for a while, after that." Cormac choked on a bitter laugh and cut loose one of the rolls, tossing it to Nathaniel. "Should let these cook longer, but I know how Wardens eat. I've been living with one long enough."

"Thank you." Nathaniel was, if nothing else, polite. "That's the second time someone's mentioned you getting punched by an ogre."

"There was only the once. After that, I didn't really find myself in positions where getting decked would help. Except that one time, when I almost lost my arm to a high dragon. That was worth it." Cormac covered the pot again and sat on his heels.

"That was not worth it," Anders shot back, coming up behind him, much cleaner, drier, and more empty. "Don't do that. Feeding your arm to the dragon is never worth it, Cormac."

"Feeding your arm to the dragon is only worth it if it comes home with me," Anton clarified. "Which it did not. And I am still upset with you."

"It was a bit worth it," Fenris added. "As the only other one who was there, I can say that. _Nearly_ losing an arm to a dragon is preferable to that same dragon eating everyone, weapons and all." He thought of the morningstar they'd found in the beast's intestines and shuddered. "But, like I said, all the Hawkes aside from mine are crazy."

"All the Hawkes including yours," Anton argued again.

"Especially Bethany," Anders said with the haunted look of a man who had seen too much.

"Yes," Anton and Fenris agreed. Nathaniel wasn't going to ask.

"Anyway," said Nathaniel around a bite of food. "I wasn't there for most of the Blight either, but from what I hear Ferelden was on the edge of civil war for a while. While fighting back the darkspawn. It was madness."

"That's how we both ended up with the Wardens," Anders said. "Sheer madness."

"Are you saying my cousin is crazy?" Anton demanded, suddenly squinting at Nathaniel and then Anders, as if considering something. "Because if you are, we're wrong. It's not all the Hawkes. It's all the _Amells_."

Cormac cackled and handed Anders his missing boot. "You shit. Although, I think Uncle Gamlen backs that up. How's our other cousin doing?" He tossed the next roll to Natia as she wandered over, yawning.

"Charade? Oh, she's doing great." Anton nodded and changed the subject almost immediately, with a glance at Nathaniel. "Darkspawn, civil war, and madness? Maybe we should have stayed in Ferelden. It's got to be better than demons, blood magic, and the Knight-Commander."

"I'm not sure that would have been an improvement," Cormac muttered, pulling out the rest of the strand of rolls and offering it to Anders. "Just leave me one."

"You're that way about everything, aren't you?" Nathaniel observed, slyly, holding out a hand to Anders for another roll.

Cormac looked up, catching Nathaniel's eye. He stared a moment too long, before speaking again. "Pretty much everything, yeah."

"Are you-- You are." Anton huffed and covered his eyes. "You're flirting. With the Warden. You already have your own Warden. Isn't one enough? Don't answer that!"

"One is good. Two could be better." Cormac shrugged and reached back to grab a roll, but Anders had lifted the bottom of the strand above his head. "Could be. It's possible."

Nathaniel cleared his throat and looked away. "I'm sorry. I'm not ... I'm not interested in men."

"Could've fooled me!" Natia laughed.

"Not men. Him." Nathaniel looked despairingly at Natia, pointing to Anders. "He's not... It's not..."

"He's different," Cormac agreed, tugging on Anders's coat and pointing to the rolls in his hands. "I know. Still, think about it. It's a week to the surface, and I'm not asking you to get that close to me. I'm just asking you to share him with me."

"Can we not be having this conversation where I can hear it please and thank you?" Anton complained.

Fenris just smirked, looking slightly intrigued.

Nathaniel shoved his face full of roll in lieu of an answer. Anders knew that wasn't a no, at least, and he wondered if Nathaniel had any more of that whiskey.


	307. PART LIV: TROUBLE WITH TEMPLARS I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some friendly sparring in the garden.

Anton side-stepped Cullen's blade, grin firmly in place. "Is that all you've got, Captain?" he asked, pausing to clean under his fingernails with the tip of one dagger. That same dagger knocked aside Cullen's next thrust a heartbeat later.

"I'm trying to go easy on you," Cullen said. "Accidentally stabbing your husband is generally frowned upon in most circles."

"Ah, but intentionally _stabbing_ him is fully expected," Anton replied with an exaggerated wink. As Cullen rolled his eyes, Anton darted in, slicing Cullen's sleeve but not the skin beneath.

"I liked this shirt!" Cullen protested.

Anton shrugged. "It would look better sleeveless. Show off those rippling muscles."

Cullen responded by moving those 'rippling muscles', feinting one way before swinging his sword around to swat Anton's bottom with the flat of the blade.

Bethany watched from the shade, blue skirts fanned out over the grass, and munched on the apple in her hand.

"Two silver says Anton wins," she told Orana, interrupting her in the middle of cooing at the goat.

"Hmm." Orana took a moment to watch the proceedings, idly petting Goatilda while the goat nosed at her hair, trying to decide if it was edible. Orana giggled and twisted her head away. "I will take that bet. Messere Cullen seems determined."

"Yeah, I don't know, I'm putting in for Anton, here." Anders watched, as Anton danced away from Cullen's blade, one dagger removing a belt-loop from Cullen's trousers.

"Putting in what? You never have any coin." Bethany tossed an apple at Anders, from the basket beside her. "Eat something, before you die of standing around outside."

"I am not going to die of standing around outside," Anders argued, catching the apple and taking a bite, anyway. It wasn't like he'd pass up food. "Your brothers and I spent three weeks marauding about the countryside and the Deep Roads. If that didn't kill me, this isn't going to. There are no darkspawn in your garden."

"Still haven't answered the question," Bethany pointed out. "What are you betting?"

"My next duel. If I'm wrong, you can kick my ass. Assuming you have enough leg to reach it." Anders smirked. "No magic, just this." He twirled the staff one-handed, before spinning it back under his shoulder.

Before them, Anton leapt to the side, and Cullen spun around, the other way, hip-checking him back a few feet, still in mid-air. Anton, being Anton, still landed on his feet with a whoop, before lunging forward to slice away the laces for Cullen's shirt, which fell open, baring most of his chest. "Look at that! Hiding that wall of rippling muscle from your dashing husband? What has this world come to?"

Cullen plucked at the tatters of his shirt. "Was this all just an elaborate way to get me naked?" he asked. "You know there are simpler ways. Like _asking_ me to get naked." Cullen made a quick jab with his sword, which Anton diverted with one dagger, the other darting at Cullen's face in a riposte.

"But where's the fun in that?" Anton asked as Cullen dodged. He tilted his head and considered that a moment. "Well, yes, I suppose there is fun in that, too."

"Just do me a favour," Cullen said as they circled each other, "and don't try to slice the laces on my pants the same way. If you miss, it could be devastating for us both." Anton eyed those laces speculatively, and the colour drained from Cullen's face. "Anton. Anton, no, do not take that as a challenge."

"Looks to me like Cullen has more to lose," Orana said. She snickered against Goatilda's neck when Anton pretended to make a stab in Cullen's trouserly area, prompting a jump and a shriek from the usually dignified Captain.

"But desperation could make him sloppy," Bethany replied, unperturbed. Cullen let out a roar and ducked under Anton's arm, barrelling him into a tree. "Oh my."

As Anton leapt back, Cullen turned, putting himself directly in the way, and his sword tipped up under Anton's chin. "Now, what was that about... stabbing, husband?" he purred into Anton's ear.

Anton swallowed hard. "Right now. In the house. All the stabbing you can handle." He slid his daggers back into the sheaths, and moved his hands back to pull Cullen to him, one hand on each ass cheek, rolling his hips.

"And you complain about me!" Cormac called down the garden, winging an apple at his brother.

"I am delightful and subtle!" Anton shouted back. "And handsome!"

"And not getting laid until I finish watching the next duel. Anders is up." Cullen finally moved the sword from Anton's neck, bringing his other hand up to check for blood.

"You didn't. I'd have let you know." Right in the thigh, probably.

Orana cheered, still leaning against Goatilda as she clapped. "Well done, Knight-Captain!" she said. "You just won me two silvers."

Bethany plucked the pair of coins out of her purse and pressed them into Orana's palm. "I'll make it four if you land a hit on Anders."

Anders shot Bethany an offended look, which she answered with a pleasant smile. "Well, Orana," he said. "Pick a weapon. Preferably a non-stabby one, just in case. The healer can't help as much if he's the one who's been stabbed."

Orana straightened, scratching one more time behind Goatilda's ear before dusting off her dress, plucking out a few strands of goat hair. "Weapon? I... hm." Bethany held up her staff in a silent offer, and Orana considered it before shaking her head. "No. No, thank you. I know just the thing. One moment. Let me ask Bodhan if he minds..."

"Bodhan?" Cullen repeated as she disappeared into the house. "What weapon does Bodhan have? She's not going to use Sandal, is she? You know I can't condone dwarf-tossing. Not unless it's Varric."

Orana reappeared shortly after, her skirts clutched in one hand and a frying pan in the other. Anton didn't quite choke back his laugh in time.

Anders eyed the heavy pan. That was going to take a lot of strength to keep wielding after the first few swings. He'd seen swords lighter than that thing. Simple enough, he decided. All he had to do was not get hit a few times, and she'd tire herself out. He stepped out away from where the rest of the group had gathered under the trees and rested the end of his staff on the ground, nodding.

Following him out, Orana tucked the sides of her skirt up, weighing the pan in one hand. She looked oddly confident, if still a bit shy.

After a moment, Cormac called out, "Go!" and the two began to circle each other, each waiting for the other to move. Finally, Anders lashed out, a swoop designed to distract the eye with the top of the staff, before the bottom came in for a trip. But, Orana cut the strike in half, closing the distance between them as the staff came around, the pan dropping into a backhand grip that she slammed along Anders's forearm, before springing back.

Anders nearly fumbled his staff in shock. The next few strikes were all much more simple and direct, relying on his own reach and the length of the staff, but no matter how he came at her, Orana wasn't quite where he thought she'd be. Neither darkspawn nor templars moved quite that quickly, but they also tended to come in close and hard, and stay there. It had taken him forever to learn to even stay standing with Sigrun, and he'd never actually beat her. Suddenly, he wished he'd stuck around for more of that.

The pan rang as it blocked Anders's next blow, jarring the staff in his hands, and he side-stepped, trying to bring the butt of his staff up around Orana's defences. But Orana beat him to it, and Anders ended up with a faceful of frying pan.

The next thing Anders knew, he was lying on the ground, staring up at the clouds and seeing stars. Somewhere past the stars was Orana's face peering down at him, brows knit in concern. "Messere Anders?" she said, twisting the frying pan still in her hands. "I am sorry about that, messere. I didn't mean to hit you quite so hard."

Anders reached up to prod at his chin, which throbbed under a numbing bruise. Blue light lit his fingers, and the bruise faded. Anders flexed his jaw, wincing at the phantom pain that lingered. "Ow."

"Sorry," Orana said. "Again."

Anders waved the word aside, the last few minutes finally descrambling. "That was... have you ever thought about joining the Wardens? The darkspawn could use a good smack upside the head with a frying pan."

"But, what would Messeres Fenris and Artemis eat, if I did that?" Orana joked, hesitantly offering Anders a hand up.

Anders shook his head, and surprisingly didn't regret it, before using his staff to shove himself to his feet. "Well, I think that was a fairly clear win."

Anton whistled and clapped from the sidelines, as Goatilda nibbled at the toe of his boot. "That takes the prize! That is deserving of some grand reward!" He reached over and squeezed Cullen's bottom. "You were right! This was one I wanted to watch!"

Of course, Cullen had been watching Anders, surprised to watch the mage fight so well without his magic. Obviously, the man had to have some combat skills, having been a Warden, but Cullen hadn't expected him to know how to use the staff to do more than channel magic. The things a mage could do to darkspawn -- well, really, that's why the Circle Towers existed. But, even with Anders getting beaten, even with Anders having obviously tried not to hurt the girl, Cullen could make out the shape of how good he'd be in the field. "I do know what you like," he told Anton, still not looking away, even as Anders made his way back to the trees.

"My _face_!" Anders complained to Cormac.

"It's still gorgeous, just like the rest of you." Cormac wrapped an arm around Anders's waist.

Bethany handed over two more silver to Orana. Well worth the price. She would have paid far more than two silver to see _that_. "Orana, my dear," she said, squeezing Orana's hand. "Would you mind hitting my eldest brother with the frying pan as well before he and Anders get too... graphic? And loud?"

"He's the one who gets loud," Anders protested. "But we both do get graphic." Grinning, Anders reached around to pinch Cormac's bottom.

"Never mind," said Bethany. "Hit them both with the frying pan."


	308. Chapter 308

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another duel and an unexpected missive from within the Order.

"Who's next? I'm sure I'll get soundly pounded on, eventually." Cormac grinned and tugged Anders closer. "Or maybe just soundly pounded."

"Keep it up, and I'll be the one pounding on _you_ , Cormac," Bethany said, pointing her staff his way. "There are some things a lady does not need to see from her brother. Or hear."

"Your other brother is being just as bad," Anders pointed out, tipping his chin in the direction of Anton and Cullen, who were kissing each other like their tongues were tied together. They shuffled awkwardly towards the door without breaking contact.

"Yes," Bethany agreed, "but they are leaving for a more appropriate place to conduct such activities. Namely a place with a door."

"Since when has the door helped with us?" Cormac laughed, and Bethany stood up. "Oh, ah..."

She handed him his glaive, from where it leaned against the tree, beside her spear. "Let's go."

Cormac grinned. "You think so? In that dress?" It was the dress, really, not her skill. The two of them were fairly evenly matched, most of the time, and Cormac was sure he should have been offended at being only on par with his youngest sibling, but he was just proud of her for keeping up.

"Cormac, the day my _dress_ lets you win is the day we go back to fighting with magic," Bethany scoffed. "And you don't want that, do you, brother dear?"

She looked so much like Artemis, when those words left her mouth, that Cormac's face greyed. "We both know you always win with magic. It's hardly worth the effort." He kissed Anders on the cheek and made his way onto the field, glaive a solid weight in both hands. He was grateful Anders was with them -- his father had watched them duel, when they were younger, cleaning up after the strikes that landed too well. He had no doubt she'd get in a few good hits, which normally he wouldn't mind, but without magic, that would offer him no benefit.

"Two silver says Bethany wins," Orana whispered to Anders.

"If they were using magic, I would never take that bet," he said. "But..." He shrugged, still evading a price.

"Forget the silver," said Orana. "If Bethany wins, you can do my cooking for one night." She grinned at the horrified look on Anders's face. "Don't worry. You're a better cook than Messeres Artemis and Fenris, I'm sure, which is the important thing."

"How frightening for them," Anders drawled. "Fine. Bet's on."

Bethany circled Cormac slowly, hands testing their grip on the spear as she watched him, barely blinking. Then she moved, viper-fast, spear feinting towards Cormac's face before darting at his chest.

The broad swing of the glaive would have blocked either hit, and he angled it down the inside of her arm, for the return swing. Still, she knew him, after all these years, and instead of landing it against her neck, she ducked under his arm, broadsiding him with the butt of the spear, across his ear. He rocked with the impact, slamming the butt of the glaive into her hip, before turning to face her again, blade-first.

"They're both very good," Orana observed, as they continued on in a swift series of long strikes, quick and precise. Cormac nearly forgot to dodge, a few times, accustomed as he was to his shields, but somehow he never got more than clipped, a few tiny slices along his upper arms. Bethany's skirt gained a gash across the front, and she reminded Cormac that it was coming out of his pocket.

"They're out of their minds. Those are bare blades." Anders's eyes were wide. No matter how many times he watched them, no matter how many times he patched them up, this always made him nervous. One of these days, one of them was going to get seriously stabbed, and he could only hope he'd be fast enough to fix it.

Orana hummed, her brow knit in worry. "I have heard many people refer to the Hawkes as 'out of their minds', so... I'm less than surprised?" Goatilda's hair was smooth under her fingers, and Orana wondered if Sandal still brushed her every day.

Anders wiped a hand over his face. "I just wish they didn't insist on making the healer's job difficult. If I start going grey, blame these two." A blade passed close enough to Cormac's throat to make Anders flinch. That was it. He could feel the grey hairs forming.

Finally, Cormac blocked the spear across his sister's chest, pinning it well enough for him to step in and knock her to the ground... he thought. But, as he closed the gap, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, she raised one hand from the grip, unexpectedly and punched him square in the point of the jaw. His beard did not muffle nearly enough of the impact, and as his teeth clacked together, he saw the sky.

"Yield!" Bethany demanded, one foot pinning the glaive to his chest, the point of her spear tucked under his chin.

Cormac blinked stupidly. "Anders? I think I bit my tongue."

"I think I just swallowed mine," Anders replied, eyes round and mouth agape. He still looked dazed as he reached for his healing, and Orana tried to bite back her cackles.

"So what will you be cooking for dinner tonight, Messere Anders?" Orana asked, grinning from pointed ear to pointed ear.

"I... erm. How do Messeres Fartemis feel about cabbage salad?"

Bethany looked down her nose at her brother, pleased as a cat in the sun as she finally stepped back and allowed him to stand up. "Are you slowing down in your old age, brother dear?" She batted her eyelashes at him. "Maybe you should use a cane instead of a glaive?"

"I didn't know you wanted to be spanked, or I might've," Cormac grumbled, pulling himself to his feet. "Leave the order for the dress on my desk. I'll pay it when the bill comes in." He still looked a little grey around the edges as he made his way back to Anders. "Paying for my losses in sovereigns. That'll teach me."

"You'd have paid as much for the win," Anders reminded him. "Just less... bloodily."

"One of these days, she's going to stab me right in the face, and I hope you're there to put it back on me," Cormac complained, resting his glaive against a tree, where Goatilda sniffed at the butt of it, displeased to discover it was not some new and exotic vegetable.

"Honestly, I was thinking I might stab you in the chest. Let some of the hot air out," Bethany laughed, turning to Orana. "Come show me what you can do with that pan?"

Orana opened her mouth to demur, when Bodhan appeared at the back door, holding a missive.

"I wouldn't interrupt, Messeres, but this seems important. It's a letter from Lady Selbrech. Apparently she requires some assistance, and quite soon." Bodhan held up the page.

He didn't see Cullen and Anton still hovering by the doorway until Anton cleared his throat and held his hand out for the letter.

"Ah! There you are, messere."

"Selbrech?" Cullen repeated, brows knitting. "Not Ser Marlein?" He twisted to peer at the letter over Anton's shoulders. "It _is_ Ser Marlein. Why is she sending you letters?"

"Because I'm irresistible to the ladies," Anton said distractedly as he scanned over the letter. "And to templars. But... actually, I don't think this letter was meant for _me_." He finished scanning the letter and peered up at Cormac. "I think you have an admirer. Should I write back to tell her where to send a goat?"

"A templar admirer?" Anders said, narrowing his eyes. At Cullen's less than thrilled look, he added, "Not that that's a bad thing. Depending on the templar."

"What? I'm ... have I been making a show of myself lately? How drunk did I get at last week's game?" Cormac laughed and crossed the garden to take the letter from his brother. After a few moments, he looked up, much more sober. "Cullen, what are the chances this is true? Because if this is true, you have a problem. If it's not, I have a problem. Either way, there's a very good chance this is going to end in you losing some men." Cormac offered the letter to Cullen, who studied it.

"I don't want it to be true, but that doesn't mean it isn't," he said, shaking his head. "Are you willing to see to the problem? I need to go back to the Gallows and find out what's happening. If she's set this up, it hasn't come over my desk."

"And that makes one wonder what else hasn't come over your desk, since your little holiday downstairs," Anton observed, eyes narrowing. "She's buried you in useless paperwork, so you'll stop looking. She's using your face to cover what she's doing, because you're the soft one. And if you're not acting like anything's wrong, you must have approved of her plans."

"I am not soft. I believe in the law and following the law. I have a duty to the people of Thedas -- to the people of Kirkwall -- and this is not it!" Cullen snarled, colour rising to his cheeks.

Cormac snatched back the letter. "I'll take care of it. Anders? Anton? You two coming along?"

Anders already had his staff in hand. "What's going on?" he asked, while Bethany and Orana exchanged puzzled glances.

"It looks like we have a problem," Cullen said. "But so might Meredith."


	309. Chapter 309

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Troubles in the Order. Solutions by the guard.

Cullen swept into the Gallows, head up and eyes steely as he made for his office. He knew what Anton had meant when he'd called him 'soft', but that didn't stop the word from chafing. Still, he'd rather be soft than be Meredith.

"Ella," he called out to the girl as he passed. "Meet me in my office."

Ella turned to look at him with blank eyes and unhurriedly started to follow. "Yes, Knight-Captain," she said with the flat voice of the Tranquil. The sunburst on her forehead was still a bright, inflamed red that Cullen couldn't bear to look at.

Taking his seat, Cullen sifted through the papers on his desk. Not a word about hunting anyone but apostates, and he wondered at that -- wondered if the 'apostates' had magic at all. Those he started setting aside, as Ella strode into the room and stood simple and still, blank-faced. "Close the door."

"Yes, Knight-Captain." Ella did as she'd been instructed, lifting an eyebrow at Cullen, as she turned back.

He nodded, waving her over, and she hurried to his desk. "How's your face? I'm sorry about that, but it was the safest way."

"It's fine," Ella told him, with a hint of a smile. "Thank Anders again, for me? That salve is wonderful."

"I'm so sorry," Cullen said again, unable to look her in the eye.

"Don't be. You saved me. It's just a little burn, and now I'm safe." Ella patted his hand and set down a stack of papers. "I've uncovered some letters from Val Royeaux that might be of interest. Just little things. You should know she's arguing for Annulment. She hasn't sent for it, but ... she will. The arguments she's made lead inevitably to that."

"I need you to find something else for me, today. It's come to my attention that some of my men have been ordered to hunt down and murder those who disagree with the Commander's positions. I need to know if the orders are hers, or if this is one of the Lieutenants overstepping their bounds. Obviously, I hope it's one of the Lieutenants, but I have my doubts." Cullen finally looked up, grim, only to be met with concerned eyes, below the sunburst.

"I... wish I could say I didn't think she'd go that far," Ella said quietly.

Cullen brushed his hair back from his forehead. "Me too, Ella." If Meredith kept going down this road, there would be a civil war on their hands. So soon after the Qunari invasion, Cullen didn't know if the city would survive that. And the way they kept involving themselves in the city's politics, he didn't know if Anton or his siblings would survive that either. "If you find something, and I'm not here, have either Ser Keran or Ser Carver send for me. This is of the utmost urgency."

Ella nodded. "Of course, ser." Spying on Meredith was still daunting, and sometimes she feared the Knight-Commander would notice the way her hands shook and her cover would be blown. But, Ella reminded herself, it was no more dangerous than simply existing in Kirkwall's circle, and it was good to be _doing_ something.

Ella took a moment to school her face, to relax the muscles in her cheeks and forehead until her expression smoothed over again, eyes dull. "Good day, Knight-Captain," she said in a flat voice before leaving the office.

Cullen would never get used to how well she did that. 

* * *

 "Trust me," Anton told the pair of mages behind him, as he swaggered into Aveline's office, dropping his hands heavily on the edge of the desk. "Three words for you, Guard-Captain: templar death squads."

"Not in my city. Is that how you're greeting people, these days, Anton? I can't say it's quite as charming as your usual approach." Aveline leaned back, resting the tip of her quill on the rim of the inkwell.

"Yes, in your city. In Lowtown, apparently." Anton looked over his shoulder and held out his hand. "Give me the letter."

Cormac slapped it into his brother's palm and nodded at Aveline. "We've got a leak in the Order. At this point, we've practically got plumbing in the Order, but the point is he's not kidding. And it's not mages, this time."

"This is bullshit," Aveline declared, skimming the letter Anton held out for her. It took barely a moment for her to rise to her feet, grabbing the gauntlets off the corner of her desk. "This is not acceptable, in my city. In my city, we _all_ follow the law. ... Except apparently you, Anton, and one of these days when Kirkwall can afford it, I'm coming back for you."

"Ah, but could _you_ afford it, dear Captain?" Anton asked, a hand over his heart.

"I think I would manage."

* * *

 It was depressingly easy to find the templars Ser Selbrech had written about. They didn't hide their business, their armour gleaming and voices carrying down the deserted street.

Gamlen's place was on the same street, and this sight, armed templars outside his door, was something Anton used to worry about.

"Maker, ser, have mercy!" wailed a young woman in worn clothing.

"You harboured a known apostate," the templar towering over her replied. He sounded bored.

The woman looked up at him with round eyes. "Wh-what crime is feeding my cousin?" she stammered. "She was whipped, half-starving."

Anton didn't need to look over his shoulder to know that Anders had his eyes screwed shut, trying to force back their blue glow.

"It is a crime against the Maker," the templar sneered, stepping closer. She recoiled, backing into a wall. "The sentence is--"

"What is the sentence?" Aveline boomed, her voice ringing through the alley. Faces hidden by helmets turned in their direction. Anton slipped into the shadows while Aveline frothed with rage, drawing their attention. "Is this woman an apostate?"

"Goodness, ser," Anton purred, leaning against the edge of a shadow on the wall of the nearby stairs, "whatever would the Knight-Captain think? I'm certain he would not approve."

"The Guard Captain definitely does not approve," Aveline roared.

"She is guilty of harbouring an apostate!" the templar declared again. "It does not matter if the Knight-Captain or the Guard Captain approve. My orders come from the Knight-Commander, and this woman is to die."

"Where in the law does it say that? I am familiar with the laws of the Chantry and the law of Kirkwall, and I know of no such provision." Aveline's shoulders squared, and she seemed to grow larger, the light behind her gleaming off her armour.

"It is the duty of the Knight-Commander to handle all disputes involving magic," the templar spit.

"The dispute involves no magic," Aveline reminded him. "The woman is not a mage, but a full citizen of the City of Kirkwall, and that makes her my problem, not yours. Put away your sword, Ser Templar. Now."

The templar raised his sword, defiantly, meaning to slay the young woman, before returning his attention to those who dared challenge him, but the grip of his sword was too hot to hold, and sweat suddenly sprung out on his face, as the blade fell from his blistering fingers.

"THIS IS NOT JUST." Anders's eyes opened, the swirling blue spilling out across his skin, as the templar before them tore at the buckles on his armour, to get out of it before it seared itself into his skin.

His fellows backed away, uncertain. "Demon!" one shouted, bringing down a smite across the courtyard.

Cormac unshouldered his glaive. "Twice? Twice in one day with no magic?" he huffed in annoyance, but the strike seemed to have had no effect on Justice's power.

The woman shrieked in horror, sliding along the wall to get away from the burning templar.

"Run," Anton told her, daggers already in his hands. "Go. Get somewhere safe."

He didn't need to tell her twice. She ran down the alley as though demons were on her heels, and Anton supposed they might as well be. He darted in behind the templars while they tried to fend off Cormac and Aveline. One templar kept trying to throw smites at his companion, who had fallen to the ground, writhing and screaming, hands still scrabbling at armour that hissed and smoked.

The templars were spooked enough to be easy targets for the Hawkes and Aveline. By the time the burning templar had finished writhing, skin shrivelled and smouldering, his companions had fallen around him, blood staining the ground.

"That was pointless," Aveline said, voice hard. She shook her head at the dead templars. "I've had it up to my neck with these templars."

Blue still mixed with brown in Anders's eyes as he shook his head, trying to rein himself in. Anton sheathed his daggers and looked around, making sure no one had seen that. In this part of Lowtown, he doubted anyone would talk if they did, not after the way the templars had apparently been treating them.

"Shh, hey, it's all right." Cormac's arm wrapped around Anders's waist, easing Anders toward him, to face away from the charred corpse. "Come on, pretty thing. That's enough glowing for one afternoon. Maybe some more tonight? Just you and you and me, behind closed doors? But, we're standing in front of my uncle's house, and I'm very sure he doesn't need to see what your righteous blue glow does to me."

"You... you're hopeless, Cormac." Anders laughed, breathily. "But, we're both just as amused as usual that you still find this... well..." He pulled Cormac against his thigh and raised his eyebrows.

"Every time," Cormac assured him.

"Okay, so, as soon as the two of you are done being disgusting in the middle of the street," Anton called to them, from where he was investigating the contents of the corpses' pockets.

"Says Lord 'Dragon Noises' over there," Cormac shot back.

"I'm going to kill our sister," Anton sighed.

"Kill yourself. You're the one I heard yelling about it!" Cormac laughed, and Anton coloured.

"I'm still not as loud as you," Anton grumbled, standing up. "There's nothing here. There's no written orders, no letters, no indication of the chain of command."

"Man did say it was Meredith who gave the order," Anders pointed out.

"But, that just means he believed it." Anton shook his head.

"What a mess," Aveline sighed. She rubbed at the knot of tension in the middle of her forehead. "So what now? Whether Meredith gave the order or not, I'm not going to sit on my hands, waiting for something like this to happen again."

Anton pocketed the coins he slipped from the templars' pouches. "Ser Selbrech brought this to our attention, and we have done what she wanted. The play is hers, now." Something caught his eye over Aveline's shoulder, and he grinned and waved. Aveline turned to see Gamlen standing in his doorway, a half-empty bottle in one hand while his other sarcastically returned the wave.

"I hope you plan to clean this up," he said, gesturing at the dead templars with the bottle, before disappearing back inside.

"It's good to see you too, uncle!" Anton called out. The door slammed shut. "Ass."


	310. PART LV: THE DEEPEST WELLS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris decides there's a part of the past he needs to face. He turns to his sister for help.

Varania twisted the ends of her belt nervously, as she came up to the house. The idea of her brother having not only escaped his fate, but become a southern nobleman was still so bizarre to her. But, he and the Hawkes had been very kind, all the same -- mostly the Hawkes, really. Leto -- _Fenris_ \-- was still quite displeased with her. Not that she could blame him. She had tried to have him killed. But, all the same, he'd rescued her children and brought them to her. He hadn't used his influence to have her run out of the city. She'd misjudged him badly -- he wasn't an animal, at all.

But, he'd sent for her, this time. Something about her memories. She knew he didn't remember much before his last escape, and she had some suspicions about why, but she remembered everything, until he'd been kept and she'd been freed. There were many years between where her memories stopped and his began, but if he wanted her to tell him stories, she'd do it. She owed him at least this.

She knocked, and after a moment, the door was answered by Orana, who smiled to see her.

"Come in, Messere! Your brother is waiting for you in the lounge." Orana stepped back and looked Varania up and down. "You're looking much better. Kirkwall agrees with you. It's so good to see another one of us doing well!"

Varania offered her a smile, weak as it was. 'One of us'. She supposed they had their own little community here now, former Tevinter slaves, free in the City of Chains. She wasn't sure she appreciated the irony. "Thank you, Orana. You, too, are looking well."

Ducking past Orana, Varania found Fenris sitting in a high-backed chair, a book balanced on one knee. "Hello..." She closed her teeth around the name 'Leto'. The man in front of her was no more Leto than she was. "...Fenris."

Fenris finished the sentence he was reading before looking up at her. "Varania," he acknowledged, tipping his head. "Sit. Please." His tone was coolly polite, but nowhere near as frigid as she had been expecting. "I... appreciate you coming here." Fenris marked his place and set the book down on the end table, only to discover that he didn't know what to do with his hands now they were empty. "This is rather difficult for me."

One of his ears twitched, and he tried to hide it by fussing with his hair. "Matercula's ears were like that, you know," Varania said, sinking to sit on the couch. "Expressive. We could always tell she was angry with us when they stuck straight out and shook." She chuckled.

"My ears do not _vibrate_ ," Fenris protested futilely. But, his mother's had, too? Maybe there was something left of her, after all. "You... look like her, don't you? I remember the red and the brown, but... she's just a smear of colour."

"I did, yes. You remember her at all?" Varania asked, as Orana returned with a tray of tea and sandwiches.

"Only that. Like it's there, but ... underwater?" Actually, it reminded him of the space between this world and the Fade. Looking out from inside that odd little pocket. Seeing the other side of things in the corners of his eyes, and just pushing them aside. He often thought he'd go mad if he didn't keep his eyes on the things he knew were real.

"Just keep looking. She'll come back to you. She's our mother. She's there... She... died, you know. We were free, but she died of her _freedom_." Varania tried not to sound angry, but she'd been angry about that for so long.

"I didn't know. I didn't know I had a family. I didn't know he didn't make me from the earth itself. There was nothing left." Fenris tried to ignore the twitching of his ears, pouring tea, instead, for both of them. "Did you know he was our father? I... have contacts. They brought me this." He pulled the page out of the small stack of paper under the book, offering it to her. "My father, anyway. I didn't ask about you, but it seemed likely. You take after our mother, but with magic. I..." He didn't finish the sentence, raising the teacup to his lips, instead, with a shaking hand.

The teacup was warm in Varania's hands but not warm enough to ward off the chill that ran through her. "Your...? Are you certain?" She'd had suspicions, of course, the way Danarius used to eye their mother, and such a thing wasn't unheard of, but... The very thought turned her stomach sour. They both left the sandwiches untouched for now.

"Regrettably, yes," Fenris said. "But... I have enough memories of _him_. It's everything else I'm trying to fit back together."

"I suppose that makes sense. I know I wouldn't want my memories of family to be only of... _him_." And that was all Fenris had, wasn't it? Except now he had new memories of family that included a sister who had betrayed him and nearly gotten him and his husband killed. "What would you like to know?"

"I have... some news clippings. A few pages of betting results. There were rumours I did not win your freedom fairly." It took an enormous amount of concentration to set the cup down in the saucer. "You said... I had magic."

"You _did_." Varania shrugged, holding her own teacup closer. "It wasn't obvious, but it was there. I watched you fight in the tournaments. Everyone suspected, but if you had magic, why would you still be a slave? Sometimes, it was like you couldn't be harmed. You'd come away with bruises, where another man might have lost an arm. Never fought with a shield." She stared down into the swirling dregs in her cup. "They said it was talent, that you were just that strong and fast. That you understood the angles. That it was all quicker than the eye, and it just _looked_ like magic. But, later -- once I was free... There's a school of magic that's mostly shields. It manifests like that. It's called--"

"Arcane," Fenris finished, looking up. His face was blank, confusion, horror, and disgust chasing each other around the inside of his head. Like Cormac. And wasn't that something. What did Artemis like? Arcane mages, apparently. But, Anders, he supposed. And Theron. He could feel better about that, but it was difficult.

"Yes!" Varania sounded surprised. "Is that something your husband--"

"His brother." And what was he going to do with that, he wondered. "From what I understand, that magic is the only reason he hasn't been killed yet."

"Once, I would have said the same of you," Varania pointed out. "But... it's different, now. I can't quite describe it. Something in the air around you. You don't have your shields any more."

Fenris flexed his fingers, staring down at lyrium lines he knew so well. Too well. "No, I don't," he agreed. "I... I don't know how that happened. The lyrium, perhaps? It gives me other abilities that have been confused with magic in the past." He remembered Cullen staring at him, face ghost-pale, one finger extended in an accusation: _mage_. Fenris had been so _insulted_ then, but the Captain had been closer to the truth than he realised. "Then again, I wouldn't know how to summon a shield even if I could."

Fenris flexed his fingers again, tried to remember what Cormac did when he cast, how he cast, but the spells and the gestures all bled together in his memory.

"Oh, I couldn't either," Varania admitted. "Shields were never my speciality, alas."

Great. That was just great. Fenris sighed and heaved himself to his feet, bones heavy with reluctance, as he forced himself to the door and called out, "Amatus? I require your assistance!" Maybe it would be that simple. Maybe Artemis would know. He was a mage; Cormac was his brother. He would know, wouldn't he? "It is a question on the subject of magic!"

Orana gave him an odd look, as she passed, heading for the kitchen.

"I'm sure he'll have some idea," Fenris reassured himself and his sister. "A family of mages. He must."

"But, would you not ask his brother?" Varania asked, bemused, finally reaching for a sandwich -- butter and jam.

"I try to avoid asking Cormac for things," Fenris muttered, leaning on the doorframe, as he waited.

"Is he truly so terrible? That's the dark one, right? He seemed so kind!"

"We have some differences of opinion." Fenris waved off the question. "He is not _bad_. We are complicated." Which might have been the nicest thing he'd ever said about Cormac, really.

The stairs creaked under Artemis's feet. "Yes, my elfy sex-god? What sort of magical 'assistance' do you n-- oh. Hello, Varania."

Varania hid her snicker behind her teacup. No one commented on the way Fenris's ears were vibrating.

Fenris cleared his throat. "Not that kind of magical assistance, Amatus," he drawled. "At least not while we have company."

"Right. Uh. What other kind of magic, then? I assume you're not looking for mage-floors." Artemis looked down at his feet. "Though, now that I think about it, these floors could use a bit of a shine..."

"Arcane magic," Fenris said before Artie could wax the floors out of existence again. "Especially shields, which I might need if you redo the floors."

Artemis squinted at Fenris. "That's... that's really more Cormac's thing. Cormac's speciality, actually. You know that. What are you looking for, exactly?"

"My... sister tells me it was once mine, as well." A sour look curdled Fenris's face as he considered it. "I want to know if it's still there. If it's still possible. If there's anything else Danarius _lied to me_ about, when it came to myself." The lyrium lit along his arms, and he didn't stop it, letting the glow spread through his skin, until he seemed only half there. "Did he steal it from me, or did he hide it from me? It's much too late to ask him."

Varania shifted uncomfortably. "How does it work?" she asked, trying to ignore the change in the weight of the air in the room. "You are... piercing the Veil? With lyrium? Oh, Fenris, this is not wise."

"The blood is mine alone," Fenris replied, with a grim smile, knowing exactly what thought she'd had. "I have already made the acquaintance of one of the first... _magisters_ to make that mistake, if his ramblings were to be believed. Whatever he was trying to do, I doubt it was that. Ask Anders. I have little head for the theory of it."

"Fen." Artemis's voice was as soft as his touch, fingers brushing the blue glow where Fenris's arm both was and wasn't. The whole of Kirkwall knew Fenris's feelings on magic, and yet here he was, wanting to use it. Or wanting to see if he _could_ use it. "If what you want is to try casting Arcane spells, I'm afraid I'm rather useless. Except for the part where I can go get my brother, the magical bear."

From Fenris's pained look, Artie could tell he had been trying to avoid that. Artemis offered him a soft smile and kissed his cheek.

"I'll poke my head in at the estate and see if he's around. I'll just be a minute. Try not to miss me too terribly."

"The magical bear," Fenris echoed, once Artemis had gone. "A great, hairy, loafish, oaf." His hand reached up for the medallion hung around his neck. "Who, admittedly, has proven rather good at turning magisters into attractive jewellery."

"Did he make that for you?" Varania asked, after a moment.

"No. Not really." Fenris sat again, opening the clasp and handing the necklace to his sister. "The eye used to be Danarius."

"This is-- this is a very nice replica!" Varania studied the medallion, looking for a maker's mark. "Like the Conductor of Silence wore, when the Old Gods still ruled! Where did he get this?"

"Off the high priest of Dumat," Fenris drawled.

"Dragon cult?" Varania asked, holding it up to the light and studying the lines.

"Not according to him. Called himself 'Corypheus'. Asked if we served in the temple of Dumat. Claimed to have walked the Black City." Fenris shook his head. "I don't know. But, he seemed to believe himself. And this... We took this from his remains. He may have been one of the last priests of Dumat. But, I do not know if I believe the story, and I do not know if I believe he is that one, even if it is so."

"His... remains?" Varania eyed Fenris, wondering what to do with this story. "One of the other Hawkes, Carver, mentioned something about burning two magisters, when I first met him. Since I was there for at least half of that, I didn't doubt him, but... a priest of Dumat? Being part of this Hawke family really is rather complicated, isn't it?"

"You don't know the half of it," Fenris said with a pained look. But then, it seemed his family had its own... complications as well. He took the medallion back from Varania and turned it over in his hand.


	311. Chapter 311

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sound of magic, and a desire to pursue the improbable.

The front door swung open, and a pair of Hawkes swooped in. "I found him!" Artemis called out cheerfully, an arm around Cormac's shoulders, as though Fenris couldn't tell from Cormac's presence. "Brother dear, you remember Fenris's sister dear."

Varania smiled timidly up at him. "Hello."

"Charmed, of course." Cormac bowed, before turning to Fenris. "What's this about you wanting to learn magic from me? I'm sure there's something wrong with that sentence if not that entire sentiment."

"My f..." Could he even say 'father'? "The man--" This was ridiculous. "Danarius was a mage, and there are signs I may once have been one, too," Fenris choked out.

"Arcane," Varania provided.

" _Shields_ ," Fenris finished the thought.

It all took a moment to sink in. "Is that why the two of you don't look alike? And here I thought it was just because he looks like he's been raised from the dead."

"Mage!"

"Hey, hey, take it easy." Cormac paused, studying Fenris. "Shields, huh? Then I bet the magic used to speak to you. Not real words, but... Arcane magic's like having a mabari. It'll protect you, but it'll also drool all over you and fart loudly in the middle of the night. It's got its own opinions, and it'll make them known. My father used to tell me to talk to it, so it would know me better. So it would obey what I told it, instead of what I wanted."

The thought sank into Fenris's mind, trailing cold horror as it passed. "Magic ... has opinions? Are you sure that's not a demon?"

"Demons are different. Justice can explain it better than I can, but the Fade is a living thing, in some ways. You know that. You have to know that." Cormac looked around for a seat, and finding one, dropped himself into it, absently pulling Artemis into his lap. "And arcane magic is said to come from the 'deepest wells of the Fade'."

"So, I have gone from ... speaking with the Fade to... summoning it?" Fenris didn't look quite thrilled with that idea.

"That much lyrium, and you a mage?" Cormac squinted and tipped his head. "Anders should be here in an hour or so. He's just finishing up some things in the clinic, but... there's some things done in the Circle that I don't really understand, because Anders doesn't talk about it, but from what he's said, using lyrium to _go into_ the Fade is something people do. Mages do."

Fenris was starting to look ill. Artemis knew that look. That was a look that said he was considering a night of heavy drinking after this, and Artie couldn't blame him. Not really. Artemis nudged Cormac and slipped off of his lap, moving to perch on the arm of Fenris's chair instead. He tweaked one of Fenris's ears and slipped a hand into his hair. Fenris leaned into the touch.

"The magic... it no longer speaks to you?" Artemis asked.

"If it does, it's speaking a foreign language that I can't understand," Fenris said with more of an edge to his voice than he'd meant. "Or so softly that I can't hear."

Artie smiled wryly. "I wonder what that's like, sometimes," he said. "Force magic is... well, it's less of a mabari and more of an ogre. It muscles its way in whatever direction it wants. There's a wall there? Nope, not any more. Impossible to ignore unless you're drunk off your ass."

Varania listened to them in bemusement and sipped her tea. "The question is, then," she said, "whether you _want_ to hear the magic again, Fenris. Regardless of whether or not you can."

Fenris stared down into his tea, watching the dregs as they swirled and wishing they could answer that for him.

"I can't promise you anything," Cormac said, as the silence dragged on. "I can't promise that hearing it is better, that not hearing it is better, that I can even help you hear it, if that's what you mean to do. But, you say the word, and I'll try. You take good care of my brother. It's the least I can do."

"Your brother takes very good care of _me_ ," Fenris retorted, absently. It was true, he thought, and very much not the way these things usually went. There was a mage looking after him.

"You both seem very happy together, even if you don't smile," Varania noted. "You used to smile. And laugh."

"He still smiles and laughs," Cormac assured her. "It just takes a few pints and a couple potshots at the healer."

"There is not enough wine in the house, today," Fenris sighed, looking up at Cormac. "Show me. Show me what you know."

Cormac's shield blinked out, as he stood, his whole appearance shifting very slightly, as that constant tinge to the air around him faded. "Give me your hand," he said, kneeling by Fenris's feet.

Uncertainty crept across Fenris's face as he put his hand in Cormac's.

"I'll show you the shield. Use the lyrium if you want. Touch it. Feel the way the world ripples when it starts." Cormac raised the shield as slowly as he was able, letting it rise into being under Fenris's fingers.

Fenris could feel the change, the lyrium in his hand flickering where Cormac touched, prickling as though with electricity. Fenris traced the shield's edge with his fingertips, examining the texture, the way the lyrium in his skin... 'stung' wasn't the word. Sang, perhaps. Ached. Still, Fenris tried to find something familiar in the way the magic sat on his skin, but the only memories it brought back involved mage hands that weren't his own.

Fenris shrugged and tried not to let his frustration show. "I don't know what I'm looking for," he said, still without pulling his hand away.

Artie squeezed his shoulder. "Give it a moment," he said. "I know you want answers, but we have to find the right questions first."

"What do you see? What do you hear?" Cormac asked, sounding for all the world like Anders, in another moment much like this one.

"A very sad song," Fenris replied. "I'm not even sure that's right."

"Justice talks about the song of the lyrium -- you've heard him talk about it. He says it doesn't sing like that, in the Fade. Something about the touch of a static place. Something that changes by rules and not by will, that makes the song ring out so it can be heard." Cormac didn't quite get it. There were quite a lot of things he didn't quite get, but he tried. "So, you hear it, too?"

"No. I don't _hear_ it." Fenris shook his head, trying to find the words. "I feel it. Like sitting on a drum. Perhaps it makes a sound, but I know it because it crawls up my arm. It follows the lyrium."

"Let's do something stupid and dangerous," Cormac suggested, a hint of a smile touching his lips. "Artie, don't touch." He took his hand away from Fenris's, and concentrated on the tips of his fingers, calling the fade to him, as that indigo glow washed through the room. "Do what you do, and then take my hand."

Varania set her tea down on a side table and scooted closer. She could feel the charge in the air.

Fenris gave Cormac a measuring look. "That does sound incredibly stupid and dangerous," he said. "I'd rather not end up losing a hand because of this. I am rather fond of my hands. As is Artemis, judging from the sounds I've wrung from him."

Artie coughed into his fist, ears and cheeks turning pink. "Not in front of your sister, Fen. Though you're not wrong."

Fenris looked more smug than abashed. "But... stupid and dangerous is the sort of thing we do, isn't it?" He cracked the knuckles of one hand before the lyrium lit in bright strips up his fingers. His hand glowed blue, and he slipped his hand into Cormac's.


	312. Chapter 312

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stupid and dangerous adventures in magic and the Fade.

Cormac's breath caught in his throat, and a split second of wild panic shot through him. That much lyrium. In him. On him. In the Fade around him. Fenris's hand was solid, as he'd half-expected it would be, and the lyrium bit into him. That was going to scar. A feeling like drowning, like crawling out of a rushing river... "Where _are_ you?" he asked, finally, as if the question had any meaning. There had always been a calm, here. The tides of the Fade, and nothing more. But, touching Fenris was like being in two places at once, and the easy breaths that moved the magic through and around him were disrupted by the choppy stutters of the eddys around Fenris.

Fenris sucked in a long breath, wobbling under the sudden weight of Cormac's power, Cormac's air, long, buffeting shoves and currents slamming into him, washing over him. It was dizzying and heavy, and the room spun with it. He buckled and grabbed at Cormac's shoulder for balance, but that just dragged him further down. "What--?"

"Breathe," Cormac said, suddenly, as though it had just occurred to him. "Meet me in the middle. Breathe with it."

Breathing was something Fenris could do. Generally. In this moment somehow, however, that seemed easier said than done. He still clutched too tightly to Cormac, hoping to use him like a buoy when the mage weighted him down like an anchor.

Eventually Fenris allowed his grip to loosen. "I'm breathing," he said, when he found that he was. "Venhedis. What is this?" Did the Fade always look like this?

"Fenris? Cormac?" Artemis called out to them tentatively. "Are all your limbs still attached?" It was like Fenris was hearing him through water, but he could still hear the nervousness in his husband's voice.

Fenris counted said limbs. "So it would seem."

"We're fine, Artie," Cormac was quick to answer. It wasn't what he was used to, but he was a lot more accustomed to magic, in general. He knew the tides. He heard the voices. "We're... not in the same place, except that we are," he tried to explain to Fenris. "You make holes in the surface of things. The underlayer rises up through me. It's like a river. You're on it. I'm under it. We're both touching it, but it's not the same. Just hold on. Keep breathing. It's settling. Can you feel it?"

And whether either of them could feel it, Varania could see it. Where Cormac had been indigo and Fenris sky-blue, a radiant royal blue, with dark and light swirls had taken up the space between them, spreading out from there. Some sort of middle-ground. She'd seen a lot of things, in Tevinter, but never this.

"Oh, shit," came another voice, from the doorway. Anders had finished up in less time than expected, and this was definitely not what he'd expected to find. Justice battered at the inside of his skull, desperately pushing forward in a hail of questions and demands. Anders absently patted Orana's shoulder, and then closed the door between them. The song of the lyrium, with Cormac's magic running through it, was deafening.

"What's going on?" Anders asked. It was a struggle to keep his voice steady, the way Justice pressed at him expectantly.

Artemis saw the ring of blue around his eyes and slipped off of the chair to stand by Anders. He couldn't soothe Justice quite the way Cormac did, but Cormac was otherwise occupied. "My husband and my brother are touching each other in new and exciting ways," he answered wryly.

Fenris's look soured, ears pressing flat to his skull. "Please don't put it that way, Amatus," he said.

"That's..." Anders tilted his head. "I can... see you and not see you. You each have one foot in the Fade, and... you can _touch_ like that?" Justice tried to propel him forward, aching to touch as well.

"That's what makes it new and exciting," Artemis said. "But yes. Fenris, it turns out, used to have Arcane abilities." He tiptoed around using the words 'mage' or 'magic'. "We're trying to get a sense of whether or not that's gone completely." There was something strikingly beautiful about the sight before him, the bright swirls of light and the blending of the two men he loved.

"Artie, if I throw up on the rug, I'm sorry. If he throws up on the rug, I'm still sorry." Cormac forced a bit of humour into his voice, as he tried to level things out, with Fenris. Still, the lyrium chewed at him, which he assumed was because he was also engaged with the Fade. If not, Artie was much, much kinkier than he'd ever imagined.

"Getting seasick?" Fenris teased, glad to have something, anything, to give Cormac a hard time about. He wasn't quite thrilled with the sensation, but he also wasn't getting the nausea. Too much time in Seheron. Too many damned boats.

Then, everything rippled. "What is that noise?" Fenris demanded, almost letting go of Cormac's hand in surprise. Like a cacophony of birds, tea kettles, and wolves. It was an unbearable racket, battering at his ears, but from the inside -- a deafening clamour.

"Does it sing to you?" Anders asked, voice barely his own.

"I don't... I don't know if I'd call that singing," Fenris said, cringing away from the sounds. Or trying to. The hand not clutching Cormac's clapped over one pointed ear.

"Fen?"

Fenris could barely hear his name over the ruckus, his eyes wide and wild. "I'm all right, Amatus," he said belatedly when the Artemis-shaped shadow at the edge of his vision moved towards him.

"I wouldn't get any closer to that, Artie," Anders said. His voice resonated oddly, not quite Anders's and not quite Justice's.

"Well, you know, I just want to be ready in case any of that vomiting happens," Artie joked weakly, scratching at his arm.

Fenris blocked out their voices. There was enough sound roaring around him as it was, and he tried to separate it out, tried to identify certain strands, certain notes, certain rhythms. It wasn't quite music, but... there was a melody in there, buried amidst the tangle of sound. He listened, but there was a pressure building between his eyes, pressing harder the louder the sounds became.

"I can't," he choked out. "I _can't_." He tore his hand away from Cormac to clutch both hands to his head.

Cormac let him go, curling forward to rest his head on his knees, as the blue light faded from between them. "It's there," he gritted out. "I can feel it. But, it's _wrong_." He groaned and panted, laying his forehead on the rug, as he tried to sit up and regretted it. His hand throbbed like he'd been holding hot iron. "Anders?" he asked, weakly, holding up a hand marked with the patterns from Fenris's fingers.

"What the shit...?" Anders breathed, as Justice slid back in confusion with the sudden cessation of the song. "What did he do to you? What did you do to him?"

"Fade. Lyrium. Long conversation," Cormac muttered against the carpet.

"I'm almost afraid to touch that," Anders admitted, reaching into his bag for a potion. "Can you drink?"

"Get a bucket. I'll try," Cormac groaned.


	313. Chapter 313

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More speculation, and very few conclusions.

Varania sat in the corner of the couch, wrapped tightly around herself, just watching. What the south lacked in magical teaching, it seemed to make up in determination. That had been terrifying, even without the sights, sounds, and sensations the two of them had been talking about. But, one question still nagged at her -- more, now that Cormac had called the magic 'wrong'. What had Danarius done? Obviously her brother wasn't Tranquil -- from what she understood, that took more than just magic out of someone, and if nothing else, he was much too angry to be Tranquil. "Fenris? Are you well?"

Fenris still had his hands over his ears, eyes clenched tightly shut and his breathing heavy. Since Anders was seeing to Cormac, Artie knelt in front of Fenris. "Hey. Fen." He touched Fenris's knees, letting his elf know he was there, and then reached up, gently taking Fenris's hands in his. He was surprised by how hot the brands felt against his skin but said nothing. "Did you hear her, love? Are you well?"

Slowly, Fenris uncurled, eyes blinking open and shoulders unhunching. He looked down at Artemis's face, which was solid and real and not distorted by Fade light. The song was gone, but his ears still rang with it.

"I am... confused," Fenris said at last, "but yes, I am well." He pulled one hand away from Artie to rub at his forehead where his headache still twinged.

"Anders, do you have another potion?" Artie asked, his thumb rubbing circles into the back of Fenris's hand.

Returning, Anders handed Fenris a potion with one hand and slid a bucket under Cormac with the other. "You two are insane," Anders said, kneeling next to Cormac.

"Agreed," Varania muttered, her eyes still a little too wide. "So does that..." She took a breath. "If he can still hear the magic, can he learn to use it again?"

Cormac shook his head and regretted it more than the last time he tried to sit up. "It knows him. I don't know what that's good for. There's something wrong with it. With the lyrium, I think." He fumbled with the potion, spitting the cork across the floor before he tried to figure out how to drink it without sitting up. "Searing is not normal."

"That is, unquestionably, a lyrium burn," Anders confirmed. "That shouldn't even be possible. Alternately, you should have lost your mind. One or the other. But, this? I have never seen this. I haven't even seen this in books. I have... some of ... _his_ books, and I haven't even seen this in there. Obviously, I need to go find the volumes that might actually have that. Or something. I can't imagine this would have passed unremarked. The man did unspeakable things, but the documentation is top-notch. The problem, of course, being that I don't understand at least half of the theory involved in a lot of it."

"So, Danarius replaced his magic with something else?" Varania asked, sounding even more confused.

Cormac finally rolled over and poured the potion into his mouth, only a bit of it dribbling down his cheek as he swallowed. "I don't think that's what he meant to do. I'd be willing to bet it was supposed to be some kind of augmentation, given what it's doing, now. But, it's not."

"And that would go with what we found in that book we borrowed from Serendipity." Anders nodded to himself. "But, why isn't it working? And why is it doing _this_?"

Artemis brushed Fenris's hair back from his face, felt how clammy his skin was, in sharp contrast to his burning tattoos. "You know, there are times like these when I wish we hadn't killed Danarius so quickly. I would very much love to beat the tar out of him right now."

A weak smile pulled at Fenris's lips. "Isn't that what you and your brother did?" he asked. "Almost literally?" He tugged at the chain around his neck, trusting Artemis to know what he meant without pulling out the medallion itself.

"Yes, well, I'd like to do it again." Still clutching Fenris's hand, Artie twisted to look over his shoulder at Cormac. He could only reach the top of Cormac's head from here, so he tugged gently at a lock of Cormac's hair. "Hey. Are _you_ all right?"

"Urgh," Cormac pronounced, and then after a moment's contemplation, "I've done worse. No ogres. No rushing rivers. No actual boats."

"You've been on a boat with him, haven't you?" Anders asked Artemis. "Was he like that all the way to Kirkwall? I've never seen anyone spend quite that much time retching into the sea."

"Not a conversation you're having right now, unless you want me retching onto the rug, too," Cormac shot back, sounding a good bit quicker and clearer than he had. "He wanted the lyrium back so he could try again, didn't he?"

"Probably," Anders admitted. "This wasn't the first attempt. Just the most successful. I can safely say I've never wanted to light anyone's balls on fire quite as much as I did after picking through those books."

"Well, you already lit him on fire," Artie assured him. "That, I assume, included his balls. So. Dreams _can_ come true." He looked down at the hand in his, at the lyrium lines that were only just starting to cool. He tried not to think about how painful getting those lines must have been, tried not to think about how much pain Fenris would still be in if not for the runed cuffs he wore. Thinking about that would end up making the room shake and not in the fun way. "But this... this can't be healthy. This much lyrium in your body, affecting the flow of magic around you, causing you pain." Artie trailed off. This was the sort of thing he worried about in the middle of the night. Staring into the dark, his fears sometimes seemed larger, taller, like shadows stretched and distorted by the sun.

Losing Fenris. Losing Cormac. Artemis didn't know if he could survive either one.

"I am still here, Amatus," Fenris told him softly. "That will not change."

"He's much too stubborn for that," Anders huffed, earning him a flat look from the elf. "What? That's worked in your favour, for the most part. It's why you're still alive." But as he spoke, silently he agreed with Artie. He had no idea how Fenris had survived this long.

"How long do Templars live?" Fenris asked, in a sudden moment of clarity. "How long has the Knight-Commander been with the Order?" Of course the Knight-Commander was already mad, but she seemed to still be _alive_.

"You can't measure your life in templars," Anders said, shaking his head. "There's more in you right now than a templar would take in a lifetime. Several templars worth of lyrium, even. And yet, you're not mad -- if you are, it's subtle -- and you're not crippled, and you're not dead. I don't know why you're alive at all, but I'd like to think you're going to stay that way, if only because even this is impossible. If you're going to do impossible, might as well go all the way."

"Impossible, all the way, every morning before breakfast," Cormac laughed, intently studying the ceiling. "No. Don't. I'm joking. This might not kill you, but that would."

"Cormac, shut up!" Anders groaned, shoving Cormac's shoulder with his foot. "Please don't take him seriously," he said to Varania.

Varania gave them both a bemused look. "I keep getting that advice, especially regarding this family," she said. "Which I suppose I am obliquely part of now. In a way." She eyed Fenris nervously, as though expecting, waiting, for him to tell her that she had lost the right to call him or his husband 'family'.

The admonition never came.

"I'll keep looking into this, Fenris," Anders told him, bringing them back to the topic at hand. "I'll keep going over his writings. But, in the end, you are unique, and I don't think even Danarius fully understood what he'd done with you. We might not get any answers."

Fenris looked down at Artemis, who wasn't quite looking at him, whose grip was suddenly a bit tighter than it had been before. "Well," he murmured. "I am what I am. I'm alive and reasonably sane at the moment, and that is enough for now." For him, it was. And if something happened to him, his mage had Cormac.


	314. PART LVI: TROUBLE WITH TEMPLARS II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ser Marlein strikes again.

"Letter for you, messere." Bodhan tucked it between two bottles on the edge of Cormac's desk, to avoid too much interrupting his work. "Another from Ser Marlein."

Cormac sighed and rubbed his face, setting the quill on the rest. "Get Anton for me, would you? This is as much his problem as mine."

"As soon as he wakes, messere," Bodhan assured him, knowing Cormac would understand. One didn't wake Anton unexpectedly, and the gouges in the edge of the door and its frame spoke to why.

Wiping the ink off his hand, Cormac studied the edge of the letter where it jutted from between a stamina potion and a lyrium potion. Same paper, his name written in what looked to be the same hand. Wonderful. Just what he needed in his day. More lunatic templars doing idiot things.

The letter was almost comedic in its avoidance of the point, like a child playing at spies. He gathered, all the same, that there was to be a meeting of the noble forces against Knight-Commander Meredith, and that templar interference was expected. He'd talk to Anton, they'd talk to Cullen, and then he could get back to his accounts -- and hopefully some more writing on the subject of the Undercity. Demons caught between rivers of blood -- actual, literal rivers, given the size of those channels -- were held, since the revolution, by only centuries old promises and lies. Scraps of bloody binding that weakened by the day. A great deal more interesting, he thought, than a fistful of minor nobility, most of whom had probably never held swords in their lives, trying to overthrow the woman who'd all but declared herself viscount.

Eventually Anton shuffled into the doorway, bleary-eyed and scruffy. "Bodhan said you have something for me? Is this important or can I eat first? It's barely the crack of noon!" The words 'long night' went unsaid but understood.

"Eat. You're going to need it. Maybe pick up a nice box of cakes for your husband, too, because he's not going to like this." Cormac held out the letter.

Eyeing Cormac warily, Anton took the letter in one hand and yawned into the other. "Oh, what the fuck," he grumbled. "Another letter from this woman?" He was all for undermining Meredith, and Selbrech's information had been good last time, but Cullen didn't need to be in the middle of this. And if Anton were in the middle of this, then so was Cullen. "Bodhan!" he called over his shoulder. "What do you think? Is it too early in the day to start drinking? Should I care? Oh, do we have any of that brandy left over from the other night? I could use that."

Anton disappeared down the hall with the letter clutched in his hand, looking for Bodhan, a drink, and food.

* * *

"Why am I holding a box of duchess cakes?" Cullen asked, after a moment's revelry, half a cake already in his mouth. "What did you do, Anton?"

"Why do you always expect I did something?" Anton tried his best to look innocently shocked, but Keran just laughed from behind the stack of files he was putting away. Cullen pinned his husband with a flat look. "Yes, yes, because I usually did. Not this time!" He whipped out the letter and handed it to Cullen. "Ser Marlein requires our assistance again. I'm hoping you can figure out which of your men are involved and ... set them to washing chamberpots for the evening."

"Anton, this verges on treason," Cullen sighed, quietly. "If any word of this leaks out... I am personally supposed to ensure there is no violent rebellion against the Order, in Kirkwall. Can you tell me this won't get violent? Can you tell me they'll pursue means that aren't attacks? Because as much as I support the principle, there are means I can't back, and that means you can't back them, either."

"I know," Anton said softly. "And I won't, at least not publicly. In fact, as far as you and I are concerned, I know nothing about this. I'm just an innocent nobleman, visiting my husband. If any of my acquaintances should get involved in this, well -- that is merely a coincidence! Even if I'm related to these acquaintances."

Cullen arced an eyebrow at his husband. "'Innocent'? You? Hardly," he teased. "But... should your _acquaintances_ , related or otherwise, come across anything, I should like to be kept apprised." He wouldn't approve of this -- he _couldn't_ approve of this -- but he could turn a blind eye for one night. And pray that he didn't regret it.

"Please," Anton said, holding a duchess cake to Cullen's lips, "I am the Paragon of Virtue."

The duchess cake muffled Cullen's disbelieving laughter.

* * *

Of course Anton couldn't come along, Cormac reminded himself, as he climbed the endless steps to the keep. This couldn't be allowed to affect Cullen's position in any way -- after all, they were setting Cullen up to take over, assuming anyone could get rid of Meredith. But, that left him to put together a team that could handle a templar assault, and Anton was really the very best for that. Still, as few mages as possible seemed the way to go. Aveline and Fenris would be a great help, especially Aveline, as the Guard Captain of the city.

He paused at the top of the stairs, panting, much to the amusement of the guard at the door. "Gettin' old, Messere Hawke," the guard teased.

"It's just the Warden wearing me out." Cormac laughed, straightening his belt as he made his way into the keep, still grinning. "If you see Donnic, tell him I look forward to putting another dozen silver in his pocket, next week."

"Is he finally winning?" the guard asked, with an amazed chuckle.

"Only from me and Anders, but it's better than he's been!"

He found Aveline in her office and explained the situation. "They haven't given up," he said, finally. "If anything, they're more intent, now that we've had to short their ranks a bit."

"This can't be allowed to go on, in my city. In _any_ city! It's not the place of the Templar Order to step into politics! It's not their business to interfere in the lives of citizens of Kirkwall!" Aveline ranted as she buckled herself into the last of her gear and picked up her sword.

"The non-magical citizens, you mean," Cormac reminded her.

"Mages aren't citizens, Cormac, your family notwithstanding. And you know that's going to cave in, one day," she reminded him.

"And that is why everything belongs to Anton, on paper." Cormac smiled blithely.

"A fact which never ceases to amaze and concern me," Aveline sighed. She held the door open for Cormac and locked it behind them.

Next they stopped to pick up the cranky elf, and Aveline was relieved she wasn't going to be the only sword on this mission. She'd been a meatshield for the mages often enough.

Raucous laughter spilled out into street when Orana opened the door. "Good afternoon, messeres," Orana said around a laugh of her own. "Messeres Far-- excuse me. Messeres Fenris and Artemis are entertaining, at the moment, but you are welcome to come inside. I'll let them know you are here."

"Entertaining?" Aveline repeated, arcing an eyebrow. She tilted her head and listened to the voices, her eyes narrowing. "I know that obnoxious laugh. Having Isabela in your house counts as 'entertaining' now, does it?"

"She entertains me well enough," Cormac replied with an entirely lecherous grin. "Besides, don't start that, you like her." He elbowed Aveline and called after Orana, "Make sure Fenris brings his sword! The one he doesn't light up and stick in my brother!"

"You're just as bad as she is," Aveline groaned, turning away and covering her face.

"This is news?" Cormac shot her a quizzical look.

"I'd bring my sword, too, but your brother's already borrowing it!" a voice called out from the other room.

" _Theron_?" Cormac laughed. "Holy balls, what are you doing in town!"

"Do you need to ask that question?" Theron called back.

"Hiiiii, Cormac!" And that would be Kalli.

"Creators," Cormac sighed. "Keep your hands off my little brother, ladies! We'll only be gone a couple of hours!"

"Where exactly, am I going, that involves leaving my husband alone with two half-naked women and a drunken Dalesman? I should tell you I'm not going anywhere, but I know you wouldn't be here if you thought you could do this without me. And I won't be responsible for letting you get killed. I suspect I might not have a husband any longer at all, if I did that, more's the pity, some days," Fenris grumbled, stalking through the front hall on the way to get his sword.

Aveline's face twisted, like she'd sucked on a lemon. "I did not need to hear more than half of that," she said. "And I needed to picture even less."

Artemis poked his head through the doorway. Aveline couldn't tell from this angle, but she prayed he was wearing pants. She could see the sleeve of his tunic, at least, and that was promising. "Yes, where _are_ you taking my husband?" he asked. "And do you need anyone else?"

"Templar business," Aveline said. "As in, business potentially concerning templars. So one mage -- and one Hawke -- is enough." She pointed her thumb at Cormac. "More than enough, where my sanity is concerned."

Fenris hummed in agreement.

Artie's expression sobered, and he leaned against the door-frame. Oh good. He _was_ wearing pants. "Templars? Should I be concerned?" he asked, looking from her to Cormac.

"Yes," Cormac said, looking more than a little grim. "But, not about me. Not today. Worry about Anton. This city's going to go up in flames, if this keeps up. We'll figure it out. I mean, we're Hawkes, right? Take more than this to keep us down."

"Yes, it'll take one of them actually smiting you and dragging you off to the Gallows," Aveline sighed. "Come on. Let's get this over with, before we lose anyone important's relatives."

"You know, you could try arresting them," Cormac suggested. "There are two of you with swords. Maybe we could bring along the Hightown patrol for backup? Things might end more reasonably if we had more to show than corpses."

"Or that could get us all killed," Fenris pointed out. "I'm little interested in showing kindness to anyone with a sword pointed at my chest." He paused a moment and held up a finger in Artie's direction, without looking. "Don't."

"I didn't say anything!" Artie said innocently. "Just... get your sword back here safely. Both swords."

Aveline gave them all another pained look. "I'm leaving before there are any more sword puns," she said, turning on her heels and walking out the door.

Artemis huffed. "As if the sword puns stop when you leave the house," he drawled. He gave Cormac and Fenris each a fond smile, said, "Try not to kill each other," and disappeared back into the room with Izzy, Theron, and Kalli.

"I make no promises," Fenris said, throwing a teasing smirk in Cormac's direction. He followed Aveline, still fussing with his baldric.


	315. Chapter 315

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yet more trouble with templars. Aveline is angry. Meredith is displeased.

The meeting place was in Lowtown, again in front of Gamlen's hovel. The ground still bore muddy stains where templar bodies had bled out the last time the Hawkes were here.

"I bet your uncle would love this," Fenris drawled. "Would you like to pay him a visit while we're nearby?"

"Actually..." Cormac looked speculative, as Ser Marlein rambled on, as if there were nothing to fear on a Lowtown street, in the middle of the night.

"We cannot stand idly by, as Meredith oversteps herself at every turn. We shall have a viscount again and return sanity to Kirkwall!" Marlein declared, proudly, to the small group assembled around her.

"This course is foolhardy," one man protested. Cormac couldn't remember who he was, but he'd shown up at some parties, somewhere. "The Knight-Commander will kill us all!"

"Edgert, you do yourself no credit," the man behind him said. Ah, Edgert, of course. "My father and grandfather both died defending Kirkwall from aggressors. Meredith is no different. Lady Selbrech, you have my sword!"

"That's great," Cormac drawled, "but who has your back? You're out in the open, here, speaking as if no one can hear you." He gestured to the stairs, to one side. "Perhaps you'd like to take this meeting inside? I'm sure my uncle won't mind. I'm sure my uncle's out losing the kitchen table, in fact, and he won't notice at all."

"Your uncle must be happy to have his hovel back to himself," Fenris observed, quietly. "Are you sure you want to disrupt an old man's dreams of peace?"

"Fenris, let me turn that question back on you, in the name of your sister," Cormac replied drily.

"You make an excellent point."

Edgert looked up at Gamlen's, then past Cormac, down the alley. Just the flicker of a glance, but Fenris caught it and followed that look, seeing movement in the dark. "Shields," he growled at Cormac, drawing his sword.

"I warned you," Edgert said to his noble companion, backing away and reaching for his sword.

An arrow plinked off Cormac's shield and landed at his feet.

"Gentlemen!" Cormac called out. "Must it come to this? Have you time to war amongst yourselves, when the Divine is already planning an Exalted March, because of the stunts the Order has pulled, here?" He could hear the creak as several more heads turned, eyes focused on him. "Oh, that's news, is it? Did your Knight-Commander not tell you? The Divine's agent came to scout the city, and found the Templars wanting. This squabbling won't really change her mind about you, or any of the rest of us. Is that how you want to be remembered? Like the merchant swilling wine as Treviso burned? We can work together to build a stronger city, you know..."

The smile slid off his face when the first smite hit, and the glaive rolled down the back of his arm, into his waiting hand.

"Really? You want to play it like that?" Cormac asked, making no move to remove himself from the focus of those around him. "And here I was, trying to make peace."

"I just cleaned up this street!" Aveline roared, knocking an arrow aside with her shield as she barrelled towards the cluster of archers in the alley. They tried to nock more arrows while backing away from the crazy woman swinging the sword, but Aveline batted their bows aside with her shield. While she distracted them, Fenris reached through their armour into their chests, crushing their hearts.

While Aveline and Fenris dealt with the archers, Ser Marlein and her companion flanked Edgert, swords drawn and their eyes hard. "I don't want to do this, Edgert," Marlein said.

Edgert shook, but he held his sword up, the point aimed at her chest. "Neither do I," he said before lunging at her.

"Thank you!" Cormac announced, swinging the glaive around from behind Edgert and pulling the pole against his neck. "Take his sword? We're willing to arrest anyone who doesn't make us kill them."

Edgert thrashed, but Cormac just pulled harder. "And I don't like the way you keep looking at my sister, so that's enough out of you," he told the man, kicking him sharply in the back of each knee. The weight of the shackles, it seemed, had been worthwhile, and he bound Edgert as Ser Marlein held off another swordsman.

"Hunters," Marlein said, slamming the pommel of her sword into a helmet, and pounding the man into the ground, before she held out her hand for a set of shackles. "Great against magic. Not so good in a real fight."

"I hope the shackles lend themselves to surrender," Cormac remarked, sidestepping a blade and jamming the glaive pole between the swordsman's legs. The trip didn't go as easily as he'd intended, but once he levered the pole over his knee, the result was about the same, and the swordsman crumpled to the ground, still clutching the sword. Cormac could feel the hail of lyrium-power rattling through his bones, as the swordsman realised that standing wasn't an option and made ready to fight from the ground.

Aveline didn't give him that option, pounding him solidly in the back of the helmet a few times with her shield. "Hit them harder, Cormac. Didn't you used to fight darkspawn?"

"I'm trying to be nice!" he protested. "I'd really rather not kill anyone, if I don't have to. It makes Anders sad."

"Throw down your weapons!" barked another voice, the sound distorted by a helmet. "Conspiring against the Knight-Commander is an unforgivable betrayal of our fair city!"

"There's nothing 'fair' about it," Fenris groused, lyrium glowing blue as he faced down this new opponent. His armour was cleaner and more ornate than the others, and he spoke with the tone of someone who was used to being obeyed. Potentially an officer, then, and that was not a headache they needed.

A smite washed over Fenris, but he continued to glow. "I'm not a mage!" he barked, only to choke on his next breath. He couldn't say that any more, could he?

The templar paused, caught off-guard when the smite didn't wash away the blue glow emanating from the elf. "Then what are you? Some form of demon?" He didn't give Fenris a chance to respond, his sword slashing at Fenris's face.

"I'm an elf!" Fenris snapped. He didn't dodge. He stepped through the sword as though it weren't there. The templar couldn't step backwards fast enough. In fact, he backed straight into Marlein.

"Denis?" she asked. "I should have known you'd be behind this."

"This is mutiny!" Denis cried out, trying to turn to better face both of his opponents at once. "This is treason!"

"Aren't you the asshole who used to make my little brother wash chamberpots?" Cormac asked, suddenly, and Denis's eyes focused on him just in time to register the flash of fingers that preceded a stun that rattled the templar like a punch in the teeth. "Lieutenant Penis, they call you, isn't it?" He tossed the last pair of shackles from his bag to Fenris. "Do something with that, would you? And don't kill him. I want to punch him in the face, when he wakes up."

"Aren't you the one who always says Carver deserves the chamberpots?" Fenris asked, attaching the chains to Ser... _Penis_.

"Yes, but I'm allowed to say that. He's my little brother," Cormac explained, as Aveline led over a close-bound chain of captives, each tripping over the next. "Did we take more alive than dead?"

"A few, I think," Aveline confirmed, glancing around at the handful of bodies in the small courtyard. "This is going to be an interesting conversation with the Knight-Captain. I wonder if he'll agree to an exchange of prisoners."

"I wonder if Meredith would let him," Cormac grumbled, as Ser Marlein removed the lieutenant's helmet. Cormac's eyes widened, and Fenris lunged for him, stopping him where he stood. "I know you. You're the one who cast a smite on a Grey Warden. A Warden in his dress uniform and everything. Didn't your mother ever tell you it's not nice to start shit with the men who protect you from ancient evils?"

Still dazed, it took a moment for Ser Penis to reply. "The people need to be protected _from_ mages not _by_ mages," he said, tilting his chin up haughtily.

"Try not to kill him," Fenris told Cormac, one hand still on the mage's chest, keeping him in place. "But you have my permission to punch him, if you need it."

"There may be a line," Ser Marlein said. She spat at the lieutenant's feet. "You are a disgrace to the word 'templar', you cretin."

"Says the woman, skulking about in dark alleys and making deals with our enemies. Meredith will hear of this, and she will be displeased!"

"Oh, good. We're onto the threats," Aveline sighed.

"If you were doing your job, the people wouldn't need to be protected _from you_ , by mages," Cormac pointed out, through grit teeth, trying to wrest his peripheral vision back from the black rage that nibbled at the edges. "People like me? _Because_ people like you." He sucked in a deep breath, shoulders squaring against Fenris's hand.

"You can shout at him later," Aveline said, before Cormac could get started. "Let's get these sers into the cells at the keep."

"Lyrium," Fenris pointed out, after a moment. "Arrangements will need to be made."

"The Knight-Commander will need to arrange that with me, if she won't take the steps to ensure their release." Aveline smiled grimly. "Ser Marlein, is it? Why don't you go let the Knight-Captain know what's happened. Cullen knows where my office is, if he'd like to discuss this with me, but I think I'll be doing business with the Commander, in the end."

Fenris's eyebrows rose. "Bold," he said, sounding grimly impressed. "I doubt Meredith will be pleased."

Marlein sheathed her sword. "This attack will cement their conviction," she told Aveline. To Cormac, she added, "When the time comes, you will have our aid. I thank you for your assistance in this matter." She tipped her head in respect before disappearing with her noble companion down the street. She barely spared the lieutenant a glance.

Fenris's eyebrows rose higher. 'When the time comes'? He wouldn't say anything in front of their captives, but it sounded like Cormac had just been volunteered to lead a rebellion of some sort.

* * *

"Commander," Cullen caught Meredith's attention, as he stood in the doorway, Ella just a bit behind him, carrying a pile of paperwork in both hands.

"What is it, Captain?" Meredith sounded distracted, and the different makes of the pages tucked between her fingers bore that out. Whatever was going on, it was a large issue involving several people. Possibly, Cullen was willing to admit, the other side of the same problem.

"Lieutenant Denis's men, ser. They attacked a group of other templars -- noble-born -- in Lowtown, last night. Several are dead, including Ser Edgert. The survivors of the attack have been arrested by the city guard, as is fit, in a case like this. No mages were involved in the initial assault, so there is really no reason that I can find for this attack. Witnesses describe it as having been an ambush on Ser Marlein Selbrech and two friends, who seemed to be paying a visit to the Champion's uncle. They were cornered in front of his home, by Denis's men."

"The guard doesn't have the authority. Go get them out," Meredith commanded, finally looking up from her paperwork and pinning Cullen with an icy stare.

"With all due respect, Commander," Cullen said, squaring his shoulders, "she is the Guard-Captain, and this is her city."

Meredith set her papers down on the desk and leaned over it as she looked Cullen up and down. She didn't blink. "Captain, I would be very careful if I were you. Or have you already forgotten the last time the Guard-Captain caused trouble? Do you plan to side with her again?"

She spoke levelly, frankly, reasonably, but Cullen heard the threat loud and clear. The cold shiver down his spine matched the ice in her look. "I will talk to her," Cullen said, staring at Meredith's chin instead. "Perhaps we can reach an agreement."

"Just get those men back here," Meredith said. She stared at Cullen a moment longer before picking up her paperwork again, effectively dismissing him.


	316. Chapter 316

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somebody finally rides Isabela's stallion.

Orana looked grateful, when Fenris returned, and that alone might have been concerning, but the sound of Isabela's whooping laughter didn't really ease his mind. Or Cormac's.

"Izzy?" Cormac called out, following Fenris into the depths of the house. "I'd better not find your hands on my brother if you want them to stay attached to your wrists!"

"Spoilsport!" Isabela shouted back, obviously even more drunk than when they'd left her.

"Oh, sure, you worry about him, but not about me? Oh, all this demon-water and my delicate constitution!" Theron groaned, exaggeratedly, trying to choke back a laugh.

"Should we be concerned?" Cormac asked Fenris. "Because I think I'm concerned."

"I'm sure Kalli's kept them from anything too terrible," Fenris reassured him, opening the door to the lounge.

But Kalli was cackling just as gleefully as Izzy, a half-empty glass dangling from her fingertips, and on the table in front of the drunken lot was... Fenris rubbed his eyes and looked again.

Artemis looked up at them from the wing-backed chair, his grin wide but surprisingly sober. Ish. "Is this what it's like to be surrounded by drunken louts?" he asked. "It's rather fascinating. And amusing."

Fenris pointed. "Why is... _that_ on the table?"

"It was relevant to our discussion," Theron answered, with a sage nod. "Have you met the 'stallion' yet, Fenris?" Kalli snickered into his sleeve. "Fenris, meet the stallion." He gestured at the equine erection jutting from the table.

"You won't need to introduce Cormac," Artie said, "from what I hear." He winked at Izzy.

"Just as horrifying as the first time," Cormac muttered. "Or maybe a little less horrifying because this time I'm wearing clothes, and nobody's suggested sticking that in any part of my body."

Fenris shot a slightly surprised look at Cormac. "So, you do have limits! Someone write to the Gazette! Cormac Hawke has a limit to his depravity!" He paused, eyeing the thing again. "That still doesn't explain what it's doing on our table."

"Oh, we got to talking and your gorgeous husband decided he wanted to see the first thing his brother ever said 'no' to." Isabela grinned, a predatory gleam in her eye.

"I will never cease to be amazed at the things that can be found in a city," Theron marvelled, sliding out of his chair to crouch by the side of the table and get a closer look at the thing.

"I _told you_ it would be real," Kalli reminded him, shifting to cross her legs over the arm of her chair.

"You also told me that cities were inhabited by tiny demons that ate the pants of the unwary," Theron replied, tartly. "That Denerim, in particular, was infested with the things."

"She's not wrong," Artemis said with great seriousness. "What do you think happened to Cormac and Isabela?"

Isabela tsked into her bottle. "I'll have you know that no demon has been anywhere near my pants."

"That's only because you don't wear any," Fenris pointed out.

"Well, that's _a_ reason, sure."

"Big boats," Artie reminded her.

Izzy grinned. "Fair point." She still didn't regret that.

"But I don't blame you for looking so horrified, Ass-face," Theron said. "All of that is... well, it's a bit excessive."

Kalli made a noise of protest around her drink. "You haven't seen the Warden he's with," she said, eyes wide and haunted.

Theron leaned back in his seat to squint at his wife. "Really? Well, surely he doesn't compare to _that_!" He gestured at the horse.

"Well..." Artie dragged out the word and shrugged.

"Anders is a Warden, not a _horse_." Cormac rubbed his face. "It's not about the size, it's about the _horse_. Horses do not belong in my ass."

"Yes, Anders is said to be hung like a Qunari, not like a horse," Fenris replied, still somewhere between horrified and dismayed at all of this. Still, if Isabela and Kalli were staying, he might at least get a delightful evening out of Artemis's inevitable sad-eyed request for a few hours with Theron.

"So, it's just the shape, then?" Kalli asked, studying Cormac's face, with a wicked gleam in the corner of her eye. "Afraid you couldn't get it in, or afraid you couldn't get it back out?"

"Neither! It's a horse! It doesn't go near my ass because horse!" Cormac protested, shoving a hand through his hair, in exasperation.

"It's not a real horse! Of course you probably couldn't fit a real horse. They're like the size of halla." Theron looked contemplative, rubbing his chin as he studied the ceiling, before catching Artie out of the corner of his eye and raising his eyebrows suggestively.

"I would not try to fit a horse. Or a halla. Or a dragon. Or any other ... animal appendages." Cormac spoke slowly and clearly. "Animal appendages, real or fake, do not belong near my ass."

"Oh please," Artie said, voice shaking with laughter. "It's just a bit of stone. It's not all that different from certain other objects I pretend not to see whenever I organise your drawers."

"As long as you're not concealing them from your sight by hiding them in your ass, I don't really care what you think of the assortment of 'objects' in my drawers. None of which, by the way, are shaped like _animal appendages_." Cormac huffed and folded his arms, looking to Fenris for support.

Fenris opened his mouth, only to close it and shake his head, picking up the bottle next to Kalli and taking a drink.

Artemis gave his brother a flat look. "Tentacle."

Isabela cackled. "That was a gift from me too," she said.

Theron look back and forth between them before turning to Kalli, who nodded. "Yes, those exist too," she assured him.

"You're still making too big of a deal out of it," Artemis told his brother. "It's not exactly to my taste either, but..." He gave the stallion a speculative look and shrugged.

Izzy's eyes lit up. "It sounds to me like Slutty Hawke wants to ride the pony."

"I can assure you that is not what I said," Artie drawled. "Nor is it what I'm thinking. And I'm not Slutty."

"If you really want to see a Hawke ride the pony, maybe you should see if Anton can get his thighs around it. Tell him to lie back and think of Cullen," Cormac drawled. "Dragon noises, my ass."

"I have heard both dragons and your ass, and there is no comparison," Fenris deadpanned, eyes not leaving Artemis. At least he didn't seem to be seriously considering sitting on this... thing. Of course, after the jade wand of ass-destruction, Fenris wouldn't have been entirely surprised.

"I will never forgive Anders for bringing cabbage salad into our lives," Isabela groaned, before looking contemplatively at the stallion again. "You sure you don't want to ride the pony, Artie? Show us all you're so much more talented and open-minded than Cormac?"

"Open-arsed, more like," Kalli laughed. "He's not going to do it. Surely not in front of us all."

"Why wouldn't he, vhenan?" Theron asked, grinning like a fool. "There's more than enough demon-water to ease the way."

Artemis looked uncomfortably down at the one glass he'd limited himself to. Apparently this sort of insanity came up even when he wasn't drunk. "Well... I don't know about in front of everyone..." he hedged.

"Ten silver says he doesn't do it," Kalli whispered to Theron.

"Excuse me," Artie huffed.

"What?" Kalli shrugged one shoulder. "You already said you won't."

"Technically, no, I didn't." Artemis held up a finger. "I said I didn't say I _would_."

Kalli shrugged again. "Same thing." She turned to Izzy. "You know what? Never mind, let's make it twenty silver. There's no way he's doing it, and I could use the coin."

Artemis narrowed his eyes at her. "I see what you're doing."

"Doing what? Making easy money?"

Artie stared back at her for a long moment, his fingers drumming on the arm of his chair. He looked away before she did, holding a hand out in Theron's direction. "Maker dammit. Hand me that bottle." The bottle slapped into his palm, and Artie curled his fingers around it. As he stood, he pulled the cork free with his teeth.

"Amatus," Fenris murmured, but Artie already had the bottle to his lips.

"He's not going to do it," Cormac said to Isabela, looking a little grey in the lips. "There's no way," he said to Fenris.

"This is obscene and absurd," Fenris insisted, but didn't look away.

Cormac looked at anything but his brother. This would not do. He wouldn't do it, and it was one of those things Artie probably shouldn't do, either, but he didn't think he had any arguments that would cut through the drunken haze. His brother was stubborn, when drunk. So was he, really. "I'm standing right here," he said, weakly. "He'd never do that _in front of_ me."

"We may be about to see the stopping power of brotherhood," Fenris sighed. "Artemis-- Amatus, your brother is standing right here."

"Yes, so I see," Artemis replied. "I thought I recognised that man in the robes." He smirked at Cormac around his next drink, feeling the whiskey burn its way to his belly. The flustered way Cormac wasn't looking at him was, if anything, more incentive to continue. Another long pull, and he handed the drink back to Theron.

"You can't possibly be serious," Cormac whined. "It's a horse, Artie. Elves are one thing. Horses are something else entirely."

"Just be glad he's not into real horses," Kalli teased. "Of course I bet he'd have found some excuse to go back to the farm, if that was true, instead of taking up with some handsome elf in the city, like he so obviously did." She winked at Fenris.

Fenris snorted in amusement, watching Cormac get ever more uncomfortable, from the corner of his eye.

"I can't watch this," Cormac protested, staring into the corner of the room, as he shifted from foot to foot. "I could leave, but you're about to do something unbelievably stupid, and if Anders isn't here, I should be. At least I'm _kind of_ a healer. Less bad than nobody being here if you break yourself on that thing." He folded his arms tightly across his chest. "I can't believe you're doing this."

Artemis considered his brother for a long moment and almost took pity on him. Almost. He glanced at his husband to see if he would protest, but Fenris just looked dreadfully amused. "I survived Anders, didn't I?" Artie reminded Cormac. To Isabela, he added, "You know, I can count on one hand the number of times I've seen him this flustered."

Isabela grinned back at him, leaning forward in anticipation.

Artie tugged at his laces but hesitated. There were five other people in the room, five other pairs of eyes watching him.

...and all five of them had already seem him naked, hadn't they? No wonder Varric called him Slutty Hawke.

Isabela cheered and yelled for him to take it off. Artemis threw her a rude gesture over his shoulder and let his trousers drop to the floor.

"Oh, Artie... Artie, no," Cormac whined, intently staring into the corner of the ceiling. If this was what tonight looked like, then he wasn't going anywhere. He was not letting Isabela put even more bad ideas in his extremely drunk brother's head -- not that he didn't trust Fenris to put a stop to them, but he trusted himself to remove Isabela, if necessary. "Izzy, what is that thing even doing here? Doesn't it usually belong on your wall? Don't you use that for a coathook?"

"You can thank the country elf, for that," Isabela replied, lecherous gaze never lifting from Artie's slender thighs. "Dalish, over there, didn't believe such things were real. Thought it was us city girls trying to put one over on him, again."

"Pants demons," Theron grumbled, eyes still on Artemis.

Cormac was really the only one not looking, and he meant to continue to avoid the sight as long as he could manage it.

"You were so cute, though!" Kalli laughed, pouring herself another drink and passing the bottle to Isabela.

Isabela set down the bottle, before fishing a tiny vial out of her clothing and tossing it to Artemis. "You don't want to try that without a little slick, and it's not Anders, so it doesn't grease itself."

"Ha. I doubt you would be using it as a coathook if it did," Artemis muttered as he turned the vial over in his hand. "And for the record, I do know the Grease spell. I just... can't aim." Which usually didn't turn out _too_ badly in these circumstances, but it did tend to make the mess harder to clean up. "Since this is my house... erm. Yes. Vial's better."

"You already had to replace one carpet," Kalli said, nodding.

"This is true." Artie pulled the cork out with his teeth and poured some slick over his hand, smoothing it down the... stallion, before pouring more slick onto his fingers.. His cheeks burned from the scrutiny, but the whiskey had smoothed over his nerves' rough edges. Still, he felt like he was on display.

"Would you like some help with that?" Theron asked, still eyeing Artie's legs.

Isabela raised her hand. "I'll help!"

"No," Artemis said flatly. "But thanks." He reached behind him, pressing a finger inside.

Fenris looked a little surprised that Artemis had turned down _Theron_. That was not the way things went, usually. Then again, Isabela wasn't usually watching.


	317. Chapter 317

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stallion brings nothing but trouble...

"The work of man and woman, by hubris of their making: the sorrow a blight unbearable," Cormac muttered under his breath, intently studying the cornice-work around the top of the wall. They weren't in public. Nobody was going to end up arrested. Fenris wasn't glowing. Isabela wasn't groping Artie. ... yet ... But, he still couldn't watch this. First, it was his brother, and however much he might have enjoyed watching Artie do any number of other things, that wasn't something the three other people in the room needed to know. Second, this was just horrifying and kind of disgusting, and not something he really wanted a memory of. Still, he couldn't leave. He had to be here, if something went wrong, if only because Anders wasn't.

Beside him, Fenris's fist clenched, face growing pale for a moment, as the scene tugged at something buried in his memories. And several other things he could remember quite well, whether he wanted to or not. But, this was some strange inversion -- three elves gathered around a mage, on display. _His_ mage.

A part of Artemis couldn't believe he was doing this either, even after he had pulled his fingers free. He was usually quite a bit drunker for this sort of thing. Well. As close as he had come to this sort of thing. The stallion was new.

Kalli poured another round of drinks, her eyes never leaving Artie as he positioned himself over Izzy's toy. This would be worth losing the silver if the shem went through with this.

"You know, I think this is the first time I've gotten to watch, without Fenris's knees in the way," Theron noted with a smile. "Or, well, any of the multitude of relatively attractive parts of Fenris's body."

"Relatively?" Fenris scoffed, eyes lingering on Artemis's face, for any crack in the determination, any sign he and Cormac should put a stop to this. But, there was nothing. A little uncertainty, but no real fear. Something else chattered and clattered through the back of his mind, though, and he shoved it away, without looking.

Theron shrugged, pointing at Artemis. "This man ruined me. Elves are great, but I've got it bad for tall, dark shemlen."

Cormac cleared his throat and shot an exasperated look at Theron.

"I said 'tall, dark shemlen', not 'tall, dark dwarves doing shem impressions'." Theron laughed and licked his teeth obscenely, and Kalli burst into laughter.

Artemis looked at his brother and snickered, trying to mask the sound with a cough. It was difficult to make this look sexy when he was trying not to laugh, not that Theron seemed to mind.

"Well, someone has to balance out Varric," Isabela said. "A short, blond human doing dwarf impressions."

Still poised over the stallion, Artemis chuckled and cringed, wiping a hand over his face. "Izzy, please. I really don't want to be thinking about Varric right now. That's not really helping the _situation_."

"No?" Izzy purred. "It would certainly help me. Just think of the gorgeous slabs of elf-meat in the room, then." She eyed Theron -- and Kalli -- up and down, tossing them a wink. "Maybe even together. Ooh, wouldn't that be delightful!" She grinned at Fenris in a way that had his ears flattening against his skull.

"Please tell me you mean the two of them," Fenris replied, but Izzy just kept grinning.

"Oh, yes, I like that better," said Artie. He took a deep breath and started to sink down on the toy. A soft sound caught in his throat. Oh, somehow it felt bigger than it had looked.

Cormac covered his face, still turned away, but the sounds went straight to his knob -- the way Artie's breathing changed, the tiny sounds Cormac didn't figure he knew he'd made. His face darkened, not that he expected anyone was looking at _him_ , as those sounds became something else, in his head. He remembered how Artie used to sound, sinking down onto Anders, and these were almost those sounds. And that was something he didn't need to be thinking right now. He struggled to control his own breathing, not to show how desperately much he wanted any of this. At the heart of it, this was not, in fact, Artie riding Anders, and more than that, they were in a room full of people who didn't ever need to know what went on behind closed doors.

When Fenris heard that catch of breath from next to him, he knew. And while his own thoughts weren't quite the same, they were similar -- that jade wand Artemis so loved topping the list. But, unlike Cormac, he was allowed to be interested. Allowed to let his eyes rake lecherously down his husband's body. Allowed to clear his throat and cock his hip to draw attention to the cut of his tight, leather trousers. A tiny smile touched the corners of his mouth, as he watched, knowing that was definitely not the face Artemis would be making if anything were wrong.

Out of the corner of his eye, Artemis tried to catch a glimpse of his brother's face. Artie wondered what expression Cormac was trying to hide behind his hand and hoped that it wasn't all mortification. Next to him, Fenris, at least, was enjoying the show, and Artie bit his lip around a smile in his direction, a smile that opened into a gasp the next moment as he drew more of the toy inside of him.

It had been a while since he'd been stretched like this, and Artemis thought of Anders, thought of Cormac and Fenris taking him at once. His knuckles tightened on the edge of the table, a fine tremor running down his legs as he took as much of the toy into him as he dared.

Applause from the couch reminded him that he had more of an audience than Fenris and Cormac.

Theron was the kind of drunk where he'd stopped caring hours ago what came out of his mouth, although at the moment that seemed to be limited to his tongue. A moment of blessed silence, before he spoke again. "Looks good, Earthquake Boy. If you're going to keep riding, though, maybe you want a little help staying up. You're looking a little shaky. Maybe you just need a firm grip to hold you up..."

"Theron! Knock it off! That's my brother!" Cormac complained, his other hand coming up to join the first on his face.

"You've been listening to me fuck your brother since we were teenagers," Theron laughed, dragging a blunt fingernail down the seam along his inner thigh.

"I've been trying not to listen to it, you mean," Cormac groused, shifting uncomfortably, wondering if his robes were loose enough for the predicament he was about to be in.

"That must have been such a hardship for you," Fenris said with a straight face.

"Ignore Cormac," Artemis said, voice a bit breathier now. "I wouldn't mind a handsome slab of elf-meat giving me a hand. Or two."

"Two hands or two elf-meat slabs?" Theron asked with a mischievous smirk. "That would make it four hands."

"Your counting's improving," Kalli told him, patting her husband on the shoulder.

Artie shifted his hips, and a groan caught in his throat. "Yes? Either? Both? Whatever the elf-meat slabs want."

Technically, this counted as winning the bet. He'd taken the stallion. But he rather liked the way Fenris and Theron watched him, like they ached to touch him.

Theron moved first, climbing onto the table behind Artemis, hands almost reverently caressing the pretty shemlen. He leaned around Artie's shoulder, and caught Fenris's eye. "Look at him, Fenris. You got so lucky. It's like he was created just for this, like he was _made_ to fuck."

Fenris had been closing the distance, as Theron spoke. He did have a beautiful husband. There was no question of his fortune. And then everything pulled sharply sideways, and the last of Theron's words were lost to him. He was dizzy and furious, and there was blood on his knuckles.

"Fenris!?" That sound wasn't on the list of things Cormac had expected to hear, tonight, unless it in some way involved Isabela. He was extremely familiar with that dull thump and the crack of bone, although usually from the inside. Whatever that had been, it was a single strike and nothing more. Fenris had stopped moving. "What--?"

"Shit on toast, Theron," Kalli sighed, "watch your mouth. He's _Tevinter_."

Fenris continued to stare at his hands, caught between outrage and apology. Surely Theron hadn't meant... But, he'd said... There were visions in his head of magisters reaching for his face, with almost those words on their lips.

Artemis froze, staring back and forth between the elves and trying to process what had just happened. Theron was bleeding, but Fenris... he had that sick look in his eyes again. He'd worry about why and what later. Artie pulled the toy out with a wince and stepped in front of his husband. "Fen," he said softly, carefully taking Fenris's hands in his.

Fenris blinked down at their joined hands, then up at Artemis, his mage, wondering when he'd gotten there. "I don't..." he started to say, only to realise he didn't know how to finish that sentence. _I don't know what just happened. I don't remember. I don't know why I suddenly feel sick._

"Look at me," Artemis said, and it felt odd to be the one to say that this time.

Theron blinked, hands clutched to his bloody face, eyes blurry with tears. "Is anyone who isn't me hurt?" he asked after a moment.

"You're the only one who got hit," Isabela reassured him, daggers vanishing back into her clothing, as suddenly as they'd appeared.

"C'mere, Theron," Cormac held out a hand. "Lean a little to this side of my brother, and I'll make it stop bleeding. That said, I should probably only be trusted to set my own nose, so I'm going to go get Anders." A weak ghost of light washed over Theron's face, as Cormac concentrated. "Artie? Izzy? You going to be able to keep a handle on things, until I get back?"

"I'm not going to let your brother get stabbed," Isabela sighed. "What kind of woman do you take me for? If there's any stabbing, it's going to be meat-swords and asses."

Fenris shook his head, eyes still on the floor. "Not yet, Amatus. Soon. Not yet." He didn't want to see something that wasn't Artemis, when he looked up. However sure he was that Artemis was right there, standing in front of him, holding his hands... That hadn't been Theron, either, and he didn't want to make any more mistakes. He didn't want to ruin his memory of this one good face, by looking up and seeing something else.

"Okay," Artemis murmured, thumbs stroking the back of Fenris's hands. "Take your time." He wanted to pull his elf into his arms, but he didn't dare, not yet. He thought of the first time he'd seen that look in Fenris's eyes, back when they'd first met, back when Fenris had learned the hard way that he was a mage. That had ended with a hand around Artie's throat, and not in the way he generally liked.

Artemis kissed the hands in his and, deciding this had become a pants-wearing occasion, let go just long enough to pick up and pull on his trousers.

"Idiot," Kalli sighed at Theron, pulling his hand away from his nose to assess the damage.

"How do I look?" he asked. "Does a broken nose make me look more roguishly handsome?"

Kalli tilted his head into the light. "Sure. A roguishly handsome idiot." She patted his cheek and disappeared to ask Orana for a towel.

"Izzy, keep an eye on elfy and elfier for me, would you? I'll be right back. Don't let anyone stab my brother or anyone else with anything more dangerous than a meat-sword." Cormac paused and tapped his heel so Artemis would look up, before he blew a kiss to his brother. "Hey, I'll fix it, all right? Just like always."


	318. Chapter 318

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meredith attempts to 'reason' with Seneschal Bran, regarding the templars being held in the Keep.

Aveline leaned in the doorway of the antechamber, the full suit of dress armour weighing down her limbs differently to the armour she usually wore, as she watched Bran organise books and papers into piles on the viscount's boat-sized desk. He didn't want this job, she knew, but he was good at it. He could bring down the word of law in minutes, and usually off the top of his head. All in all, not a man she minded working with. "You're looking good, today, Seneschal. Did you dress up special for the Knight-Commander, or have you got something else going on, tonight?"

"Does your husband know you're eyeing men old enough to be his father?" Bran joked, tossing a last stack of papers onto a particular pile of books, before changing his mind and moving them to another stack.

"You are not!" Aveline exclaimed. "I know you have a son, but ..."

"You've never met him, have you? I sent him to study in Starkhaven, when the Qunari came, and he rarely makes it home, these days. He's very caught up in the politics, there. He's just a little older than the Champion, actually." Bran smiled and shoved out a chair by the corner of his side of the desk. "Come sit, so we can go over this one more time, before they come to set the dogs on us. I'm nearly the Commander's age, and whatever she remembers about the way this city once was, so do I. Guylian... That was very sad, but he shouldn't have gotten involved. Did no one any good, and it won't do Meredith any good now."

"Guylian... I heard about that," Aveline said as she sank into the chair. "Never occurred to me that you lived through it."

Bran gave her a wry look over his -- no, not his -- the _viscount's_ desk. "Kirkwall has always been a turbulent place, but she is still standing. And, for some reason, I am still here. Now. These templars in your cell..."

"Attacked non-mage citizens of Kirkwall," said Aveline, folding her arms across her chest and sitting back in her chair, the image of defiance.

"While investigating mages, so they say."

Aveline huffed. "It's their job to deal with mages," she said. "It's my guardsmen's job to police the city. The Order wouldn't want us dealing with mages on their behalf, so they shouldn't police the city on ours." Which felt a bit hypocritical if she let herself think about it, considering her association with a few mages.

"And these mages led them to Lowtown, somehow, which none of them see fit to explain, where no mages were captured and no observers report having witnessed magic." Bran rocked his chair back and rested his knee on the edge of the desk.

"And where they did not attempt to capture any mages, but assaulted three other members of the templar order, all of noble birth, endangering the surrounding populace to the point that the Champion's family had to step in to help subdue them," Aveline ranted, gauntlet creaking and clanking as she banged her fist down on the corner of the desk.

"Hm. The fact remains that the targets of the attack are other templars, regardless of who their families are. But, they are lying about that. And unless they suspect that mages have infiltrated the Order, that's going to be a hard case to make. This should be a matter for the templars to handle internally, except for the part where it wasn't only these other templars who were attacked." Bran shuffled paper, until he found the reports he wanted. "Several of those present report that templar archers fired upon the Messeres Hawke, before the Hawkes engaged with them. Which would make this an assault on an uninvolved citizen of Kirkwall. Two of them, in fact."

A long pause hung between them, until Bran said, "Do you think she'll accept a month of road repairs? We do need more work done on some of the mountain trade roads, and we wouldn't have to pay them but food. Might also teach them to keep their weapons sheathed around our citizens."

"A month? Seems awfully lenient." Aveline narrowed her eyes at Bran, but the seneschal was unaffected.

"It's a compromise," Bran replied. "Meredith wants them released last week. I am rather limited in my options. You say Knight-Captain Cullen has supplied their lyrium rations?"

Aveline's scowl deepened. "Yes. Meredith can't accuse me of any foul treatment." Though she was sure Meredith would try.

Bran nodded distractedly, thumbing through a few more files. He wondered if he could fit all of this in his office, just so he wouldn't have to go back and forth. "Good. One less thing for her to latch onto."

He heard Meredith before she made it to the door, the heavy clack of her plated boots echoing down the hall. Just the sound filled Bran with dread.

"Ah, Seneschal. Perhaps you will see sense. You will release my men at once, and I expect to see your incompetent captain removed from service." Meredith spoke as she entered the room, crossing without so much as a glance at Aveline, to rest her gauntleted fists on the desk, as she leaned over it. "As I tried to warn you before, she is a corrupt simpleton, bent on destroying what little order can be kept in this city."

"And that order is not yours to keep, Knight-Commander." Annoyance flicked across Bran's face, as he looked up.

"The defence of this city against magical threats of all sorts is in the hands of the Templar Order," Meredith snapped. "And abusing the law to stop my men doing their jobs is not your job or hers."

"Your men attacked three other of your men, all of noble birth, via ambush, in a residential part of Lowtown. The ambush was then extended to include two members of the Champion's family and the Captain of the Guard. By now, you must be aware the Champion's uncle, one Gamlen Amell, lives in that building, and that your men assaulted, without provocation, five noblemen and the Guard Captain, who were on their way to see the man, for varying reasons." Bran's stare remained unflinching. "Unless you mean to tell me that you are sufficiently incompetent to have drafted three mages into the Order, I do not see magic as even relevant to this conversation." He paused, and cut her off, as soon as she opened her mouth. "And with no viscount, the law of Kirkwall is in _my_ hands, and I entrust its execution to Captain Aveline Hendyr, who has done exactly as I would expect and far more mercifully than you have any right to, after your men endangered tens of citizens of this city in an unprovoked assault on other templars and unaffiliated nobles."

Bran watched her face darken to an unflattering shade of red, the muscles in her jaw straining against the roar of rage she undoubtedly wanted to unleash. Still sitting back in her chair, Aveline watched with a smug smile.

Before Meredith could sputter out another argument, Bran went on. "Now, I have the utmost respect for the Order, but attacking a citizen is a grave crime," he said, folding his hands over the desk. "I am, however, willing to be lenient this once. A month of road work for the templars in question is more than reasonable, don't you think?" He smiled politely at Meredith, unaffected by her steely glare, at least as far as Aveline could see. "The road leading up to the keep could use some work. It is looking shamefully ragged. What do you think, Guard Captain?"

"Oh, I agree," Aveline said.

"Road work," Meredith said, dangerously calm. "You want my templars to do road work, while there are blood mages rampant in the city? After the qunari, I would think you'd want to be more careful of enemies within our walls."

"Do you not have other templars?" Bran said, brows knitting in mock concern. "I did not realise the Order was so small in number."

"There are never enough! My men are being slaughtered in the streets by abominations, apostates, and demons! And now you seek to deprive the people of Kirkwall of even more protection, for the sake of what? Appeasing the Champion? He is one man! He did nothing we could not have done!" Meredith roared, leaning further over the desk.

"Nothing we could not have done? Well, he did it before you even arrived. He may not have been in time to save Viscount Dumar, but he was plenty soon enough to save the rest of us, which is more than I can say for anyone else, that day." Bran paused, studying Meredith's face. "Do not forget that I was there, when you were not." He picked up a stack of paper from atop a pile of books. "But, this is not about the Champion. This is about the laws of the city of Kirkwall, which I expect you and your men to obey, within the city. This is complete documentation of how the law applies in this instance, with full references. You will notice that I have been merciful in my decision. Your men will be repairing the trade roads, for the next month. What happens to them after that is your concern."

It was plainly a dismissal, but Meredith held her ground as she snatched the pages out of Bran's hand. She still refused to acknowledge Aveline's presence.

"Is there anything else I can help you with, Knight-Commander?" Bran said, coolly polite.

"This is outrageous," Meredith said, grip tight on the papers in her hands. "You are not the viscount of this city, and you do not have the authority to so command my--"

"You are welcome to ask for the viscount's judgement on this matter," Bran said, "but I doubt his severed head will be forthcoming." There was steel in Bran's stare too and in his words. "I have no desire to be viscount, Commander, and I pray that Kirkwall has another one soon, but in the interim, I am afraid that you are stuck with me and my decisions. So I ask again: is there anything else?"

Seeing the look on Meredith's face, Aveline wondered if she was about to witness a murder.

"That will be all, Serah Cavin," Meredith's spine straightened, and her chin tipped up. "The Divine will be hearing about Kirkwall's failure to respect our Order."

"I look forward to hearing from Her Holiness." Bran leaned back in the chair, elbows resting on its arms, and folded his hands in front of his chest. He hoped Aveline would be fast enough, if he'd misjudged Meredith, but without another word, the Knight-Commander swept out of his office, looking anything but defeated.


	319. PART LVII: SHADES OF RED

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trouble in paradise! Bandits in the dildo shop!

Varric was in the middle of his third pint, cheeks sore from laughter as he read aloud the newest Page Six story to the crowd -- Carver would kill him for this, but it would be worth it -- when the door to the Hanged Man slammed open. He and his audience looked up... and then down, spotting a wild-eyed Gytha in the doorway. She pointed at Varric with a -- was that a _dildo_?

"You," she said. "A word."

Varric held up his hands in surrender, wondering what he'd done this time to deserve a stone phallus in his face. "Sure, sure," he said. "Izzy, wanna take over? The end of this story's the best part."

With a grin, Isabela took the broadsheet from Varric and climbed onto the table, clearing her throat and squaring her shoulders as though preparing for a great speech. Varric led Gytha and her weapon of choice back to his suite.

"So, I'm assuming you're not here to insert that into any of my orifices. I mean, you're a beautiful woman and all, but that's not really my thing." Varric looked even more nervous as he noticed what looked like half-dried blood on the end of the dildo.

"What?" Gytha finally noticed what she was holding. "Oh. No. First thing I grabbed, when they came busting into the shop. They're after your... whatever that is."

"Who is?" Varric's eyes cleared, darting up from the dildo to meet Gytha's.

"I don't know. Can't say I stopped to ask, once they started swinging. They wrecked my stock! I'm just glad they didn't ruin any of the equipment. I've got one of the guard watching the place, now, but you need to do something about this! I can't have thugs busting up my business, because they want your weird lyrium!" Gytha grabbed the corner of the tablecloth and wiped the blood off the dildo, before tucking it into her belt.

Varric wiped a hand over his face. Shit. Someone was after that blighted shard? Had Bartrand told someone about it? Someone else, anyway?

Still didn't explain how they'd know to search Gytha's. "I'm sorry, Gytha. I'll make sure the mess is paid for, both in a metaphorical sense and in a very real, monetary sense. Is the shard safe to move?"

Gytha nodded, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Tucked away in a lyrium crate, as though it weren't some weird, mutant lyrium. You should be able to get it out without touching it."

Varric picked up Bianca from where he'd set her against the wall. "Then let's go get it. Unless you want a drink first?"

Gytha's eyes were still a little too wide, but she shook her head. "Drink later. You're buying."

"I need to get some friends, if we're going to do this right. I don't want to go barging in half-cocked if this is a full-cocked occasion. A shop full of cocks occasion." Varric made his way down the stairs, only to spot Fenris standing by the bar. "Hey, Broody, you run out of wine again?"

"Whiskey, actually. Artemis and I served the last of it, just the other night. To our guests. It has not all gone down my husband, whatever you might think." Fenris looked less than entirely amused with everything, but it wasn't like he ever looked _happy_.

"So, have the whiskey sent on. I need your help with something." Varric clapped the elf casually on the back, and Fenris glared down at him.

"Why do I think I'm going to regret this?"

"Because you could find a reason to regret a blowjob." Varric shrugged. "Come on, I just need somebody to stab a few people for me. You know Gytha. I brought her to your wedding. A lovely girl with a fine shop, and there are some unpleasant personages trying to steal something -- which belongs to me, by the way -- from her shop. She had to fight them off with nothing but a dildo."

"And you would like me to stab these unpleasant personages with something more substantial than a dildo, if they return." Fenris continued to look unimpressed, blinking at Varric a few times, slowly. "This sounds like a problem for the city guard."

"It's Lowtown. Do you know how thin the guard are in Lowtown, right now? Of course you do. They're all afraid of retaliation from the templars." Varric sighed and slapped a pouch onto the bar. "Look. I'll even pay for the whiskey. I'll pay for it even knowing how your husband drinks."

Fenris considered telling Varric that his husband didn't drink quite so much these days, but not telling him meant more whiskey for him. "Do I want to know what you have at Gytha's shop that you're willing to pay me in whiskey?" He looked askance at Varric even as he took the bottle Corff set in front of him.

Varric looked around and leaned in conspiratorially. "You remember my brother and the shard we found in his house?"

Fenris's eyebrows crept up, the wary look quickly turning to one of horror. "You...? At her...?" He pointed at Gytha.

And then Varric realised where Fenris's mind had gone. He waved his hands frantically. "Whoa! No, not for that! Just for storage! Gytha's good with handling lyrium, so I asked for her help."

Fenris's ears twitched. Gytha and lyrium. Yes, he was familiar with that. "That is a relief. But after those images... still worth a second bottle." He gestured at Corff, who nodded, turning to get another bottle of whiskey.

Varric groaned and slapped a few more coins onto the counter. "You're a pricey date, elf."

Fenris saluted him with one bottle and snatched up the other. "Sorry, Varric. I'm married."

Spotting a familiar glint of metal, at the far corner of the bar, just a little off where he'd left her, really, Varric pounded twice on the bar and whistled. "Come on, Rivaini! You can play with all the pretty things, later. We've got a dildo shop to save!"

" _Save_?" That got Isabela's attention. "Pardon me, boys, I have to go rescue some fine dwarven shafts." One step in the centre of the table carried her over it, and after a bit of hip-swinging to clear the path, she fell in beside Varric. "Ooh! And some very talented elven swordsmanship, too!"

Fenris just rubbed his face and sighed.

"It's never going to happen, Izzy. Give the elf a break." Varric laughed, heading for the door, and leaving the rest of them to follow. "Just one more stop. Not really on the way, but I feel like we might want the healer along, in case of any ... dildo-related misfortune."

"What's going on?" Isabela whispered to Gytha, as she followed Varric out, one hand darting out for a quick pinch to Fenris's decidedly pillowy ass.

"Someone broke into my shop," Gytha told her. "I beat them off with this." She pulled out the dildo in her belt, getting her odd looks from passers-by.

"Ooh, the Pillar of Passion!" Isabela cooed. "Good choice."

Fenris looked at the sky and shook his head. One drink. All he'd wanted was one drink.

As they descended in Darktown, Gytha sketched in the details of what happened, occasionally gesticulating with her 'weapon'. Varric also had to assure Izzy that, no, he hadn't left the shard with Gytha for _that_.

Between patients, Anders spotted the three in his clinic doorway. He looked them up and down, checking for blood, bruises, tears in their clothes. Gytha had a bruise starting along her jaw, but otherwise everyone seemed in one piece. He reached for a healing spell as he asked, "What did you break this time? Or, conversely, what do you plan to break?"

"For once, we were not the ones doing the breaking," Varric answered. "Ask her." He pointed at Gytha, who jumped at the tingle of healing magic against her jaw.

Anders squinted at the dildo, as Gytha explained the situation. "Is that my--?"

"It was the _first thing I grabbed_!" Gytha groaned. "Although it really is pretty weighty. Get some nice whomp out of this one, and it's not quite big enough to get unwieldy. It's a nice size."

Anders turned bright red and coughed, turning to toss a few potions into his bag, before he picked it up. "Is anything serious? Is there anything I need to take care of, before the morning?" he called out, still facing the cupboard. No one responded. "Is there anything very small? Everyone with something that isn't a sickness stand together."

Blue lines danced across Anders's skin, as he turned around to face... nearly all the patients he had left. An assortment of cuts and bruises, minor breaks. Nothing he'd feel bad about mass healing. Blue light rose up from beneath the group, spilling out between them, and after a moment, it faded out, and their injuries with it. "I have to go take care of something. If anything urgent comes through, go get Cormac and send a runner to Gytha's stoneworks for me."

His assistant nodded solemnly, and Anders followed the group back up into Lowtown. He didn't need to ask about the pair of bottles Fenris carried, not after hearing the story.

From the outside, Gytha's shop looked the same, a discreet store-front with a sign that read 'Gytha's Stoneworks' in intricate, interweaving letters. But just inside, the store was a mess. Display shelves had been knocked off the walls, dildoes of every shape, size, and make scattered across the floor. Fenris looked down at his bare feet, then at the sea of dildoes, and sighed. He wondered if it would be gauche to open a bottle of whiskey.

Gytha threw up her hands. "You see?"

"This is a travesty," Isabela said with great sadness in her eyes.

"Like I said," Varric told Gytha, "I'll make sure this is taken care of. Promise. And now you have two witnesses to make sure it happens."

"Thanks, Varric," Gytha said, but her shoulders still sagged. "The shard's over here."

"If it's safe where it is, leave it there, for now," Anders suggested, trying to fill the upper shelves from memory. He was the tallest one there, after all, and he spent enough time in this place.

"Horse before dragon," Gytha called out from behind him. "Can the rest of you just help me sort these into piles?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Page Six referenced in this chapter is [A Hopeful Development in Mage-Templar Relations](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/kirkwall_gazette_page_six/works/5157725) by [RedEris](http://archiveofourown.org/users/RedEris/pseuds/RedEris). The Gazette is still accepting [Page Six](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/kirkwall_gazette_page_six/profile) submissions, if you'd like to add to the madness.


	320. Chapter 320

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dicks, dicks, and more dicks. It's a dildo shop, innit? Now with dickish dicks with extra dickery.

By nightfall, the shop looked much more like itself, and Varric had sent a runner to fetch them food from the market. They all perched on counters and cabinets, as Gytha attempted to replace some of her broken stock.

Over the lathe, Varric called out, "Good thing Cormac's not here."

"Cormac is not allowed to eat my cabbage salad. Not if he doesn't want to sleep alone, although, knowing Cormac, I wouldn't be surprised if he did that on purpose, sometimes." Anders laughed, licking spicy oils from his knife, between bites.

Fenris looked like he might have something tart to say, but the sound of the door swinging open interrupted them. Humans, all of them, at a glance. And not just a few. The front of the shop filled with thugs.

"Hey, lady, give us the blood stone. The boss wants it, he says you got it, and we're gonna take it either way. You give it to us, and nobody has to get hurt," one of the thugs proposed. "Of course, we might be doing Kirkwall a favour, in here. A store full of dicks? Who goes to the shop to buy dicks?"

"I do!" Anders and Isabela said, at the same time, offence clear in their voices and faces.

"Oh good," Varric said with a tight smile, lazily pulling Bianca over his shoulder, "this store was looking short a few dicks, and here you are! Do me a favour and line up for me."

"What is this?" one thug asked another, pulling a pair of daggers from his belt. "Did you hire bodyguards for the dicks? _Dickguards_?"

"They're paying me in whiskey," Fenris felt the need to clarify. "Now get out of here before Isabela stabs someone. And not necessarily with her daggers."

The thugs looked around, but the only woman they saw was Gytha. "Isabela?"

"Hello, sailor!" Isabela appeared as if from nowhere, stabbing two daggers into two backs.

The store became a chaos of blades, bolts, and fists. Gytha stood to the back, dildo at the ready and watching for an opening.

As one of the thugs turned to block Isabela's blades, Gytha darted out behind him, slamming him in the back of the head with the dildo she'd been wielding all morning. The thug crumpled, and she kicked him under a table. "We need answers," she reminded Varric's friends. "If we don't know why they're here, they're just going to keep coming. Like ants!" She clubbed another thug who'd come up behind Varric. "Do you know how hard it is to get rid of ants? Even if you take out everything they want, they just don't leave!"

"Ants? I would think this is somewhat more serious than ants," Fenris noted, plunging a fist into a thug's chest and squeezing his heart until it burst. He paused, with a wince. "Sorry. Questioning. Right."

In a matter of minutes, the thugs were no longer standing, most dead, some bludgeoned into unconsciousness, and the damage was much less than it had been, in the morning, even if Fenris's sword had taken out a freestanding rack. They piled the corpses out front, and Varric went to summon the guard, again, while Fenris and Isabela helped Gytha bind the others.

Gytha stopped to examine the remains of the broken rack. "Well, I never liked that one, anyway," she sighed.

"Well, now you have an excuse to redecorate," Izzy told her, with a friendly nudge of her elbow. "What do you think about an interactive display?"

"I'm not hearing this," Fenris grumbled, grabbing one of his bottles and stepping outside.

By the time Varric had returned, Aveline and a couple of her guards in tow, the ladies and Anders had cleaned up the worst of the mess and Fenris was slurring his words.

"Well, this is lovely," Aveline drawled, eyeing Fenris, the bottle, and the pile of bodies outside.

"Only a few of these are my fault," Fenris assured her. He paused, tilted his head. "No. _Their_ fault. They're the ones who attacked."

Aveline rubbed her forehead and sighed. "Yes, Varric told me what happened in a way that wasn't the least bit embellished, I'm sure." She gave Varric a droll look and motioned for her guards to take care of the bodies.

"Twice in one day, Aveline," Anders pointed out. "An assault on a _dildo shop_. It's ridiculous."

"The dwarf and the whore are here. Of course it's ridiculous. I don't know why I would expect anything else." Aveline sighed. "So, why are they here? Did they just think this place would be easy to rob? Did they need more excitement in their lives?"

"That is still the question," Varric said, leaning against one of the counters. "Here, slap that guy a couple times. Looks like he's waking up."

Isabela leaned over the table and bounced the thug's cheeks off her palms a few times. "Rise and shine, sailor! It's time for you to answer some questions!"

"I know what you're after, but I don't know why," Varric said, hiking himself up to sit on the edge of the table and watch the thug's face. "Two black eyes, Gytha? You have to make my life difficult, don't you..."

"Why?" The thug looked completely confused.

"Who's paying you? Why do you want it?" Varric clarified, patience already thinning.

"Boss told us it'd be an easy hit. Get the boxes and get out. And don't open them, because one of them's got something scary in it. I don't know. Some magic shit. Boss says he'll be king of Kirkwall, if he gets the box." The thug shrugged as best he could, bound like he was.

Aveline quirked an eyebrow at Varric over the thug's head.

"'King of Kirkwall'?" Anders repeated cheerfully. "Well, that sounds like a perfectly sane person!"

"It sounds like Kirkwall," Fenris muttered. He moved to stand next to Varric, lighting his brands as he glared down at the thug. The thug's eyes popped wide. "And do you know what was in those boxes?" he asked, flexing his glowing fingers.

"H-He never told us," the thug told him. "Honest. For all I know, the magic shit he was talking about is another dick in a box." Fenris cracked his knuckles, and the thug stared at them as he started to ramble. "W-Which might explain why he didn't want us to open them. I don't know. Though it's... Well, it has to be more than that if you're all here to defend it." He cut himself off abruptly, looking terribly worried. "I didn't sign up for this. I got two kids, you know? Well... one kid and a layabout brother who acts like a child. And my wife, she's --"

"We get the picture," Varric said, holding up his hand. "Who is this boss of yours?"

"Jake the Bleeder." The thug paused, realising he'd answered the question, panic spreading across his face. "But, don't tell him I told you. Don't tell him nothing! The last guy wronged him, his blood crawled right out of his eyes, boiling. I don't want no part of that."

"Oh, that's great. Blood magic. That's just what I need in my day." Anders threw his hands up and huffed.

"Look, you and your little friends get to go with Captain Aveline, for a little while," Varric told the thug. "We'll see what we can do about making sure your blood doesn't explode out of your eyes, but don't make us regret it, you get me?"

"Demons," Fenris muttered. "Blood magic. Is it Marketday again?"

"I think it _is_!" Isabela wrapped herself around Fenris, looking over his shoulder. "Marketdays in Kirkwall. Always exciting. ... Like last Marketday..."

"We are not discussing last Marketday," Fenris growled.

"Yeah, can we not?" Anders asked, plaintively. Four drunks, a broken nose, and Fenris... Yet another thing he could've done without.

"Marketdays in general or just the one?" Isabela asked, batting her eyelashes.

"Both," Fenris and Anders answered in unison.

"Hey. Varric." Gytha gestured him over, setting the newly re-bloodied dildo down on a shelf. "I appreciate you helping me out, and you know I'm always willing to lend you a hand, but..."

"But you want me to move the shard." Varric nodded. "Don't sweat it, Gytha. Thanks for keeping an eye on it for me. I'm sure I can find someplace else." He hoped. The blighted thing seemed to attract disaster. A part of him wondered if he should just throw the thing back into the Deep Roads, seal it off, and pretend like he'd never found the thing.

"Thanks, Varric." Gytha offered him an apologetic, if relieved, smile, before heading into the back to fetch the package.

After a moment, Anders flinched, eyes shooting to where Gytha had opened one of the boxes. "Andraste's flaming knickerweasels, what _is_ \--" He paused. "That's it, isn't it. That's the box."

"How did you--?" Gytha came forward, carrying the box and its lid.

"He's a Warden. It's probably some weird Wardeny shit." Varric shrugged. "Hearing darkspawn, detecting lyrium... I dunno. It's going in the next book."

"I can hear it. I mean, I can hear lyrium anyway, or... you know how that works," Anders said, without mentioning Justice. That was something Gytha still didn't know, and as much as he liked her, he meant to keep things that way. "But, this is different. Like the song's in the wrong key. Put the lid on that, it's making me dizzy." And where had he heard that before. Where had he felt-- in that room, of course, but... Meredith's office had sounded like this. He'd thought it was just his nerves. He'd thought Justice was just pissed off about Meredith, which they both _were_ , but this _sound_.

Gytha locked the lid into place, and suddenly it stopped, the tension running out of Anders almost immediately.

"I think I know who your brother sold it to," he said, after a moment.


	321. Chapter 321

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It must be Marketday, because we've got blood mages in Hightown.

Some more questioning, and Aveline wrung the location of 'the Bleeder's' lair from their new friend. An abandoned home in Hightown, one Aveline walked by nearly every day, and she could kick herself for not noticing any suspicious activity around it. Then again, this was Kirkwall. Everyone and their neighbour had skeletons in their closets.

Varric decided that the best way to face a blood mage was with another blood mage. Preferably a blood mage on their side, and Varric only knew one of those. Fenris was well into his first bottle by the time Varric was knocking at Merrill's door. Isabela helped keep him on his feet -- whether he needed the help or not -- with an arm around his waist. Well. Except that was a bit lower than his waist.

"Hello? Hello!" Merrill poked her head out the door, face brightening at the sight of the group. "What brings all of you here? Oh, I didn't miss Wicked Grace night, did I? What day is it? Is it Marketday?"

"That it is, Daisy, and we've got a typical Marketday problem we could really use some help with." Varric smiled a little wider than the situation warranted. "I've got this friend, and some really unpleasant people just broke into her shop and messed the place up, and after a little ... strategic inquiry, we found out they were sent by a real baddie. So, we're going to go pop his head off and leave it on the mantel. Only one problem. He's a really powerful blood mage, and I'd rather not have to clean up after any exploding eyeballs, on our side. And I thought to myself, who better to stop this guy than our very own Daisy and her very special Dalish knife-magic."

"It's not knife magic, Varric, it's -- OH! Yes, of course. Knife-magic." Merrill nodded, looking back into the house. "Carver? Varric wants to borrow my knife-magic for a couple of hours. You should come too. It sounds like the kind of thing you'd be very good at."

"At least Varric knocks!" Carver called out from the bedroom. "If I'm putting pants on, do I need to put on fancier pants? Metal pants? What kind of 'something I'd be very good at' is this?"

"Metal pants!" Anders suggested. "It's very much a metal pants occasion!"

"We could use your swording!" Isabela called over Merrill's shoulder. "The kind of swording with metal pants. And then later the kind of swording with no pants." She winked at Merrill, who giggled.

Fenris shook his head. "I have no desire to see Carver's pantsless swording, thank you," he slurred. "Though now I know what my nightmares tonight are going to be."

"Or you could stay up all night and skip the nightmares," Izzy suggested, squeezing Fenris's ass.

"He has a husband for that, Izzy," Varric reminded her.

Eventually, Carver shuffled out of the door in full plate, eyeing the group balefully. "Blood mage," he sighed. "He's not in the sewers, is he? I swear every time one of you asks for my help, I end up in the sewers."

"The only thing in the sewers tonight is Izzy's mind," Varric said, pointing his thumb at her over his shoulder. "This is a classier blood mage, it turns out. Come on."

* * *

Arriving at the house, Varric took a moment to study it. The front windows were lit, but Carver couldn't get a clear view into anything but the entrance hall.

"Looks kind of like your place," Carver said to Fenris. "Two doors to get in. No guards in the entry. But, there's three more doors into that hall, so we're sitting ducks, if anything realises we've come in."

"Sneaky way in, or do you want to go straight down the middle?" Varric asked, rubbing his chin.

"If it's like Fenris's place, the main hall's going to be huge. Two staircases, a balcony... The whole house lets out into that room." Isabela leaned Fenris against a wall, and he slid down it, crossing his arms atop his knees. "And I think we're leaving Broody out here."

"I do not _brood_ ," Fenris insisted, still a little tippier than he'd meant to get.

"Do we need to take him home, so he doesn't get hurt?" Varric asked. "It seems like the kind of thing we should do before walking in there."

Anders sighed and pressed a bottle into Fenris's hand. "Drink that, wait a minute, go take a piss. We'll be here."

"Am I gonna end up buying him another bottle?" Varric peered around Anders's hip. "I'm gonna end up buying him another bottle. Drunks. So expensive."

Anders rested his elbow on the top of Varric's head, as the elf considered the potion. "Not as expensive as Wardens. Trust me. I've known some of those."

"And here I thought you'd be a cheap date, Blondie," Varric said as Fenris downed the potion. Izzy steadied him when he leaned too far back.

"Not cheap," Isabela rebutted. "Perhaps a bit overpriced, even. Still worth it though."

" _Overpriced_?" Anders protested, straightening to turn a look of betrayal her way.

"What? I said it was worth it!"

"This is why I drink," Fenris whispered to the empty vial in his hand. He tilted his head then, an ear canting out and a funny look crossing his face. "Right. There's another step after drinking this. I am urgently reminded."

Fenris padded around the corner, out of sight, and soon they heard the splash of liquid on stone.

Carver shook his head. "This is what being married to my brother does to people."

"People?" Merrill asked, head at an angle. "How many people is Artie married to?"

"Just the one," Carver answered before worry furrowed his brow. "As far as I know, anyway. Depends on how drunk he's been getting, I suppose."

"Not that drunk," Fenris assured him. He reappeared, looking more clear-eyed and somehow even less amused.

"So, how do we go in?" Varric asked again.

"Straight down the middle," Fenris offered, grimly. "Carver and I go in first. Why did no one bring Cormac on this expedition? I'm certain shields would not go amiss."

"Sorry, Broody, but Cormac's got his own... whatever he's doing. Not Anders, obviously." Varric shrugged. "So, we're leaving an open door behind us, in a room that empties to the rest of the house?"

"Not for long, it won't. Not if I have anything to say about it. It'll take a locksmith or a battering ram, when I'm done." Isabela smiled and jingled a ring of tiny tools.

"Why do I always have to go first?" Carver asked, a step shy of whining.

"Probably because you're the guy with the platemail, Junior," Varric reminded him. "You getting this door, Rivaini, or am I?"

"Step aside, sausage fingers." Isabela nudged Varric out of the way and crouched to consider the lock, and Anders stepped behind her, pulling Carver with him.

"Look casual," Anders advised.

"Oh sure," Carver snarked. "I'll just casually stand here in my casual plate mail, casually about to fight a blood mage and his crew. Typical Marketday."

"The youngest Hawke whined to his stalwart companions," Varric said in his story-telling voice.

Carver pointed at Varric. "Don't you start with that again."

"He told the handsome dwarf," Varric continued. "...as he scowled and reached for his sword."

Isabela snapped her fingers to get their attention, and Carver's hand stilled on his sword's hilt. "Door's open, boys. You can show off your swording later, Carver. And I hope you do." She winked, and Merrill giggled.

"I really should start using a different weapon," Carver muttered, drawing his sword.

"Isabela would find puns for that too," Fenris assured him, positioning himself just behind Carver as Isabela pulled the door open.

The entry hall was empty as expected, and Isabela moved to jam the side doors, before Varric whipped open the next door, and Anders lit the floor in green and followed by lashing a stun across the room, as Fenris and Carver charged in, swords flashing in the light. The reaction was good, but the room was huge, and Anders hadn't hit the archers in the back. Archers, inside? That was a bit much, but it looked like they'd interrupted some last meeting before a raid of some kind. Maybe another strike on the shop.

Toward the back of the room, one figure raised a knife, and opened the side of his forearm, but Merrill was quicker, and the vines rose up out of the floor, as presumably Jake, since he was bleeding, was still trying to cast. Carver took off a couple of heads and laid down a smite, as soon as he could reach, but not before the spell exploded through him, in a flash of heat. His blood felt as if it had curdled, and he dropped to the ground, sword slipping through his fingers.

Anders was on him in seconds, flooding Carver with healing, while Merrill's vines captured and incapacitated the blood mage.

And all this, amid a hail of arrows that suddenly stopped, when Varric got a clear shot at the back of the room.

Jake reached for another spell, eyes wide and wild as he gestured, but not so much as a spark left his fingers. Fenris stalked towards him, sword at his side and reached through his chest in a flash of blue light. He held the mage's heart in his hand, when Varric's voice cut through to him.

"Hey, Broody! Wait!"

Fenris stilled, feeling Jake's heart pounding against his fingers. Jake's eyes glazed over in pain or shock, and his fingers twitched helplessly at his sides.

"I'd like to ask the man a few questions," Varric said, "before you rearrange his organs."

Vines sprung up all around as he spoke, Merrill holding Jake's remaining compatriots in place for Isabela to finish off.

"The smite will wear off soon," Fenris warned Varric, still not pulling his hand free.

Varric glanced back at Carver, who was wobbling to his feet. "Then we can toss 'im another. Right, Junior?"

"I hate you," Carver groaned.

"That's a yes," Varric assured Fenris, before returning his attention to the now much less self-assured blood mage. "So, I'm going to assume you're Jake the Bleeder, since I was told a Jake the Bleeder lives here, and you're bleeding all over this lovely tile floor. It came to my attention that a certain gentleman of that name was interested in some of my property. Property that is not for sale or trade. As it's a rather serious piece of property, I've got an interest in your interest, and more than that, in who told you I might have it."

"Who the fuck are you?" Jake panted, still trying to get a grip on the reality in which he'd been assaulted with vines in his own home.

"Ah, that would help, wouldn't it. Varric Tethras, Deshyr to the Dwarven Merchant's Guild." A slow smile crossed Varric's face. "I'd offer you my hand, but I don't think you're in a position to shake it."

"You have it, then! The Pride of Kings!" Jake's eyes grew wild and bright.

"I certainly have something, but I don't think I've heard that name before. Where'd you hear about it?" Varric asked.

"That's between me and my partner," Jake insisted, shaking his head as if there were gnats in his face.

"Oh, a partner? You have a partner? How nice." Varric was getting a headache. How many idiots were after that shard?

"Another blood mage, I assume," Fenris growled. His fingers tightened, just a hair, and Jake's whole body jerked. Fenris tried not to think of all the times he'd held Artemis's heart like this, if much more gently.

Jake choked, before hacking out a laugh. "You know nothing," he said, voice strained.

"Actually, I know a surprising number of things," Varric said. "Carver's tell during Wicked Grace, for instance. The colour of Isabela's underwear."

"Everyone knows that," Fenris said. Merrill and Carver nodded.

"Just as everyone knows you're not wearing any," Varric countered. "But, Jake, you know what else I know? I know that you're not leaving here alive unless you tell me who this partner of yours is." Varric shrugged and pretended to examine his fingernails. Through his glove.

"I'm probably not leaving here alive anyway," Jake reasoned. "If I tell you, he's going to kill me. If I don't tell you, he's going to kill me. I was going to be the King of Kirkwall..."

"See, the problem with that," Anders pointed out, "is that Kirkwall has a viscount, not a king."

"It would have a king, if I were king," Jake shot back.

"I'm still confused that you'd want to be king of a place like this... I mean, it's _Kirkwall_ , for Andraste's sake. An important trade port, but full of demons and assholes."

"So, you know the demons of Kirkwall," Jake panted, trying to get that tight feeling in his chest to loosen up. Of course, it was a hand, so that didn't work so well. "Were you going to be king? Did you fail him? Is that why it was so easy for me?"

"Shit," Varric sighed.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Carver groaned. "Can I go a week in this city without something ending in demons?" As an afterthought, he slapped another smite on Jake, just to be sure.

Merrill listened quietly, thoughtfully, and shook her head. Fools like this were why it was so difficult to get people to trust her. "This... partner offered to make you a king?" she said. "In exchange for the shard?" And that word was important: _king_ , not viscount. Her brows knit as she looked up at Carver. "That sounds like a pride demon." Desire was another possibility, to be sure, if the man _desired_ to rule Kirkwall, but the way he talked about kingship...

Carver groaned again, tipping his head back to stare up at the ceiling, shaking his head at it as though he could see the Maker watching them and laughing. "Pride demon. Had to go all out, didn't you, Jake?"

Fenris adjusted his grip, and Jake grinned through a grimace of pain, a flash of yellow teeth in the torchlight.

"So where did you meet this delightful friend of yours?" Varric asked. "Somewhere in the city, I imagine. Though the worst of the demony bullshit I've encountered has been underground. Of course. Is it because I'm a dwarf? Because I promise you, I am not a fan of being underground, dwarf or not."

"He calls to me. Speaks in dreams." Jake's grin remained.

Merrill nodded. "Once you speak to them, they know you. They reach out for you. But, where did you find him?"

"In a pool of blood. My blood. Right here in Hightown. He's stronger here. Louder in the plaza in front of the Amell place. All I have to do is get the Pride of Kings, and he'll make me king of Kirkwall. All I have to do is get it, and he'll tell me what to do."

"The Amell..." Carver froze. "What the fuck did you do, Anders?"

"Don't look at me! If there's a demon anywhere near that house, it is very much not talking to me." Anders sorted through his recent recollections and Justice's. "If there's a demon there, _we_ can't hear it."

"The demon, assuming that's where it is, is probably very old, Carver. It's possible Serah the Bleeder is freeing it." Merrill paused. "That doesn't sound right. Did I say that right?"

"Hall," Jake filled in, reflexively, giving Merrill a strange look. "Serah Hall."

"Oh! Thank you!" Merrill smiled at the man, vines still holding him tightly.

"But, if it already has a partner, it may just not be looking for anyone else, until it gets out. Until it's stronger." Merrill shrugged.

"That is not reassuring," Fenris murmured. He didn't live there, but that was still closer than he needed any demon to be. Especially a pride demon. Especially after his last experience with pride demons.

"So how do we find the thing?" Varric asked Anders in an aside.

Anders blinked back at him. "What? Do you think I have a special demon-sense?"

Varric gave him a flat look, and Anders sagged.

"Well... yes, I -- Justice -- can sense them if they're around and want to be found. But it's not like I can draw a map to a specific demon!"

"So, what?" Carver said. "We wait for the thing to get free and find _us_? Sure! Bodhan can make it some fucking tea."

Jake cackled wetly. "I'm going to be king," he assured them.

Fenris felt the magic race down his arm, searing and burbling under his skin, and with a roar more rage than pain, he clenched his fist, terminating the conversation and the mage. Somewhere in the back of his head, he could hear Anders talking, but none of the words seemed all that important. Merrill's vines retreated, taking the blood mage with them, but Fenris remained still, his arm awkward and bloody, skin blistering, before Anders could catch up with the problem. Cold and soft -- he knew cold and soft. That was good.

"Fenris?" Anders crouched and moved into Fenris's field of view. "You all right?"

It was touching him. It was touching him and he couldn't tell where it was coming from, and then-- "Mage." Fenris's eyes focused on Anders, disgust rolling across his face. "You think you have the _right_ \--"

Anders braced himself and took the slap. "To save your life? Yeah, I do, Fenris. That's what I'm here for!"

"You--" The light went out in Fenris's eyes, and he blinked. Blood on his hand. Anders looked concerned. Dead man... "What?"

"Blood magic," Anders told him. "We lost you for a minute. You all right?"

"This is disgusting. I need to wash my arm, before Artemis sees." Fenris shook out his hand.

"It's a house in Hightown. Place might have running water," Varric said. He almost sounded too calm.

Fenris nodded but kept moving his hand. Blood mage's blood. It always came back to blood.


	322. PART LVIII: RESURGENCE OF ELVEN HISTORY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isabela brings Merrill a gift with a story behind it. Fenris tries to decipher a gift from his sister.

"Why don't the guards chase me any more?" Merrill asked, peering over her shoulder as she walked, grass tickling bare feet. "I know that one saw us come in here. He looked very disapproving, but he's still standing there."

"No viscount, Kitten," Izzy replied, bumping Merrill with her hip. "The garden's as much ours as anyone's now."

"Oh! Well, that's rather nice."

"Almost takes the fun out of it, though." Isabela shrugged one shoulder and took a bite of the pear in her hand. "Maybe if I throw the pear at him, he'll chase us. But I still prefer Anton's garden." She waggled her eyebrows at Merrill.

"Oh yes. His garden does have such nice flowers." Merrill's tiny, mischievous smirk said she knew what Izzy really meant.

"So, do you know anything about Dalish jewellery?" Isabela asked, sprawling out on a mound covered in tiny plants.

"Some," Merrill said. "That's more crafters' work, but I wear some, and I like it. What did you want to know?"

"Well, I ran into an old friend, a while back, and we found this ring. And nobody in Kirkwall seems to know what to make of it. But, it seemed like just your kind of thing." Sticking the pear between her teeth, Isabela fished a ring out of her pouch and held it out to Merrill. It really was Merrill's kind of thing, once she thought on it, but she'd tried to sell it, first. Three copper for a wooden ring. It had to be worth more than that, and maybe Merrill would be the one to see the value in it. It wasn't like Isabela could turn an actual profit on it, and it would look adorable on Merrill. Of course, Merrill always looked adorable, so that couldn't much be attributed to the ring.

Merrill took the ring, carefully, turning it over. "Is this for me? It's beautiful! And you don't know what it is?"

"Well, I thought so, right up until you asked me that," Isabela joked, around another bite of the pear, still gesturing with the fruit. "It's a wooden ring. Dalish design."

"It's sylvanwood! Rare as diamonds. You only find it in very old, very wild places," Merrill explained with a tiny, thoughtful smile. "The carvings tell the story of the Betrayal. The Dread Wolf tricking all the gods away from the world."

"Sounds like my kind of guy!" Isabela laughed and sat up. Rare as diamonds? Dammit. She knew it had been worth something! She peered at the ring as Merrill turned it over in her hands, trying to find the story in the carven shapes. "So... what did he do to the gods, exactly? What little elvish stuff I know I learned from Ass-face, so." Izzy shrugged.

Merrill chuckled, still marvelling at the ring as they walked. Then she started to speak, and her entire body language changed. She straightened her back, spoke more slowly, more assertively. "Long ago, there were two clans of gods. The Creators looked after the People. The Forgotten Ones preyed upon us. And one god who was neither. Fen'Harel, the Dread Wolf." She looked up at Isabela, pleased to see her listening intently. "He was kin to the Creators, and in the old days, often helped them in their endless war against the Forgotten Ones."

"I take it he got tired of helping," Izzy said.

"That he did," Merrill agreed, almost sadly. "Fen'Harel was clever. He could walk among both clans of gods without fear, and both believed he was one of them. He went to each side, and told them the other had forged a terrible weapon, a blade that would end the war. He told the Creators it was forged in the heavens, and the Forgotten Ones, that it was forged in the abyss. And when the gods went seeking it, he sealed them both in their realms forever. Now he alone is left in the world."

"Betrayal sounds bad. Maybe next time I'll go with flowers. Maybe some daisies. Maybe some lime." Isabela laughed, and Merrill laughed with her.

"What would Carver think?" The chuckling slowed eventually. "But, it's not bad, exactly... This was made for a Keeper, you see. Guarding a clan from the Dread Wolf is a Keeper's place. It's a very sweet memento." Merrill looked away. "Thank you."

"Well, you're supposed to be Keeper one day, right?" Isabela asked, looking up at Merrill's obviously sad expression. "It's just an advance investment, then."

" _Was_ supposed to be Keeper." Merrill sighed. "I don't even have a clan any more."

"Well, Theron still likes you. I'm sure other people do, too! It's not like they really have any other m-- qualified people, right?" Izzy shrugged and tossed Merrill a pear. "And screw them anyway. You came to the city. You can have your own clan, if you want. The alienage loves you."

Merrill's smile was small, but it was there, ready to blossom into a full grin with the right prodding. "A clan of city elves? Well. They really ought to know their heritage, anyway. Maybe we could adopt Fenris into the clan."

Isabela snorted. "You're better off adopting Cormac. He's elfier than Fenris."

And there was that grin Izzy had been trying to provoke. "I could make him my First," she teased. "As long as he's not in charge of giving our clan their vallaslin. I don't need an entire alienage full of Ass-faces, thank you."

"Spoilsport." Izzy nudged Merrill with her elbow and took another loud bite of her pear.

* * *

* * *

Fenris was not brooding. No, no, he was just ... lost in contemplation, the book from his sister open across his lap, one leg over the arm of the chair. Stupid chairs were designed for tall people. Nothing in this city was a proper size.

The book, though. It told the story of Shartan, supposedly from the man's own perspective, and parts of it likely were, but only parts. It had become something else, something political, over time, and he could see those parts clearly. He wondered what had been there, before it was changed. But, the point was that Shartan had led the elves of Tevinter to something like freedom, by joining with Andraste, who was raiding the North. The alliance was one of necessity, but it seemed the South had far less prejudice toward elves, in general, and there seemed to be a concern only of 'foreigners', and not of 'elves'. Quite different to what had come after.

But, what did it mean, really? What was the purpose in giving him this? Was this what she thought of him, that he would be some hero? Some saviour of the elven people of the Imperium? ... The thought did appeal, limitedly, but he had a home, now. He had a husband. He had everything to live for. Was it wrong of him to want to keep that? And at the same time, he'd fought for freedom, before, and Varania... she hadn't wanted that freedom. But, he had. And he knew others did, as well. What did she expect of him?

"Interesting book?" Artemis's face appeared over the top of the chair, and he folded his arms across the winged back. "Or simply an interesting page? You've been staring at the same one for the past half hour."

Fenris peered up at his husband. "Ah. It's..." He turned the page automatically, though he'd lost track of where he was in the story. "Interesting. Yes." He didn't realise he was tugging at one ear until Artie reached down and tugged at the other one.

"'Interesting. Yes'," Artemis repeated, dropping his voice an octave.

"I do not sound like that," Fenris huffed, as Artemis twisted, bending to read over Fenris's shoulder.

"Oh. Oh, is that...?" Artie trailed off, arcing his eyebrows at Fenris. He never thought Fenris would even look at this book again, let alone read it.

"It is the book Varania sent. Mostly propaganda, but...some things change little, even in a thousand years. An autobiography, not a religious text, and... even now, despite everything, he remains a slave to those in power. I can't tell what was changed, but I can tell that it was changed. The rhythm changes, the words are wrong, the... sentiment is suddenly moralistic. The man is a revolutionary, not a holy man. His allies matter, not their gods. And then it's all about the glory of Andraste, for pages on end, before it goes right." Fenris shook his head. "Did you know?" he asked, turning to a page he had marked and handing the book to Artemis.

"Know what?" Artemis asked, brows furrowed, even as he took the book. He skimmed the page, until he stumbled on a familiar name: his own.

Artie straightened, resting the book on the back of the chair and looking again, to make sure he'd read that correctly. He thought of Cormac's speech, the night before their wedding. "My brother _did_ name me after a magister..." he said distractedly, "but no. I didn't know _this_." Cormac hadn't said anything about Shartan, let alone that he was the slave the original Artemis had married. Artie looked at Fenris over the book. "Apparently your sister did. Does this make you my Shartan?" He teased Fenris gently, trying to gauge his reaction. His husband seemed more troubled than pleased with this revelation.

"I do not know that I want to be a revolutionary. Maybe it isn't fair, but I have you, I have all this. I could have been, once, before there was so much to lose, to sacrifice. I don't want to lose you over people I don't know at all." Ears twitching, Fenris looked hopefully up at the man he loved. "War is for the young," he decided, "for those with nothing to lose and those who have already lost it all. I think it is not for me. Am I wrong? Is this what she thinks of me? What she expects of me?" He shook his head, again. "We have money. We have contacts. Perhaps we can go about this in another way, but I will not bring the wrath of the Imperium to our door, to you and Orana."

Fenris looked so earnest. Artie smiled down at him and carded a hand through his hair, brushing the strands back from Fenris's eyes. "We built this house, you and I, and we've already done our share of cutting down magisters. But if you decide you want to tear down the Imperium, I'd be at your side."

"To provide a few well-placed earthquakes?"

"It's what husbands do." Artemis bent over the top of the chair to press a kiss to Fenris's forehead. "But, perhaps you are reading too much into this? Your sister may have just read my name in one of your letters and appreciated the irony."

"She told me I 'invited trouble'," Fenris huffed, twisting at his ear. "Perhaps this is what she meant. Perhaps she wishes me to invite more. I thought it was the privilege of the free man to look after his own interests, to serve none but himself, but... there are so many more questions than I have answers. And perhaps you are right. I am reading too much into a jest worthy of your brothers."

"And that, my dear, is what _siblings_ do," Artemis drawled. "Also, I wouldn't bring this up around Anders, unless you want Justice telling you what he thinks about the privileges and duties of the free man."

Fenris hummed, considering, as Artie handed back the book. "This is a point," he murmured. He'd heard Justice say as much once, that it was the duty of the free to help those who weren't. _Was_ it his duty, then?

No. Fenris's duty was to his husband, to this family.

Artemis rested his chin on his folded arms. He opened his mouth, only to close it and purse his lips instead.

"What is it?" Fenris asked, eyeing him warily. "You have that look."

"I don't have a look," Artie protested, to which Fenris simply raised an eyebrow. "Okay, I have a look. I was just thinking... if you're thinking about this so much, you could always just ask your sister."

"I could also slam my knob in the door, for all the joy it would give me," Fenris grumbled, stretching up to kiss Artemis's cheek. "But, it is true. You're right. If I want to know what she was thinking, I'll have to ask her."


	323. Chapter 323

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merrill's still having trouble with the eluvian. Carver goes with her back up the mountain to see Marethari.

Merrill was leaning against the frame of her magic mirror, when Carver came in from the market. He'd taken the afternoon to come visit, and brought an abundance of those little pies Merrill liked and something exciting from the noodle shop. Certainly Merrill could cook, but Carver had never really gotten the hang of it, beyond sandwiches, so he brought food that was already cooked, most of the time.

Still, as he set down the basket, she looked disturbed. Maybe even upset. "Merrill?"

"Carver, vhenan, I need to ask a favour. I thought the arulin'holm would be the last thing I needed, but the eluvian still won't work." Merrill turned away from the mirror, looking uncertain, but determined. "I think... I think I have to go back to the... spirit that helped me at the start of all this."

Carver took a moment to process the sentence. "The tool didn't fix the mirror, so you need to go talk to the ... spirit ... who helped you out last time. Why do you think he's going to help you again?" His face creased in concern.

"He knows about the mirror. I don't know how much. He wouldn't tell me everything, and it's dangerous to trust..." Merrill looked like she knew the dangers, a sickly pinch at the corners of her eyes, but she meant to go on. "He said he witnessed its forging. He told me how to cleanse it of its corruption. He must know how to make it work."

"What's it supposed to do?" Carver asked. "I never quite understood. You all start talking magical theory and it goes right over my head."

"Well, look at it! Do you think it's supposed to just sit there and show nothing at all? I can feel the power in it. It's like it's asleep, but I can't seem to wake it." Merrill shook her head, sadly. "Anders says the Tevinters wrote about them being used to communicate across great distances. Imagine the power in being able to send messages instantly -- no more difficult to speak to someone on Sundermount than if they were in the next room."

"Summoning a demon can't possibly be the only way to fix the mirror. Someone else must know something." Carver took Merrill's hands in his own. "And even if it's not a demon, even if it's just a spirit -- what's 'just a spirit'? Look at Anders. I don't... I want better for you."

Merrill smiled softly, if sadly, up at Carver. "The eluvian was lost before Arlathan fell," she said. "The only creatures who would know anything about it are in the Fade." She sucked in a breath. "I've called to the spirit, but he doesn't seem to hear. He was sealed in an artefact in Sundermount. I have to look for him there." Carver opened his mouth to protest, but Merrill squeezed his hands in hers. "I need you there with me, Carver. If things go wrong... if he possesses me, I need you to strike me down."

Carver's blood ran cold. He wanted to argue, wanted to with every fibre of his being, but that was his duty, wasn't it? Not just as her boyfriend but as a templar. If it came to that...

He wouldn't let it come to that.

"You want to summon a demon that may possess you, then have me kill you?" Carver said, almost too calmly. "How is that a plan?"

"I don't have a choice," Merrill said, shaking her head. " _Please_ do this for me. There's no one else I trust. Lethallin, please... come with me. I don't want... anything bad to happen." She stood tall, proud, but her voice shook on that last word.

"Let's go to Marethari. Maybe there's an alternative to summoning the demon," Carver suggested.

"The Keeper would never help me," Merrill noted, pointedly. "Why do you think I had to find the demon in the first place? She'll never see us, anyway. Not after the last time. Poor Pol! I just can't help but think--"

Carver put his arms around her. "We'll go. We'll go up the mountain, and I'll protect you. Maybe Marethari will see me, even if she won't see you. We can stop and see Theron and the kids, right? He still likes you." He tried very hard not to consider how much Theron liked his brother... _either_ of his brothers, and that was an even more horrifying thought.

* * *

Merrill slipped her hand into Carver's the moment she spotted the edge of the camp, the pair of scouts guarding the path. All these years later, it was still difficult to come back, to see the distrust in the eyes of her clansmen. Former clansmen, technically, and that was difficult too.

Carver didn't comment. He merely squeezed her hand back and ignored the stares.

"The hunters chased away another one last night," muttered one of the elves.

"Too many shemlen are coming here," another responded. Carver's jaw tightened. "We have to move soon."

"Can't you talk to the Keeper?" asked the first one. "Reason with her?"

"I tried. She's made up her mind."

Merrill's brows knit as she listened while pretending not to. Why _were_ they still here, halla or no?

"Is that a Hawke I see?" called out a familiar voice. Theron's beaming smile was a welcome reprieve. "Ah, Ser Hawke!"

"My brother isn't with me," Carver told him upfront, and Theron almost managed to hide his disappointment.

"Make her stop pinching me!" came a high-pitched shout from off in the trees, and two elven children ran toward them, one of them laughing and grabbing at the other, who wrapped around Theron's leg, trying to keep it between them.

"You remember how we had kids?" Theron said to Merrill, reaching down to pick up the pinching girl. "Now we have more. Fenris managed to smuggle them out of Tevinter -- I didn't ask too much -- but, he ... he's not so good with them." He laughed. "He and Artemis were trying to climb each other to get away from them, by the time Kalli and I got there. It's a good thing Orana and Cormac seemed to know what they were doing, because those two were useless."

"How, exactly...?" Carver crouched down next to the other child, still looking up at Theron.

"Oh, we just took mercy on everyone involved. The clan's enough to handle them all." Theron grinned, watching the boy at his feet poke at Carver's ears.

Carver allowed it, mostly undisturbed. He'd missed out on having younger siblings, but this little elf reminded him of when he was young and Bethany used to chase him around the yard. "You know what you need?" he asked the boy. "You need a sword."

"Uncle Theron has a sword," the boy said, one hand still on Theron's leg and the other patting at Carver's ear. "Did somebody cut your ears? How come they're short?"

Carver laughed. "They're short because I'm not an elf. Elves have long ears." He reached out and ruffled the boy's hair. "You should ask your Uncle Theron to teach you how to use a sword. If you get good, nobody will be able to pinch you. You can just poke them, if they try." He poked the boy in the ribs, with one finger, and the kid laughed. Cute, really. For the first time, he wondered if he and Merrill -- but he was a templar, and the Maker only knew what the lyrium would do...

Merrill hid her smile behind her hand, but it still shone in her eyes. "And how does Kalli feel about this?" she asked.

Theron shrugged and gave her a lop-sided smile. "She says I'm practically a big child anyway, and next to me, the rest of them are easy to deal with."

"It's good to see new life in the clan," Merrill said, knowing Theron would understand. Their clan had been getting smaller over the years, especially after the Blight, the trek to Sundermount. And Theron was Paivel's apprentice. He'd make sure the children understood the Dalish traditions.

"So what brings you up here?" Theron asked. The little girl on his hip tugged at his hair, but he didn't react. "I don't suppose it was just to visit our little menagerie?" He looked down at Carver, who looked up at Merrill, who looked at everything but the two of them.

"That would certainly make this a much more pleasant visit," Merrill said, tipping her head regretfully. "I... actually need to speak with the Keeper about something."

"Oh, that sounds serious." Theron set the little girl back down, after pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. "Is it serious? The varterral isn't back _again,_ is it?"

"Elgar'nan, I hope not!" Merrill protested, eyes round.

"It's a little serious," Carver admitted. "She's still trying to get that magic mirror working. Is that true, then? That she'd be able to talk up the mountain, without leaving the house?"

"That's what the stories say." Theron shrugged. "But, I think we'd have to have one up here, too. Of course, if she gets it working, that might mean we could make one up here." He looked back at Merrill. "You know the Keeper's not going to like this, don't you? Whatever you're asking for, maybe you shouldn't tell her what it's for. She's gotten... I think she fears the wrong things. Look at us -- we're still here! At this rate, we should build a town! She's not right, Merrill. And we have no one to take her place. So, please, be careful what you say to her. Maybe I should go with you to see her."

"Theron, if you get kicked out of the clan, what's going to happen to all these children? No, no. Just let me see her. There's nothing more she can do to me." Merrill shook her head.

"Well, I'd love to, but... She's wandered into the mountains, again. I don't know where she goes." Theron shrugged. "But, you should stay with us, for the night, and you can see her in the morning, when she comes back down. At least you'll have had time to eat and sleep, before you have to talk to her."

Merrill sighed through her nose, rubbing her forehead just over her right eye. Of course Marethari wasn't here. She didn't know if she could stand the clan's furtive stares for a night and a morning, but with Theron...

"Thank you, Theron," she said, conjuring a smile. "Would that be all right, Carver, or does the Order need you back before then?"

Carver shook his head. "Not until tomorrow night, they don't," he said. And even if not, he could put up with a few days of cleaning the latrines as punishment if he had to. "But I'm not eating any pickled nuts. Or whatever that was you ate the night before my brother's wedding. I still have nightmares about that."

Theron sighed dramatically. "You sound just like my wife," he said. "Is this what living in a city does to people? Destroy their sense of taste?"

"Would explain your wife's taste in men," Carver said with a teasing grin as he straightened. Theron laid a hand over his chest as though struck.


	324. Chapter 324

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversation with the Keeper that doesn't go nearly as well as Merrill had hoped.

Morning came, but the Keeper did not return. The elves around the fire eyed Merrill suspiciously all through breakfast, but Theron just kept talking. "So, I know you've all heard weird things about Merrill, but do you guys know what she's actually working on? It's something that was made when the elves still ruled Thedas. It's something our ancestors made, that the shem -- the Imperium -- took from us and corrupted, and she's trying to fix it so we can use it again."

"You were there, Mahariel. It almost killed you," one of the scouts scoffed, winging a bit of bread over the fire at him.

"That's right. I was there." Theron's eyes drifted up from the flames between them and settled on the scout's. "So, maybe I know what I'm talking about. And it wasn't the eluvian that we lost Tamlen to, it was the darkspawn that came out of it. I was lucky. They tainted everything they touched, maybe including the eluvian. I don't know. But, there's no taint any more. A friend from the city helped out -- a few friends, really. It's almost there. It almost works. I _saw_ it."

"Well, the Keeper says she made a deal with a demon to even get that far." Another elf served herself some pottage and took a seat.

"Well, that's what the Keeper says, but the Keeper's not the one working on this. The Keeper insists this thing is evil and doesn't belong in the world, just because the darkspawn touched it, as far as I can tell. What about me? They touched me, too." Theron turned, meeting all the eyes on him, but no one spoke. "I didn't think so. So, why don't we ask Merrill? Tell us the story, Merrill. How did this happen? How did you make it work?"

Carver shifted nervously, picking at his food. He knew crowds that moved like this -- he'd seen this as a soldier, and again as a templar. This was a crowd uncertain of a threat, and that could become certainty at any time. He wondered how long Theron could hold them off.

"There is a demon at the top of Sundermount -- a spirit of some kind, trapped in the war that was fought on this mountain. He called out, but not just to me. He called to the Keeper as well. And we went to him, together, to see what he was," Merrill explained. "And he offered us favours, just to show his good nature. He asked nothing in return. I believe he meant to show us what he was capable of, so we would want it -- so we would trade and make deals. But, the Keeper accepted nothing and came back down. I went back, and I took his offer. I accepted his gift. And he has called to me since, and I have never returned to him, because I do not trust him. Still, what he gave me worked. And I have come now to throw myself on the Keeper's mercy and ask if she knows what I do not. To ask if she knows any lore she has not told me about the eluvian. But, she isn't here. I don't know what to do, now..."

"You tried to trick a demon?" one of the hunters laughed. "She tricked a demon. That's great, if it's true. Maybe they'll tell stories about you, one day!"

"Or maybe she's trying to trick us," the suspicious scout pointed out.

Merrill shook her head, poking at the food in her bowl. "I'm not trying to trick anyone," she said. "I just want to know why the eluvian isn't working... If it did, if I could fix it, there is so much we could do." Her eyes took on that fever-bright quality they did when she was excited. "Our people have already lost so much. Imagine if we could get back just a fragment of our past?"

She'd said as much to Marethari before, more than once, but always her words fell on deaf ears. Maybe without the Keeper here, they would listen?

Yet she still saw so much suspicion when she looked around. "Anyway. I had hoped to ask the Keeper for her advice, but... I do not know where she has gone."

"She was heading up the mountain, last I saw of her," one of the hunters said. "Said something about the shrine to Mythal. She should have returned by now, though."

Merrill set down her bowl. The shrine... that was near where the demon was bound. "The shrine. Of course. Perhaps we might run into her."

"Kalli and I are coming with you," Theron said, grabbing another slice of nug from where several hung over the fire. "Just give us a bit. I won't get in the way, but I want to make sure there's someone there to break things up, if it gets... I don't want anyone getting hurt." It was the safest way of saying he didn't want Marethari killing her without witnesses, in front of the rest of the clan. The Keeper had been strange, of late, and Theron had his concerns. He held up a finger as he backed away from the fire, stuffing the slice of meat into his mouth. "Right back," he mumbled around it.

Merrill looked awkwardly around the circle of people, some who'd been there since the conversation started, others who'd filtered in later. Early in the day, there was always food for hours. Late in the day, it happened again. There were always scouts and hunters in the woods, so not everyone slept the same hours, but everyone would get at least one meal with some part of the clan. It kept them strong, and they kept the clan safe.

Kalli appeared first, leading a small horde of children to the fire. "Stay here. Theron and I have to go help our friends, for a little bit. Don't burn down the aravel, while we're gone."

"Creators, mum, would you just go? When have we _ever_ \--" an adolescent elf started, only to be cut off by a glare from her brother. "Okay, but that was only once."

Carver hid a smile behind his hand. Kids were the same everywhere, it seemed.

"Destroying aravels?" Merrill teased. "She must take after you, Theron."

The children's ears pricked up, and they looked at their father curiously. "What's this, dad?" asked the girl, a smile creeping across her lips.

"That was also only once," Theron reminded Merrill, "and the earthquake wasn't my fault." He grinned. "Well, maybe it was."

"Right. Up the mountain?" Carver turned on his heel and headed for the main path snaking up the mountainside. "Is this the right way? Do I care? Either way, I'm walking away from this conversation."

Theron cackled, and the elves followed, Merrill jogging to catch up with Carver in case he got lost. Or eaten by spiders.

Merrill needn't have worried. Carver knew the faster ways up the mountain by now, and no spider found his plate easy to digest.

By the time they reached the shrine, Carver was covered in spider guts and debating asking his brothers to invent a spell that just chased spiders away from a place. Sandal could make it into a rune. They could fill the cave with them. There would be-- And that was Marethari, thankfully still turned away from them, gazing across the valley from behind the shrine.

Kalli pulled her husband behind a broken monument in the cemetery.

"Welcome home, da'len," Marethari greeted Merrill, without an ounce of welcome in her voice or a second glance at Carver.

"This isn't a homecoming, Keeper. Why is the clan even here? You should have moved on ages ago!" Merrill's concern and irritation were obvious in her voice.

"The clan still has business here, da'len. We will leave when it is time." Marethari's word would be final. She expected no argument, even from Merrill.

"It was time three years ago! You can't stay here! Eventually the humans will force you to leave." Merrill explained it slowly, as if speaking to a difficult child.

"There are plenty of hiding places in these mountains," Marethari pointed out, looking away. "We will stay until my business is done."

And there it was -- _her_ business, not the clan's.

"If you are not returning to us," Marethari asked, eyeing Merrill up and down, "what has brought you back?"

"How can Merrill fix the eluvian?" Carver asked, just so Marethari would have to look at him and acknowledge that he was there.

Marethari scoffed, lip curling in disgust. "I wouldn't restore that cursed thing, even if I could. It has stolen life and promise from my clan already. And this was the least treacherous thing it was capable of doing." Marethari turned a pleading look on Merrill. "You must come to your senses, Merrill. This evil cannot be allowed in our world."

"It is a part of our world!" Merrill protested. "It has been in our world for centuries! No one is pained more by Tamlen's loss than I, but the mirror wasn't responsible." Merrill shook her head. They'd had this argument before. "But I'm wasting my time. You'd rather fear the past than reclaim it. This is pointless, vhenan." She squeezed Carver's hand. "I don't know why I thought talking to her would help."

"Da'len--"

Merrill shook her head. "Finish your prayers to Mythal, Keeper. Carver and I have work to do."

But, Marethari turned, continuing up the path, further up the mountain and toward the cave the demon was trapped in. Merrill stared curiously after her, for a long moment.

"Are you sure you want do this?" Carver asked, quietly.

"Not even a tiny bit," Merrill whispered, still looking after the Keeper, as Kalli and Theron reappeared behind them.

"It's not too late to go back, you know," Carver offered.

"I have to finish this. I've sacrificed too much to just walk away," Merrill insisted, and really, Carver would give her that. He knew exactly what she meant.

"No one more pained than you?" Theron teased, leaning on Merrill's shoulder.

Merrill blushed. "No, that was foolish. I don't know what I was thinking."

"You were thinking there was more heart still in you than in our fool Keeper," Kalli muttered, looking up the path, after her.

"Vhenan! You can't just--" Theron didn't look shocked so much as fearful.

"Or what, we'll end up back in the city? You like the city. I grew up in a city. What I don't like is tyrants who lie and expect mindless obedience." Kalli crossed her arms and watched Theron, daring him to disagree.

"That makes two of us," Carver volunteered.

Theron still looked vaguely uncomfortable, but he didn't argue. "Vhenan, it still brings ill luck to say such things."

"'Ill luck' is exactly what this clan has had," Kalli replied, folding her arms. "I can't say we have much to lose."

With a defeated sigh, Theron paused to offer a prayer to Mythal, and Merrill bowed her head at his side while Kalli and Carver stood awkwardly by. They would need Mythal's guidance now more than ever.


	325. Chapter 325

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merrill discovers why the spirit has stopped speaking to her. Theron decides he liked not knowing about demons better.

The path narrowed up ahead, and Merrill kept an eye out for Marethari as much as for the demon's cave. She only found one, and it wasn't Marethari. Merrill sucked in a breath and steeled herself for what was to come.

"Theron, lethallin, how strange has she gotten?" Merrill asked, in a small voice.

Theron, of course, had no idea what was in the cave, other than some old statues, more spiders, and dirt. "She's been getting strange since before you left, but compared to the Marethari I knew, when --" He paused. There was no way to put it gently. "-- from before, she's a totally different person. Why? What's wrong with this cave, compared to any other cave up here?"

"This is where the spirit called to us from. It's stopped calling, and I wonder what she's done. Do you think she's killed it?" Merrill sounded almost hopeful.

"Maybe she just gagged it, to go with the binding. If it was bothering you for so long, maybe that's why she's been so strange. Maybe it's been talking to her." Theron shrugged. His own experiences with magic were fairly limited, and his experience with demons and spirits was non-existent, as far as he knew.

"We'll go. We'll ask," Merrill decided, stepping into the mouth of the cave.

"Oh, suddenly I have a bad feeling about this," Theron muttered, the hair rising on the back of his neck.

"Didn't you already?" asked Kalli, following Merrill without hesitation, one hand on her dagger's hilt.

"Yes, but... this is a different bad feeling." It was the kind of bad feeling that put him in mind of the last time he saw Tamlen. But maybe that was because he had the eluvian on his mind. He _hoped_ it was because he had the eluvian on his mind.

Just inside, the towers of artfully arranged skulls did little to help that bad feeling.

"Don't worry, sweetcheeks," Kalli told him, reaching back to pat Theron's arm. "I'll protect you."

"Thank you, vhenan," he drawled, positioning himself behind the tall templar as they headed deeper into the cave.

"Something is wrong," Merrill murmured, slowing to a stop in front of what looked like a shrine, a bloated statue at its heart. "This was where the spirit was bound. But now, it feels... empty. This is more than just gagged."

"Maybe it freed itself?" Carver suggested.

Merrill shook her head, brow furrowed. "It would have taken powerful magic to break him free of this prison. You couldn't just set him loose. Nobody could. Not without doing something terrible." She looked around, twisting her staff in her hands. Where had Marethari gone? "This is very wrong."

"Okay, so, who bound this demon here and why?" Carver asked. "Is it someone we know? Are my brothers involved?"

Theron looked up at the statue towering over them, with its bulging eyes and too many arms. His shoulders stiffened. "That looks Tevinter," he muttered.

"There was a war, long ago, between our people and the Tevinter Imperium. After the magisters sunk Arlathan, our people made a last stand here, fighting on the graves of our elders." Merrill explained. "I don't know if it was the Elvhenan or Tevinter who bound the spirit, but he was left here from the war."

Theron nodded. "Sundermount, as you call it, was the site of a great battle -- the true end of our empire, sacked by barbarians, and the survivors chased to the ends of the world. The varterral's probably from then or from before. But, this... They had to have been here, fighting us, for years. But, demons do sound like a very Tevinter thing to do. Elves used to talk to spirits, the stories say, but I can't say I've heard much of binding demons for war."

"Well, we'll catch it and kill it, right?" Carver tried to look more certain than he felt. "It couldn't have just vanished. We'll track it down."

"Yes, but he shouldn't have been _able_ to leave," Merrill pointed out, making her way across the room. "What happened to him?"

"I happened to him." Marethari stepped into the light from the ancient windows, mostly blocked by fallen stone and trees.

"Keeper! Thank the Creators!" Theron looked almost relieved. "We were afraid the demon got you!"

Kalli laid a hand on the inside of Theron's elbow, gently holding him back when he made to walk towards Marethari.

Merrill looked, if anything, more concerned. "Keeper," she asked in a soft voice, "what have you done?"

"The demon's plan was always for you to complete the mirror," Marethari said, her voice sad, empty. "It would have been a doorway out of this prison and into our world. You would have been his first victim."

 _'Would have been'._ Merrill shook her head, her throat closing up.

"I couldn't let that happen, da'len," Marethari murmured.

"So, the demon is gone?" Theron asked hopefully, eyes just a little too wide. "We have nothing to worry about?"

Marethari ducked her head and turned away. "It's not gone," she said.

And there was that bad feeling again, that creeping sensation up the back of Theron's neck.

"I couldn't fight it in the Fade while it was trapped," Marethari said. "And I couldn't banish it without making it stronger." She sucked in a breath. "So I made myself its prison. Kill me, and it dies too. Merrill will finally be safe."

"No!" Merrill buried her face in her hands, tears welling in her eyes and spilling down her hands. "You can't ask..." Her voice shook as she sniffled, wiping her eyes. "I won't do this!"

"You always knew your blood magic had a price, da'len. I have chosen to pay it for you." Marethari's voice was accusatory, even as her features remained smooth.

"That wasn't your decision to make, Keeper," Kalli pointed out. "What will happen to the clan, if you do this? If! Now that you've done this. The clan comes first -- Isn't that what you taught me? But, where does this leave our people? We have no halla, and now we have no Keeper."

Marethari ignored the words, speaking over Kalli. "Dareth'shiral."

The room filled with blue light that both Merrill and Carver recognised from Justice -- but this didn't feel as well-meaning as Justice, which was saying something, really. Out of the light, a great monstrous form arose, black and pink and spiked, another voice echoing through the chamber as it turned on them. "Traitor! May the Dread Wolf hunt you for the rest of your days!"

"Shit, shit, shit!" Carver lashed out with a smite, as he danced back from the thing. He braced himself and drew his sword, reminded that this was what templars were meant to do -- to fight the evils from the Fade, in whatever form they came, although he really could have done with this one being maybe half the size. On the other hand, as he looked up, he noticed the thing was hunched over. It was too tall for the room.

"Is that what demons are like?" Theron yelped, leaping backward onto the stump of a broken pillar as he drew his sword. "Can I go back to when I didn't know what they were like? I think I liked that much better!"

"It'll be a great story!" Kalli taunted. "Isn't that always the thing with you?" And then she was gone, somewhere in the darkness between things.

Merrill, though, stood still, silent and contemplative. "You taught me how to destroy you," she said, finally, slicing open the back of her hand, and calling the vines up from the cracks in the floor.

"I was trying to rebuild my life!" called out another voice from behind them. A familiar voice, but one that didn't sit right on Merrill's shoulders. "Why did you have to come back and destroy it?"

" _Pol_?" And that was Kalli, startled out of giving away her hiding place.

"Ignore it," Theron called out when Merrill started to turn. His face was pale but determined. "It's a distraction. Focus on the demon." Sword in hand, Theron charged at the behemoth with a roar.

Kalli disappeared again, shaking Pol's ghost from her mind, before reappearing behind the demon. But flames rose up from the ground around the demon, and she darted back before she had the chance to land a hit. "Dread Wolf's _flaming ass_!" she swore.

Carver tugged Theron back out of range of the flames and pointed his own sword at the demon. The air rippled, his ears popped, and the flames disappeared. But so did Merrill's vines.

"We're cursed," called out another voice. "The whole clan. And you brought this upon us."

"The Keeper brought this on us, and don't you forget it," Theron roared, as Merrill started to falter, tears in her eyes. "She threw you out, she kept us here, and she made a deal with a demon to free it so it could fight you!"

Merrill nodded, wordlessly, hanging back while she couldn't feel the magic that should have been in her hands.

Carver landed what felt like a solid blow, which surprised him, and ichor fountained from the demon's side, as the voices stopped, suddenly.

"Hide behind your reason and your compromises, mortal. I will still destroy you!" the demon bellowed, calling forth another spell between its hands, blue and glowing.

"Carver!" Merrill shouted, but he turned too late. The spell completed and the four of them were dragged down under the weight of it.

Carver remembered the story of his brother folding a templar into a little platemail box, and in that moment, he had some sympathy. He could hear the metal whining at the joints, and behind that, Theron praying to Andruil at the top of his lungs. Taking the deepest breath he could manage, Carver lashed out again, smite and cleanse, smite and cleanse -- if he stopped fighting, if he just watched it, he could stay on top of it.

"Fucking _kill it_ , Theron! I can't keep this up, forever!" Carver called out, as the air around his head stopped feeling like a bowl of jam.

Theron didn't stop praying to Andruil as he hefted his sword, continued praying through grit teeth as he pushed past the creature's magic, as his sword shoved through the demon's rough skin. More ichor sprayed from the wound, and the demon's roar filled the cave.

Then, abruptly, all cut to silence. The air shimmered and rippled, and the demon collapsed in on itself, shrinking again and reforming into another familiar shape. Marethari dropped to her knees, eyes glazed with pain.

Merrill dashed across the cave, dropping to her knees beside her.

"Da'len?" Marethari asked in a tremulous voice.

"Keeper!"

"You've beaten it, da'len." Marethari rose shakily to her feet. Merrill did the same, taking a step back. "You are so much stronger than I imagined. The demon is dead."

"Keeper, I..."

"Let's leave this awful place," Marethari said, smiling softly in relief. "The clan should hear the good news."

Theron shook his head, Kalli at his side. "You told us that the demon was bound to your life," he said. "It would only die with you." He hadn't put away his weapon, and neither had Kalli.

Marethari looked down at the blades in their hands, at the dagger Merrill drew, and took a step back.

"Ir abelas, Keeper," Merrill said as she approached, cornering Marethari back against the shrine. Merrill struck before Marethari -- or the demon inside of her -- could protest or beg, dagger biting deep into Marethari's stomach.

Marethari fell, eyes sad, panting as her hands tried to stop the bleeding. But, it was too late, and she arched up from the ground, limbs hanging loosely, as the remnants of the spirit fled from her body with the whispers of the dead in their wake.

The dagger fell from Merrill's fingers. "Keeper!" she sobbed, dropping to her knees beside the body. "What have you done? I don't want this. I never wanted this! Creators, please let this be a bad dream!" Merrill's voice changed, precise and crisp, like a child reciting a lesson. "I'll wake up and feel like an idiot, and she'll scold me for not listening..."

"This isn't your doing, Merrill," Theron assured her, crouching at her side, to put an arm over her shoulders. "You said she left without making a deal, but I think maybe that wasn't right. Or rather, you left with her, and then you went back. I think she went back, too. I think she's been with this demon the whole time. Why else would she have refused to move on? She knows as well as any of us, if not better, what happens if you don't move on. It wouldn't let her go, and it almost took us all down with her. It's not you, Merrill. You were just the excuse it used to get her attention."

"She should've had more faith in you," Carver added. "And not that I disagree with the sentiment, Theron, but... how the fuck would you know?"

Theron laughed and looked up at Carver. "It's my business to know. I'm Hahren Paivel's apprentice, as I've been since I was six. I'm a storyteller, and I know all the legends and the history of our clan and a few stories from the others, and a few stories from before the Dales, as well. I know what this is. I should have seen it sooner, but we do so little business with spirits that when Marethari said she'd turned away from it and told us not to go up the mountain, I just let it go. And when she started to change, I thought she was worried about Merrill. I thought she was afraid to try to move without halla. She wouldn't say what business kept us, but I thought she might have been trying to make a deal for halla or even for horses. Something she didn't want us to know, in case she failed, but this spirit-- I have seen this spirit, and the truth of things is known to me, as it was written in the past. So it has come to be again, and it is on my eyes that I did not see it sooner."

Merrill's hand inched towards Marethari's, only to pull away at the last minute. That hand was still red with Marethari's blood. "If she hadn't been so stubborn," she said, eyes bright with unshed tears. "If she had listened to me! She never believed in me."

Her voice shook with sobs, and Carver helped her to her feet, wrapping his arms around her as best he could without the edges of his plate jabbing her. "I'm sorry," Carver whispered against her hair, wishing those two words didn't feel so empty. Merrill took a moment to rest her cheek against his chest, to close her eyes against the world.

Then she straightened, pulling gently away. "I... I should go to the clan. Someone needs to know, needs to come... take care of her."

"Of course," said Kalli. "We'll be right at your side."

Merrill smiled gratefully and turned away from Marethari's body, bloodied hand clutched tight in Carver's as they headed back out into the light.


	326. Chapter 326

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theron tells an epic tale, and Paivel cleans up this mess.

Merrill's clansmen were waiting outside, hunters armed with bows and swords, with leather armour and chainmail.

"Aneth ara," Theron greeted them, his smile guarded.

"We know the Keeper came here," a hunter cut him off. "What's going on? Where is she?" He tried to peer past Theron and Merrill. Carver's hand was tight around Merrill's.

"Where is Paivel?" Theron asked, rubbing one eye with the heel of his palm. "I will tell the tale, but I will tell it for Paivel."

A murmur ran through the crowd. Whatever had happened had been the stuff of legend if Theron wouldn't tell it without Paivel's ear. Still, another hunter grabbed the first and pointed at Merrill. "Look at her, Fenarel. She's covered in blood!"

"Get Paivel," was all Theron would say, and he rested the point of his sword on the ground, squaring his shoulders in challenge to any who would think to come past him. "I will not tell it twice, today."

"Why should you tell it at all?" the second hunter argued. "She summoned a demon and killed the Keeper with it. She doesn't deserve a story, Theron."

"That is not your place to decide, but it is mine." Theron's eyes met hers, unblinking. "And your concerns should not be for what Merrill may have done, today. When help was needed, where were you? I was here, when you were not. The tale is mine, and I will speak. But, someone go fetch Paivel."

"You dare invoke for _her_?" the hunter argued again.

"What I invoke is mine alone. It is for me to tell _my_ tale." Theron remained unmoved, until the crowd parted. "Hahren." Theron bowed.

"I am told you bear a tale," Paivel said, shooing a group of hunters away from a stone, so he could sit.

Theron took a deep breath, tilting up his chin and pausing, before he began to speak. "We found the Keeper in this cave; at first, her disappointment strong, concealed herself from us a while, but when we found the demon gone, her former First confronted. Lady mage to lady mage, at last of spirit things they spoke, though neither did the spirit trust, one to the other gave less faith than she could grant that spirit. And so our Keeper told to us the way in which she took it in freeing from its prison carved this spirit once Tevinter-bound to keep it closed inside her."

Carver butted in, "You know what we call that in town? An abomination. And we put them to death."

Kalli kicked Carver in the shin, and Theron went on. "She did it to protect the clan, she said without a second thought, from Merrill's mad and wicked ways sure as they were to curse us all with demons brought upon us. And yet, she did that self-same thing she did forbid her First to do; the spirit drove her to strange ends, corrupting what she knew was right until a demon led us. What good could come of staying here, with shemlen creeping up the peak, if she so feared the spirit here would change us to some ill effect? And yet she kept the clan here." He paused there, letting that sink in. The Keeper had kept the clan in an unsafe place because she wasn't herself, any longer -- she was a demon.

When one of the crowd opened their mouth to speak, he started again. "She told us then the only way to drive the spirit out the world was if we slew her where she stood and with her slew the demon too. But, _Merrill did refuse her_." He spoke the words slowly and clearly. "And then she let the demon out, a sky-tall monster, red and black, shaking rocks down from above, with shoulders spiked, varterral-broad, beaked head bowed 'neath the stone roof. It turned on us, majestic proud, with magic in its mighty fists, but force was not what made it fierce; it stole the voices of the dead and with them did accuse us. Tamlen did call out to me, to blame me for his tragic end -- that guilt is mine up to a point and then it becomes his again. His voice, though, wrung my heart out. The spirit nearly felled us then, with accusations bold renewed, we slowed before its mighty strikes, we stumbled in our risen grief, Ser Shemlen had to save us."

"Really, Theron? Ser _Shemlen_?" Carver looked less than entirely amused, but Merrill squeezed his hand.

"He drove its magic clean away, and Merrill's vanished with it, too, and with those gone, the voices ceased; its power to impersonate swift driven from our senses. But, oh, the beast stood twice enraged, its own voice cutting through the gloom. Reason, it accused us of and compromise, just after, as though these things were loathsome. We struck it then our faith renewed but magic can't be stayed for long the spark came to the demon first and reaching out its glowing hands it clenched us tight in magic. I cried out to my goddess then, eternal Lady of the Hunt, for some sign how to break this beast and drive it back from whence it came before it could escape us. Ser Shemlen saved us once again --"

"I have a name, you know," Carver muttered, a little too loudly, but Theron just kept talking.

"-- bleeding all its power out. He called for me to strike the beast, to pierce it while it, weakened, swayed. My blade was quick to follow. And when the spirit finally fell, collapsing back into itself, retreating to familiar forms, the Keeper stood before us then, with praise for our great power. Then Merrill looked at last relieved, to see our Keeper safe and well. A new respect had gentled both, the spirit set behind them then, and nothing more to part them. But, I had heard our Keeper well and took to heart the words she spoke: to slay the demon, she had said, to part it from this world of ours would mean her death as well as its. And I, convinced the demon stood wrapped in betrayal even now, to lead us down a darker path lit with the Keeper's kindly smiles, unfalt'ringly reminded. So, Merrill took her blade in hand, apology swift from her lips. My sword rose up in case she missed, but sadness roiling in her eyes, she boldly slew the demon. You know as well as I, hahren, no magic flows within my blood, and yet I saw, as I see you, the spirit flee her wounds and fade releasing in her death. And this is how it came to be: our Keeper fell to demon's lure, endangering us to a one, until we stood to face her wrath, and on my word did slay her."

Theron finally drew breath, and the silence that fell was heavy, expectant, as his audience waited to see if the flow of words would continue. Paivel seemed to age ten years in the space of ten seconds. He looked at Kalli. "Is this true?" he asked softly.

"Every word," Kalli said. "The Keeper is dead."

Carver still clutched Merrill's bloody hand in his. The hunter who had spoken earlier, pointing out the blood on her clothes, still glared at Merrill, her anger still simmering. "Monster," she snarled.

"The only monster was the demon," said Carver. "If you want to blame someone for the mess, blame him."

The hunter folded her arms across her chest and stared Carver down with yellow eyes. "There would have been no demon if it weren't for this little flat-eared bitch." She reached for the swords at her back.

" _What_ did you call her?" Carver pulled Merrill behind him, hefting his own sword.

"Hold, all of you!" Paivel stood, hands raised palm out. Around him, hunters stilled with their hands on their weapons. "Our clan has lost enough, especially today! Sheathe your blades!"

"Hahren, what our clan has lost, we've lost because of this traitor!" The yellow-eyed hunter pointed a sword at Merrill -- or, rather, at Ser Shemlen's shoulder, which blocked her from view.

"The demon on this mountain predates her birth," Paivel pointed out. "She is not responsible for bringing it here. I know a little of demons, and only a little, but the stories teach us they are difficult to resist. They pick at our fears and our desires, until we tell them yes. Until we accept their offers to fix the problem, for a price. Is this so different from the Dread Wolf, may his gaze be turned away?"

An uncomfortable murmuring ran through the crowd.

"Mahariel says it's true. Have you ever known him to lie?" a raised voice came from the back of the group, and another quickly followed.

"I'm not saying he's a liar. I'm saying he's a shite-mouthed idiot. He doesn't tell lies, but does he ever tell the whole truth? Or have you forgotten about the thing with Tamlen?"

"You leave him out of this," Theron warned. "He was-- I was -- You _leave him out of this_." He paused to compose himself. "We weren't children, then, but maybe we should have been. It was stupid, but it was just as stupid on both our parts. Do you hold it against him that he said the same things I did? We made a mistake. He has nothing to do with this."

"What a demon wants is freedom," Carver said, quietly, armour creaking as he shifted his weight. "Freedom to pursue its purpose. Just like any spirit, really. It has a goal, and it needs freedom to pursue it. It wanted out, and Merrill wouldn't come."

"Then why is she here now?" the hunter with the hand on her sword asked.

"I was -- we were -- following the Keeper," Merrill said. "I planned to throw myself on her mercy and ask for her help, but..." It still hadn't quite hit her, not yet. 'Dead' was not a word that went with 'Marethari', not when Merrill could still hear her voice so clearly.

"I told you, I will only tell the story once," Theron said. "You have heard it. Now let us pass."

He stared down Fenarel and the hunter at his side, and there was that silence again, that heavy, expectant silence. "She's not worth it," Fenarel muttered at last, turning away. The woman at his side looked around, but she was the only one still with a hand on her sword. Paivel caught her eye and shook his head. She spit at the ground in front of Merrill, but her hand slipped from her sword's hilt.

Surrounded by Theron, Kalli, and Carver, Merrill made her way through the crowd, her people parting like water around them. No one else spit at her, and some of the faces were even sympathetic.

Still, Merrill heard all the voices the demon had summoned, voices she knew would haunt her sleep, alongside Marethari's.

"I don't know what we'll do," Theron breathed, as they made their way down the mountain. "But, if I have anything to say about it, you'll be welcome up here any time."

"And since he doesn't have anything to say about it, the two of you are welcome with us," Kalli decided, patting Merrill's shoulder. "Assuming he doesn't get us tied to trees and fed to dogs, anyway."

"I'm not getting us fed to dogs," Theron groaned. "I'm getting us fed to Dog Lords, which I seem to recall you having less of a problem with at Earthquake Boy's wedding."

Carver looked horrified, and Kalli pressed the back of her hand to his chest, shaking her head. "Don't bother," she said. "He's always like this. Twice as much when he's narrowly escaped death."


	327. PART LIX: AN UNUSUAL ALLIANCE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Orsino intends to ask a favour of the Champion, and discovers that he and Bethany write for the same publications.

"A message for you, messere."

Anton wasn't surprised when Bodhan handed him a letter -- the Champion was in high demand, after all -- but the name at the bottom did give him pause. "Orsino?" he muttered. He checked again to make sure the letter hadn't been addressed to Bethany. No, that was still his name at the top.

The missive was short, at least, a painfully polite request for assistance, and, really, Anton was growing tired of being in the middle of this mage-templar tug-of-war.

"Bethy?" he called up the stairs. "Fancy a visit to someone magey who isn't related to us or sleeping with someone who is related to us?" He paused to consider that, his smile shrinking. "I hope."

"Well, that leaves so very few possibilities," Bethany called down after him. She appeared moments later, skirts gathered in one hand. "Do I know this mythical creature?"

"I suspect you've heard of him." Anton waved the letter. "It's Orsino."

Bethany descended, taking the letter from Anton's hand. "So you want me, your magical little sister, to go with you to the Gallows?"

Anton considered that and shrugged. "Yes?"

Bethany grinned. "Let me get some better shoes."

* * *

 

By the time they reached the Gallows, Anton still couldn't see the difference in the shoes. As best he could tell, they were the same shoes Bethany had gone upstairs in, but she insisted they weren't and rolled her eyes, every time he swore he couldn't see the difference. Really, he expected she was just fucking with his head. She was very good at that, after all.

Anton let himself in, waving to the templars at the desk as if he were going to go visit Cullen, which he figured to do, since he'd walked all the way down here. One of them called after him. "Who's the lady? You two got a girlfriend, now, too? A little something more than just a dragon?"

Bethany cracked her fan open to hide the laugh she struggled to contain.

"In your dreams, Petrus. The dragon's in your dreams, too. Careful, or I'm going to start thinking you're the one who wrote that for the Gazette!" Anton called back as he held open the door to the stairs for his sister.

"Oh, don't even joke about that, Messere Knight-Captain's wife! The Commander's still up in arms about the Gazette."

"Hey, hey, that's 'Champion' to you, Ser Smartass." Anton winked and let the door close behind him.

Up a couple of floors and down a long hall, Anton found Orsino's office and leaned in the open door, knocking on the wall. "Looking for me, First Enchanter?"

"Thank you for coming, Champion. Few will associate with me now that I am the focus of Meredith's ire." Orsino looked terribly tired, like he'd been worn down to the bone, just working in the same building with Meredith.

"I hope you don't mind that I've brought my sister with me. She has some extra insight, where magical difficulties are concerned." Anton stepped in and held out his hand, and Orsino stared blankly at it, for a long moment, before giving the hand a single firm shake.

"With the father you had, one of you had to be paying attention." A faint smile crossed Orsino's face, and he nodded to Bethany. "A pleasure, Lady... Amell?"

"Amell, yes, just like my _mother_."

The flicker of eyebrow that accompanied the response told Orsino everything he needed to know about that decision. "Champion, I am in a difficult position. Meredith is not entirely wrong."

"And a weathervane that's jammed is still occasionally correct," Anton pointed out.

"I know some of my people are using dangerous means to oppose her, but I cannot seek the templars' aid without making every mage a target," Orsino sighed, pacing nervously, never quite looking at either sibling.

"Dangerous means?" Bethany asked, curious. Was this blood magic, or something more unusual?

"All I know is numerous mages have left the Circle at night, sometimes for days at a time. I'd rather not follow our knight-commander, by leaping to the worst possible conclusion, but blood magic has crossed my mind." Orsino remained turned away, studying his bookcase, as he spoke.

"She does like to add one and one and get eleven, doesn't she?" Anton said. This sounded like a new headache for Cullen waiting to happen.

Orsino huffed. "Sometimes a hundred and eleven." He turned back to the siblings, somehow looking even more tired than before. "I've heard rumours, whispers, of a meeting tonight in Hightown. I would go myself, but should I leave the tower without permission, Meredith would call it proof of my involvement."

"So," said Anton, drawing out the word, "I shouldn't slit my wrists and dance naked under the moonlight just to fit in?"

"Well, if _that's_ what we're doing," Orsino said, eyebrows leaping up, "then I might have to join you."

Bethany smothered an inelegant laugh behind her hand, while Anton looked like a strong wind could blow him over. "I'm sure Cullen would pay to see that," she said.

Anton considered that for a moment. "How much?" he asked.

"The dancing naked is optional." Orsino went on. " I just need you to learn the nature of this meeting. You needn't interrupt unless you find proof of something sinister. I pray not, or Meredith will have what she needs to justify the Right of Annulment."

Bethany's expression sobered at that. "She wouldn't go that far, would she?" she asked, only to shake her head. "She would."

"You know, at this point, I'm not sure that's really an improvement on the Exalted March the Divine is considering," Anton sighed. "What is it with this city and pissing off important people?"

"You're important people," Bethany reminded him. "Does it piss you off?"

"Well, yes, but I'm not going to _kill everyone_ over it!" Anton huffed, holding out a hand to Orsino, again. "I'll see what I can do. Do you know how they're getting out? Or _why they're coming back_ , if they've gotten out? It really seems to defy reason."

"I have suspicions, but I do not know. Forgive me if I do not elect to share with the Knight-Captain's husband, just yet." The corner of Orsino's mouth tipped up, and he shrugged apologetically, as he shook Anton's hand again. "Thank you, Champion."

"Hey, that's what Champions do, right? Right wrongs, prevent the entire city getting slaughtered by warmongering idiots. I feel like I've done this before, somehow..." Anton threw his hands up and shook his head, turning toward the door. "Since I'm in the building, I'm going to go distract my charming and delicious husband from his work. Are you coming along, Bethany?"

"Oh, if you're going to ... 'distract' him, maybe I should stay here and chat up the First Enchanter, a little longer. I wouldn't want to overhear any more _dragon noises_." Bethany shook her head and smiled at Orsino. "You know, I read that treatise you published on the trends in religious attributions for death magic, last year. That was really insightful. I quoted you, actually, in something I wrote just after."

"Yes, I know. I remember reading it!" Orsino snapped his fingers and pointed at her. "That _was_ you! I wanted to compliment you on your thorough study of the features of those tomb statues! I would never have thought to go where you took that!"

"Well, my specialities are specifically Nevarran. You seem to have a more international approach."

"Right-o. I'm just going to ... er... dragon noises. I'll be back for you in a bit, Bethy." Anton let himself out, before the conversation got any stranger.

* * *

 

Anton found Cullen either deep in thought or deep in sleep, eyes closed and cheek propped up on his fist. "Knock, knock, captain," Anton said, leaning in the doorway, and Cullen jumped, bolting upright and blinking owlishly.

"Oh. Hello, Anton. Good... morning? Afternoon? Please tell me it's not the afternoon." Cullen ran a hand over his face and looked down at the papers on his desk.

"Sorry, Ser Gorgeous," Anton said, walking in to rest his hip against Cullen's desk. "You know I don't wake before the crack of noon."

Cullen groaned and slumped over his desk. Anton slid a hand through his husband's curls. "The paperwork can wait for a bit, Cullen. That's what Keran is for, isn't it?"

That paperwork muffled Cullen's next groan. "You're better to look at, anyway," Cullen said, sitting back again and smiling tiredly up at his husband.

"Of course I am," Anton replied. "I'm lovely to listen to, as well, though perhaps less so when I talk to you about my conversation with Orsino."

Cullen's smile slipped. "And here I'd hoped you'd come to distract me from my job."

"Sadly, I think I'm here to drag you out to do your job, in the middle of the night. Which is a fine time to be out doing things that aren't your job. Like your husband. I'm starting to think you've forgotten that, again," Anton teased rubbing his thumb on Cullen's cheek.

"I thought you were going to tell me about a conversation with Orsino. Is he telling people I need to get laid more? Because he's not wrong, but that seems a little... unlike him, really." Cullen turned his head, pressing a kiss to the heel of Anton's hand.

"I sincerely hope what Orsino just told me has nothing to do with you getting laid, or you've been having magical orgies without me!"

Cullen choked on his tongue. "What?"

"Apparently, there are some mages coming and going at odd hours, for no discernible purpose. The First Enchanter requests that I look into it. Obviously, if you're going to be a shit about it, Ser Templar, I'm not taking you along, but..." Anton shrugged.

"Going to be a shit about it?" Cullen inquired. "Did you mean, 'going to do my job and stop mages from leaving the tower when they shouldn't be'?"

"Exactly that, actually. I need them to leave, or I'll never figure out what they're doing. Whatever it is, they keep _coming back_. What mage do you know who has left this place and then turned around and came back?"

"That is an excellent observation," Cullen allowed. "If they're coming back, maybe they're not leaving without permission. Maybe some of the men are using them for something, although I still question what, and why, if that were the case, they'd come back at all, all the same."

"You see why I'd like your expertise in this matter," Anton said, looking like he'd won an argument Cullen wasn't even aware they were having. "And I'd like even more if this didn't get back to Meredith. Orsino says she'll use it to force an Annulment, and I'm pretty sure you'd object to that as much as I would."

Cullen rubbed his eye with the heel of his hand. "Lovely," he muttered. "As if tensions weren't high enough."

Anton sucked in a breath. "There are rumours, you know. Everyone talks. Says the knight-commander's crazy, and I'm not sure they're wrong."

"Have you been reading the Gazette again, love?" Cullen asked with a brittle smile. "I'd be careful with that. Page Six was a bit odd this week. Or so I hear." His hand was still on Anton's, pads of his fingers tracing patterns along Anton's skin. "As for Meredith... she needs a spine of iron to survive her position." He wasn't sure whom he was trying to convince. "I have seen madness before -- and no, I don't mean your siblings. I saw Uldred's eyes when there was nothing human left in them. The knight-commander... she is not there yet."

"Yet," Anton repeated.

Cullen wished he had a response to that, one that could convince them both that things would stay that way.

"Should I be worried?" Anton asked, trying to keep his tone light. He remembered those two weeks Cullen had been locked away. He had no delusions about what Meredith was capable of doing.

"Yes." Cullen sighed, slumping in his seat, knees jutting forward over his boots. "After what happened in Ferelden, I told myself I would never again question the purpose of the Order. But, it grows harder each day to tell whether I'm serving the templars or only the Knight-Commander. It seems those two things are no longer one and the same. Which, really, I knew that. I've known that longer than we've been married."

"I know. It's part of why I married you, that sharp eye," Anton joked.

"Whether or not she's mad, she's _wrong_. So many of her decisions are against the Chantry law -- the law that defines the Order. But, the law no longer turns her." Cullen looked deeply sorrowful, as he considered that. "I am afraid to stay. I am more afraid to leave."

"We'll get there," Anton promised. "We've sent word to the Divine. This will get fixed. Maybe you'll be the new Knight-Commander, when it's all done."

Cullen groaned piteously. "No. I don't need a job with more paperwork."

"Ah! But, didn't you tell me you're doing your paperwork _and_ hers? It's less paperwork, if it's just hers," Anton pointed out, with a wink.

"And somehow, I'm not reassured," Cullen drawled. "So tonight, then? Wonderful."

"Good thing you got a nap in early," Anton teased.

"Nap? What nap? I wasn't napping!" Cullen said, gaze darting to the side. "Hush, you," he said to Anton's answering cackle. He tugged on Anton's hand, pulling him in for a kiss. "That means there's still some time for you to distract me from all this paperwork."

"Ah, there are those sharp observation skills again," Anton said, grinning against Cullen's lips. He wondered how long he could 'distract' Cullen before his sister became impatient. Or before Orsino proposed marriage.


	328. Chapter 328

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vicious guard cats, riots in the streets, and questionable uses for the Blooming Rose. And, you know, some mage/templar problems.

Anton had wanted to bring Cormac for this. If there were mages, Cormac could keep them safe. Cormac could probably also get them out of anything he got them into. But, Cormac was nowhere to be found, and Bodhan hadn't seen him leave. Maybe he'd been out with Isabela all night or something. Still, there was no time to run back and forth across Kirkwall, looking for him. No, no. Anton would just ask Anders, instead. A healer would be a good idea, if nothing else. If they couldn't avoid getting hit, at least they could avoid staying hurt.

"Knock-knock!" Anton said, striding into the clinic, leading Bethany and a blindfolded Cullen. "Have you seen my brother?"

"Which one?" Anders asked, absently, a wave of healing magic sweeping over the woman standing before him.

Behind Anton, Cullen jerked upright, and Bethany's attention shifted wholly to him.

"Which one do you think? The one you'd know where he was." Anton rolled his eyes.

"Except I don't. He didn't come home, that I know of. At least, I didn't see him, last night. He went out to the Hanged Man. I figured he'd stayed with Isabela." Anders shrugged and waved the next patient forward.

"Well, since he's not around, I need your help with something. Hush hush. Magey stuff."

"And that's why you've brought a templar with you." Anders shot back.

"Hey, he's blindfolded! And that's my husband!" Anton argued.

Anders sighed. "I can hear your armour rattling from here, Cullen. Take off the blindfold and sit down. I'll be with you in a minute."

Hesitantly, Cullen reached for the blindfold, giving Anders a moment to change his mind before tugging it off. He blinked up at the tall ceilings, around at the patients, and down at the floor. "That floor is... incredibly shiny," he said, the words spilling out automatically. It make him think of the pond he used to skate across when he was a kid, and he half expected to go gliding across the floor with every step.

"Artie?" Bethany asked, giving Anders a sympathetic and long-suffering look.

Anders nodded. He tilted his chin towards his chest and growled out, "Mage-floors."

At Cullen's quizzical look, Anton shook his head. "Don't ask," he said. "I still have scars."

Anders grinned as he turned to his next patient, hand already glowing with a warm, healing light as he asked her what was troubling her.

Cullen watched, fascinated despite himself. Anders was a Warden, after all, so Cullen wasn't neglecting his duty by allowing him to practice magic. All these years, and Cullen still needed to remind himself of that, even when watching magic do something as incredible as mend a broken bone in an instant. Cullen had broken his wrist once, as a kid -- likely on that same pond he'd been skating on, now that he thought about it -- and he remembered how long it had taken it to heal. His wrist still crunched a bit when he turned it a certain way.

He shouldn't feel on edge around healing magic just because it was _magic_. And yet...

One more patient, and Anders finally turned back to the siblings and Cullen. "So. Something magey, and you need both a templar and a healer." Anders shook his head. "For future reference, I accept whiskey as bribes."

Anton groaned. "Is this because I bring Fenris tarts? Do I need to start bringing you gifts too just to get you out of the clinic?"

"It wouldn't hurt," Anders said primly.

"And I'm sure we all know what you're bribing Ser Cullen with," Bethany joked. "I suppose I'll settle for those few hours in the First Enchanter's office. Imagine! He reads my work!"

"Does he?" Anders asked, getting his coat and staff. "Another Nevarran historian, then? I'd never have thought it of the man."

"What? No, no. Necromancy. He's got some amazing studies tracing the evolution of necromantic thinking across Thedas." Bethany grinned like this was the most exciting point of her week. Which, really, it was.

Anders looked away, a sad smile tugging at his lips. "I once knew another elven necromancer who would have loved a seat in that conversation." He loaded potions into his bag. "Have I healed you, since you've come back to your senses, Captain?"

"No. I suppose I've been lucky." Cullen rubbed at the back of his neck and looked around the room. This was a surprisingly clean and even room, for Darktown. "This doesn't look like much of a sewer." _Open mouth, insert foot. Congratulations, Cullen, you're well on your way to making friends now!_ He froze and his eyes darted back to Anders. "I mean, it's Darktown. There's... It's not..."

Anders snorted. "No, I don't suppose it is. Someone bribed some dwarven craftsmen to do the place, while I was otherwise occupied. I came home and didn't recognise it." He paused. "But, if we're walking into combat, together, I need you to know me. I need you not to take a swing at me. Give me your hand."

Cullen looked hesitant. "Why?"

"Because I'm going to give you a basic healing battery. It's not much, but it should give you enough to at least _slow down_ when you forget I'm behind you." Anders grimaced and held out his hands, and Cullen's hand ended up between them. The glow started green, and wavered between green and blue, as Cullen watched, nervousness slowly sliding down from his shoulders.

"That's ... that's really nice, actually. I'm sure I've said that before, but I'm also sure I wasn't in full control of my faculties at the time," Cullen admitted.

"You weren't in control of much, for a while, there," Anders reminded him. He looked up and met Cullen's eyes, after a moment. "It's good to have you back."

Cullen cleared his throat. "It's... that is, thank you. It's good to be back." He didn't quite hide a disappointed sigh when Anders drew his hand away, taking the warm glow of magic with him. "Now... about the meeting we hope we don't need to crash tonight. You don't know anything about that, do you? Not... not to make this sound like an interrogation. I am simply curious."

"Meeting?" Anders repeated, gaze sliding to Anton and Bethany before settling back on Cullen. "So we are not crashing a meeting, and magey stuff is involved. Now, see, Anton, this is why you should have brought whiskey."

"I'll buy you some later," Anton sighed. "Retroactive whiskey."

"Orsino says some mages have been sneaking out of the Gallows," Bethany explained. Anders's expression shifted, just the barest tilt of an eyebrow and suddenly he looked worried. "He wants us -- or really the Champion -- to investigate and make sure no one is misbehaving."

"At least not more than they already are," Cullen grumbled.

"I see," Anders said guardedly. "And to answer your question, captain, no, I know nothing about this." He didn't quite manage to keep the edge out of his voice. "Though you have piqued my interest." He picked up his staff from where it leaned against the wall and turned to his assistant. "Lirene, I--"

"Yes, yes," Lirene cut him off, waving one hand in his direction. "I know. There's nothing serious here, and if anything serious comes along, we're well-stocked on potions, for once." She kept on rolling bandages as she spoke. "Go on."

Anders offered her a grateful smile and paused to pet the purring bundle of red fur on the cot by the door. "Make sure to guard the door, Purrcy. We're counting on her."

Purrcy chirped and rolled lazily onto his back.

"Vicious guard-cat," Anton drawled.

"At least he doesn't fart," Anders sniffed.

* * *

As they approached the plaza in front of the De Launcet estate, hushed voices could be heard. Anton vanished from view, and Bethany dropped behind, not to be too close to Cullen. She wondered why Anders stayed at his side, as the two of them stepped out of the alley together.

"Someone's coming! It's -- It's the Knight-Captain! We know you're spying for Meredith!" One of the mages shouted, pointing an angry finger.

Anders held out his hand, calling a wisp into it, before wiggling his fingers at the assembled mages... and templars? "I don't think any of us are spying for _Meredith_... Just out taking a walk with my --" He counted on his fingers. "-- brother-in-law. Is it still brother-in-law if my adopted brother is married to his husband's brother? I think it is, isn't it?" he eyed one of the mages in confusion, and shrugged.

"Is that _Anders_?" asked a voice from the back of the crowd. "What the fuck, Anders!"

"I know, I know, always showing up and never invited. It's a talent!" Anders grinned. "So, what's the party we didn't get invited to?"

"A funeral," one of the templars declared, drawing his sword. "Yours."

"The rest of you run! We'll handle this!" a mage cried out, and more than half the group broke away, scattering down other alleys, as about eight mages and templars turned their attention on the interlopers.

Anders slapped out a stun, hoping to end this peacefully, but Cullen smote the plaza at the same time, and the spell failed to catch hold, merely jarring the crowd, but not stilling them. Anders looked like he might vomit. Possibly at length. "Andraste's flaming _knickerweasels_ , Cullen! Can you not do that directly next to the mage trying to _help you_!?"

"Sorry! Sorry..." But, Cullen was already blocking the first blow from a templar who also apologised.

"Forgive me, Captain. I have to."

Bethany eased out of the alley, and a greasy cloud rose up from the centre of the crowd. "Back up, Anders! Take him with you!"

Anders was already moving, long before Bethany's voice caught up to him, but Cullen hadn't realised what was happening, until he dropped to the ground, screaming, with the rest of their assailants.

"Sorry, Anton! He was in the way!" Bethany called into the shadows.

After a moment's breathing, Anders went back in, blue-eyed, with the light swirling on his face and hands. Cullen wouldn't remember, and if he did, he was deranged at the time. Justice could resist the spell, even if Anders couldn't, and Justice dragged Cullen back out of range.

Bethany waited until they were both out of range before dropping a second spell onto the group. A green glow lit the ground, and the screaming stopped, abruptly enough to leave Bethany's ears ringing. Mage and templar alike went stiff and still where they lay.

Cullen alone continued writhing and shrieking until the first spell died out.

"That's better," she sighed, looking around to make sure none of the neighbours were poking their heads out through their windows. She wasn't naive enough to think no one had seen anything, but she prayed it was too dark out for anyone to make out important -- and damning -- details.

"I hate that spell," Anton assured Bethany as he slipped past, dropping to his knees next to Cullen. "I hate that spell with a burning passion." He wiped off a bloody dagger and slipped it into its sheath, and Bethany didn't ask about it. A few had escaped her first spell, and she'd trusted Anton to deal with them.

"You're welcome," she drawled, watching the paralysed mob and keeping a spell at her fingertips. "This spell won't last long. What do we do with them?"

Anders slowly stopped glowing. "I have bandages. You can at least tie them up, while we figure it out," he suggested, hand lingering on the side of Cullen's face. "Or just use their belts. Those might be stronger. A good sash is your best friend, in the Circle."

"He's fine, Anders," Bethany sighed, moving to bind the mages first. She had no doubt Anders could lay out any templar that stirred, but she worried about him hesitating over a mage. He knew someone, in this crowd.

Cullen looked horrified, as he blinked up at Anton and Anders. "What--? Was that _you_?"

"It was not," Anders said, shaking his head, and in no hurry to explain. "You're lucky you didn't hit Bethany, when you hit me. She knocked them out. Anton, your husband's fine. Go help your sister."

Anton picked up Cullen's hand and kissed it, eyes not leaving Cullen's until he stood up. "Come home, tonight," he breathed, before turning to his sister. "What do you need, Bethy?"

"Do something with those tin buckets, would you?" Bethany replied, slicing another sash in half, to bind the last mage, hand and foot. "And hurry."

Anders helped Cullen sit up. "What--?" Cullen asked again, still pale, eyes uncertain.

"It's all just a bad dream. Let it go. It's not real. Whatever you thought you saw? It's what you fear the most, but it's absolutely not real. You came out with us, you're still out with us, and we're gathering up these weirdoes to take them... uh, where are we taking them? I think that's up to you. To a point. That's mostly up to you." Anders nodded, slowly rising to his feet and pulling Cullen with him.

"Ah. Well." Cullen looked down at their captives, blinking as though seeing them for the first time. Eight in total, four mages, four templars. Counting was simple enough to do, to start. "I can't bring them back to the Gallows without Meredith finding out. And, well, I'm not sure they've done anything _too_ wrong, just yet." By which he meant 'blood magic wrong'. "I need to question them first," he decided, eyes steadily clearing as spoke. "But not out here. We could -- no. Alerting the guards would give us the same problem."

"We could hide them in the De Launcets' basement," Anton suggested cheerfully, pointing his thumb at the De Launcets' door. "I'm sure they'd love that!"

Bethany shook her head, flicking another spell at their captives the moment she spotted movement.

"All right. Maybe not the De Launcets," Anton continued, shrugging. "But I know another place..."

* * *

Anton waved at Lusine as they filed into the Blooming Rose, leading a train of tied-up mages and templars, while Cullen tried to hide his blushing face behind his hand. "Good evening, Madame!" Anton greeted her, blithely ignoring the stares. "Are Dips and Jethann available, perchance?"

Lusine eyed the long line following Anton into the room. "Four sovereigns for each of you, for both of them."

Cullen tried to hide behind Anders, before anyone recognised him. Of course, he'd also shown up with Anton, who was both his husband and a regular, so maybe it would go unremarked, but he doubted it.

Anton squinted at Lusine. "I should get a discount for this."

"There are twelve of you. That's forty-eight sovereigns."

"I am not paying that. And there's only eight of us staying. The other four of us are just here to ensure they arrived safely," Anton explained, as Jethann appeared on the balcony.

"Did you bring me toys, Tony?" the elf called down.

"Andraste's tits," Anders groaned, staring at the ceiling. "Half price and I'll heal both of them," he said to Lusine.

"You'd do it for free," she reminded him.

"Yes, but I'll do it much more quietly if I'm paid," Anders replied sweetly. "Unless you want your patrons to hear about all the diseases rampant under this roof." His voice rose as he spoke, and Lusine pursed her lips. "Especially some of the grosser ones I've been coming across. Ones where your dongle--"

"Enough," Lusine cut him off with a grimace. "Fine. Half price." She gestured curtly up the stairs. "Jethann, could you lead these messeres upstairs? You might need to use the big room." She held her hand out while Anton counted out his coins.

"My pleasure," Jethann purred, slinking down the stairs and eyeing the bound men and women like he planned to devour them. "Tony, darling, how is your brother and that delicious piece of elf he married? You really should tell them to stop by some time. For a visit."

"No. Nope. No." Anders shook his head vehemently, one hand already glowing with healing as he wagged his finger at Jethann. "No 'visiting' Messeres Fartemis. I'm not cleaning that up."


	329. Chapter 329

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cormac finds himself in more trouble than he'd anticipated. Cullen discovers an unexpected twist to this ongoing adventure.

Admittedly, he probably should have used one of the multitude of chamberpots before leaving Isabela's suite at the Hanged Man, but they were all sufficiently foul that he hadn't much wanted to get that close to them. All the same, Cormac had come to the conclusion he was not making it all the way back to Hightown without taking a tinkle. Fortunately, if there was something Lowtown had an abundance of, it was dark alleys. Also people who didn't ask too many questions about what went on in them. And that was a nice alley, right there.

Except it was also an alley he had fond memories of, and he couldn't bring himself to whiz on that wall knowing what Artie would think of it. And so he turned around to whiz on the other wall, instead. But, among the splashing sounds he heard a clank, and before he could size up whether that was a guard or a templar, the smite hit. Templar. But, was that aimed at him, or did he just catch the edge of it?

Dropping the hem of his robes, he considered the alley, but half his senses were short without his magic. This was not a situation he'd expected to be in -- always combat before the smite. Ah, there, at the mouth of the alley -- the gleam of the street light on armour.

"Good evening, Ser Templar! Just stopping off to water the lichen. I'll be on my way, then." Cormac laughed and rubbed the back of his head, making himself out to be drunker than he was in the hopes of just walking away from this.

But, the hand caught him from behind, pressing some bitter wad of wet sea sponge between his lips, as his mouth opened in shock. It took no time at all to learn the body behind him was also wearing plate, as he slammed his elbow against it. No, no, no, this was not how it was supposed to end -- he had a family to look after, he had a revolution to start.

But, the wetness against his tongue turned to burning, under it, and he could feel it spreading out from his mouth, the burning pain and then the icy numbness. As the templar in the mouth of the alley drew closer, Cormac let himself sag against the other one, feeling the templar behind him brace against his weight. Once the other was close enough, it was two steps to hook a leg behind that templar's neck, and he slammed his other foot against the front of the helmet until it popped off, and kicked the templar in the face once more for good measure. The templar behind him tried to drop him, but found it difficult to twist out of his grip.

"Put me down! Put me down, I say! I am a nobleman and a scholar!" Cormac shouted, spitting out the sponge. He wasn't expecting anyone to help, so much as expecting someone might remember, come morning, or the next pass of the guard.

And then the templar in front of him finally managed to bat his foot aside and lean in, and the last thing he saw was the gleam of a metal gauntlet connecting with his face.

* * *

Cullen stumbled, yawning, as he followed Anton and Anders down the stairs to the docks. "Sorry," he muttered. "Been up a while."

Anders handed him a potion. "Drink that. It'll help. You'll be fine through about lunch, if it's as late as I think it is."

"Bless you, serah," Cullen proclaimed, accepting the potion and handing back the bottle once he'd drunk it. "So, how are you still awake? Do you sleep like he does?" He pointed at Anton.

"No, I'm a Warden. It's part of the package. Sleep is a little more optional, eating is a little less optional." Anders shrugged, looking in his bag for something else. No apples. No jerky. Cormac really hadn't come home, the night before. Pity.

"Which is why you're ever so fortunate that I have a brother who brings you sandwiches," Bethany said, with a smile, hooking her arm through Anders's.

"Does everyone know about that?" Anders groaned.

"It's not like he's quiet about it. It's not like he's quiet about anything. I do wish you'd gag him, if you're upstairs." Bethany patted Anders's arm, and Anders turned bright red.

"Anyway, this templar says they're to meet up again down at this warehouse. Does anyone think this might be a trap? Because this sounds like a trap." Anders eyed Anton's back.

"As the resident, trap-disarming scoundrel," Anton said, batting his eyelashes over his shoulder at Anders, "I would say 'Yes. Yes, that is exactly what it sounds like'."

"Great," Cullen muttered, wondering if Anders had another one of those potions. Or ten.

* * *

The warehouse was simple enough to find. Anton had cornered a few slavers in the same building months before, but he was surprised -- and intrigued -- to find no traps waiting for them. Not on the ground, at least.

Cullen heard their voices before he saw them. He wasn't surprised to recognise at least one voice, but he hadn't been expecting _that_ voice.

" _Keran_?" The name came out before he could stop himself, and Anton cringed. There went their element of surprise.

Keran and the mage he was speaking with turned, wearing twin startled looks. "I told you he was after us!" the mage said, jabbing a finger in Cullen's direction.

Keran shook his head, ran a hand through his hair in agitation. "I... I'm sorry, Captain. I thought I'd look into it before I let you know."

"A traitor!" the mage cried out. "To arms!"

"No! No, no, stop that!" Keran cried. "I know you've been afraid to look up, but he's _with us_!"

"Where the fuck is Cormac, when I need him," Anders sighed, sweeping a hand in front of him and sticking everyone to the ground. "And I could have stunned you, too, so knock that off! We're here to _talk_!"

Keran cleared his throat. "About Cormac, actually... He's fine. Well, mostly. I told them not to do it, I swear. If I'd known sooner, I'd have warned you."

"How fine is 'mostly fine', Keran?" Anton asked, eyes suddenly cold and firmly locked on Keran's.

"Well, he's unconscious and out of his mind on magebane, but as soon as it wears off, he'll be no worse for it." Keran held up his hands. "I didn't know, until it was too late."

At the word 'magebane', Anders's eyes turned blue -- the kind of blue that lit the space just in front of his face. "Didn't I save your life, once?"

"You did. Believe me, I still dream about those blood mages. I don't know where I'd be without you." Keran shook his head. "I'd never have let them kidnap anyone who wasn't an actual threat, but... it wasn't up to me. They said someone was spying, and we needed leverage. Someone the spy cared about, as a hostage."

"And they took my brother." Anton looked less than amused.

"Well, I suppose it was him or the Knight-Captain, and ... well ... that would've started whole new kinds of trouble." Keran shrugged. "But, he's safe. Nobody's hurt him more than it took to bring him down. There's no blood on him. Nothing's broken. More than I can say for Hugh. Cormac smashed his nose flat."

"Good," Anders muttered, re-casting the paralysis as one of the mages lifted a foot. "And I'm not healing it, either. He got what he was asking for, there."

"They should've just talked to you. I know you're a reasonable person. I mean --" Keran pointed at Cullen. "You got him out in one piece, against all odds. You know how dangerous Meredith has gotten."

"Tell me you didn't bring Ella out here," Cullen said, suddenly.

"What? No. No, no. I'm not going to do anything that would sabotage what you've got going, Captain." Keran shook his head again and got to pacing. "Thrask thinks Meredith will cause open war with the mages, if she stays in charge, and he's trying to find a way to take her down."

"Did you let him know we've been in contact with the Divine?" Cullen asked. "I'm doing my best."

"I think you've got to talk to Thrask. Let him know what you're up to. It might settle things a bit," Keran suggested.

"What I've got to do is get you all back into the Gallows, before anyone notices you're gone," Cullen called across the room. "The First-Enchanter knows you're sneaking out, and he's sent us to make sure it's not _blood magic_."

"And if he knows," Bethany said, stepping out from behind the rest of them, "other people also know. And the more people who know, the more likely someone is going to tell Meredith."

"Lady Amell!" Keran's eyes widened and he coughed and tried to figure out what to do with his hands.

"Oh, yes. The very last and only one." Bethany smiled, turning to address the crowd. "The best sign you have that the Knight-Captain is on your side is that he has shown up in the company of apostates."

"I am _not_ an apostate!" Anders insisted. "I'm a Grey Warden!"

"Bethy," Anton said, throwing her a worried look.

"What?" she said. "They might as well know. They're already in trouble with Meredith. What's the harm?" She waved her hand, and the air around her shimmered, a bubble coalescing around her. It was quite a bit more fragile than any of Cormac's shields, but it did the trick.

She couldn't see the reactions on the paralysed faces around them, but Keran's jaw dropped wide enough for all of them. Next to her, Cullen squared his jaw and managed not to cringe.

"You're...?" Keran sputtered, looking back and forth between Bethany and Cullen's unsurprised, if steely, expression. "Mage? _You're_ a mage?" He jabbed a finger at Cullen. "And this after you gave me that speech about seeing Ella!"

"That's completely different!" Cullen protested. " _He's_ not a mage!" He gestured at his husband, who smiled and waved.

"Still!" Keran looked at Cullen like he was seeing him for the first time. "You're friends with an apostate, you're related to an apostate by marriage, and you haven't brought her in?"

Cullen couldn't quite tell if that was judgement or awe in Keran's voice.

Keran shook his head at his paralysed companions. "You see? This is ridiculous! I told you you should have just _talked_ to him!"

"And you know what else is ridiculous?" Anton said with an unamused smile. "Taking our brother. Not just ridiculous but stupid. Where is he?"

"The main base is on the Wounded Coast. They should all be there. Your brother, too." Keran ducked his head apologetically. "I promise you. Meredith is the only one we're trying to harm."

"Maker. What am I supposed to do with these idiots?" Cullen sighed, rubbing his face. "You don't have any potions of good ideas, do you, Anders?"

"If I did, I'd have made myself sick on them, by now," Anders joked.

"We're not sending them to the Rose. I can't afford it," Anton declared. "Sixteen sovereigns for a babysitter!"

"It's because all your friends are expensive whores, Anton. You've outdone yourself. Or at least out priced yourself." Anders grinned.

"Well, no, but what if we do? Keran, can these people be trusted to act in their own best interest?" Bethany asked. "Because if they can, we should send them to get the others and sneak back _in_ to the Gallows. You know who they are, don't you, Cullen? You can talk to them later, once they're back inside and we haven't got to worry about them being caught out."

Anton sighed and held out his hand. "Give me something to write with. Anders, I know you have something. You never stop writing."

"I do so!" But, after a minute's fumbling around in his bag, Anders came up with something to write with and on, and handed those to Anton.

"I'm going to send them with instructions," Anton said, leaning against Cullen's back, to write. "Get the rest from the Rose -- Dips will let them go, if you show her the note -- and take Jethann along. Actually, let Jethann leave first, and give him a five minute start."


	330. Chapter 330

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rescue begins. More revelations on the road. An unexpected addition to the day's festivities.

They paused long enough in Hightown to pick up Artemis, who paused long enough in the doorway to hear the words 'Cormac' and 'kidnapped'. Now Artie walked beside Keran, distressingly calm, knuckles white on his staff, and Anton didn't doubt he would be halfway there already if he knew where they were going.

The wind off the water blew cold, tracing icy fingers along Anton's skin even through his shirt sleeves. "Why couldn't we be dealing with subversive mages and templars on a nice, sunny day?" Anton asked, huddling against Cullen as they walked. "Good beach weather. That's all I'm asking for."

Cullen patted his shoulder consolingly. "I'm sure there will be other misunderstandings that bring you out here, love," he said.

"But hopefully no more kidnappings," Bethany said with a dangerous smile.

"You're assuming there will be a coast left when I'm through," Artemis replied.

Anders glowed quietly beside him, the occasional flicker of blue darting down his fingers or across his face. "When _we're_ through," he muttered. "Don't get hit," he added, after a moment. "They have magebane, and I can't fix that."

"It wears off!" Keran pointed out.

"Yes. I know that. I know that very well. And I also know it takes a long time to wear off, if it's more than you can paint on a dagger." Anders looked even less pleased than he had, which Anton hadn't been sure was possible.

Actually, Anton thought the last time he'd seen Anders look quite this irate was the night they'd met, outside the Chantry. "You really love my brother, don't you."

"Don't be stupid," Anders scoffed, turning bitter blue eyes on Anton. "I'm a mage."

Cullen sucked in a sharp breath. _That_ was something he hadn't considered. With all the other damage the Order was doing, under Meredith's watch, even after everything he'd seen in Kinloch Hold, that had seemed almost innocuous. You couldn't let mages have serious relationships, or they'd have children -- or that was the idea, anyway, but... he'd always thought of serious relationships as being between men and women. Never mind that he'd married a man, it had just never occurred to him to think differently.

"If he loves you, it's because you deserve it," he said, knowing it to be true. After everything that had happened, somehow, Anders was still a good man, maybe a better one than he'd been, when they were young. Certainly better than anything Cullen, himself, had become.

"He doesn't." Anders smiled sadly. "Not like you mean."

Artie listened and didn't dare say anything, not when he had so many memories of Cormac's whispered devotion. They would never understand the whole of it, and it was better that way.

Still. Magebane and Cormac was another image he could not shake. Cormac, who Keran insisted was all right, who had _better_ be all right.

Artie's throat felt tight, and he had to remind himself to breathe.

"Shit," Keran hissed, touching Artie's arm in a gesture to stop. Two men blocked their path, one in robes, the other in templar armour. Mage and templar, standing together. It was the sort of thing he would have marvelled at, if the weren't armed and facing them like enemies. "Hello, friends!" he called out to them. "It's Ser Keran. There's no need to--!"

Keran ducked just in time to avoid the ball of fire aimed at his head.

"At least let the man finish his sentence," Bethany sighed, fingertips glowing green as they weaved through the air.

Artie's spell landed before hers, however. A flick of his wrist, and both men went skidding back along the sand, flailing and shrieking, feet scrabbling at the ground as they continued back, back, and over the cliff. Artemis spared the cliff a cold glance and continued down the path.

Anton sidled up to Keran and, with one finger under his chin, gently closed Keran's mouth. "Before your tongue starts collecting dust," he said. "Yes, he's a mage too. Surprise!"

A little further down, the path turned sharply as it came up to a steep drop down to the water, and on that angle of sand, the bodies of dead sailors and drowned Tevinter warriors rose out of the ground.

Bethany eyed them, for a moment. "You think so, do you?" she muttered, stopping and closing her eyes. These she knew. That was definitely Anders and Justice -- how close they'd gotten, over the years, like pools of water and lyrium with one edge in common. But, that was a distraction. Further out -- she heard the sound of metal on metal. There. That one. That one was reaching out, and she was quick to put herself in the way, to get pulled in.

Screaming emanated from around the corner, and then a strange stillness, followed by a bit of a scuffle, confused voices and shuffling feet in the sand. The undead turned their attention on the people still blocked by the turn in the path.

"What _is_ that?" Keran asked, sword hanging loosely in his hand, as he watched.

"That is why you don't fuck with my sister," Anton replied, with a cocky smile.

"No, what ... how?" Keran sputtered.

"Necromancy not big here?" Anders asked, staff resting on his shoulder. "They can raise corpses to fight for them. I had a friend who always said it was as simple as asking the local spirits. He used to go around with all these dead mice and birds following him around. And she's... got a talent. She gets in people's heads. I don't think it's clean enough for politics, but it's definitely strong enough for a fight. Sometimes it doesn't work, and I don't really get why -- possession's a big one, though. Can't shake a double. But, I've seen Qunari shake her off like nothing."

"Certainty of belief," Bethany filled in, as the clatter from around the corner died down. "They know too strongly what the world is, and their place in it. Some of them can be shaken, but... it doesn't really work well on most Qunari."

Keran nodded, looking a bit pale. 'Certainty of belief'. Did he have that? Did the _captain_ have that, with what Meredith was doing with the Order? He wondered how many mages had that ability... and that was a dangerous thought.

Around the corner, they found more corpses, fresh ones that didn't rise to meet them. Keran recognised a few of their faces, but didn't allow himself to put names to them, not now.

Then another familiar face appeared, this one still attached to a living body, his sword still sheathed. "Well, here you are," drawled Samson. "You've been sticking your nose in every problem in Kirkwall since you stumbled off the boat." He eyed Anton as he spoke, but his smirk froze when he spotted the knight-captain beside him.

"Samson?" Cullen said, one hand still on his sword's hilt. "Are you involved in this?"

"Well, good to see you too, Captain," he said, almost in a sneer. "It's been a while. I'm sorry I haven't kept in touch, but you see, the years haven't been quite as kind to me as you."

"Samson..." Anton tapped his chin, trying to knock loose the memory he was looking for. "You're that guy, the one we asked about Feynriel years ago. Cullen, you know him?" Anton asked his husband.

"I used to be templar, once upon a time," Samson said. "But that was before you made it to our fair city." Samson still looked incredibly ragged and tired, eyes bloodshot and haunted.

Cullen cleared his throat, shifting his weight awkwardly. "We used to be roommates," he told Anton.

"Are the mages here using blood magic?" Anton asked and Bethany slapped his arm.

"It always comes down to that, don't it?" Samson drawled. "They claim innocence, demand equality, but back them into a corner, and they got options we don't. Haven't found a mage yet who won't take it."

Bethany's eyes widened, suddenly. "Samson, was it? My brother Carver brought you lyrium, once!"

"It's been a long time since anyone could get under my skin with that. I know what I am." Samson shrugged. "So, it shouldn't surprise you to see me here, right? One more blockhead move that's gonna keep me in the gutter."

"No, no!" Bethany waved a hand, cracking open the fan that hung from one wrist, to cover her face. "He's been concerned about you! Ever since--" She stopped and glanced at Cullen.

"They locked me up, Raleigh," Cullen sighed. "That's why Carver was there."

"And here I thought he was worried about himself!" Samson laughed. "It's not as easy as it looks, is it?"

Cullen's back stiffened, his cheeks tinged. And then Anders answered for him, tossing Samson a bottle from his bag. "Mage grade. I don't know if it'll do you much good, but there it is. You know where the clinic is, in Darktown? Come see me. I'll do what I can for you."

"Who--"

"They call me Anders. Kinloch Hold. The Captain and I go way back." Anders leaned on Cullen's shoulder and crossed his ankles.

"The Captain is rather embarrassed about all of that, really." Cullen squeezed his eyes shut.

"The Captain wasn't a captain then, and couldn't do shit about it. You want to piss on somebody about what went on down there, take it out of Hadley. Did Hadley even make it?" Anders asked, watching Samson turn the lyrium potion over in his hands.

"You're a mage?" Samson finally said.

"Give the man a round of applause!" Anders waved a hand across the front of his body, and a trail of electrical glitter followed.

"You're keeping interesting company these days, Cullen," he said, forgetting titles for a moment -- perhaps on purpose. "I won't lie, I wouldn't have expected it of you, not with the way you used to talk. 'Mages aren't people like you and me', right?" He gave Cullen a brittle smile.

"The Captain is embarrassed about that too," Cullen said, wincing. He didn't dare look at Bethany or Artemis, let alone Anders. "He was also a blind fool once upon a time. Raleigh, why are you here?"

"I just wanted to see Meredith out on her ass, like she did to me," Samson answered, clenching his fists.

"Meredith does seem to have a serious case of the crazies, yes," Artemis muttered.

"But is she wrong?" Samson countered, shrugging helplessly. "I'd hoped with Meredith gone, I could take up the shield again. But maybe she was right -- give them a hint of freedom, mages go bad." He looked down and away, and it took Anton a moment to realise he was looking down at the corpses, the older corpses the now-dead mage had raised. He wondered how long Samson had been standing there and how much he had seen.

"It's not the freedom that makes mages 'go bad'," Anders said. His eyes weren't blue, not yet.

"Your friends are at least half right," Anton admitted. "Without Meredith, Kirkwall's got a much better chance at peace. There are still some stumbling blocks--"

Anders coughed and muttered, "The Grand Cleric."

"-- but, without Meredith in the way, we have a much better chance of turning aside the chaos that has seized the city." Anton nodded.

"Mages and templars working together. I must be dreaming!" Anders clapped a hand to his chest and Bethany snickered.

"You've been out for a while, then, Warden," Bethany teased. "That's the Knight-Captain you're leaning on like a bookcase."

"Could you possibly not?" Cullen asked after a moment. "You're heavier than you look."

Anders sighed dramatically, leaning even more on Cullen, for a moment, before he straightened up. "So. Meredith."

"I'd cheer to see her shipped to Val Royeaux," Samson said, "but I don't have the stomach to turn against all that's right and natural to do it."

"If you mean you'd rather not see demons brought into this, I'd agree with that. If you meant something less flattering, I'm going to advise not explaining yourself." Anders pressed a thumb against the corner of his eye. "And speaking of things that are heavier than they look, I think you have something of mine. Of _ours_. Of, well, theirs, really. I'm just borrowing him."

"Remind me never to loan you any books if this is how you borrow things," Anton joked. "But, he's right. Where's my brother?"

"Ah, I thought that might be why you all came out here," Samson said, eyeing the three Hawkes. "Your brother's got a mean right hook, from what I hear. You're heading in the right direction, though. They're holding him a little ways down." He tipped his head down the path. "I imagine they're expecting you, though."

"Perhaps you could be so kind as to show us?" Cullen asked. It only sounded like a suggestion, and Samson knew it.

Samson bit his cheek against a snide comment. "Of course, Captain," he said, ducking his head. "Follow me." Samson adjusted the way his baldric sat and turned, leading them down the winding path, along the cliffside.


	331. Chapter 331

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demons, blood magic, Cormac is found, at last.

Samson bit his cheek against a snide comment. "Of course, Captain," he said, ducking his head. "Follow me." Samson adjusted the way his baldric sat and turned, leading them down the winding path, along the cliffside.

A pair of templars stood guard where the path bottlenecked, and Samson offered them a jaunty wave. Then they spotted the Knight-Captain over his shoulder and stiffened, unsure whether they should stand at attention or draw their swords.

"I'm just looking for my brother-in-law, Cormac Hawke," Cullen told them. He would deal with them later, once he learned Cormac was safe. "Is he here?"

"He's... er." The templars looked at each other, and Cullen recognised Ruvena's voice under her helmet.

"I suppose it's too much to hope that you wouldn't have come here," said another templar, an older, red-haired and bearded templar who didn't hide behind his helmet. He stepped in front of Cullen and Anton and squared his shoulders, a pair of mages stepping into place on either side of him. "Though I cannot understand why you support Meredith still." For all the certainty in his voice, Cullen saw the sweat beading at his brow.

"Ser Thrask," Cullen sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I'm on your side. I thought you would have known that by now."

Behind him, Artemis sucked in a sharp breath and clutched at Anders's sleeve. "Cormac," he breathed. Cullen followed his line of sight, looking past Thrask, and finally spotted the prone figure on the ground. "What did you do to him?" Artie asked, voice hard.

Cullen wasn't sure if he was imagining it, but it felt like the ground had started to tremble under his feet.

"Please, Champion, Captain, I have nothing but respect for you. It is Meredith we must see gone," Thrask said. "I am sorry for any distress we may have caused you or your friends. We hadn't realised how deeply you believed in our cause." He paused. "It's only magebane. He's generally unharmed. Maybe a few scratches, but little more. Release the hostage!"

Anders looked a great deal more blue and less entertained at the thought of magebane, but the templar had just ordered Cormac's release. He held tight to Justice's demands for well, justice.

"No," the mage behind him said, moving toward Cormac. "The man dies, and then the Champion."

"Stand down, Grace," Thrask insisted, positioning himself squarely in her way. "We will not kill an innocent to achieve our ends. It gains us nothing to become Meredith."

"Meredith," Grace scoffed, with little mind to the brightening blue glow behind her. "What do I care for Meredith? I'm here for the Champion!"

"I've been wondering when you'd come back to bite me in the ass," Anton sighed. "Do an apostate a favour..."

Bethany slapped his shoulder, with a scowl.

"I would rather die a hundred times than endure one more hour in the Circle," Grace declared, chin tipped up defiantly.

Anders's head was bowed, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, Justice bright enough on his skin to have lit the camp, were it not already day. "As much as I agree with that sentiment, I disagree with your methods. Give us Cormac, and I'll kill you, myself. Or don't, and I'll kill you anyway. Andraste knows, it's not like I didn't throw myself out a third-storey window."

"In Kinloch Hold?" Cullen glanced over, horrified, only to notice Anders was doing that glowing thing again. Something about the Wardens, he'd said, and from the look of him, it took a lot out of him. Cullen wondered what it actually _did_.

"That's how we met," Anders muttered, and Cullen winced.

"I have been counting the days to get my revenge!" Grace went on, shaking off Anders's suggestion. "Alain! Kill the hostage!"

"I... I don't know, Grace--" Alain began, but the booming voice from the blindingly blue mage cut him off.

"THIS IS UNJUST." Justice reached over and drew Samson's sword, and the templar let him have it.

"Holy shit," Samson breathed, nearly dropping the bottle of lyrium he still held.

"YOU WOULD SLAY A MAN WHO DID YOU NO WRONG? FOR HAVING A BROTHER WHO FAILED TO HELP YOU AS MUCH AS YOU WISHED?" Justice roared, a charge running down the length of the blade in his hand. "THIS WILL NOT STAND."

Anton spread his hands, look offended. "I thought I was helping plenty!"

"What is happening?" Keran asked in a strangely flat voice. "Why are so many of you suddenly mages, and why is this one glowing?"

"To be fair, we've been mages a while," Bethany corrected him. "You just never noticed. As for him..." She looked at Justice and grappled for words. "It's... a Warden thing."

Cullen was beginning to doubt that, but he wouldn't say as much in front of Keran, Thrask, or the others.

"STAND AWAY FROM HIM," Justice boomed, "AND YOU WILL BE UNHARMED."

Alain backed away, trembling, but Grace sneered. "You think you frighten me, whatever you are? Kill me, if you like. What does it matter?" She shoved Alain out of the way. "If you're too squeamish, boy, I'll do it myself!"

" _No_!" The word came from Thrask, from Anders, from Cormac's siblings, and more words were swallowed by the chaos that followed. Justice charged in a blaze of blue, and Keran felt the world shift. Except... no, it wasn't the world that was moving. The sand shifted because he did, they did, they _all_ did, kicking feet digging furrows in the ground. He'd heard of storms that did this, swirling whirlpools of wind that could pull a man off his feet.

But there was no wind. Just an irate mage trying to pull his brother to him.

Trees cracked and bent, the leaves stripping from them, behind them, where the sand gave way to little spits of greenery. Rocks still for a thousand years rolled toward them. But, Justice remained unmoved, as Cormac slid by his feet, still unconscious. Templars and mages alike staggered toward Artemis, though Grace lunged with what little resistance she had at Thrask. Keran threw himself toward the older templar, only to be yanked solidly back as his feet left the ground. He slammed into Artemis, who didn't move at all, and fell to the ground, curled around the mage's feet. As nice as those boots were, though, he did wish he could get up.

But, Grace didn't make it very far forward, either, before a smite struck all of them, stealing her magic, mid cast. As she faltered with the loss and the sudden lack of pressure, Justice lifted his sword and let her fall back onto it.

"YOU WILL DIE ONLY ONCE. MAY IT BE ENOUGH FOR YOU." The glow did not let up in the least.

Cullen shot a look at Keran, who was trying to stand, but Keran just shrugged. "Who--?"

"Well, I hadda do something," Samson muttered. "That fucker took my sword."

"Step behind me, Serah," Bethany suggested, "before he decides to take more than just your sword."

Grace's body slumped from Justice's -- Samson's -- sword, eyes wide and unseeing, lifeless. Glowing and glowering blue eyes slid from her to Alain, who huddled on the ground nearby, knocked to his knees from the backlash of the spell. Then Justice looked past him at the tangle of mages and templars. Helmets and hoods had been knocked off those trying to keep anonymity, and there was sand in everyone's hair. No one stood to face Justice.

"Cormac," Artie whispered, dropping to his knees beside his brother. He prayed all that dragging hadn't harmed him too badly, but he'd been desperate in that moment. All he'd known was that he needed to get his brother away from that woman. "Hey. Honestly, how did you sleep through all that? I though Anton was the heavy sleeper of the family." He laughed weakly and gently shook Cormac's shoulder, but he didn't stir. Panic. That wasn't something he could feel. Not yet, not while his brother needed him. "Come on, Cormac. Wake up before Carver decides to punch you again."

Bethany stood at Artie's shoulder, brow knit in worry. "Anders?" she called out. Anders, not Justice, even if his eyes were still blue. "We might need a healer."

"Wait." Trembling, Alain pushed himself to his feet, hands up, palm out in a sign of surrender when Justice turned narrowed eyes his way. "I... I am sorry," he said, "but Grace used blood magic to hold him. It's the only way to wake him up." He eyed Cullen nervously. "I can...? Would it be all right if...?"

Cullen frowned. Blood magic was evil. That was one of the only certainties left for him to cling to, but... "Release him."

"Captain!" Samson protested.

"Are we not templars?" Cullen asked, glancing over his shoulder at Samson. "It is our duty to protect the world from the evils of magic, and I believe the greatest evil of the day is lying at our feet. Who most should be protected, here? Again, we're templars. If the mage calls a demon, we kill him and we kill it, because that is what we're for. But, if this is the only way to save a citizen of Kirkwall from the evil already visited upon him by the blood of another mage, is it for us to deny that salvation?" He struggled to convince himself just as much as Samson. Blood magic. Demons. There could be no good end once demons were brought in. "I'd ask a mage, but they all have a vested interest in my answer being 'yes'."

"But, Captain!" Keran managed, finally on his feet again.

"Turn away," Cullen told them. "Both of you. And then if you're asked if you witnessed this, you can deny it." He paused. "I need to believe that what we do is right, and I know no greater right than preserving the lives of the innocent. Do what you must, boy. What is your name?"

"Alain, ser."

"Do what you must, Alain, but if I see a demon, you will die. Do not make me have misplaced my faith," Cullen warned. He doubted he'd have the opportunity to make any decisions, if demons became involved, but he was very sure death would follow. Hopefully not his own, but he'd choose it over what had happened last time.

Alain nodded. "Of course, Captain," he said, hands fidgeting against his robes to hide the way they trembled. He drew out a knife from his belt and, after taking a moment to steady his hands, sliced the back of his arm. He flicked his blood over Cormac, and the air around him rippled.

Cullen didn't realise how tightly he was clutching his sword until he heard his gauntlet creak. He watched, not daring to blink, waiting for, dreading, the moment when the demon would appear. But then Alain was sheathing his knife, and there were still no demons that Cullen could see.

"Cormac?" Artemis called out hopefully.

"F'n... Can't kill me... bastards..." Cormac slurred, dizzily. "I'm IMPOSSIBLE!" He threw a fist straight up, flailing at some invisible enemy.

Artemis sat back on his heels to avoid the flailing fist. "I certainly wouldn't dispute that, brother dear," he said, a relieved smile lighting his face as he caught Cormac's hand.

"I think he means 'invincible'," Anton said.

"No, he _is_ impossible," Artie argued.

Anders continued to glow, albeit a bit less vigorously, now that Cormac was at least _speaking_. "And you're not invincible, Cormac," he drawled, wresting control of his mouth back from Justice. "You're dosed out of your mind on magebane." He carefully made his way to Cormac's other side, slapping at licks of blue that flashed across his skin.

"Im _possible_!" Cormac declared, hauling himself up with Anders's sleeve, just in time to drop himself on the ground again.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is why we don't use that much magebane. A public service announcement from your local healer." Anders rubbed his face and looked at Artemis. "This is his revenge for all the times I passed out in the middle of a spell, isn't it."

Artie nodded. "And all the times I passed out drunk. It was a matter of time, really." He reached out to smooth Cormac's hair back from his forehead. "Cormac, how are you?" he asked slowly. "Do you know where you are? You're with your favourite brother."

"Impossible. 'M impossible." Cormac nodded loosely, cheek scraping against the stone under him.

"Great. It's the new 'enchantment'." Anton looked like he'd had about enough of the day, and Cullen didn't look much more vertically-inclined, beside him, despite the fact they were both still standing.

After a moment, Cormac turned his head to peer up, vacantly. "Mos' beautiful mage in all of Thedas," he slurred, smiling fondly as he grabbed the back of Artie's neck, pulling himself up and Artie down, until they met in the middle in a confused kiss.

"Shit," Anders muttered, rubbing his face. "You missed. I'm over here, Cormac."

Keran elbowed Samson and just pointed to the two brothers. "Did he just...?"

"No, he didn't," Anton said, voice sounding high and strained. He stared up at the sky as though hoping staring at the sun would burn the image from his memory.

Artemis went rigid, eyes popping wide. No, nope. They were not doing this in front of Anton and Bethany. And half the templar order. He made a muffled sound against Cormac's lips and gently pulled his brother away, holding Cormac's face in his hands. "You can kiss Anders later," he said in a strangled voice.

Maker. Was this how it had been for Cormac all those years ago when Artie had kissed him in the middle of a party?

Cullen looked askance at Alain, who threw up his hands.

"Can't blame that on the blood magic," he said.

"No, but you can blame it on the magebane. Trust me. I'd know." Anders put down the sword he was still holding and gathered Cormac in his arms. He tried to ignore the sound of thread snapping along his shoulder, as he lifted the slab of mage-meat off the sand and stone. "C'mon, you great oaf, we're going home. You can kiss me all you like, once you can distinguish me from your brothers. Or the dog."

"Don' kiss dogs," Cormac assured Anders, before being hefted over the shoulder opposite Anders's staff.

"We're all glad for it," Anton called out.

"You know, I always imagined I'd be the one to get rescued from vague and implausible evils. Something about it just gives me a tingle in my toes." Anders turned his head and nipped Cormac's ass. "And yes, I know exactly what you've got a tingle in, right now. Don't share."

Ser Thrask surveyed the wreckage, before turning to Cullen. "I apologise, Captain. I-- I knew you were a soft touch, but I never would have imagined..."

"I get that a lot," Cullen sighed, running a hand through his hair, as it curled tighter in the sea air. Maker. He'd just gotten it to sit flat, too. "So, it seems we have a bit of a situation, here."

"It... seems that we do," Thrask agreed. "If I may, Captain... The others of our cause. I know you have encountered them." He hesitated, gaze drawn to Grace's corpse before he winced and looked away. "What has become of them?"

"They yet live," Cullen answered, folding his arms across his chest. "For the most part, anyway. You'll find them back in the Gallows."

"And you can thank Jethann for that," Anton added.

"I rather worry what 'thanking' Jethann would look like," Keran muttered, cheeks turning pink. Samson grinned and nudged him with his elbow.

Artemis raised his hand. "I'll thank him."

Thrask's body sagged with relief. "Thank the Maker," he murmured. "And thank you, Captain."

"And thank Jethann," Anton added again, just to make Keran blush harder. "Not you," he told Artie.

With a weary shake of his head, Cullen turned to Alain. "And you," he sighed. "What am I going to do with you?"

Alain ducked his head, feet scuffing the sand, smoothing over the furrows digging feet had left behind. "I tried to stay away from her, you know, after Decimus," he said. "But... the Circle here is worse than Starkhaven ever was. It seemed like hers was the only way out. It's not an excuse, Captain, Champion... but it is the truth."

Starkhaven. Keran thought of Ella, and his stomach twisted. He thanked the Maker she hadn't seen all of this.

"This guy?" Anton said, pointing at Alain. "I like this guy. He just saved my brother's life. I think we can at least sneak him back in, don't you?"

"I have no idea. You're the one who mysteriously appears in my office at all hours." Cullen shot an exasperated glance at his husband. He squinted at Alain. "Starkhaven? I want you in my office in the morning. We need to talk about Starkhaven."

"So, what, you want me to get these guys back in?" Anton asked, looking at the small group. "I bet I could do it."

"I do. I will take responsibility for them, after that. I will ... figure out what to do. For what it's worth, I've sent word to the Divine. Assuming the messenger didn't get stabbed in the road, there is a strong recommendation for the Commander's removal." Cullen rubbed his face. "But, right now, I have been awake for more than a day, and I would very much like to go home and warm my feet on the dog."

"It's why he married me, you know, so he could warm his feet on my dog." Anton grinned.

"What about Samson, Captain?" Keran asked.

"If I can get rid of her, you're back with me, Raleigh." Cullen turned and held out a hand to the former Templar. "You were right. I just couldn't see it, then. Couldn't see much."


	332. Chapter 332

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another note from the Scholar. Another binding disrupted.

On the way down the coast, back toward Kirkwall, Cormac was an absolute disaster. Thankfully, he was enough of a disaster that no one who hadn't been there would take the factual parts of what came out of his mouth as anything more than the ramblings of a lunatic. It was that, as much as anything, that got them lost.

"I told you it was the last turn," Samson muttered, looking around the boulder-strewn cliff-edge. He took another sip of the lyrium potion, as he'd been doing every so often, along the way. "Corpses, too. Wonderful. Delightful place, the Wounded Coast. I thought the guard ran patrols up here. Makes me glad I'm not much for leaving town."

"They do," Anton pointed out, crouching next to the body to pull a roll of parchment from between its shoulder and a stone. "You should've seen it before." He unrolled the scrolls and squinted at it. "The first one's... Ander? Chasind? Alamarri? I can't tell. It's not Common."

Samson looked over his shoulder. "And the second one looks like blood magic."

Bethany held out her hand and sighed, and Anders said, "Give me that."

"I find blood magic and two mages immediately want it. Isn't that just like your kind?" Samson muttered.

"It's on a _corpse_ , serah. It might just be death magic." Bethany flicked her fan, trying to chase off the stench of the corpse. The eye-roll, however was still visible over the top of it.

"And I'm the closest thing you're going to find to a freaky Tevinter bullshit specialist for miles in any direction," Anders pointed out. "Also, as you might have noticed from my name, if it's in Ander, I can read it."

Anton handed the first page to Anders and the second to his sister. "And I know nothing about any of these things."

"And that's... no, I think that might be Alamarri. It's almost Fereldan, but I wouldn't bet that all the words mean quite what I'd expect them to." Anders looked at Artemis, uneasiness dawning in his eyes. "Do you recall the evening we spent with a certain elf of my acquaintance?" He held up the scroll. "You don't happen to read Alamarri, do you?"

"I read Chasind," Cormac mumbled, still slung over Anders's shoulder like a sack of pickled eggs. "Gimmie it."

"Cormac, I barely trust you to remember your name between one sentence and the next, right now," Anders sighed. "I ask again: Do you read Alamarri, Artie, or am I stuck entrusting this to the loose collection of meat that will turn back into your brother, at some point?"

"Screw you," Cormac grumbled.

"Later," Anders replied, without thinking.

"Er..." Artemis hedged, eyeing the page distrustfully as he took it. "Only a few words. Cormac was always better with that sort of thing." He paused, scanning the page. "Okay. I know that word. That word means 'the'."

Anders sighed dramatically and took the paper back from Artie, handing it to Cormac over his head. "Collection of meat it is."

"In my defence, my Orlesian is much more impressive," Artemis insisted.

Cormac twisted to reach it, but finally managed to get a grip on the page. And a firm grip it was, before Anders was willing to let go. "Yeah, that's Chasind. 'My daughter was taken by the--' that's either a mage or a decanter -- 'and my legion met him. She was --' well regarded? Split apart from? -- 'his blood--' er, that's... blood-scribbles? Blood-papers? -- 'but some horror did inhabit him instead.' Okay, 'horror'. That one I know for sure. I'm very good at that word. 'My legion could not contain?' Is that a euphemism? Because that's a Chasind euphemism that I don't want to think about in this context. '--and I ask for a seal, whatever the faith. The price is paid, Scholar.' This sounds horribly familiar and mostly horrible." He handed the page to Bethany and stopped using his elbows to keep his face off Anders's back.

"That actually almost made sense," Anders told him. "I'm impressed, Cormac."

"That does sound familiar, though," Artemis said warily. "Oh! Is this the first scroll? We found scrolls two and three, didn't we? We are doing this horribly backwards. This had better not be scroll four or the order is completely off."

"You've encountered something like this before?" Bethany asked, eyes still on the scroll with the blood-red writing. Not just blood-red, she realised, but _blood_.

"You could say that," Anders said. "What's yours say?"

Bethany cleared her throat. "'Of binding a symptom, no vial can contain you. One of three, separated in prevention. Unbound, but caged, I must not follow. Truth will hold you, for that is what truth does.' You are right about this being one of three. What does this mean?"

"What do any of those words mean?" Samson grumbled.

"We're going to have to kill something, aren't we?" Anton asked. "That's what usually happens when something mysterious and magicky appears. Yes?" He looked around, one dagger already in hand.

"Give that to Artie, Bethy," Anders suggested. "Yeah. We're going to kill something. We'd better kill something, really, or it's going to mangle a whole lot of people. I hope there's only one this time, and I hope it's not a revenant."

"A revenant," Samson scoffed. "Those aren't real."

"You just keep thinking that," Cormac muttered.

"Revenant? What's a revenant?" Keran asked, looking around the group.

"A demon-possessed corpse that throws you at its own sword, and it's got great aim," Anders filled in. "And I sorely wish they were made up, at this point."

"I have shields!" Cormac declared. "We're fine!"

"Cormac, you have all the magical ability of a turnip, right now, and since I don't know how much magebane they gave you or when, I'd rather not get stuck depending on your currently-mythical magical talents." Anders huffed, watching Samson and Keran consider all that.

Artemis took the page from Bethany and studied the squiggles at the bottom of the page, squiggles in a rough approximation of the Wounded Coast. "Looks like we're not too far away from whatever-it-is." He really hoped it wasn't a revenant. "But... should we really be dealing with this while Cormac is here and... like this?" He gestured vaguely at his brother, still slung over Anders's shoulder.

"If it's a revenant," Cullen said, "best to take care of it before it hurts someone. There are enough of us to subdue such a threat even without Cormac. Or... even with Cormac, I suppose."

Artemis still looked unsure, concerned, but Bethany nodded in agreement. "Fine," he sighed, and pointed them in the right direction.

"I could subdue all kinds of things! Ask Anders!" Cormac protested, one hand groping Anders's bottom as the Warden walked.

"Please, don't ask Anders," Anders sighed. "I'd tell you to save it until we get home, but I've _been_ loaded with that much magebane, and I suspect you honestly can't tell."

They followed Artemis up the coast, Keran watching Cormac in amusement, as Bethany tried to get her brother to say more and more terrible things, and Cullen looking contemplative, as he tried to ignore all that.

"Was I this bad?" Anders asked, interrupting Cullen's reverie. "Do you even know?"

"I don't know, but I heard you were worse." Cullen looked a little grim, at the question. "I swear I don't know. But, you were ... I know how much they were giving you."

"You're really a Circle mage?" Samson asked, finally. "Like, you're not just putting me on?"

"Was," Anders clarified. "Past tense. I ran off to join the Wardens."

"You ran off." Samson turned a sharp look on Cullen. "He ran off? What were you doing at the time?"

"Don't look at me! I was catching a blood mage!" Cullen managed to look both embarrassed and offended. "Or, trying to, anyway..."

"Did you ever catch up with Jowan?" Anders asked. "I meant to thank him for that opening."

"You consort with blood mages?" Samson looked horrified.

"Well, it's not like any of us knew he was one, at the time!" Anders protested, shrugging and jostling Cormac. "By the time I knew, I was halfway out the door, wearing that new recruit's armour! Or, some of it anyway. Those skirts hide a lot of sins, you know."

"Like Varric says: 'Mages, templars, it's all a bunch of guys with tower fetishes, wearing skirts,'" Cormac declared.

"Says the mage, in a skirt," Artemis said over his shoulder, "though I'd rather not know about your fetishes."

"I know too much about his fetishes," Anton said with a pained look. Bethany nodded solemnly.

Artie slowed, squinting at the map, and Cullen nearly stepped on his heels. "Not to change the subject," Artie said wryly, "but it looks like we should be coming up on whatever-it-is soon. I think. This drawing isn't exactly to scale, and that bend here could mean a turn up ahead... or is that just a smudge? Blood really isn't the best medium to write in--"

While Artemis rambled, the ground began to shift, dirt buckling and giving way, a skeletal hand punching its way through the earth. Cullen put a hand on Artie's shoulder, and Artemis let him pull him to a stop as he lowered the map.

"Well," Artie muttered. "That's a hand. And another hand." And an elbow. And a shoulder. And an entire fucking skeleton. "Bethy, please tell me these are yours?" Another skeleton punched his way to the surface as he spoke.

"No. Sorry," Bethany replied, hefting her spear.

"I see." A clench of Artie's fist, and three undead skulls smacked into the ground.

"Right," Cullen muttered. Another hand clawed through the ground by his feet, and Cullen stomped that hand into pieces.

"Nope! No revenants throwing us on swords!" Cormac announced, trying to find enough magic to cast something. Anything.

The corpses continued to clamber out of the ground, faster and from more difficult places. "Demons," Samson muttered.

"I concur. Demons," Anders agreed, trying to figure out the best way to fight and not drop Cormac at the same time. Perhaps he'd stick to casting spells from the back. He whipped a sheet of ice across another pair of hands and stepped back, slamming Cormac directly into Cullen's chestplate.

"I am not a sack of turnips!" Cormac complained.

Cullen staggered away, drawing his sword. Skeletons. Was a sword even the right weapon for this? Somewhere, someone probably knew that, but it wasn't him.

With a roar of triumph, Cormac finally felt a spark of magic, and used it. The sands before them and the risen dead still climbing up out of those sands were suddenly saturated in an epic volume of grease that rained down from mid-air. There was a pause and Cormac filled the silence, almost immediately. "That is not my shield! I wanted my shield, you bastard!"

"Shouting at the magic isn't going to help, Cormac," Anders choked out, trying not to laugh as he laid more ice across the undead.

"These aren't the kind of bones you grease, Cormac!" Anton said, punching a skeleton with the hilt of his dagger.

"Grease?" Artie echoed. He tried to rein in his chained lightning, but electricity was already dancing from his fingertips. Lightning struck a cluster of skeletons, snaking between his friends and family without singeing them... at least not until sparks caught on the grease and lit up the doused undead like torches.

Anton and the templars swore, stepping back away from the flames, while Anders went ghost-pale and hollow-eyed. Breathing. That was a thing he should do. He clutched Cormac tight, the spell he'd been casting dissipating, unfinished.

"Shit, shit, shit," Anton cussed, backing away from a flailing skeleton. "First we had undead attacking us. Now we have undead _on fire_ attacking us!"

"It was an accident!" Artemis insisted, shoving the skeletons back out of flailing range. "Anders! Ice! Could you--?" Artie turned, catching the look in Anders's eyes just before they flickered to blue. "Shit."

"I already said that! Get your own swears!" Anton said, eyes wide and wild.

"Oh fuck you. And fuck this. Cormac!"

"What? I can't see anything! Something something fire and undead?" Cormac smacked his nose on the top of Anders's hip, trying to get a look. Fire... Fire and... _oh no_. "Anders? You all right?"

Blue light crawled across Anders's skin, and the glow on the ground was enough to tell Cormac he was too late. "FIRE," Justice said, contemplatively. "WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS?" He sounded more confused than angry, for a change.

"It was an accident!" Cormac groaned. "Come on, don't do this now. Don't do this when I can't watch you do this..."

"Really, Cormac? You're going to do that _now_?" Anton sounded less than entirely thrilled, as he leapt back from the flaming hands of a skeleton in a battered Tevinter helmet almost a thousand years out of date.

"Come on, gorgeous. It's hardly fair. I'm right here, and I don't even get to watch?" Cormac ignored his brother, focusing entirely on getting Justice's attention. But, Justice was intent on the undead.

Memories flooded Justice's mind. He couldn't call the raising of a corpse an innately evil act, without condemning himself. But, these were demons. This was one demon, unless his perceptions were skewed. Parts of a whole, but not the thing entire. "STEP BACK," he commanded, and Bethany tugged Keran and Samson out of the fight, trusting her brothers to move on their own.

The blaze intensified in their wake, a pillar of lightening flame, no longer red and yellow but blue and white. The bones splintered, bits of armour and shields melted, dried flesh instantly turned to ash. The sand beneath them burbled and spit, becoming a thick liquid.


	333. Chapter 333

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders is finally called upon to explain Justice. Cullen makes a decision.

And as quickly as it had begun, it was over. The fire vanished, sputtering out with a hollow pop, and Justice still stood closer than any other, just out of range of the worst of the heat, holding Cormac over his shoulder. The air was a little too warm to be pleasant, yet, and Justice followed the dribble of the liquid sand with a layer of ice that evaporated into steam.

"That is not normal," Keran said, voice a bit higher than usual. "And he's glowing again. Captain, why is the Warden glowing again?"

Cullen didn't have an answer. At least, not an answer he liked. That was, perhaps, something to be investigated later, when the air didn't stink of melted sand.

"Seriously," Samson said, addressing Justice instead of Cullen, "what the fuck?"

Blazing blue eyes turned Samson's way. Staring at Justice's eyes was like staring into the sun. "NO," Justice boomed gravely.

"No?" Samson echoed, squinting at the glowing mage.

"FUCKING IS NOT SOMETHING ONE DOES IN PUBLIC."

Anton choked on a horrified laugh before clapping a hand over his mouth.

Cormac, on the other hand, cackled like a loon. "Aw, and here I was hoping you hadn't caught on to that yet," he laughed, wiggling his hips against Justice's shoulder.

"Oh, that's hilarious," Samson sneered.

"He's not joking," Bethany sighed. She slipped an arm through Justice's. "Justice, my dear, that's not what Ser Samson meant." Justice only managed to look confused.

"Justice?" Cullen's eyes narrowed. "Like the spirit, Justice?" His mind reeled with the implications. Usually, mages were possessed by Pride, Desire, Rage, Fear... Justice was a new one for him, but... "You're an abomination." The words slipped out the moment they came to him.

"Now you sound like my husband," Artemis said with a strained laugh. "He doesn't look like an abomination now, does he? Sure he's glowy, but at least all his features are in the right place."

"Not an abomination. Not a demon." Cormac may have been struggling with propriety and magic, yet, but some things he knew. You don't say 'demon' in front of Justice, and you don't let the templars decide he's an abomination. "He's a spirit healer, for Andraste's sake. It's just most spirit healers end up with Compassion, and he got, well, Justice."

"I AM A SPIRIT OF JUSTICE," Justice confirmed, still looking confused. "I FIGHT FOR THOSE WHO CANNOT FIGHT FOR THEMSELVES, INCLUDING ANDERS. I SEEK EQUALITY UNDER THE LAW FOR ALL SENTIENT CREATURES OF THE WORLD, INCLUDING YOU." He eyed Samson. "YOU WERE WRONGED. I HAVE HEARD YOU CRYING OUT FOR JUSTICE, FOR FAIR TREATMENT, FOR RIGHTEOUSNESS. TELL ME, KNIGHT-CAPTAIN, WAS THIS MAN TREATED AS THE LAW INSTRUCTS? IS THE LAW JUST?"

"I, er..." Cullen stammered. "It was... that is to say..." He edged behind Anton, sweat pooling along his collarbone. "The law is just. The Chantry's law is the law of all Thedas, at its roots, and we must believe it is just, to go on. The application of the law was unjust. Just laws in the hands of zealots and the wicked."

Justice smiled at Samson, finally understanding something about this entire confusing series of events. "THEN I WILL FIGHT FOR YOU, AS WELL."

"Erm... thank you?" Samson replied, looking terribly uncomfortable. Justice tipped his head, looking terribly pleased.

Cullen still didn't know how to feel about this. Anders was a spirit healer, true, but for a spirit to take over, to use his magic in a violent way... That was unsettling, not to mention dangerous. And why was this called a 'Warden thing' if it simply had to do with spirit magic?

Cullen could feel Anton's eyes on him, and he wondered what he was missing, here. But the ground shifted again before he could ask.

"Oh, don't tell me there are more skeletons," Artie groaned, even though he was grateful for something to break the tension. "The sand has been liquefied. That means no more popping out of the ground."

But the creature that rose didn't so much claw its way out as float its way to the surface. It wasn't a skeleton, but it was no less undead.

"At least it's not a revenant," Anton said, painfully cheerful.

Cormac squinted around Justice's hip. "For reference, that, right there, is a demon. And we're gonna kick its ass."

Bethany struck first, a twist of her fan causing the thing to wobble. "Cullen? It has magic."

"So do you," He reminded her.

"Do it anyway," Bethany insisted, folding the fan and taking her spear in both hands, as the horror began to draw the remains of its power together for something she didn't want to see the effect of. "That's--"

Keran followed through, and Cormac threw up down the back of Justice's coat. "Sorry," Keran muttered.

"Thank you, Ser Keran." Bethany lunged forward with her spear, engaging the horror's attention. "My brother will recover."

Justice didn't even blink, laying bolt after bolt on the horror, between Bethany's strikes.

Bethany drew her spear back for another stab, but her blade met with air. The creature had disappeared into thin air. Then there was a shift of pressure, and Bethany's ears popped. Before she could turn, the spell hit her square in the back, knocking her forward to land on her knees with a grunt of pain.

Cullen leapt between the creature and his sister-in-law, sword cutting through the meat of its chest -- whatever meat there was, anyway -- and it staggered back with an unearthly shriek. Keran dived in next to his captain, and the two of them cut the horror into smaller and smaller chunks, until it stopped waving its arms and attempting to cast.

Artemis helped his sister to her feet, pausing to dust off the edge of her skirts.

"Spirit bolt," she tutted, flexing her back and wincing. "So that's what it feels like on this end. Hm."

"Yeah, it's not fun," Samson muttered distractedly as he stared at the ground, sword still in hand. He waited, but the ground had stopped moving.

"THE DEMON HAS PASSED," Justice announced, solemnly.

"Yeah, but what about the next one? Are they just going to keep coming?" Samson asked, glancing around.

"No, no, he does that," Anton said. "He means he can't find any more demons here. They're attracted to him, and he... I dunno, smells them or something. It's really handy when you're getting mobbed by shades."

"I FEel them," Justice started, and Anders finished, dropping suddenly to his knees, as the light went out. He leaned forward, resting a hand on the ground and giving up on holding Cormac up. "I hear darkspawn and I feel demons. I should also note that I hate Kirkwall. It never shuts up."

Cormac eased himself off Anders's shoulders, to kneel, already under Anders's shoulder. He ran a hand through Anders's hair. "Sorry about the fire," he murmured.

Anders glanced over his shoulder. "Please don't try to kill me. That went really poorly, last time, and I didn't die from it. I'd really rather not have to do that again. I still have chest pains."

"From the sword," Cormac explained, probably unnecessarily. "Last time he got stabbed through the heart."

"I don't want trouble," Anders sighed. "I just want to help people. I have a clinic for the poor. I heal prostitutes for free. I just want to live in a world where people are well and get some basic respect. I just want to make Kirkwall a little less of a festering midden-heap of foulness and despair. I spent long enough locked in a tower in the land of dogs and dogshit. I've had enough of the stink."

Cullen was torn. Years as a templar, following the laws of the Chantry, had taught him that a possessed mage was dangerous and ought to be put to death. And yet... years as Anders's friend made him question that. Life in Kirkwall had made him question so many things, and he could no longer see where black became white amid the grey. He wasn't sure if that made him a better templar or a worse one.

"You are a Warden," Cullen finally settled on, "and therefore outside my jurisdiction. My judgement does not matter here." A non-decision, but the best he could do for everyone involved.

"Captain?" Samson said, brows knitting. He didn't ask, but he didn't need to, not with a look on his face that asked it for him: ' _that's it_?'

"It's not my decision," Cullen repeated, more firmly. Anders's whole body sagged in relief. Cullen knew he owed the man anyway, after those weeks in the dungeon. His had been the actions of a good man, not a demon. "But I will keep an eye on the situation."

Samson frowned but did not argue, while Keran still looked too rattled to say anything.

"Complaints can be registered with my cousin," Anton provided, kneeling down to get a better look at the very shiny belt buckle on a piece of the horror. "Warden-Commander Solona Amell, Teyrn of Gwaren, Arl of Amaranthine. She's got a lot of titles, my cousin does."

"Yeah," Cormac agreed. "Solona's his boss. She knows what he is."

"This is what the Wardens use to fight the Blight?" Samson asked, in what might have been a scoff, had it not turned serious halfway through.

"You're a templar. You know the history." Anders pushed himself to his feet, tugging Cormac up with him. "The Circle was created to train mages as weapons against the Blights. Designed by Emperor Drakon, himself, right from the start of the Chantry. A lot of that's been lost. Funny thing? It's not lost to the Wardens." Anders flashed his teeth. It was almost a smile. Almost. And what he'd said wasn't bullshit, it just wasn't the answer to the question being asked.

"So, Anders and his stupid Warden tricks aside, has anyone ever seen an arcane horror wearing a Dalish belt buckle?" Anton tugged the belt off the thing and held it up. "I'm pretty sure that's Dalish. And the leather's pretty new."

Cormac staggered over for a closer look and sat down hard.

"An interesting fashion choice," Bethany said, trying to peek at it over Anton's shoulder. The design was weathered, the filigree worn, but it looked relatively clean and well-kept for its age, which, as far as Bethany could tell, was old. How old, she couldn't be sure. "Merrill might like it."

"Theron too," Artemis added speculatively.

"I'm not sure how much use that would be to him," Anders said, "since he'd need to keep his pants _on_ to wear it."

Artie blushed up to the tips of his ears, clearing his throat awkwardly at the curious glances from Samson and Keran. "This is a point," he muttered, suddenly finding the ground interesting. "Merrill, then. I am certainly in favour of her keeping her pants on, at least in my company."

"Merrill?" Keran repeated, head tipping back as he considered. "Is this Carver's Merrill?"

Anton looked up in surprise before tossing the belt, buckle and all, into Cormac's lap. "He's mentioned her?"

"Just once or twice," Keran said with a shrug. "And... just to me from what I can tell." His face smoothed over in realisation. "Why, is it a secret? She's not an apostate, is she?" He wouldn't have thought it of Carver, but that was before finding out three of his four siblings were apostates themselves. Sweet Andraste.

"She's an elf," Bethany answered. "Mother hadn't been too thrilled with the match while she'd been alive."

"Of course, why she got bent out of shape about Carver, when she didn't have a thing to say about Artie's elf, I'll never know." Anton shook his head. "I guess I'm glad she missed the wedding, though. Hey, Cormac? Do me a favour and don't get married. This wedding thing isn't working out well for us. The being married part is great, but the weddings..."

"The worst thing about your wedding was you, Anton," Bethany pointed out. "You swung down from the roof and Ser Cullen almost stabbed you with someone else's sword!"

"I much prefer when he stabs me with his own sword." Anton wiggled his eyebrows.

Cullen rubbed a hand over his face and shot a glance at Samson. "In case you wondered where Ser Carver gets it, the entire family is like this."

"I've only met him once." Samson shrugged.

"If I can get you back with us, you'll come to wonder." Cullen shook his head. "Is that it, then? Are we done, here? Can someone please gag my husband before any more words come out of his mouth?"

"I'm sure you can find a better way to keep me quiet, darling husband," Anton replied with a devilish grin.

"Words like that," Cullen sighed. Anton blew him a kiss that he pretended not to see.

"I hope all your family outings aren't like this," Keran said with a nervous laugh that said he was only partly joking.

Artie patted Keran's shoulder. "Ask Carver about the Vimmark Mountains sometime."


	334. PART LX: TWO FOR PAGE SIX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A demonstration of why we are thanking Jethann. Later, Sebastian finds himself in Lowtown, with a mission and an uncomfortable situation.

Everyone in the Gallows knew Meredith's tread, the heavy, assured, heel-toe pattern of her walk. The halls cleared at the sound, and mages and templars alike tried to read her mood based on the speed of that walk. Today, that walk was brisk, which rarely boded well.

"Lieutenant," Meredith called out to another templar as she passed.

"Yes, Commander?" Lieutenant Penis paused to stand at attention, his back stiffly straight.

"If you happen to see the Knight-Captain, do tell him to stop by my office. I cannot seem to find him or his shadow, and I should like to speak with him."

"Of course, Commander," Ser Penis replied, ducking his head respectfully, but Meredith was already halfway down the hall.

Her office, at least, would be well-lit at this time of day, and Meredith pushed her way through the door... only to freeze in the doorjamb when she found more than sunlight lazing across her desk.

"Don't you think this seems a bit harsh?" asked the naked elf on her desk, a few of her papers in his hand. He held up one, but she didn't pull her stare away long enough to read it. "Of course, if you're into harsh, I'm sure I could handle a few good swats. I'm told I've got just the right ass for it." The elf offered her a wicked smile.

"What is the meaning of this?" Meredith asked in a small voice.

"Oh, you've got some friends who thought you could use a little time off, and off is one of my specialities." Jethann winked. "Well, getting it, anyway." He swung his legs down, and let the momentum carry him into a sitting position, as he set the papers aside and smiled coyly. "I've had my eye on you for years, Commander. And this was just such a lovely favour for both of us, don't you think? Don't worry, your friends have taken care of the business end of things. All you have to do is enjoy my delightful presence, in almost any way you like!"

Meredith stood and blinked, a bit. "You... someone paid you to take your clothes off and lounge on my desk?"

"In about that many words, yes." Jethann nodded, knees parting along the edge of the desk as he leaned back, catching himself on one arm and rubbing the other hand enticingly down his chest and thigh.

Meredith turned and clanked back to the door, shouting into the hall, "Why is there a naked elf on my desk? Whose doing is this!?"

"One-two-three, not it!" drifted out the open door of Orsino's office, followed by a sound that might have been muffled snickering. He'd seen Jethann come in, and wondered who among the templars would be spending that much coin for something, without leaving the building to do it. Now, he understood.

Meredith's cheeks flamed red, hot enough to let off steam. Her gauntlets creaked as she clenched her fists. "Who did this?" she shouted again, her voice's sharp edges ricocheting down the hall. The only answer she received was more muffled snickering. This didn't have to do with why she couldn't find Cullen, was it? She would murder the man.

"Oh, Commander!" Jethann sing-songed. "Aren't you going to come in? There's some work for you to do on your desk. And I know how _hard_ you like to work."

The laughter that echoed down the wall was no longer muffled. Meredith slammed her door shut and stormed away.

* * *

It was well after lunch, by the time Cullen and Anton made it home, and neither of them looked like they'd make it up the stairs. Fortunately, neither of them was above crawling up the stairs. By the time they fell into bed, they thought nothing could possibly keep them awake any longer -- at least until the sounds from down the hall filtered in.

"I'm going to murder my brother," Anton groaned. "I saved him from blood mages, so I could kill him, myself. You work with more mages than live in my house. Isn't there a spell for that? For ... shutting the fuck up?"

"You ask me, I think they do it just to annoy you," Cullen muttered. After a pause, "None of that noise is Anders, is it?"

"In all the years he's been banging my brother, I've never heard a sound out of him that made it through the door." Anton pulled a pillow over his head.

"The First Enchanter could take a lesson," Cullen grumbled. "I thought you sent Jethann to see Meredith."

Anton blinked, eyelashes moving against the pillow before he pulled it off of his head again. "I... did?" he said, wondering if he had heard that correctly. "Did you say the _First Enchanter_?"

"Yes," Cullen answered, staring up at the ceiling with haunted eyes. "There are things I never needed to know about that man, and that sound was one of them."

Anton tried not to picture it -- he really did -- but there it was: two elves and the Staff of Violation. He bit the inside of his cheek against a snort of laughter. "Are you sure it wasn't Jethann?" he asked.

Cullen's face twisted, and Anton could tell he was trying desperately not to picture it too, "Maker's breath, I don't care! I don't need that either!"

Anton patted his arm consolingly. "Just don't tell Artie. Two elves, and he wasn't invited? He'd sulk. And... no, nope, that is another thing I didn't need to picture. Quick, Cullen, flash me your knob! I need a better image in my head."

The sounds that echoed down the hall hardly helped.

Cullen groaned and pulled the blankets over their heads. "Close enough."

Anton shifted closer, intent on seeing with his hands, in the darkness under the blankets. "Did they all make it back all right?" he asked, almost absently, hands wandering Cullen's body, as his eyes drifted shut.

"Mmm. Had to smack a few heads together, to make it believable, but they're fine. People think we took them down to the dungeon for a couple of days. Writing some reports to back that up." Cullen nuzzled under Anton's cheek, a warm sound working its way out between long, exhausted breaths. "Later. Reports later."

"'S good. You think she'll believe it?" Anton asked, cringing as another desperate wail echoed through the house.

"Hope so. Was going to talk to Orsino about it, too, but ... he sounded busy." Cullen tossed a leg over Anton's hip.

"Mages being... busy. That seems to be a theme." Anton scowled when another shriek punctuated that observation. "I was rather thinking about being 'busy' myself, but those dying nug sounds don't exactly put me in the mood." He groped Cullen anyway, on principle.

"I'm sure I can fix that," Cullen said, aiming for a sly smile that just ended up looking sleepy. He pulled Anton closer against him but just ended up lying there, wrapped up in him. "...tomorrow," he decided, the word mumbled against Anton's hair.

The next wail from down the hall mixed with the sound of Cullen's snores.

* * *

* * *

As the city came apart around him, Sebastian was determined to see for himself what had driven people so far as to make threats against the Grand Cleric, herself. It seemed ridiculous, really, but the Chantry was the centre of life in Kirkwall, just as it was in all of Thedas, and there must have been some wrong the people were holding against the Chantry. Some irreparable defect of life in Kirkwall -- and for all the talk of mage rebellion, the only hint of it he'd actually witnessed had been those... Revolutionists, or whatever Anders had called them. And Anders, himself, had stopped them, which was a good bit more credit than he'd been willing to give the man, to that point.

But, with the Chantry where it was, Sebastian found that he spent most of his time in Hightown, aside from the occasional excursion to that Nevarran restaurant in Lowtown that Bethany liked. He'd seen the beggars and the working folk around the market, but that seemed to be how cities worked, to his recollection. The markets of Starkhaven had been much the same. No, something more and deeper was wrong with Kirkwall. He thought back on Lady Harrimann and wondered. Could it be that? Could it be so simple as that the common folk were exposed to demons rising up from the unfathomed depths below the city, and that they needed the arm of the chantry to protect them? But, the templars, he'd heard, were already patrolling the streets, and he knew no better force to combat demons. Still, perhaps there was a need for more outreach from the Chantry proper.

He would do it, he decided. He would go to Lowtown and take a table at the Hanged Man, where everyone seemed to go, eventually, and listen to their tales. He would bring some aid and reassurance to the poor.

And so it was that on the third night of this, already shocked to the very bones at the conditions in which people lived, that Sebastian bought himself a pint of stout -- perhaps not the wisest choice, given the rest of what passed for drinkable -- and settled in for another night of horrors. What would he do? What could he do? The Chantry, clearly, was meant to take in abandoned children, to care for the poor and the sick, but none of his fellows could be found below the stairs. Everyone he spoke to praised the unyielding efforts of Lirene and her healer friend -- Anders. How had he never noticed? A shopkeeper and a mage had been caring for the refugees for almost as long as there had been refugees in Kirkwall, and the Chantry had made no contribution anyone could name.

He would look into the books, he decided. Talk with the Grand Cleric. He knew money was still being funnelled into the Templar Order, but surely that was in addition to whatever funding was intended to be helping the people of Kirkwall. After the incidents of inappropriate conduct, over the last few years, Sebastian wondered if the money hadn't been stolen by whoever had been meant to see to its use. He would find out who was responsible, he decided. He would track down the source of the problem and a solution, and bring it to the Grand Cleric. He would do the Maker's work, as he was meant to do.

Halfway into his drink, and a good way through the page he was writing, a voice caught his attention. A man on the other side of the room had begun loudly telling a story -- reading from the Gazette, it sounded like. That made sense. A decent portion of these people probably couldn't read, and it was very good of whoever that was to take the time to read the news to them. It put a smile on his face, for a moment, and then the man finished the introduction and passed into the body of the tale. Page Six. He didn't read it, but you couldn't live in Kirkwall without knowing it.

That voice was getting under his skin, though. At first, he thought it was just the familiarity of it -- sounded kind of like someone he'd met, but he couldn't place who -- but, as he gave up writing and sat back to listen, the pull of the voice intensified, and not just on his brain.

"Terrified, heart pounding in my throat, I touched my tongue to his lips and sweet Maker, he _opened for me_ ," the voice read, the last words nearly a moan, and Sebastian's nipples twinged, as he became suddenly aware of his pulse, in his groin.

That was ridiculous, obviously. He'd never been interested in other men. Certainly not men telling stories about men kissing other men. Really, the whole thing sat rather poorly with him, but he couldn't really leave. He had no intention of standing up in the condition he was well on his way to. What if someone noticed? What if someone noticed a Chantry Brother on a mission of charity straining at his trousers? No, he would sit right here and drink his beer and silently recite the Chant to himself, until the situation improved. That was the sensible thing to do. The reasonable thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 'Page Six' in this and the next chapter is [Brother Mine](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5208278) by [Mevima](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mevima/pseuds/mevima).


	335. Chapter 335

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian realises what he's been hearing and runs to Bethany, who is not nearly as offended as he expects.

_'All that existed was silence. Then the Voice of the Maker rang out, the first Word, and His Word became all that might be: dream and idea, hope and fear, endless possibilities.'_

But, this voice, so achingly debauched, so very much not the Maker's, but nearly as giving, slid over him like cheap velvet, almost soft, but just stiff enough to call attention to itself -- like a sash of cheap velvet, winding around him, serpentine, sliding over his skin. The words were meaningless, mostly, just a vehicle for that sound, and he lost track of them more than once, only to be pulled back by a phrase, here or there -- 'undeniably hard', 'forbidden lust'. A story of a man passionately snogging his own brother in front of an audience, and all Sebastian could think was how he'd missed out on an awful lot of snogging, being sent to the Chantry as early as all that. But, here, now, those words bounced off the inside of his skin, quick, sharp sensations, like a tingle that had passed as soon as he noticed it. He could _imagine_ the story as it was being told, but not with one of _his_ brothers. Instead, his mind filled in the only man he'd ever found attractive -- Bethany's brother, Artemis, who looked so much like her. Artemis whimpering against his lips, panting at his touch.

No, this was absurd. The Chant. He was reciting the Chant. The Chant, which was pure and untainted, and would give his mind something to focus on, other than this story, other than that voice.

_'I have heard the sound, a song in the stillness, the echo of Your voice, calling creation to wake from its slumber.'_

And that was not helping at all. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could hear Isabela mocking him: ' _Have you named it "creation", then? Not wholly inaccurate, if a little arrogant._ ' And after he'd ragged Carver about treating the Chant like a Page Six story, just the other week, here he was, in the same position, if less intentionally, and with an actual Page Six story in the background. He wondered if he could blame Carver, for his sudden perversion, but that would be too easy. No influence would take hold without some nature to catch upon, and in the condition he was in, he was sure things could catch on his... 'nature'.

"My head fell back against the wall as he kneaded the front of my trousers, gripping my length hard," the voice read, from across the room, and Sebastian could see it, Bethany's pretty older brother surrendering to him like that. Which was disgusting. Of course. And not something he wanted. At all. Ever. Even if the heavy throb against his thigh seemed to say otherwise. The thought of Artemis bucking into his hand shouldn't have been appealing at all, and he rubbed his palm against the edge of the table, trying to wipe away the sensation that clung to it, like a taunting ghost.

"I clung, riding his hand toward my release, every movement sizzling my nerves, because this was _him_ , this was my _brother_ touching me, oh, _Corwin_...!"

Sebastian's eyes sharpened, then, as he snapped out of his dreamy arguments with himself about Artemis's... finer features. That face still in his mind, he finally noticed the names of the brothers in the story... And he knew two brothers with similar names who spent a lot of time in the Hanged Man -- or, more time than he did, anyway -- and one of them was Artemis. This-- someone had written -- and someone was reading it -- and -- Bethany! He had to warn Bethany, before she found out some other way! He leapt up, without pushing back his chair, slamming both knees into the table and knocking himself back into his seat.

As he collected himself to try again, the story finished, that demon voice finally letting go of his mind, and the crowd parted to let Edwina through with a fresh mug for the storyteller. He was right. He had known that voice, if not well. That was _Varric_. And Sebastian was leaving. Immediately. He gathered his papers and held them low and before himself, in both hands, as he slunk out. He had to tell Bethany about this -- well, about her brothers, anyway. He would probably keep the rest to himself.

* * *

Bethany looked up as Bodhan entered the study. "Messere Sebastian to see you. He looks upset about something."

Shaking her head, Bethany stood and wiped her hands on the rag hanging from the handle of her desk drawer. "I'll meet him in the sitting room. Bring tea?"

She assumed it was something about the Grand Cleric again -- or perhaps he'd discovered something even more irregular than anticipated, in the Chantry ledgers. Or he'd noticed an elf's ankles in the marketplace. One could never be quite certain, with Sebastian.

Minutes later, Bethany found Sebastian pacing a hole in the sitting room carpet, a copy of that week's Gazette crumpled in his hand. It had just come out, that afternoon, and as a subscriber, she'd gotten hers just after that. But, she'd never known Sebastian to read the thing. Perhaps this was part of his 'mingling with the poor'.

"Sit, before you go through the floor," she said, smiling at him, fan still hanging loosely from the strap around her wrist.

"But-- this--!" Sebastian gestured wildly with the Gazette. "It's _obscene_!"

"Oh, have you been reading Page Six?" Bethany asked, stepping around Sebastian to pull out the chair behind him. "Yes, pumpkin. It's always obscene. That's the purpose of Page Six."

"The--?" Sebastian's brain took a moment to catch up with that. Always obscene, implying Bethany was... intimately familiar with this filth. He shook his head. "It can't possibly always be as obscene as this," he sniffed. "It's...! I can't believe...!"

"Finish a sentence, love," Bethany coaxed, rubbing his back consolingly. The muscles under her hand were bunched and tense.

"It's...!" Sebastian closed his eyes, took a deep, measured breath, and when finally he spoke next, it was without so much sputtering. "The story, this week, involves incestuous relations between brothers."

Bethany didn't even blink. "It's just fiction, darling," she said. "It's not hurting anyone."

"But it's -- it's based on real people! It is libellous and filthy and--!"

"And you don't have to read it." Bethany smiled patiently, hand trailing down to squeeze his arm.

"No, Bethany, you don't understand! It's..." Another deep, measured breath. "It's not just any brothers. It's _your_ brothers!" He looked at her, concerned, and waited for a shocked reaction that never came.

" _My_ brothers?" she echoed innocently. "But, Sebastian, I have no brothers named 'Archie' and 'Corwin'."

That drew Sebastian up short. He sat back to look askance at her. "You've already read it."

"It may have passed over my desk earlier, yes."

"It's still obviously them! If a bit... Orlesian in style." Sebastian tried to smooth the paper in his hands as Bodhan brought in the tea.

"If it's Orlesian in style, the brother you want is Anton, and I hardly think he's the sort for... _that_!" Bethany chuckled and accepted a cup from Bodhan.

"Oh, Messere Anton's got a great collection of those Orlesian novels. He loaned me a series of them once, about this lady Chevalier, looking for her love." Bodhan nodded. "Good story, if a little racy for me. But, I think he puts on the style when he goes out to play cards with them. The Orlesians, not their novels."

"And you're almost always here, aren't you, Bodhan?" Bethany smiled sweetly, sipping her tea.

"Yes, messere." Bodhan nodded and righted the cup in Sebastian's hand, that was about to spill into the man's lap. "Beg pardon, Brother. You were about to wear it."

Sebastian glanced down in surprise and nodded his thanks, distractedly.

"And you don't think anyone would have cause to think Anton was engaging in racy Orlesian particulars with, say, Carver, would you?" Bethany's smile lost none of its charm.

"I think anyone who thought as much would need a good lot of bed rest. Why, is someone saying it?" Bodhan looked like it was the most outrageous thing he'd ever heard.

"Sebastian seems to think this week's Page Six is about _my_ brothers! Imagine!" Bethany laughed and then brought herself up short. "On second thought, don't. What a terrible idea."

"I... don't think it's about Anton," Sebastian said, still looking wild-eyed even after a few sips of tea. "And I think you know exactly which brothers Page Six is implying. The other two." An image of Carver and Anton in an amorous embrace tried to take root in his thoughts, but... no. It sat like an ill-fitting tunic. But Cormac and Artemis --

No. Best not to think of Artemis just then. Not after his embarrassment in the Hanged Man, and not with his infinitely more attractive sister sitting right in front of him.

"Another terrible idea," Bethany said, hiding her smile behind a sip of tea. "But writers occasionally have terrible ideas. And then there is Varric, who is full of them."

And that was another reminder Sebastian did not need. Varric. Bad ideas.

"That's the Gazette for you," Bodhan agreed with a solemn nod. "Bad ideas someone wrote down and decided to share with Kirkwall."

"I am beginning to understand Meredith's wrath over the publication," Sebastian grumbled. And then another terrible thought occurred to him. "Have your brothers seen this yet?"

"I haven't heard any shouting, so if they have, they certainly haven't come to the conclusions that you have." Bethany smiled behind her teacup. "So, tell me, how have your meanderings among the poor been going? Anything of interest?"

"So many things... I don't know if any of it's true, but there seems to be so very much wrong below the stairs." Sebastian shook his head and began to explain his findings to Bethany and Bodhan, whom Bethany pushed out a seat for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 'Page Six' in this chapter is [Brother Mine](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5208278) by [Mevima](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mevima/pseuds/mevima).


	336. Chapter 336

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Artemis goes shopping for lacy underthings, and winds up with twice the entourage he actually brought along. Page Six continues to haunt our heroes.

Fenris found himself cautiously eyeing strange, frilled garments, as he waited for Artemis to wedge himself into whatever that thing was. He wasn't sure he quite understood the shape of it, but he was equally sure that Artemis would look exquisite in it. That seemed to be the way of things. Artemis and his sister seemed to have all the sartorial sense, in the family. As opposed to Cormac, who wore women's clothing, or Anton, who wore Orlesian styles. Orlais seemed to have an investment in making clothing as complicated as possible to wear.

His attention returned to the moment, when Cormac reached over his shoulder and snatched the lacy red smalls he'd forgotten he was holding.

"Oh, those are perfect!" Cormac laughed, holding them up to get a better look. " _That_ is my colour. And I'm going to prove it once and for all."

"Not where I have to see it, I hope," Fenris muttered, ears twitching as he glanced back toward the curtained alcoves.

A familiar face poked around a curtain, but it wasn't the face Fenris was waiting to see.

"I thought that voice sounded familiar!"

Fenris squinted at the speaking elf. " _Theron_?" The elf beamed back at him, vallaslin curving around his smile. "What are you--? Oh, that's a stupid question, isn't it." Fenris sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Aneth ara, Fenris!" Theron replied. "Aren't you with the wrong Hawke?" He eyed Cormac curiously before spotting the smalls in his hand. Theron's ears perked up. "Oh, those are a good choice! I just picked out the same style in blue." Theron held the curtain aside to prove it, and Fenris didn't quite shield his eyes in time. "See?"

"Unfortunately," Fenris muttered, not quite sure where to look. Those smalls really were quite racy.

"Theron, stop traumatising the other shoppers," Kalli said, appearing as though from nowhere.

"Ooh!" Cormac cocked his head and gestured for Theron to turn around. It wasn't that he was all that interested in Theron, particularly, as that it was a good chance to estimate how that cut would fit on himself. "Let me see the back!"

Theron turned, peering down over his own shoulder. "It's a good fit, isn't it?"

"It is. I'm having second thoughts about how they're going to fit on me." Cormac held up the red pair again, with a contemplative look.

"Well, they do come in shem sizes," Theron assured him, tugging the curtain closed to squeeze back into his trousers. "I never took you for the lace type."

"I'm ... not, really." Cormac laughed. "But, I've been promising Anders for years, now."

"Creators, the thing that man wears... I'm not sure I'd let him make any clothing decisions for me." Theron laughed and stepped out, a pile of smalls in his hand. He dropped them on a nearby table. "Those don't fit. Do all shem have huge asses? I can't say I spent much time _looking_."

"No, it's just that you elves have no asses," Cormac teased.

"I protest. Without an ass, I'd have nothing to sit on," Fenris muttered, despite trying very hard not to listen to the exchange.

"Theron has a very nice ass," Kalli insisted. "Just right for smacking."

"And I don't doubt he gives you plenty of cause," Cormac laughed.

"If my ass seems flat to a shem, it's _because_ of all her smacking," Theron replied with a wink at his wife. "Not that I'm complaining. Ma vhenan, what do you think of these?" Theron plucked up another set of smalls, a piece of cloth that lived up to the name.

Kalli raised an eyebrow at the scrap of fabric, hooking a finger around the g-string back. "Mythal's tits," she said. "That's skimpy even for you, Theron."

"Oh, not for me!" Theron said, grinning from pointed ear to pointed ear. "I have enough black smalls. For him." He tipped his head.

Fenris grimaced, assuming they meant Cormac. But then Kalli was giving _him_ a speculative look. "What?" Fenris blinked at her, at Theron, and down at the smalls. "Absolutely not." His ears twitched in different directions. "No."

"But it would show off those tattoos--"

"No."

Another voice filtered out from a curtained alcove. "I think we have a winner!" The curtain pulled open to reveal Artemis wearing a grin and little else, a grin that froze when he took in the tableau in front of him. "And... there are other people! People I know!" His ears and cheeks flamed red as he pulled the curtain back, covering everything but his face.

"Oh, no, no. Not so fast, Earthquake Boy." Theron attempted to wrest the curtain from Artie's grip. "Even if you're not letting them see, you should let me see. I've seen you in less."

"Theron, if he means you to see, he'll show you." Cormac laughed. "Come on, we're not fifteen any more, and he can push you down a flight of stairs without even looking."

Beside him, Fenris growled, watching Artemis's eyes for some cue as to whether he was supposed to object to this. If it was anyone else, he'd be across the room, already, but Theron... he wasn't sure.

Artemis tugged at the ends of his hair and peered sheepishly up at Theron.. "All right, but only because you're wearing less than I am. Nice colour, by the way." Cheeks still burning, Artie let Theron pull back the curtain.

"He looks good in this! Fenris, you didn't tell me how good he looked in one of these!" Theron stepped in and closed the curtain behind him, still talking. "Ooh! Rings!"

A squeak and a stumbling sound could be heard from behind the curtain, which fluttered.

"Theron, don't manhandle my brother in public." Cormac sighed, picking through the pile Theron had set aside. If they were all too big on the elf, Cormac thought he might find some styles that would fit him better.

A woman nearby shot Cormac an odd look, but he paid it no mind. People looking at him funny was just part of being him.

"Yes, please don't, Theron," Fenris called out. "I'd like to get some use out of that corset before you get stains on it. I'd like to have at least _paid for it_."

"Fenris?" The voice came from behind them -- from the door to the sewing room. "What are you doing here?"

No. Couldn't be. Fenris looked over his shoulder in dawning horror. "Varania?"

"Hello!" Cormac turned, suddenly, still holding two pairs of knickers, one in a bright red and the other in mint green. "How have things been working out for you, then?" He paused and glanced at Fenris. "It's just your sister, Fenris."

"Yes. It's my sister. What if it was your sister?" Fenris stuffed his hands behind him, as if he hadn't been looking for a pair of smalls to go with the corset Artemis was trying on.

"If it was my sister, she'd tell me these would make my ass look fat," Cormac said, taking a closer look at the green pair. "Don't mind him, Varania. He's bad at having family. Even mine. Well, no, I guess he's very good at having my brother, or that's what I'm told." He laughed, trading the green pair for another pair in red.

Kalli bit back a snicker as Fenris glared at Cormac. "And I suspect he's here for the same reason anyone comes here," she said. "For a bigger selection of smalls." She plucked up the flimsy black number Theron had suggested earlier. "We were just thinking that this one would show off his figure."

Fenris passed a hand over his eyes, a strangled sound escaping his throat. "No. I am not here for... no. I am here with Artemis, who is, I suspect, currently being defiled by her husband."

"Defiled...?" Varania tilted her head.

Behind the curtain, there was another thump, a laugh, and then a hand was shoving a scantily clad elf out of the alcove. Varania struggled with a response to that.

"You are... underwear shopping with your husband... and his brother." Varania glanced at Cormac. That was his brother, right? It was hard to keep track.

"Brother. Accountant." Cormac shrugged. "My siblings buy exotic things. I make sure we can afford them. You should've seen Anton and his absurd Tevinter garden accessories. I wasn't sure how we were going to afford my sister's fall wardrobe, that year." He shook his head.

Varania nodded sympathetically. That was an arrangement she could understand, though one that usually fell to parents, in families that didn't hire it out. "Tevinter... garden accessories?" She wasn't sure she wanted to know.

"Don't ask." Fenris rubbed his face. "Please don't put ideas like that in my sister's head."

"Why in the world not? You put them in my brother's head, as I recall." Cormac smiled impolitely at Fenris, ever the somewhat fatherly figure, when he wanted to be.

And that would never stop giving Fenris chills. Every time someone said Cormac reminded them of the elder Hawke, Fenris needed a few breaths to settle himself. "What are you doing here?" he asked stupidly.

"I... work... here?" Varania blinked. "Are you sure you're all right, Leto?"

Fenris's cheek twitched at the name. "Do not call me that," he said, though he tried to keep the edge out of his voice.

"Well, brother-accountant," Theron said, grinning at Cormac. "Please tell me you're buying that!" He pointed at Artie's curtained alcove.

Cormac cocked his head at the curtain. "I think I still need the approval of one more elf, before I add that to the budget. Namely the one who's supposed to be enjoying it." He squinted sidelong at Theron. "Fenris, am I buying that?"

Kalli rolled her eyes at the hopeful look Theron turned Fenris's way. Fenris still felt unsettled, but he pushed it aside. He'd been getting used to pushing it aside. "A part of me is tempted to say 'no' just to spite you," Fenris drawled, crossing his arms over his chest, "but I'd only be spiting myself as well. Yes, Cormac, we are buying that."

It wasn't the sort of thing he'd wanted to discuss in front of his sister, but if she worked here... well, she'd have to know anyway.

Theron barely tempered his glee when he noticed his wife shaking her head.

Varania eyed her brother curiously, completely uncertain how to react to any of the things potentially being implied.

"It's, ah... Theron and Artie have been friends since we were kids," Cormac explained, quickly. "At least we're all dressed, this time. Yes, yes, Fereldan barbarian dog-lords, bathing in rivers." He shrugged. "Hence why we ask the man who's supposed to be enjoying my brother, as opposed to the one who's just giving him a hard time."

"That's not the only hard thing I'll give your brother," Theron joked, and Kalli cracked him across the bottom. "See! I told you she smacked the ass right off me!"

"Your family is rather unusual, Fenris," Varania said, with a tiny smile.

"Yes. Yes, it is." He looked pointedly back at her. "How are your-- How is your family?"

"Merrill's taking care of them, while I work. She's been teaching Paulla some rhymes in Elvish. They're very pretty." Varania smiled.

"If Merrill's teaching Elvish rhymes, you'd better ask her for translations!" Theron laughed. "The things I've heard that woman rhyme with 'mi'nehn'!"

"I remember you tried to teach me some Elvish rhymes once," Artie said, again drawing aside the curtain. Theron pouted when he saw that Artemis was wearing considerably more clothing than before, corset folded and tucked under his arm. "But Elvish and I never really agreed with each other. I don't think we got very far." He shrugged sheepishly and fidgeted with the corset's rings.

Theron's grin was devilish. "On the contrary--"

"Let me guess: 'you got very far' in another sense," Kalli interrupted. Theron's grin climbed impossibly higher, and Kalli shook her head in fond exasperation.

Artemis tugged at a reddening ear. "Let's try not to give my poor sister-in-law the wrong impression, shall we?" he asked, his shoulder nudging Theron's as he walked past.

"And what impression would that be?" Theron purred, catching Artie around the waist.

"Nope! Not in the middle of the shop." Cormac pulled Artemis back from the arm around him, both hands landing just above Theron's arm and lifting Artemis about a foot off the ground. "That is not yours, Theron. Get your own."

"Venhedis," Fenris swore, in exasperation.

"Fenedhis," Theron said, at the same time, watching how easily Cormac moved. He'd never quite realised the nerdy little teenage mage had grown into the sort of barbarian dog-lord who could just sling people around like stunned nugs.

"Your accent is horrible," Fenris muttered, with a surprised glance at Theron. "Have you been learning Tevene from Anders?"

"I promise you that's an unvoiced fricative," Theron shot back. "It's also an Elvish word. The 'fen' is the same root as your name."

"Oooh!" A noblewoman's voice cut through the language argument. "Two strong boys and their elves. You two going to put on a show for us?"

Cormac's face darkened. "I'm just here to keep the elves from manhandling my brother in public."

"Brother?" The noblewoman's eyebrows rose, but she hid a titter behind her fan. It was an elegant fan, blue with silver designs, of the sort Bethany would covet. "Ohh, I see. A fellow Gazette reader," she said with an exaggerated wink.

The Gazette? Was there a new issue out?

"We... read it on occasion," Artie replied, confused. "My brother also manhandles me on occasion and needs to stop doing that in public." He wriggled in his brother's grip and twisted to give him a flat look. He'd been sure to add the words 'in public' for his brother's benefit.

"Oh, by all means carry on," the noblewoman purred as she eyed them up and down. "I admire such... _brotherly affection_."

"Such... what?" Artie blinked. He would burst into flames if he blushed any harder. "No. No, we actually _are_ brothers. That handsome elf right there is my husband." Artemis pointed at Fenris, who looked much too wickedly amused by this situation.

"I don't know what he's talking about," Fenris said, somehow able to keep a straight face.

"By which he means _this_ handsome elf, right here," Theron offered, with a luminously wicked smile.

"Either way, this is my brother, and he's married to an elf. Not me. Obviously. Because we're brothers." Cormac tossed Artie over his shoulder like a sack of turnips. "And he's my little brother, so of course I embarrass him in public as frequently as possible."

"Artie's not that little, even for a shem," Theron teased, leaping out of the way of Kalli's next swat.

"But, what's this about the Gazette?" Fenris asked. "I'm afraid I haven't seen the latest."

The noblewoman eyed Theron. "Did you say 'Archie'? The other one's not Corwin, is he?"

"Cormac," Cormac corrected. "And my brother is most definitely not 'Archie'."

"Hmm, no, I think I'm right." The woman giggled behind her fan again. "I think the Gazette's got you, this week. How fortunate am I!"

"What do you mean?" Artie asked, face draining of colour. "Cormac, tell me what she means. No, _put me down_ , and then tell me what she means."

Fenris cleared his throat. "Messere, you wouldn't happen to have a copy of this week's Gazette with you?"

"I do," Varania answered instead. "I haven't read it yet, but a customer left a copy here and neglected to pick it up. One moment." Varania disappeared around a display of stockings and reappeared a moment later, brandishing the Gazette like a flag. "What page should I look for?" she asked the noblewoman.

"Page Six, of course," she answered, to Artie's horror.

"Oh no. Oh no. Nope. No."

"What." Cormac set Artemis on his feet, and stepped in front of him. "Fenris, why do I feel like I need to have a chat with Isabela?"

"Possibly because you can't imagine anyone else fantasising about your 'brotherly love'? It's not the only thing she fantasises about, but it comes up. Usually, it's all four of you, though." Fenris paused and looked at his sister. "It's not all four of them, is it?"

Varania couldn't hide a smile. "This is _terrible_! It reads like one of those Orlesian books! 'Blighted by True Love' or some nonsense..." Still, her eyes didn't leave the page. "My, is it warm in here?" she asked, finally, passing the paper to her brother.

"It's the blistering furnace of my rage," Cormac assured her.

Fenris scanned the page, eyebrows creeping higher with each sentence. Well. The beginning of the scene was familiar, set in a particular tavern, at a particular table, in the middle of a particular game of spin-the-bottle. "It appears to be written from, _ahem_ , 'Archie's' perspective."

Fenris was still only halfway through the story when Artemis snatched the Gazette to read for himself. "I wasn't finished with that," he said mildly, watching Artemis's eyes grew wider by the second.

Whiskey. Forbidden lust. Neurotic narrator. "I am going to kill Isabela," he said, voice deceptively calm, if a higher register than normal as he passed the broadsheet to his brother. "I am not like that."

"You're a bit like that," Fenris corrected, meeting Artie's glare with a smile. "But perhaps shopping for undergarments in your brother's presence is not where you should be, if you're trying to convince the public you're not... you know."

Artemis was glad to be out of the corset for this.


	337. PART LXI: THE PERILS OF PIRACY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isabela has some troubles, involving an Antivan pirate of some repute. Sebastian continues to have opinions about both Isabela and Page Six.

Anton stepped into the sitting room, where Isabela was drinking tea with his sister and her chantry boy. "Oh, look who's here! Time to change the locks again," Anton teased, slipping into a chair and pouring a cup for himself.

"I knocked this time. Bodhan let me in." Isabela winked and flicked a slice of sugar into Anton's tea. "Guess what?"

"You're on your way to see Anders?" Anton raised his eyebrows, feigning innocence.

"No! Well, not this time, anyway. As I was telling your sister, Castillon's back in town, and I'm not waiting around for him to stick a knife in my ribs. We're going to get him, before he gets me."

"I mean, but it's murder! And she's a thief!" Sebastian protested.

"And you're devoted to an institution that wants to imprison and torture your girlfriend," Anton pointed out. "We all make questionable choices, and I kind of like the benefits on this one. Isabela lives, and one of the nastiest pirates of the Waking Sea gets chopped into little bits and dumped in the harbour. Also, if I kill him, I get his stuff. I've heard he has very nice stuff."

"That's the hope, anyway," Isabela said with an insouciant shrug. She blew on her tea, loudly, before taking a sip. "Unfortunately, Castillon's holed up somewhere in Kirkwall. I haven't been able to find him. I do know where Velasco is, however. That's his right hand. We just have to make him tell us where Castillon is." She fidgeted with her kerchief and the way it sat on her head. "Somehow."

"Ah. Good to know you have it all planned out then," Sebastian huffed.

"Well, I haven't worked out all the kinks," Izzy snapped, desperation creeping into her tone. Her gaze slid to Bethany, and she smirked. "That's what I have Bethy for."

Sebastian met her grin with a blank look. She couldn't decide if that was because he didn't understand what she was implying or because he'd elected to pretend not to.

"And anyway, I do have a plan! Step one, we go to Velasco. Step two, something exciting happens. Step three, profit!"

Sebastian sighed into his tea.

"Well, do you have a better one?" Izzy asked him.

Anton held up one finger. "We could poke him with something sharp until he talks?"

"You'll just end up killing him," Isabela sighed.

"That might not be as much of a problem as you think," Bethany reminded her.

"Anyway, if we kill him and search the body, we might find something," Anton put in, "necromantic nuttery aside."

"It is not nutty!" Bethany protested.

"Or we could find nothing and get nowhere," Isabela pointed out.

"Can't we just ask this Velasco where his boss is? Nicely?" Sebastian asked, looking back and forth between Isabela and Anton.

"He's not going to reveal anything willingly," Isabela sighed, crossing her legs and stirring her tea with one finger. "I can't risk him getting suspicious and alerting Castillon. But..." She jabbed her wet finger in Anton's direction. "What if you were to take me to Velasco and pretend to betray me?" She glanced at Sebastian. "Or you, I suppose, but I think Anton's more convincing. You say you're giving me to Castillon for gold, and Velasco takes me to him."

"And we follow you to the hideout," Anton finished, catching on.

"Exactly," agreed Isabela. "Once Castillon shows himself, we'll take care of him." She sat back, half sprawling on the couch, looking terribly pleased with herself.

The front door slammed open before Bethany -- or Sebastian -- could respond. Bodhan greeted whomever was at the door. "Is she here?" replied a familiar voice, a voice belonging to the most neurotic of the Hawke brothers. "Varric told me she came here. _Izzy_!"

Anton eyed Isabela curiously. "Did you draw a penis on his stairs again?"

Izzy set down her tea and held up her hands in surrender. "No, I learned my lesson after the one time."

Artemis found them and scowled at Isabela from the doorway, the Gazette in one hand and some sort of fabric clutched in the other. Bethany saw the look, saw the Gazette, and nearly choked on her tea.

"Did you enjoy this week's Page Six, brother?" she asked, batting her eyelashes. Next to her, Sebastian made a strangled sound that he tried to turn into a cough.

"Hush, you," Artie told his sister, pointing at her with the Gazette, his face reddening. He shifted to point at Izzy instead. "I know you did this."

"What? What did I do this time? Did they publish that one I wrote about the Arishok?" Isabela looked delighted. "I knew they'd come around to that one eventually!"

Cormac coughed and stepped around Artie, entirely careful not to touch him at all. "No, the other one. The one about me."

"The stud farm one? I didn't think they'd go in for the horses!" Isabela looked even more amused. "I told you I was good enough for page six, Anton!"

"Actually, it's ... both of them. I rather thought it was Anton and Carver, but Sebastian's so certain, aren't you, pumpkin?" Bethany smiled at Sebastian, who looked like he was trying to sink through the chair and the floor.

"You thought that was me!?" Anton looked horrified. "That was obviously not me. Either one of them. And it can't possibly have been those two. Where's the screaming? What about the earthquakes?" he paused, contemplatively studying his brothers. "Although there was that game of spin-the-bottle... I mean, that did kind of happen, but... not... like that."

"Absolutely not like that," Cormac agreed, face tightening a little around his eyes.

"I didn't write anything with the two of them, but now I wish I had!" Isabela laughed.

"Well, it was obviously written by _somebody_ who was there for that!" Artie insisted, on the verge of stuttering. "The spin-the-bottle game, that is. Not the -- the fictional thing that happened in here!" He shook the Gazette, its pages flapping. "Unless you're implying that _Varric_ wrote this, which... well, he might, just to make me sputter, but I doubt he would -- would subject himself to it long enough to write in such... _detail_." Artie started pacing, threatening to wear a trail in the rug.

"Spin-the-bottle?" Sebastian repeated, voice sounding a little strained. The way they were talking about it, the way Artemis was looking everywhere except at his older brother... "You played a game and the two of you...?" He gestured between Cormac and Artemis. He prayed they'd misinterpret the dismay on his face.

"Oh yes," Izzy purred, leaning forward in her seat. "Artemis climbed right into Cormac's lap. It was glorious."

"It was gross," Anton protested.

" _Glorious_ ," Izzy insisted. "I still think about it when it's just me and the stallion."

" _That_ is gross," Artemis replied, face scrunching. "And I only did that to gross out Anton." Which was at least partly true.

"It worked," Anton drawled.

Sebastian bit the inside of his cheek, determined to focus on the pain instead of that image, the image of Artie in _his_ lap, lips on his like in that story and -- no, nope. Not again.

"Anton's just jealous I didn't kiss him like that," Cormac joked, smirking at the brother in question. "He got up on the table for it and everything."

"What? That--! No!" Anton leapt out of his seat, teacup still in his hand. "Okay, yes, I was on the table, but it was because I was too lazy to walk around it for _you_. I might have gotten up if it was Fenris."

"You know, I'm glad I smacked you in the mouth." Cormac eyed Sebastian. "You had brothers. Were they like this?"

"I don't... I can't say I was ever in a similar situation with either of my brothers." Sebastian moved his head before his eyes caught up, and oh, that was Artemis just to the side. He wasn't looking at Artemis. "I don't really expect I'll have the experience."

"I bet you it was Donnic," Isabela interrupted. "You know, he acts all charming and do-gooder, but I bet you he writes for Page Six on the side, when Aveline's not looking. They don't work the same shift, you know. He's got the alone time for that kind of writing."

"Donnic?" Cormac blinked. "Of everyone at that table, you pick _Donnic_?"

"Well, it's not like it was going to be Anders. He's much too sweet on you to pull something like this. And could you even imagine Merrill? It's much too literate to be Fenris, and I don't think Cullen could think it without bursting into flames." Isabela shrugged. "It's Donnic."

"No, it's you," Artemis insisted, eyes narrowed on Isabela. "You're just trying to throw us off the scent. Who will you implicate next? Corff? Is that what he does between pouring drinks?"

Izzy tapped her chin. "Now that you mention it..."

"No. No, I don't mention it. Corff is not perving on my brother and me. That is a whole barrel of 'no'."

Bethany's teacup didn't quite hide her snickers. "Really, Artie, it could be anyone. Someone might simply have heard about the game and filled in their own details."

Artemis looked, if anything, more horrified. "Heard about? Are people talking about that? Does all of Kirkwall know about that?"

"I didn't," Sebastian assured him in a strangled voice, still not looking at Artemis.

"Artie, sit down. Have some tea." Bethany gave him a stern look that reminded him of his mother in that instant. "You could shake the ground with your pacing alone if you go any faster."

"Can we please not talk about my brother shaking the ground, _after that_?" Cormac groaned, pressing his hands against his eyes.

"Okay, instead let's talk about how somebody's trying to kill me, and we're going to kill him first!" Isabela offered, grinning.

"You mean other than my brother? Because I'm pretty sure Artie's going to kill you." Cormac pointed out. "But, if it's somebody else, I'll totally save you from them, so Artie can do it, himself."

"That's so sweet of you!" Isabela grinned wolfishly at Artemis.

"What can I say? I'm a giver." Cormac continued to eye Isabela warily. "So, who do I have to kill to preserve your limited virtues for the later entertainment of my younger siblings?"

"Castillon's back for the book," Anton filled in. "You know, the one we gave to the Qunari?"

"The one _you_ gave to the Qunari," Cormac pointed out. "Which was a good move, by the way. I really thought we were going to walk out of there without a fight, for about five seconds."

"Anyway, the man is back, and his intent is ill. And we're going to use Isabela as bait, to lure him out." Bethany smiled serenely.

"We? Tell me that means you're coming along." Cormac smiled slyly at his sister.

Bethany's grin was wicked. "Why not? I could use a day out in the city. Fresh air and all that. Pumpkin?"

Sebastian half jumped at the address, eyes darting about guiltily even though he'd done a good job of not staring at Bethany's brother. "Yes, Sunshine?"

"Care to join us or does the Chantry require your services today?"

"What?" Isabela huffed. "Choir boy? He'll just try to keep me from gutting the bastard! He might even try to trade me in for real."

"I might help him," Artie said with narrowed eyes. It was, quite possibly, the only time Artemis remembered agreeing with Sebastian.

"I will gladly lend my assistance," Sebastian said, setting his teacup down on its saucer, "if only in the hopes of finding a more peaceable solution."

"Peaceable?" Izzy repeated, her stare sharpening. "And this from you?"

Sebastian finally let himself look at Artemis. "You know, turning her in for real might not be a bad idea, after all."

"Did I threaten to throw you to the Qunari, when there were still Qunari to throw you to? No? Then maybe you can do Izzy the same favour. The man's no damned good, and I wouldn't sell you to him in drag, however tempting it might be both to be rid of you and to see you in a dress." Cormac looked much too calm, and his smile was chillingly just slight of pleasant. "Wouldn't he look good in that silver tea gown with the blue sash, Artie?"

"Oh! That's what I want for my birthday, Beth!" Isabela grinned, leaning over to wrap herself around Bethany's arm. "I want Chantry Boy in a silver tea gown! And can we make him recite the Chant for us, too?"

Bethany's eyes sparkled. "Cormac? Can we afford a tea gown in his size?" Bethany asked.

"Wait, what?" Sebastian glanced around the room in horror. "No, no, no. I don't need a tea gown."

"But, just think!" Cormac teased. "She'll sit still for the Chant, if you wear it. You're doing the Maker's work." He smiled in that manner that only older brothers do.

"And now that we've hooked up my ex with my sister's boyfriend, I think we have somewhere else to be, don't we? Tell me we do." Anton looked at Isabela. "Where are we going to find this Velasco?"

"Velasco's been spending his nights at the brothel, enjoying its many splendours," Isabela replied, still sizing Sebastian up as though trying to calculate his gown measurements. "That's where we'll find him."

"The brothel?" Sebastian repeated, looking considerably less thrilled with this situation.

"There you go, Artie!" Anton said with a pained smile. "You can visit Jethann while we're there. He was asking about you, last time. Well, you and Fenris. You and Fenris and acts I don't need to picture."

Artemis folded his arms across his chest, tilting his chin up defiantly. "I'm not going," he said.

"Aw, but, Artie," Izzy wheedled, "I thought you'd love to come to the brothel!" Her grin turned wicked. "And in the brothel."

"The brothel is exactly the last place I should be seen in with my brother right now," Artemis snapped. "And you can make all the dirty puns you want, Izzy. I'm still mad at you."

"I know," Izzy sighed, resting her chin on her fist and fluttering her eyelashes. "And it's adorable. Like an angry, fluffed up kitten."

"I am not--!" Artemis cut himself off with a growl, colour rising high on his cheeks. He held up one finger in admonition. "I'm leaving." Artemis spun on his heel and stormed out the door, not daring to make eye-contact with Cormac as he left.

"And now we've lost Messere Earthquakes and the power of smashing things flat. Shall we go, before we lose anyone else to this delightfully witty banter among friends?" Cormac looked less than entirely thrilled with the situation.

Sebastian finally registered what Cormac was wearing. "And what is this about me in a dress, when he's wearing Chantry Mothers' robes? That's sacrilege, you know!"

"This is exactly what I'm talking about," Cormac muttered, pointing at Sebastian. "And they're not Chantry Mothers' robes, they're my robes. I doubt any of the Mothers have robes that would fit me. I am not a small man."

"Are we going?"Anton asked, standing up. "I think we're going. Anyone who's coming along, now's the time."


	338. Chapter 338

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trap is set. Sebastian starts to wonder how he got talked into any of this.

Lusine eyed the group as they walked through the door. "Ah, Lord Dog returns," she said by way of greeting. "Again." Anton dipped into an exaggerated bow. "And with company! Well, that always spells trouble."

"What's life without a little trouble now and then?" he asked her with a rakish wink.

"Quiet," Lusine replied, resting her hip against the edge of the bar. "And speaking of trouble, your uncle has been running up quite the tab again." Her eyebrows arced delicately.

"Has he?" Anton asked, feigning polite interest. "Then I'm sure he will stop by at some point and pay that off."

"I'm sure," Lusine said in a way that said she wasn't.

"But don't let me keep you, Madame," Anton said, already backing away. "I'm just here to collect a friend."

"That's one word for him," Isabela muttered.

"An old and very dear friend." Something about Cormac's smile made Lusine wonder if she should send for Anders. Of course, if she sent for him, she'd have to pay him.

"That's his room, over there." Isabela pointed to a door on the upper storey.

"Anton, you and Chantry boy take her up, and then get out. I trust you can find yourself in the way of the back exit. Bethy and I will sit here and start rumours." Cormac fluttered his fingers at Serendipity, as she came out of the back, with another elf in tow.

"Well well! If Lord Dog hasn't brought the whole family, this time! Is it another wedding?" Serendipity picked her way across the room and kissed Anton on both cheeks. "Is your sister finally getting married?"

"No, no. No weddings this time. Just a little business with a certain Antivan." Anton wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Can you keep those two busy, while I take care of business?"

"The one upstairs? Be careful. He's a mean one." Serendipity shook her head, hooking her arm through Cormac's. "But, I'll be happy to look after handsome and gorgeous, over here. Have you been as naughty as you look, Messere Hawke?"

"Me? No, no, I leave the naughtiness to my sister." Cormac laughed and led Serendipity and Bethany to a table from which he could see both the stairs and the front door.

Anton paused by Isabela's side at the top of the stairs. "Are you ready?" he asked.

She drew in a breath. "Yes, I think so. Now, this needs to be convincing." She looked meaningfully at Anton. "And you'll need to get creative -- call me names, even hit me."

"Now, see, that name-calling bit might have been good incentive for Artie to come along, had you mentioned it back home. But don't worry about me, Izzy. I'll make it convincing and then buy you a drink after." He pointed at the closed door in front of them. "This one?"

"Yep!"

Anton kicked the door open, letting it slam against the opposite wall. It much more dramatic than just picking the lock, judging by the look on Velasco's -- or at least the bearded man he assumed was Velasco -- face.

"What--?" Velasco drew back from the scantily clad elf girl he'd cornered against the wall. She ducked out from underneath him, eyes wide like a spooked horse as she darted past Anton. "Get back here, you--!" Velasco sighed in frustration. "Skittish bitch." He eyed Anton up and down and squared his shoulders. "I hope you have a good reason for interrupting my private time," he said, thick Antivan accent softening the words.

"I brought you a new plaything," Anton said with a grin, cocking his thumb at Isabela, over his shoulder. "She's much less skittish."

Sebastian knew this was all just a game, to make this man give up his boss, but the words still made his skin crawl. Still, he positioned himself in the doorway, crossing his arms.

"Are you insane?" Isabela barked.

"You should see the look on your face," Anton laughed.

"This wasn't the plan! We were going to kill him!" Isabela grabbed at her daggers, leaning in closer to Anton.

"It's better this way, darling," Anton purred, tracing a finger down Isabela's cheek. "I hope you understand."

"How dare you!?" Isabela leapt back, daggers drawn, and spit in Anton's face. "You backstabbing little shit! You'd better start sleeping with one eye open!"

Two men appeared from elsewhere in the suite, and approached in a way that even Sebastian could have shaken them off, but Isabela put up the illusion of a fight, struggling just enough not to be suspicious.

Velasco seemed to be minding the interruption much less. "Castillon will be pleased," he told Anton, looking terribly pleased himself. "He's been looking for Isabela for some time." He pressed a heavy pouch into Anton's hand. "A token of our appreciation. It's more than she's worth."

Straightening his clothing, Velasco followed his men -- and Isabela's swearing -- out the door. Serendipity looked up curiously as they passed. She leaned in to Bethany. "Isn't that a friend of yours being manhandled out the door?"

"Izzy? Oh, when is she not being manhandled?" Bethany replied, even as she watched the group. "It was terribly good to see you, Dips." She snatched up her spear. "You really must come over for tea sometime."

"Do feel free to call on us, sometime, while your more ... valuable patrons are busy losing their shirts to Lord Dog," Cormac invited, twisting out of the chair and taking his sister's arm, as they exited together. "They'll be talking about this for months," he muttered. "Especially so soon after Page Six."

"It's a good thing mother didn't live to see this," Bethany sighed, as Anton and Sebastian stepped out of an alley.

"That way." Anton pointed. "I heard them pass just before you."

As they followed the footsteps and the occasional shout of, 'Put me down you oafs!' Sebastian spotted the trail they were actually following -- splotches and wads of something bright red, stuck to the cobblestones.

"Is that lip rouge?" Bethany asked, after stepping in one.

"She probably palmed the pot on her way out," Anton said, with a nod. "Down the stairs we go. I expect they're taking the long way around. I can't imagine he'd be anywhere too far from his ship."

The trail led, unsurprisingly, to the Docks, though it looked like Izzy had started to run out of rouge by the end, the trail tapering off in front of a warehouse door.

"Why is it always warehouses with these people?" Anton muttered, looking around to make sure that was indeed where the trail stopped.

"Is that part of the pirate protocol?" Bethany asked. "Are you taking notes?"

"Excuse me, I'm an Ass-Bandit, not an Ass-Pirate," Anton huffed, pulling a set of lockpicks from his belt and using them to coax the lock open. "You can ask my delightfully dragony husband."

Anton nudged the door open, a dagger already tucked into his palm, but the first room, at least, wasn't guarded. The second room was empty too, save for a few nasty, serrated surprises that sprang out of the floorboards. "Oh, that looks painful!" Anton said cheerfully.

"That's... complicated." Sebastian squatted down and took a closer look at the slits in the floor and their accompanying blades.

Behind him, Cormac winked at Bethany and cast a spell, watching the shield settle around Sebastian and then fade out of view. "Well, there's got to be away to stop it, right? I mean, we have to get in, and obviously so did the folks we're following. I don't see enough blood on the floor to think they just marched right through."

Anton shimmied up one of the supports for the loft that ran along one wall. "I think I see a switch over there. I bet you can turn it off!"

"Wha-- Me?" Sebastian looked up, stunned.

"Yeah, you. I'm not sending my sister to do it, and you're the next most likely to fit between the blades." Anton grinned down, wondering how long it would take Sebastian to realise that he was hanging off the loft, which appeared to not be trapped, and stretched the whole length of the room.

"But that's--" More blades sprang up, and Sebastian turned a ghastly shade of green. "That's... no. I can't."

"Well, someone has to." Bethany put on a determined face and made a show of handing her staff to Cormac and stepping up to the edge of the trapped floor.

"What? No." Sebastian took her arm, green face turning grey. "Absolutely not." He looked to her brothers for help but found none. "Fine. Fine! I shall do it." He straightened his shoulders, scraped his nerves together. "The Maker shall protect me." He nodded, as though to reassure himself, before turning to face the whirling blades. His faith would withstand this test.

Sebastian counted his breaths, counted the rhythm of the blades. He waited until he could feel the rhythm in his chest and then sprang into action, murmuring the Chant as he moved. The first set of blades nearly clipped his ankle, while the next nearly shore off his toes. By the time he met the spikes at the end of the hall, Sebastian squeezed his eyes shut, the Chant loud and frantic on his tongue. When he finally opened his eyes, he found himself at the far end of the hall, unscathed.

"Maker be praised," he breathed in awe.

Anton dropped down almost soundlessly from the loft. "Looking for this?" he asked, tugging the lever down and stopping the blades, the spikes retracting into the floor, one last time.

"You... what!?" Sebastian turned a horrified look on Anton. "You-- how did you--? You could have gotten around it the whole time, and you made me walk through it anyway? Were you trying to get me killed!?"

"Easy, easy..." Cormac picked his way around the blades to join them, picking a copper coin out of the pouch at his belt. "You weren't going to get hurt," he said, bouncing the coin off the air in front of Sebastian's face. He left out the part where the shields wouldn't have completely prevented the blades from getting through, with enough force, at the right angle. "Have a little faith. The Maker's turned his eye from the world, but your girlfriend's family hasn't."

"Blasphemy," Sebastian snarled, blotting the sweat from his forehead with the back of his wrist. "Blasphemy and magic. I don't know why I ever expected something different from you."

"I don't know why, either." Cormac laughed. "Come on, before someone actually gets hurt. Like Izzy."

Sebastian kept grumbling until Bethany reminded him to hush. They were still hoping for the element of surprise, after all, despite Sebastian's vehement recitation of the Chant moments before.

The door led out onto a balcony, and Anton slipped out first, ducking behind a pillar and poking his head around it. He spotted Izzy on the level below, next to Velasco, who was still looking terribly smug. Their voices drifted up to the Hawkes.

"Why don't we work something out?" Velasco asked, eyeing Isabela in a way that made clear what he meant by 'something'. "If you're good, I'll tell Castillon to go easy on you."

Isabela scoffed. "Contrary to popular belief, I do have standards.

Velasco's coaxing tone turned steely. "You're going to do whatever I want," he said. "I own you."

Anton wondered if he could if he could throw a knife through the man's eye at this distance. If Izzy stepped a little further away, he might try.

Izzy looked up just then, catching the Anton-shaped shadow and the Hawkes and Sebastian lingering in the doorway.

"Are you sure about that?" she asked with a smug smile.

"You bitch! I knew you were up to something!" Velasco snapped, suddenly alert.


	339. Chapter 339

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A deal gone sideways. Death, death, and trouble with the locals. Seneschal Bran would kill for an aspirin.

Sebastian didn't wait for Velasco to figure out where they were, putting a shot through his neck, as the man glanced around the room, looking for them. Cormac cocked his head at Isabela, gesturing her away from the raiders converging on the spot where Velasco had fallen. A moment later, the room filled with lightning.

Whatever Castillon's crew had been expecting, it hadn't included mages, and the fear of magic alone drove a handful of them out. Several more fell to arrows and bolts of lightning. An archer collapsed onto a crate, and the floor shifted, jets of fire shooting out of the wall.

"Anton?" Bethany asked, sweeping her hand toward the mayhem below them, with obvious pauses at the flames currently devastating the lower level of the warehouse.

"I'll get it," Anton volunteered, leaping over the balcony rail and plunging into the smoke and bodies below. "Nobody shoot me, okay? I'm looking at you, Sebastian!"

Cormac drew a breath, fingers curling, and the air around Anton rippled.

"Thank you!" Anton called out, as if he'd been wondering how long that would take. Anton paid no mind to the chaos of magic and arrows raining down on him from all sides as he raced towards one fire jet. "Miss me?" he asked the familiar shape lurking just to the side.

"Terribly," Isabela replied as he fiddled with the trap.

The next jet of fire warmed the side of Anton's face before stopping altogether. His crow of victory turned into a squawk when an arrow whizzed by his cheek instead. "Dammit, Sebastian," he muttered. "What did I just say?"

"Not Sebastian," Isabela informed him, turning one knife over in her hand. The knife shot through the air, catching the archer between the eyes. Izzy smiled beatifically. "Is that better?"

"You make everything better, Izzy." Anton winked at her. "Well, except when you managed to set the Qunari on the city. I think that counts as making things worse. How about interesting? You make everything more interesting, which is good, because things had been getting pretty boring without you around."

"For extra interest, Velasco already sent for Castillon. He's on his way." Isabela pried open the crate beside her with a dagger. "But, let's have a look around, before he gets here. I want to know why he's in Kirkwall."

Anton busied himself emptying the pockets of the dead, until he found Velasco's body, and a key. "I wonder what this opens. Doesn't look like it's to a room at the Rose..."

Cormac followed his sister down to the floor of the warehouse, and Sebastian brought up the rear of the procession. And there was a joke about Sebastian and rears, but Cormac didn't want to think too much about it.

"There's a door over here!" Bethany called out to Anton and Isabela. "We should make sure no one else is here, or they'll come up behind us."

Anton toed the door open, knife in hand, but found the room empty save for shipping crates and a chest tucked into one corner. "Oh look. A locked chest." He turned to Isabela. "And you have a key. You know what would be convenient? If that key unlocked that chest."

Izzy grinned, waving the key as she passed. The lock clicked open a moment later. "How nice," she drawled, pushing aside the cracked shield, a shield that was weighing down a sheaf of documents. She thumbed through them, eyebrows creeping up as she skimmed. "So Castillon's looking to expand his slaving business," she scoffed, lip curling. "Why am I not surprised?"

Sebastian's face darkened. "Slavers? Here? That cannot be allowed."

Behind them, wooden stairs creaked, and Bethany turned, hefting her staff. "Izzy," she said, her tone a warning.

Tucking the documents into her boots, Isabela poked her head out into the main room, her other hand drawing a dagger again.

"And Velasco told me you were all tied up, a lovely present just waiting to be opened," drawled the man walking down the steps. Armed men and leashed dogs followed in his wake. "I see he's paid for that little mistake. What a pretty smear he makes." He looked around at the bloody and charred corpses, smiling politely all the while.

Sebastian fell back into the shadow of the door and nocked an arrow. A slaver, even one who only dealt in elves -- which this one didn't -- could not be permitted to continue his business under the Chantry's eye. After all, did not the elves rise up to help Andraste take Minrathous? He considered _not_ killing the man, leaving room for redemption and forgiveness, as Holy Andraste commanded. But, the temptation to put an arrow through this beast's eye was nearly overwhelming. And that was what demons drew on, wasn't it? Desire. But, he had no fear of demons. No need to fear demons. He was certain in his faith and pure in his conviction, wasn't he?

"Well played, Isabela. Crossed and double-crossed." Castillon smiled appreciatively.

"You want to talk? Maybe we should talk about these documents." Isabela rattled the sheaf. "Slavery in the Free Marches? They're not going to like that."

"Get to the point," Castillon hissed, suddenly acutely aware of the ill turn things had taken.

"Give me your ship and your word to leave me alone," Izzy replied, "and you can take these papers and go."

Anton tilted his head, turning one ear directly Isabela's way. "I'm sorry, what?" he said, an edge under his pleasant tone and smile. "My hearing must be going. That almost sounded like we were going to let the slaver who's been hunting you for years go, which isn't what you meant at all, I'm sure."

"He sells people for money," Sebastian said, finger flexing on his bowstring. "He can't be trusted."

Izzy started to respond, but Anton was quicker. "Ah, I see you misheard as well, Sebastian. Well. Just to clear things up for everyone. Castillon, serah, what my lovely friend here meant is that if you give her your ship, we won't kill you."

Sebastian wasn't sure, but he thought Anton might have put extra emphasis on the word 'we'.

Castillon eyed Anton speculatively but addressed Isabela. "Give me the documents, and you can have the ship," he told her. "And you will never hear from me again."

Isabela handed the documents to Cormac. "Give him the deed to your ship. If you're not carrying it, write out the transfer, sign it with witnesses, and then give it to him. I'm not handing anything to you without knowing my interests are secure."

"You wound me! I'm a businessman! I'd never do anything to harm my reputation as an honest purveyor of goods!" Castillon pressed a hand to his chest.

"And really, that's where we differ." Isabela laughed. "I'm a pirate. I wouldn't trust me, and I'm not sure I trust you. Not at this distance."

Bethany appeared with writing implements from the office.

"But, you'll let the little noblewoman near me?" Castillon joked, taking the blank paper and leaning against a pillar to write.

"The little noblewoman is far more dangerous than either of us," Isabela pointed out.

"The little noblewoman is my fiancée, the Lady Amell. Can we not talk about her like she's bought and paid for?" Sebastian protested.

"Your...?" Bethany raised an eyebrow at him.

"I... that is... er..." Sebastian sputtered. "Marry me, Bethany! Please? I'd go down on my knees, but it's not really the time and place for that." His arms were perfectly still, the arrow still aimed at Castillon.

"Will you return to Starkhaven? Will you fulfil your family's duty, and do the work the Maker set aside for you?" Bethany asked, eyeing him, as the scratch of pen on parchment continued.

"I will. You know I will. I just... can't leave Elthina to fend for herself, in the midst of this crisis. I could no more leave my own grandmother." Sebastian's eyes never left Castillon. "I will bring the faith back to the people, and I will bring you with me as well. You will be my Princess-Consort."

"Then I will marry you, Prince Sebastian. After this crisis." Bethany smiled at her brothers. "See, mum always said I'd marry a prince, one day!"

Anton exchanged a look with his brother. He wasn't exactly surprised -- if anything, he was surprised Sebastian had waited this long. "You know what this means, don't you?" he asked. "Another Hawke wedding. If it's anything like the last two, we should all probably come armed."

"It won't be like the last two!" Sebastian protested, alarm brightening his blue eyes. "It will be a perfectly peaceful and lovely celebration!"

"Where's the fun in that?" Izzy asked, teeth bared in a grin but eyes glued to Castillon.

"There!" Castillon finished with a flourish, handing the quill and paperwork back to Bethany. "Our business is hereby concluded. Be well, Isabela--"

"Concluded?" Anton parroted, putting a hand to his chest in mock surprise. "Oh, no, no, no. You've been caught trying to smuggle slaves through Kirkwall, and you're going to need to answer for that. I have a good friend who, I am sure, would love to meet you."

Castillon's pleasant smile shrank. "What? We had an agreement!" He pointed an accusing finger Izzy's way.

"Yes, which is why you're not dead yet," Anton replied.

"I said I'd let you walk away. He said they'd let you live. The fact that you've run afoul of the natives is none of my concern." Isabela smiled. "I told you that you were doing business with a pirate. A pirate with some very unusual and limitedly law-abiding friends."

"You'll never get a crew again!" Castillon shouted, lunging for Isabela.

Sebastian fired at the same moment the barrier rose around Castillon, and the arrow bounced off the outside as Castillon bounced off the inside.

"Sorry!" Cormac shrugged at Sebastian. "It's a reflex."

"Where are you thinking of taking him?" Sebastian asked Anton, after a moment's pause. "And how are we getting him there?"

Anton shrugged, hearing Bethany's fan crack open behind him. "I was going to drag him before the Seneschal. I think the penalties for slavery are still pretty stiff in the Marches. We never really forgave the Tevinter occupation, you know?"

Inside the bubble, Castillon collapsed, unconscious.

"You keep him down, and I'll carry him?" Cormac offered to his sister, lowering the barrier.

* * *

Seneschal Bran had a headache, the kind that sat between his eyes and gnawed at his skull. The kind that got worse every time the idiot Orlesian in front of him spoke... and he spoke constantly. Eventually Bran managed to charm the Orlesian idiot into leaving him alone, but when a trio of Hawkes filled his doorway instead, he knew his headache was only beginning.

Bran managed not to groan or to take cover behind the ficus in the corner. Instead, he straightened, hands clasped behind his back, and greeted the Hawke with whom he was most familiar. "Good day, Champion," he said, smiling a politician's smile. "How might I assist you?"

"Good afternoon, Seneschal!" Anton replied with a great deal more cheer. "We have brought a dastardly criminal in need of your judgement!"

"Dastardly?" repeated a voice belonging to someone outside of Bran's line of sight, a voice with an Antivan accent. "That's a bit much, don't you think?"

"I see," said Bran guardedly. He didn't recognise that voice, which was a good thing. That meant Anton wasn't dragging Meredith before him or any such thing. "Just who is this dastardly criminal and what dastardly crime has he committed?"

"It seems he was engaged in the slave trade, right here in Kirkwall. Probably piracy, as well. Imagine! A slave-trading pirate, right here on our doorsteps!" Anton clapped a hand to his chest and then stepped in to drop a stack of papers on Bran's desk. "And we have proof written in his own hand."

"And he's responsible for the Qunari invasion, too," Isabela threw in, from somewhere still outside the room.

"I object! I was not! That was your doing!" Castillon insisted. "And if I'm to be taken to task for my business choices, she should be, as well!"

"I was involved," Isabela admitted, leading the rest of the group into the room. "I was involved because I was working for this man out of fear for my life, but I ruined his plans and the goods have been returned to the owners. There wasn't really much I could do there." She leaned against the wall and studied Bran's face across her fingernails.

"If you hang him, we should bring Fenris along to the execution," Bethany noted, contemplatively, a smile creeping across her face. "We can get those spiced nuts from that Nevarran merchant and watch the whole spectacle. I think it'd put a smile on his face. If I knew it was going to end like this, I'd have insisted on bringing him along!"

" _Hanging_?" Castillon sputtered, paling. "That is completely out of proportion! A stern warning, perhaps, and I shall change my ways, I promise."

Bran shuffled through the paperwork, his face a cypher, and he took his time while Castillon sweated. Castillon glanced desperately behind him, but Sebastian moved to block the doorway, arms folded across his chest and eyes daring him to try something. Most of Sebastian still wanted to put an arrow through the villain's eye, but a hanging, he supposed, would serve just as well.

Bran rubbed at his headache, the pad of his middle finger moving in circles along his forehead. "I will need to look this over," he said. "These are grave charges. Guards!" A pair of guardsmen poked their heads in the door, and Bran gestured at Castillon. "Lock him up, if you please." He yawned into one fist as they obeyed, frog-marching the sputtering Antivan out of his sight. "I suspect there will be a hanging by week's end," Bran told Bethany with a careless shrug.

"Send a runner, won't you?" Bethany asked. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."


	340. Chapter 340

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castillon meets his end. Carver opens his mouth, inserts his foot, and repeats with the other side.

When Castillon was hanged, the Hawkes were there. Cormac and Anton stood to either side of Isabela, Cormac's arm around her shoulders and Anton's around her waist.

"Watch him go, my queen," Anton purred, pressing a kiss to her hair. "You're free."

"On the contrary, Anton. I'm very expensive," Isabela joked, glancing nervously around, as if expecting the guards to seize her, next.

"Only if we're drinking," Cormac argued, "and in that case, not much more expensive than Artie." Who thankfully wasn't standing close enough to have heard that, but Fenris shot him a dirty look all the same.

Nearer the front of the crowd, Bethany and Sebastian sat among the spectators of rank. It was harder to forget the Gallows had been designed for torment and execution at times like these, and it featured a balcony for noble spectators who wished to enjoy the suffering below. Although 'enjoy' might not quite have been the word -- Sebastian still looked like he was going to light someone on fire with the power of his wrath. Or maybe that was just because he sort of looked like Anders, with his face scrunched up like that. And that was something Cormac was not going to consider, right up until he got jerked around into a fist in his face.

The punch skidded off his shields, reduced to a faint tap at his nose, and Cormac looked past the knuckles still ramming into the shields to find Carver on the other end of that arm.

"Saw the Gazette, did you?" Cormac asked, grabbing Carver's wrist. "And do stop, before you slip and hit Izzy. I'll be pissed."

"I'll be pretty pissed, too, Junior." Isabela didn't take her eyes off the spectacle in front of her, afraid if she blinked it would all fade away.

"Yes, I saw the Gazette! It's true, isn't it? I've been saying it for years, and now someone else sees it! It's not me, it's _you_!" Carver roared, yanking his fist out of Cormac's grip and laying a smite on him, before punching him again.

This time it landed, and Cormac's nose began to bleed. Cormac caught the next punch and laid Carver out, arm twisted up behind him and one foot on his back to hold him down. "Knock it off. Even if it were true, _which it isn't_ , the story seems to imply that he would be hitting on me. Which does not add up to you punching me in the face."

Carver struggled to get up.

"Stay down or I promise you'll have to see Anders about that shoulder," Cormac growled. "Even if it were true, which it isn't, because it's Page Six, what business is it of yours, anyway? As Artie pointed out to your nose, the last time you brought it up, we're both older than you, and he can make his own decisions."

"Aren't you supposed to stop him from doing bad shit? Isn't that what you always say?" Carver snapped, still struggling. "How can you let this--"

"You're confusing fiction with reality again, Carver." Cormac twisted Carver's arm a little harder -- not hard enough to cause that promised visit to Anders, but definitely enough to make the point that he wasn't joking about it. And really, Carver had managed to hit the one thing Cormac could still be bothered by. He hadn't stopped Artie. He'd gone right along with it, from the start -- whatever would make Artie smile would be worth the price. But, still, no one had been hurt by any of it, except Cormac, himself, and that was because he was fond of the idea of being hurt just right. But, he hadn't protested. He hadn't made any move to stop it, to not do what Artie was asking of him. But, that didn't matter, he reminded himself, because there was no harm that could have come of it, and no harm had come of it, aside from the part where he was dripping blood on Carver's back, and he was sure that would've happened regardless of what was going on between him and Artemis. "The story isn't real, and it didn't happen. Well, aside from the part where I slapped Anton in the mouth, and then kissed Artie on a dare."

"To gross me out," Anton added. "Which worked." He shook his head. "I'm not stepping in, Carver. I don't know what you expected."

"Cormac," hissed Artie, pushing his way over to his brothers, "you are getting blood on everything, and you're both getting stares." As he spoke, he eyed Cormac's nose to make sure the damage wasn't anything serious. No. Cormac had had worse. Much worse. "I'd ask what's going on, but I suspect I can guess part of it."

"Carver saw the Gazette," Izzy informed him helpfully if distractedly. They had started to loop the noose around Castillon's neck as he stared into space, eyes dull and distant.

Artie's face twisted, shifting between expressions and never quite landing on one. "Of course he did," he said in a flat voice. "And then he blamed Cormac for it and punched him. Actually landed a hit this time, did you? Smite. Now that's not playing fair." His words were light, but there was no humour in his voice or his face.

"I'm not the only one who sees it," Carver grunted, still bent under Cormac's grip.

Those words put a sick feeling in Artemis's stomach. Try as he did to convince himself otherwise, that worry kept him up at night.

"Because if it's on Page Six, it must be true," Fenris drawled, coming up beside his mage to wrap an arm around his waist. Artemis leaned into the touch.

"But--" Carver started to protest.

"Oh for the love of Andraste," Izzy groaned, rolling her eyes dramatically. "I wrote it, all right? I just couldn't resist the thought of Sexy Hawke and Sexier Hawke getting their hands on each other's lovely asses." She paused to purr at that image. "But if you think it's true, then you must think your other brother--"

"Sexiest Hawke," Anton supplied.

"--had similar lusty relations with the Arishok. Now can you kindly keep quiet? Some of us are trying to watch the show."

Carver turned a pale shade of green.

"I knew it!" Artie hissed, jabbing a finger in Izzy's direction. "It _was_ you!" He paused, brows knitting. "Hold on, which of us is 'Sexier Hawke'?"

"Me," Cormac decided, landing a sharp kick in Carver's armpit, before letting him up. "Knock it off, Carver. It wasn't funny fifteen years ago, and it's still not funny, now. And I swear to the Maker, if you upset our brother again, I will let him pound the piss out of you. I'll even hold you down while he does it." He wiped his nose on the back of his hand and tipped his head back, a faint thread of healing working its way through the bloodiest of it. Anders could fix the rest when he got home.

"Oh, I don't know," Isabela said, squeezing Anton's bottom, affectionately. "I think Artie might be sexier."

"That's just because you can't have him," Cormac reminded her. "You always prefer things you can't have."

"On the contrary, I prefer things I can have and have frequently."

"Then I am, in fact, Sexier Hawke." Cormac smirked.

"You know, you really are getting better, if that was yours, Izzy. Not that I thought there was anything wrong with the Arishok one, aside from the part where that was my ass, and no, but this was ... deeper. You really got some passion into it."

"That's not the only thing I can get passion into, you know. Let's go visit your husband in his office, after this, see if we can pry him out of his shiny metal tin for some two captains on champion action." Isabela groped a bit more affectionately.

Carver dragged himself to his feet, glaring. "I really thought you getting married would help," he grumbled to Artemis. "I thought maybe putting the rod to some pretty elf, night after night, would get you out from under him."

"I'm truly flattered, Carver," Fenris drawled. "Pretty. Am I pretty, Amatus? I always liked to think I was handsome. Maybe even rugged."

"I'd say you're gorgeous," Artemis said. "Pretty handsome and pretty terrifying, and exactly how I like you." He kissed Fenris's cheek, feeling it shift as his husband grinned, but something in Carver's phrasing stayed with him, like an itch he couldn't reach. "Though I don't think 'putting the rod' to Fenris is... quite right." He cleared his throat awkwardly, ducking his head to hide his embarrassed smirk.

"What?" Carver asked, blinking at his brother.

Izzy guffawed. "He means there's some _swording_ going on," she said, arcing her eyebrows. "And of the two of them, we all know who's most comfortable with a sword." She couldn't quite reach Fenris's ass but tried to squeeze it nonetheless.

"What." Carver's face and voice dropped. He looked at Artemis, at Fenris, at Artemis, and finally at an unsurprised and unimpressed Anton. "What?"

"Careful, Carver," Anton said. "Your face might stick like that."

"And I thought you fancied yourself an expert on our brother's sex life!" Cormac taunted, rubbing dried blood off the back of his hand. "Or is it just that you fancy the idea of him with me? What's it been, Carver, fifteen years? Almost twenty? Might want to seriously consider your own obsessions."

"That is some of the ugliest shit I have ever heard out of your mouth, Cormac, and that's saying a lot, considering how loud you get." Anton shook his head and turned a sharp eye on Carver. "Still, I think you have a point. Pretty sure that's not healthy, Carver, thinking about two of your brothers hooking up, all the time."

Carver's face turned a brilliant red, and with a single-finger salute, he shoved past Cormac, vanishing into the crowd.

"He really has to stop that, if for no other reason than I'm getting really tired of it." Cormac sighed, squeezing Artie's hand for a moment, before he wrapped his arm around Isabela, again. "Sorry about that. We're here for you, even if Carver's got trouble seeing past the end of his own knob, some days."

"It's big, but it's not big enough to lead a blind man," Isabela sighed, resting her head on Cormac's shoulder as the life choked out of Castillon.

"You know, Amatus," Fenris whispered, up on his toes to reach Artemis's ear, "I don't think you've 'put the rod' to me once, in all these years. Well, not _your_ rod. You've always seemed so ..." He choked on a laugh. "I'm sure he sees things differently, because he's your brother."

Artemis turned to look at Fenris, eyebrows rising towards his hairline. "Well, no, I haven't," he whispered back, bending to say the words by Fenris's ear. "I just assumed..." He trailed off, shrugging.

"Assumed?" Fenris prompted.

"Assumed you didn't want it like that." Artie's shoulders shrugged higher, cheeks and ears burning. "It just seemed like we both _enjoyed_ things as they are."

Fenris hummed. "I believe we do. But that doesn't mean I'm not occasionally... curious." Fenris brushed a kiss along Artemis's cheek while Artemis blinked at him, surprised but speculative.

Anton acted like he hadn't heard any of that conversation and wished he hadn't inherited his dad's good hearing.

"Drinks?" Isabela suggested with a sharp smile. On the platform, Castillon had stopped moving.


	341. PART LXII: A COMFORTING ILLUSION

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris decides he's rather interested in enjoying his mage's staff. Artie decides it's not the worst idea that's happened in their bedroom.

Later that night, Fenris still found himself unable to shake the thought of Artemis's knob buried inside him. On the one hand, he hadn't much appreciated either of the toys Artemis had used for that purpose, but on the other, he'd profoundly enjoyed his mage's fingers. Repeatedly. Perhaps it was time to try something new. As he closed the bedroom door behind them, memories of Artemis taking Cormac, thrusting desperately into Anders, rushed into his head, and he tried to imagine himself in those positions, with Artemis making those rapturous faces above him.

Still, something tugged at the edges of his consciousness, some dull warning. But, there were so many things he'd come to enjoy that had started with so much worse than that. This was barely a suggestion that something might be wrong with this idea -- nothing like the floods of memory and horror that had come with some other ideas. It was probably nothing -- probably something he'd seen happen, once, in some foul and depraved Tevinter holding. Sometimes he wished he could remember, just so he'd know. Just so these things couldn't creep up like this, hinting at things much more horrific than they turned out to be, not that most of them weren't utterly appalling.

"Will you put your rod to me, my mage?" he teased, wrapping his arms around Artemis from behind, hands tugging at the clothing in his way. "Shall I spread my legs for your staff?" He cackled, quietly against Artemis's shoulder, struck with the ridiculousness of all the sexual humour surrounding mages. Still, his own words prickled on the back of his neck, like an uninvited hand.

Fenris could feel Artemis's chuckle as much as hear it. "You were serious about that, hmm?" Artie asked in a low rumble. He twisted in Fenris's arms to face him, hands skimming up Fenris's sides, tracing the planes of his body through the fabric. "About experiencing the magic of my staff?" He couldn't quite say that with a straight face.

"Incredibly serious," Fenris answered, twisting to nip under Artemis's chin, tasting the soft skin there and the hint of stubble. "Deathly serious."

"Whatever Messere Elf wishes." Artie grinned, bending to press their lips together instead. Probably safer, since neither of them could make 'staff' or 'swording' puns with their lips occupied. Hands grappled with buckles, laces, and fabric until palms pressed to warm skin.

"Messere Elf doesn't know what he's doing," Fenris admitted, hands full of warm, firm mage-bottom. "I ... assume you have done enough of this to have an idea of how to make it work?" He felt like a fool, suddenly. All these years, he'd learnt every little nuance, every twitch, every sound Artemis could make for him, but Artemis was very particular about how he wanted to be had, and Fenris was absolutely certain that wasn't the way he wanted it for himself. "I am not... The things we do, I do not think I would enjoy them from the other side. Well, most of them. Some of them I already quite like." He licked and nibbled under Artemis's chin.

A nervous laugh stuck in Artie's throat. "No, no, even I had to work myself up to that level," he said. He cradled Fenris's cheeks in his hands, thumbs smoothing over sharp cheekbones under too-large eyes. For all that Fenris knew how to mask his emotions, knew how to keep his face stoic through Wicked Grace, when his shields fell and when he let his guard down, those big green eyes said everything he was thinking. Right now, those eyes said he was nervous.

Artemis pressed a kiss to the bridge of Fenris's nose. "We'll take our time," he murmured. "I don't plan on being anywhere in the morning. Possibly even in the afternoon." Another soft kiss pressed to Fenris's lips. "I don't have too much experience from this end, so we can fumble through it together."

Maker, he hoped he didn't fumble too badly. He wasn't used to being the one in control. He didn't _like_ being the one in control. Too many variables. Too many things that could go wrong. Too many--

Too many thoughts in his head. He could worry later.

A mischievous smirk was Fenris's only warning before Artie was scooping him up and tossing him onto the bed. He bounced, a mixture of confusion and betrayal darting across his face, before the laugh caught up with him. "Yes, I suppose I do that to you a lot, don't I?" he teased, holding out his hand in invitation. This would be an interesting experience, no matter what happened. He was sure of that.

"I wonder if I will be as lovely for you as you are for me." And that was still a strange thought, for him, that this man, this mage, had seen past the lyrium laid into his flesh and regarded him as a person, first, and then as a lover and a husband. But, that lust, instead of fear, had seemed to be his initial impression, despite the somewhat less than entirely flattering circumstances of their first meeting. All these years, and even now, the little flirtations were still making themselves known to him. But, the thought of himself reacting as Artemis did to him, or as Anders had to either of them... it was utterly foreign.

But, he knew the way he writhed on Artemis's fingers was little different to the way Artemis writhed on his. And that was definitely a tempting thought... Artemis's fingers. "Come to me, Amatus. Give me your fingers, first. Give me your fingers and then show me the pleasures of your staff." He couldn't quite keep the smile off his face, feeling a little foolish at the whole thing.

Artie couldn't quite keep the smile off his face, either, letting out an amused snort. He'd heard worse pick-up lines, some even from Fenris. "My fingers, hmm?" he purred, kneeling on the bed next to Fenris and shuffling closer on his knees. He ghosted the tip of one finger down Fenris's chest, his taut stomach, just to feel the muscles tighten under his touch. "I know exactly how much you love that, from the delicious sounds you make."

The touch of one finger became four, then the press of a palm with four fingers and a thumb. Artemis circled the soft skin of Fenris's belly until those muscles stopped twitching at his touch, until he felt his elf relax back against the bed. Artemis thought of a time years ago, in his family's basement and in Anders's bed, Anders massaging the tension from Artie's legs and back before moving on to more... _enjoyable_ activities. Artie wasn't blessed -- or cursed -- with a flagpole, but Fenris was an elf. Size was still a factor.

Artie's lips replaced his hand on Fenris's skin, and that hand trailed down to Fenris's thigh instead, tracing the shapes of muscles and of lyrium lines he knew so well.

Fenris reached out and tucked Artemis's hair behind his ear. "I love you," he breathed, squeezing the rounded curve of that ear in his fingers. Those little differences were still the things that caught his eye -- rounded ears, those little bits of accent fluff, those small blue eyes that always looked at him with such adoration. What had he done to deserve this? What had he done, so he could keep doing it?

His fingers slid through Artemis's hair, gently stroking, though he ached to tug at it. He fought the urge to wrench this beautiful mage back by the hair and ravish him -- which wasn't that unusual in their bedroom, really, but tonight was meant for something different -- something he hoped to enjoy just as much. And that was the thing, he thought, tracing the back of Artie's leg with his foot, he wanted to enjoy it -- not just wanted to enjoy himself, but wanted to enjoy this specific thing. Wanted to enjoy being able to drift off to sleep, after, with some bit of his mage still inside him. It sounded wonderful. Artemis always made it look so easy and so pleasurable. And somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered why it had taken him so long to try this.

"Do you know how beautiful you are?" he asked, just to keep talking. Artemis always enjoyed it when he spoke, even if he was reciting Tevinter gross receipts statutes.

"Doesn't hurt to be reminded," Artemis replied, smiling against Fenris's hipbone before giving it a teasing nip. Nudging the insides of Fenris's knees, Artemis shifted until he knelt between them. This part, at least, was familiar, the taste of Fenris's skin, the flexing of Fenris's thighs under his hands. The change in Fenris's breathing and the tiny squirms he was trying to hold back told Artemis that his elf was getting impatient. A bit impatient was, Artie decided, exactly where he liked him.

Finally, Artie kissed the tip of Fenris's knob, shivering at the lyrium's sharp taste. He licked and kissed a line down Fenris's knob to mouth at his balls, the pad of his thumb circling the tight ring of muscle below.

Slowly. He would take this slowly this time, until his elf cursed and begged for more. Yes. That thought was terribly appealing. "Amo te," Artie murmured, nuzzling the crease of Fenris's groin. His accent was, he thought, getting better, and he loved the way Fenris's laugh-lines crinkled when he fumbled to speak Tevene.

"Te ardeo," Fenris gasped, toes curling. "Especially when you do that..."

This was the easy part. This he knew how to do -- to let this mage kneel before him and stroke him, taste him, make him, for a moment, regret the lyrium in his skin just a little less. Like this, there was some purpose to it, other than pain. The intensity of the sensation was enough to make him forget all manner of things, and with the runes keeping the worst of it in check, it was just enough raw pleasure to leave him wanting more. Lower lip caught in his teeth, he panted, watching Artemis lick and nuzzle him.

"Do you mean to tease me, until I plead for you?" Fenris joked. "I assure you it will not be possible, unless I wish it." He knew it was true. As much as he gave, as much as he showed his desire to this mage, to _his_ mage, it was because he wanted it known. He wanted to expose the depth of his lusts to the man who had given them to him. And mostly, he liked the way Artemis smiled, when he squirmed. "And what I wish is for you to come up here and kiss me, again, before we get any further."

"As you wish, messere," Artemis hummed. He gave Fenris's knob one last, teasing lick before crawling up over him, holding himself on his elbows over his husband. Fenris's emotions shown in his eyes, but in that moment, so did Artemis's: adoration. It was the blind, stupid kind of adoration that was perfectly fine with being blind and stupid, so long as the object of its affection were there.

Artemis kissed him sweetly, softly, the kind of lingering kiss they usually shared _after_ the sex.

The kiss helped quite a bit, giving Fenris something more to hold on to, something he could understand, no matter what else they were doing. Not that he struggled with blowjobs, but this seemed more solid, somehow, under the circumstances. This was a gentle reassurance that his mage would do him no harm -- or at least no harm that wasn't the result of some idiot accident, and the two of them were a bit prone to those. But, he couldn't figure out why this unsettled him so, finally just attributing it to two dildoes gone wrong, in their earlier bedroom adventures.

"Artemis," he whispered, just to hear his lover's -- his husband's -- name. His eyes were uncertain, and his jaw determinedly set as he demanded more. "Touch me. Touch me inside -- let me hold you." He rubbed his hand against Artemis's chest, dimly blue fingertips just below the surface of the skin.

Artemis kept his movements slow, gentle, broadcasting to Fenris where his hands were going before they did. Fenris was still terribly tense under him, as much as he'd melted into that kiss, and Artie hoped his nervousness wasn't rubbing off on Fenris.

Artemis murmured a spell, and grease filled his palm, if a bit more grease than he'd wanted. Some dribbled on the sheets, and Artie pursed his lips to keep from muttering a curse in Fenris's ear. "Oops," he told Fenris with a crooked smile. "Oh well. Better too much than not enough."

A slick finger teased at Fenris's entrance, circling the ring of muscle before pressing slowly in. Artie distracted his husband with another kiss.

Fenris melted into this kiss, as well, knees parting further as he wrapped a leg around Artemis's side, heel catching on Artemis's tailbone. His fingers played along his mage's ribs, stroking the spaces between them, but not dipping in. He pulled Artemis down, held him closer, returning every twitch of that finger against his insides with a twitch of tongue, and wondered if this was what things were like for other couples. Not that he and Artemis didn't have their share of kissing and cuddling, but it didn't go like this, and generally he was more asleep than awake for it. Perhaps that was it. Maybe he should trust his instincts and just stop paying attention. That seemed to work well when he wrapped himself around his mage, in the middle of the night.

But, he was anything but tired, this time, and the feel of those fingers somewhere he didn't have lyrium was just as enticing as ever. Would he part so easily for Artemis's ... staff? Would that be as good? He wanted it to be. He wanted to believe he'd love it just as much as their other lovers did. He wanted to believe, however ridiculous it seemed, that he could enjoy Artemis the way Artemis enjoyed him -- that this was something else they could share.

Artemis purred into the kiss, at the touch of Fenris's tongue. He twisted the finger inside his husband and slipped in a second. Fenris was tight, tighter than he would be, but the elf still opened around his fingers, hips twitching up in invitation. "Good?" Artemis hummed, fingers, from muscle memory, finding that angle and rhythm that made Fenris's breathing deepen and his back arch.

It took Fenris a moment to realise the question might require more of an answer than the low groan that was the first sound out of him. "You know it is. Is this a school of magic, as well?" And that led straight into uncomfortable questions about what Artemis might have picked up from Anders, not that Fenris really had room to say much about that.

Artemis chuckled against Fenris's lips. "What kind of magic would that be?" he murmured. "Sex magic? Ass magic? Oh, I could just hear Isabela's comments on that..." And perhaps that wasn't the sexiest talk to be having, but that was another theme with the two of them, awkward jokes and laughter. Yet Fenris's chuckle cut into a gasp as Artie added another finger. Artie grinned against Fenris's lips, breathed in his elf's sounds.


	342. Chapter 342

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris just can't catch a break. A memory -- the fear, horror, and confusion returns.

Writhing under this mage, clenching around those wonderful fingers, as he'd done so many times before, Fenris finally began to really relax into the idea. There was nothing to to worry about. He loved this feeling. He loved Artemis. And soon he'd take a whole new pleasure from both of these things. The thought of Artemis arching over him, spurting into him, sent a shiver down Fenris's spine. How had they gone this long without trying things this way?

Contentment, he realised. They'd found a handful of things that made them happy and mostly stuck to them, and thus far it had worked well. But, it was time to try a few more things, time for him to really embrace his freedom and his husband. His eyes lingered longingly on Artemis's face, struggling to convey all the things he couldn't manage the words for -- love, desire, the sense that he had a future like any man did, and he wanted to spend it enjoying everything this sweet and lovely mage had to offer him. Not just a man, but a mage. He'd never imagined this, until it happened, and now that it had, he had no regrets. Except maybe that time with the demon. Definitely that time with the demon. He shoved the thought aside and rolled his hips, squeezing the fingers inside him, invitingly.

Artemis took his time, stroking Fenris's insides, stroking that inviting, velvety warmth and feeling Fenris relax in increments. He was loose now around Artie's fingers, but Artemis worked him just a little bit longer. Finally, he bent to nibble at Fenris's ear, tracing the pointed tip with his tongue and whispered, "Are you ready for me?" He leaned back to watch Fenris's face, to read the look in those green eyes.

Fenris's breath hitched, and he considered the question. Was he? How was he supposed to know? But, he did know -- he knew how to tell if Artemis was ready for him, and his hand slipped down between his own legs, cupping Artemis's hand, as he prodded the edges of his own hole with his fingertips. After a moment, he nodded. "If I were you, I would be."

Artie chuckled and kissed the tip of Fenris's nose, just to watch his nose crinkle. "Not quite what I asked," Artemis said. "As devilishly handsome as you would be as me, I rather prefer you as you." But, he supposed, he also had more experience in this particular area.

Carefully, Artemis slid his fingers out and nudged Fenris to lift his other knee. He wiped his wet fingers on the sheets (and tried not to think about them) before wrapping his hand around Fenris's hip, thumb tracing the sharp jut of bone. Lining himself up against Fenris, Artie watched his face, watched for any sign of discomfort as he pushed in, agonisingly slow. All the while, Artemis tried to convey the love and affection he had for this elf in his look, at least until his eyes rolled back at the pressure.

Fenris writhed, legs crossing behind Artemis's hips. The sensation was powerful, consuming -- the heat and thickness driving him to distraction. But, what struck him was the give. When he clamped down, suddenly, he could feel Artemis's firm flesh compress, unlike with either of the dildoes. This wouldn't be the same, although it was similar. He supposed he'd known that, but knowing it and feeling it were rather different.

"How much of me has been inside so much of you," he panted, the words falling out of his mouth, while his mind was busy wrestling with the new sensation, "and now I can take this part of you. You, only you. You are so very beautiful." The words gave way to a few tense groans and whines, and Fenris's hips rolled of their own volition, trying to settle this new weight between them.

A soft groan escaped Artie's lips, half in pleasure, half in relief that Fenris didn't seem to be in pain. The heat was incredible, and Artie could barely believe that this was Fenris wrapped him, Fenris, who he'd never thought would want... _this_. Artie held Fenris's hip and ground forward shallowly, experimentally, wringing a lovely sound from the elf underneath him. "You are incredible," he breathed, trying to find words for this, for the face Fenris was making, for the way Fenris moved under and against him. Words were overrated, he decided, but he reached for a few new ones he'd learned. "Pulcher es," he murmured, hoping he was saying that right. _You are beautiful. You are handsome._ "No, um. Pulcherrimus es." _You are the most beautiful._ At least, that was what he was trying to say.

Fenris's eyebrow arched up. "Did Anders teach you that?" he murmured. "You're saying it wrong. And I'm not. You are." He pulled Artemis down for a long, slow kiss. Perhaps he could understand the appeal of this, to some degree. He felt warm, loved, held, but not trapped. This was, he thought, a profound expression of trust, and one rewarded with a not insignificant amount of pleasure. "Pulcherrimus es," he assured Artemis, pronouncing it correctly. "And you can tell Anders I said so."

"I can tell Anders, 'you are the most beautiful'?" Artie teased, a bit breathlessly. "My, my. You might make him blush." He circled his hips a little more confidently, letting a few more pleased sounds spill from his throat. "Pulchrior, then. Pretti _er_. Anders pulcher est. Pulchrior es. Pulcherrimus sum." _Anders is pretty. You are prettier. I am prettiest._

Two of those three statements were correct, as far as Fenris was concerned, but Anders was not pretty. He, himself, however, was definitely better looking than Anders. And Artemis was the single most beautiful man he'd ever laid eyes on. But, the words got lost between his brain and his mouth, and all that passed his lips were a few tiny gasps and a heated moan. For a moment, he wondered at that sound -- not one usually in his vocabulary, even in moments like this, but perhaps new experiences called for new sounds. In the back of his mind, an image seeped into his consciousness, of himself held down and ravished, like he'd taken Artemis so many times. The feeling of fullness, the stinging of every thrust, washed over him, along with the sense that as good as _this_ felt, _that_ was not what he wanted.

Artemis let that gorgeous sound wash over him. That was new, and a sign he was doing something right. As much as he preferred things the other way, there was something beautiful about watching, feeling, and hearing Fenris experience this for the first time, and Artie soaked it in, tried to memorise each moment, the way he wished he could have that first time in the Deep Roads. He reached for more Tevene, since his last attempt had amused Fenris, and spent a ridiculous length of time trying to remember the right forms. "Tam amoenus es," he murmured. "Utinam videres te."

_You are so gorgeous. I wish you could see yourself._

He hoped he didn't fumble that too badly. He had struggled with the 'utinam' construction when Anders had tried to explain it.

Horror flashed across Fenris's features, and his eyes unfocused. He thrashed for a moment, as if surprised he had the use of all his limbs, and then jerked his leg back, settling a foot firmly at the hip above his own. "Desili a me! Apage a me! Noli me tangere!" He shoved hard, launching the body off himself, down the bed, and recoiled against the sudden emptiness. He felt like he'd been gutted, and nothing made sense. This smelled like his bed -- like the bed he had in Kirkwall, in that wonderful dream where he was a nobleman with a loving husband -- but the mirror occupied his vision. His own face in the mirror. ' _Look at yourself, those lovely eyes. I can see in them that you know you'll be mine forever_.' His own face, and above it, Danarius smirking down at him.

"You are dead!" he howled, curling into a ball. "You are dead! I watched you die! You can't touch me! Don't touch me!"

Artemis scrabbled at the sheets and just barely managed not to topple off the edge of the bed. Wild-eyed and bewildered, he looked around the room and at the shivering ball of elf that was his husband, trying to piece together the last few seconds. There was no one else in the room, and Artie didn't know whom he was talking to. Or... no. That was a lie. The fear in Fenris's eyes... Artie had only seen that shade of terror once before.

"Fenris?" he asked, softly, warily. "Did I hurt you?" His stomach cramped at the thought, and he felt sick. That was a look he had never wanted to see on Fenris's face again.

"The pain is mine," Fenris muttered, still clearly not all there, face buried against his knees. "The pain is mine, and when the pain comes, there is nothing left to fear."

He could still hear Hadriana, like it was happening all over again, the way she'd drizzled things only she knew the nature of into the barely-scabbed paths the lyrium laid in, across his skin. ' _There will be no greater pleasure for you than accepting the pain you know is yours. The waiting is over, the anticipation has run out, and you can finally relax in the knowledge that this is what has haunted your every waking moment, and it has finally come. There is no room for fear, in the moment. There is nothing left to fear_ ,' she'd told him, and those words, he'd never forgotten. One of those few things that nothing had managed to erase from his memory.

"The pain is where the fear ends," he breathed, and the weight of the words drove everything out of his voice. He wondered how long he'd been given that dream -- a lovely dream, filled with things he'd never even considered wanting -- and whether it had just been to make him break again, to give him something else to lose.

But, the voice that had asked him that... It hadn't been Danarius's. Not his, not Hadriana's. And that confused him, for a long moment.

"Fen, you're scaring me," Artemis whispered. Anders. Artemis should get Anders, but he couldn't leave Fenris, not when he was like this, trapped in some ancient nightmare. Artie wanted to touch him, to fold him in his arms, but the way Fenris shrank away from him told him that was a bad idea. He scooted as close as he dared and tried to catch Fenris's eye, but Fenris stared out at nothing, eyes glassy. "Fen. Listen to my voice. Do you know who I am?"

"You're just a dream... aren't you?" Right, Fenris, ask your visions if they're real. They'd never lie to you. He squeezed his eyes shut, wanting so much for this to be real, instead of what was there, lurking just below the surface. "I married you. We were so happy..." His voice was small and his eyes burned.

Artemis didn't know heartbreak could feel like a physical pain. What had brought this on? What had he done wrong? "You did marry me," Artemis agreed. "But here I thought we were still happy." He smiled wanly. "I'm real, Fen. Look at me. Touch my hand. It's just you and me in here." He held out a hand in invitation.

Fenris squinted warily at the hand, before he lashed out, grabbing it and lighting his own hand, running his fingers down the bones inside -- and they felt real. They felt like the hand he was seeing, instead of like the underlayer of an illusion. "Amatus?" his eyes flicked up, pleading and hopeful, to study the face before him.

The lump in Artie's throat made it difficult to answer. "It's me, Fen. It's me." He was careful to hold his hand steady, frightened, for the first time in a long time, of what Fenris could do with his fingers inside his skin. But he still didn't pull his hand away. If Fenris decided to tear it off, he would let him. "This is our home. Our room. Our bed. Danarius is dead, and you have what's left of him on that amulet around your neck."

"If you are who I believe you to be--" Fenris swallowed hard. "If you are real, then you know that I love you. But, right now-- Right now I need trousers and a drink and to figure out what's real. And I hope that you are. And I hope that you'll take me back, when I come back, because if you're real, I'm coming back. I want this to be real. I want this to be my home. I want you to be my husband. But, right now, I -- Something's not right, and I don't know what it is, and I hope it's not this."

His fingers became solid again, and he held tightly to Artemis's hand for a long moment. "I need my clothes. I have to go out." He pressed a kiss to Artemis's fingers, taking a deep breath and only being met with the scent of his mage. "Please be real."


	343. Chapter 343

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris finds some assistance, at last, in exactly the place he was looking for it.

Fenris wasn't sure how he made it across Hightown. Or when. He couldn't feel his feet as he floated across cobblestones, couldn't feel his hand as he knocked on a familiar door. By then, the bottle in his other hand was lighter than he remembered, and he paused to make it lighter still before knocking again.

"Good evening, Messere Fenris," said Bodhan. And when had that door opened?

The dwarf was rubbing the sleep from his eyes, so maybe 'evening' wasn't quite the right word, but Bodhan didn't look surprised to see the elf, drunk on the doorstep in the middle of the night.

"Mage," Fenris greeted in turn, swaying on his feet as he shuffled past Bodhan, into the estate. "I need to see the mage. _Mage!_ " he shouted into the house.

A moment later, Bethany appeared at the top of the stairs, in a large, fluffy robe, her fan clutched in one hand. "Fenris? What are you doing here?" She made her way down the stairs. "Bodhan, is he hurt? He doesn't look well." She considered taking a quick look inside his head, just to be sure he was all there, but this was Fenris, and that would not likely end well, if he noticed. "Is my brother all right?"

"Artemis," Fenris murmured, confused, as he looked at Bethany. "When did you get so fluffy?" Had he come home? No, no. That voice wasn't right.

"Would you let Anders know we need him?" Bethany suggested to Bodhan, with a glance over Fenris's shoulder.

"Anders! Mage. Yes." Fenris nodded and instantly regretted it. That was who he was looking for. Not this ... almost Artemis that wasn't. Was the one he'd left the real one? Was there a real one?

Bodhan nodded, brows knit in concern, and disappeared around the corner before Fenris even saw him move.

"Fenris," Bethany said, waiting until she had Fenris's attention -- as much of it as she was going to get -- before saying, "why don't we go into the lounge and sit down?" She motioned towards the lounge, reaching for Fenris's elbow but not quite touching. Fenris jerked away anyway but managed to stumble in the right direction.

Fenris made it onto the couch without falling over, though he had to close his eyes and breathe after the change in elevation. Bethany saw the look and ducked out of the room to grab a bucket.

She met Cormac in the hall, Bodhan just behind him. "What--?"

"Bucket first, questions later. Go get one of those drunkard's potions. You'll need it." Bethany didn't even slow, rushing back toward the lounge with one of the cleaning basins in her hands.

"Well, I suppose that's why he wants Anders," Cormac muttered to Bodhan, turning back the way he'd come. Of course, if Fenris was that drunk, Cormac should probably stay clear of him. On the other hand, if Fenris was that drunk because something had happened to Artemis, it would take an act of Elgar'nan to keep Cormac out of the room. Potions. First, sober the elf. Then question the elf.

He put a hand on Bodhan's shoulder. "I'll get the potions. Go tell Bethy Anders will be a minute or six. He's... I'll need to extract him from his work." Which was why he'd come up, instead. If it wasn't serious, Justice didn't need to be disturbed. Cormac had been blotting fresh pages of the manifesto for hours, by the time Bodhan had come looking for Anders, and Anders... well, probably hadn't even noticed Cormac had left any more than he'd noticed when Cormac showed up. Justice was working, and it would take a great deal to get their attention.

Back in the lounge, Bethany sat on the edge of the table, holding the bucket for Fenris, who eyed it as if it had done him some grave insult. When no vomit was immediately forthcoming, Bethany set the bucket between his feet instead and prayed he had the presence of mind to aim for it if he had to.

When Anders appeared in the doorway, she was nothing short of relieved... or she was, until he spoke, and she realised it wasn't Anders at all.

"LYRIUM ELF," Justice boomed, "I HEAR THAT YOU ARE UNWELL."

Fenris jumped at the voice, ears pressing flat against his skull, and he scrambled up and onto the couch, a tense ball of drunk elf ready to spring for the door. Or in the door's general direction, bottle of whiskey clutched like a weapon in one hand.

"I MEAN YOU NO HARM, LYRIUM ELF," Justice said, looking as much like a kicked puppy as a Fade spirit could. "THERE IS NO NEED TO BRANDISH BOTTLES OF ALCOHOL."

"None of this is real," Fenris hissed. "Spirits, demons, what has Danarius done this time?" It was the longest sentence he'd managed to string together since he'd arrived.

"Balls," Cormac sighed, leaning in the doorway. "Justice, I know you're worried, but let Anders handle this. I'll make it up to you, later." He tossed a potion to Bethany. "The whole thing, and then you should step out, because I promise you don't want to see what comes next."

"I've already seen what comes next out of at least two of my brothers. One more, and an in-law at that, isn't going to make that much of a difference," Bethany reminded her brother, holding the bottle out to Fenris. "Fenris? This should make you feel better. It'll make you less dizzy."

Fenris definitely was dizzy. Was that really a spirit? How drunk had he gotten? Cautiously, he reached out and accepted the potion, sniffing the contents of the bottle. Whatever it was, it wasn't orichalcum -- he was sure of that much. If it made him less confused, maybe he'd be able to figure this out. Of course, if it made him less confused, would he fall into the right place? Would he be in the real world or the fake one? Which one was which? After a moment, he decided it didn't matter -- the world he wanted was the one in which he was a free man. If it wasn't real, he hoped no one ever found a way to bring him back from it.

With that, he poured the potion down his throat, still eyeing the spirit-mage... thing suspiciously.

Justice's blazing blue eyes turned inward, face still lined with confusion and concern as he debated with his other, less glowy half. Then Justice closed his eyes, and Anders opened them. Their body seemed diminished somehow, shoulders sagging, head dipping at a lower angle.

Fenris set the empty bottle down on the side-table, face twisted in a grimace. That taste... it was familiar. But from which world? When he looked up, that spirit-thing that had been both there and not-there was simply... not there. In its place stood a mage. Mage. The one he'd been looking for. Why had he been looking for a mage? Was this another trick?

"Where am I?" he asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion. He still perched on the couch, huddled in the corner. He shook his head. "No," he muttered to himself. "They will just lie."

"The Amell Estate," Anders replied, keeping his tone light. "Specifically the lounge, which is looking even more spotless than usual. I suspect Artie had been by recently." Eyes still on Fenris, Anders turned his head to address Cormac. "Where is Artie?"

"I don't know," Cormac answered drily. "And I'll feel a right fool sending a messenger to wake him, if he's fine. Though, maybe I should. 'Dear brother, we have your drunken husband, hope you're all right.'"

"In bed," Fenris said, suddenly, eyes clearing and almost focusing, as he made an uncomfortable sound. "He was in bed."

"Bethy, come away. Let's go check on Artie, hm?" Cormac righted himself, holding a hand out to his sister, and this time, she stood.

"It's all right, Fenris. You're just a little drunk." Bethany smiled at the elf on the sofa, before taking her brother's hand. They pulled the door shut, as they left.

"Looks like Bethy already brought you a bucket," Anders remarked. "Do I need to hold it for you, or can you aim without my help?"

Fenris looked down at the bucket as though seeing it for the first time. "Aim?" he repeated vacantly.

"You'll know what I mean in a minute," Anders told him wryly.

And in half that time, Fenris did, feeling a sudden and almost painful urgency in his bladder. Oh yes. He remembered this potion.

Anders thanked the Maker that Fenris had better aim than his husband. After making sure the elf wouldn't fall over, Anders looked away demurely while he took care of his business. "Feel any better?"

"I feel... less drunk," Fenris answered without answering. He still looked hollow-eyed and ragged, and Anders remembered seeing that same look on Artemis's face years ago. He hoped the circumstances weren't related. "But that might be worse," Fenris added after a long pause.

"You want to tell me what happened?" Anders asked, sinking onto the other end of the couch, far enough away, he hoped, not to be threatening.

"No, but I suspect it's why I came here, all the same." Fenris pulled his feet up, tucking himself into the corner of the couch, half facing Anders, but still not looking at him. "Do you remember when you asked if I was sure I wanted to remember?"

Anders nodded, pieces of his own life filling in the blanks in Fenris's story, already. "You didn't want to know, did you?"

"I did want to know. I do want to know. But, I finally understand the appeal of not knowing." Fenris rubbed his face. "Tell me where I am. I know what you're going to say, but I need to hear you say it."

"The Amell Estate, in Kirkwall. You're out of the Imperium, and you have been for years."

Fenris still looked as if he might become violently ill. "Where is my-- Where is Danarius?"

"Hung around your neck. He's dead." Anders paused, studying Fenris's face. "What did you see? Are you concerned his remains are cursed or possessed?"

And that terrifying prospect was one Fenris hadn't even considered. "Well, I wasn't..." His eyebrow arced up, and his face ached at the motion. He was less drunk, but everything was sore.

"It's really pretty unlikely. He didn't come here expecting to die, and I've never heard of a demon possessing a rock. On the other hand, it's Kirkwall, so maybe Bethy and I should check it for you, just to be sure." Perhaps not the most reassuring sentence, but better to be safe than sorry, here. "What did you see?" he asked, again.

Fenris ignored the question. "Where do I live?"

"In an estate on the other side of Hightown, with your husband. The Hawke Estate, since it's technically his, even if he did buy it for you. And Orana. You have a cook, and she's murder in a duel, with a pan. Did you teach her that? Where did she learn that? Maker, it's been forever, and I still feel like my teeth are loose."

Orana. Fighting Anders with a skillet. That memory, real or illusory, made Fenris's lips twitch in the ghost of a smile. "She's been trying to teach me to cook," he said, as much to himself as to Anders. With the words came more familiar images, lovely ones, that wrapped like a band around his chest, making it hard to breathe. "She wanted to learn how to defend herself, and I... She always was good with a pan." The words came out shaky, squeezed through a tight throat, before Fenris closed his eyes and composed himself, expression smoothing over into something blank.

"I know better than to underestimate her now," Anders said. He looked at the bottle on the table. "Was that full when you started drinking?" he asked, careful to keep his tone neutrally curious.

"Yes." Fenris blinked. "I think so." He barely remembered reaching for it, but he remembered its weight before that first sip. "It felt full."

Which explained part of the raggedness, though Anders suspected that sick look would be there anyway.

"Tell me, does it matter if any of this is real?" Fenris asked, fingers reaching for the medallion around his neck, feeling the dragon there against his fingertips. "If I want to believe, is that enough?"

"I don't know," Anders replied. "But, as far as I know, you, me, and the table? We're all real. Kirkwall, too, to my lasting regret. Of course, that's exactly what a hallucination would say, so it's up to you if you want to take my word for it."

"I have no idea why I would imagine you," Fenris laughed, finally, examining the ridiculousness of the idea. "If this was some mad delusion meant to keep me happy, I'm sure I'd have married a beautiful woman and moved to some far corner of Thedas left untouched by magic. Dwarves. I'd have moved to Orzammar and become a mercenary. Married a dwarf. Had three beautiful dwarven children without a measure of magic in them." Fenris shook his head. "But, I came to Kirkwall and married a mage -- married into his family of mages. I'm sitting in his brother's estate, pouring out my heart to the friendliest abomination in Thedas, and I mean no offence by that."

Justice lit the corners of Anders's eyes, all the same. "I have no idea why you would imagine me either. In fact, if I'm a figment of your imagination, I really wish you'd stop imagining me, or at least give me a better backstory. It's getting a little painful," Anders joked.

Fenris's smile was wan, but it stuck longer than the last one. "And Cormac... I do not know why I would imagine him, either. A pair of magical bears." It was absurd, all of it. So absurd that it _had_ to be real, didn't it?

"And why not? I imagine him doing loads of things," Anders said with a wicked smile. "But then, I am perhaps more into 'magical bears' than yourself."

"Indeed." Fenris preferred his mages mildly fluffy, but... Artemis. He could see the look on Artemis's face, the confusion and fear in those blue eyes. And, if he was real, Fenris had just left him like that.

Anders saw the shift in Fenris, that haunted look creeping back. "What is it? Is the thought of Cormac that horrifying?" he teased gently.

"Artemis..." Fenris looked sick, moving to heave himself off the couch, but Anders's hand landed on his shoulder.

"Sit. You don't really want to do much running around, right now. Not until I get some tea and a few sandwiches into you," Anders said, firmly. "Cormac said he was going to go check on Artie. Do you want me to send a runner? That's what I'll do. I'll have Cormac bring him back here, for you. But, you're not as much better as you think you are, yet, and I won't have you cramping up and falling over in the middle of Hightown, because you couldn't take a minute to have a little something to eat and drink."

"I do not know if he will come, if you send for him," Fenris sighed, sinking back into the deep cushions of the sofa. "I made a poor choice, but I didn't know what else to do."

"Is he hurt?" Anders asked, knowing that if it were so, Cormac would already be on his way back, carrying Artemis, if he had to.

"If he is, it's only because I broke his heart. Again." Fenris leaned forward, putting his face in his hands, as he stared across the room, over the tips of his fingers.

"Seems to be a theme, with the two of you," Anders teased. "Look, stay here, and I'll get you a sandwich and some tea. I'll find out where Artie's gone and how pissed he is. The two of you... you've been through a lot, together. I can't believe he'd stay angry for more than a few days, no matter what you did." He paused. "Sandwiches, and then you can tell me what you did, while we wait for word."


	344. Chapter 344

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Artemis is very, very drunk. Fenris makes a decision about the nature of reality.

Cormac and Bethany found Artie in the road in much the same state as they'd found Fenris, complete with an open bottle in his hand. He stopped walking when he saw them and pointed at Bethany with his free hand. "You," he said. "Just the person I was looking for."

"It's nice to see you too, Artie," Bethany replied, resting a hand on her hip.

"I need to resurrect a mage," Artemis said, over-enunciating his words to make sure they'd be heard past numb lips. "One in stone form. Tiny stone form."

"Danarius?" Bethany asked, brows furrowing in confusion. "Why?"

"So I can kill him better." There was determination and banked fury in Artie's red eyes, even if he looked unsteady on his feet.

"I don't think he's going to get any more dead than he is, no matter how many times you kill him," Cormac pointed out, slipping an arm around his brother's waist. "Why don't you come back to the house with us? Tell us what happened?"

"We've found Fenris," Bethany told him. "He's very drunk and very confused. Anders is with him. Did something happen between the two of you? He wouldn't tell us anything."

"I think it's more that he couldn't tell us anything. He was too drunk to make any sense. But, he did mention Danarius, and in the present tense." Cormac sounded a bit concerned. "Are there demons? Is there something wrong with the stone? I didn't know -- I swear. I thought it would be all right."

"No, no. No demons. I think. I'm assuming." Artemis's eyes widened as he considered that possibility. He didn't _think_ this had anything to do with the amulet, but... Fenris hadn't been making much sense for him either. "I think it's... I think I knocked loose a memory. A kind of memory I never thought..." His throat closed off, free hand twisting and pulling at his hair. "Which is why I need to re-kill Danarius. Or smack _something_ evil into a tree. Something evil shouldn't be hard to find in Kirkwall. The tree, though... Less easy. Oh! The alienage!"

Artemis turned to stumble in Lowtown's direction, but Bethany grabbed his hand and tried to tug him back. Artie let her. "Artie. Artie, no. I don't think the elves would appreciate that. Let's go back inside and check on your husband. We can fight evil when you're sober."

"Fen." Artie's whole body sagged with the name. Anders was looking after him, she'd said. Anders would know what to do better than he did, and at least he knew Fenris was safe. He could still see the look in Fenris's eyes, could still feel where Fenris's feet had shoved against him. "I was doing so well, you know," he muttered, taking another long drink before handing the bottle to Bethany for safe-keeping. Months. It had been months since he'd touched the stuff.

Artemis leaned against Cormac, resting his head on his brother's shoulder. He closed his eyes, soothed by his brother's smell.

Cormac put his arms around his brother, just holding him in the middle of the road, for a moment. "Are you all right? Did he hurt you?" Weak healing dribbled from the tips of his fingers.

Artemis blinked up at him, surprised by the question. "No, no. He... just wanted to get away from me." Which _did_ hurt, but not in the way Cormac was asking.

"You remember that one time, with Anders?" Cormac asked, quietly, hefting Artemis onto his hip, and taking a few steps back toward the house. He settled Artie a little better, and then tried again, Bethany giving him an amused look, as they went on. "Fenris doesn't have Justice looking after him. Well, I guess he does, now, but he had to come looking. What were you guys doing? More dabbling in the arcane arts?"

It was the first thing that sprung to mind, really. Fenris had always been so outraged by magic and mages, and then to discover that he had once had some of the same talents... Cormac was sure that Fenris was still trying to wrap his mind around that -- and that the process was going to involve finding some fairly uncomfortable things.

Artemis clutched tight to Cormac's robes. The world was taking longer than it should to right himself, and he groaned, leaning his head against his brother's. "Not unless 'arcane arts' is a euphemism," he said with less humour than the words implied. "It's... Fenris wanted to try something. It ended worse than expected." He wasn't sure it was his place to say, not even to his brother.

Bethany held the door open for her brothers, and Bodhan greeted them, a tray of tea and sandwiches in hand as he walked past. "Messeres Fenris and Anders are still in the lounge," he told them.

"Both still alive?" Bethany asked archly.

"I heard no yelling, so I believe so, Messere."

"Terrible ends to the euphemistic 'arcane arts' seems to be a theme in this family," Cormac joked, wondering what would have set Fenris off like that, after everything he'd watched the elf do to his brother. Unless... nah, neither of them would be stupid enough to even propose that kind of thing the other way around. Although that... that would probably do this. Fenris collared again, kneeling to a mage -- except Artie wasn't into that. Not from that side, anyway. That was a ridiculous thought, and he knew it. "What about you, Bethy? You made Chantry Boy cry in bed, yet?"

"That would involve being in a bed with him, which he would be quick to assure you is not happening. Of course, I suppose that's going to change, once we go back to Starkhaven." Bethany smirked at her brother. "What did you think I had Isabela around for?"

"I try not to think too much about you and Izzy, to be honest." Cormac shook his head. "It upsets my gentle manly sensibilities to consider that I'm sharing with my little sister."

"And yet, you'll share Anders with your little brother," she reminded him.

"Artie's seven years older than you," Cormac pointed out. "It's different."

They met Anders as he was coming out of the lounge, and he didn't so much as blink at the entwined pair of brothers. "I see you've found the second half of Messeres Fartemis," he said, looking Artemis over, healing springing to his fingertips, just in case. "Artie, are you all right?"

The warm touch of Anders's magic washed over Artie, and he hummed in the back of his throat. "He already did the glowy fingers," Artie mumbled, gesturing vaguely at his brother. "M'fine. Is Fenris...?"

"If the rest of that sentence is 'slightly less drunk', then yes. But you look drunk enough for the both of you." Anders bit off the sardonic 'what a surprise'.

Cormac heard it in Anders's tone. "Did I ever tell you how drunk I got, that time you locked yourself in your room for a week? Because I think I set a world record."

"You might've mentioned it." Anders looked away. "He's a little worried about you. Having been a similar kind of stupid, _I'm_ a little worried about you. But, he's... He's come to no harm. I'm pretty sure he'll be all right. Do you want to consider being less drunk, before you see him? I'm dead sober, and he confused me a few times."

Anders didn't mention he'd heard the whole story -- not just what had happened that night, but everything it brought back. Danarius, Hadriana... And he wondered if he hadn't been better for remembering almost everything, as much as he'd always envied Fenris's mostly empty memory. At least none of it could sneak up on him. He knew what was there, he knew what he was fighting. On the other hand, Fenris had been fighting to remember, so maybe this was what came of it.

"Less drunk would be good," Artie agreed, eyes closed. He didn't want Fenris to see him like this, not now. Nudging Cormac, he let himself down, still holding onto his brother when the floor wobbled under him.

Before Anders could ask -- and she could tell he was about to -- Bethany sighed and said, "You will need another of those potions, I imagine. I'll fetch one."

Anders smiled gratefully at her, but she'd already disappeared.

"Did he tell you what happened?" Artemis asked Anders, hand twisting at Cormac's robes, threatening to stretch the cloth.

Anders shrugged. "Some. Enough." He took Artie's face in both his hands. "You didn't do it. It's not you. You were just there for it, really. So, calm down, Artie. You didn't do anything wrong, and he loves you so much I nearly threw up just listening to him go on."

It was true, but not for the obvious reasons. When Fenris had started trying to explain all the reasons he hoped Artemis was real, all Anders had been able to think of was Karl -- those rough lips, that stupid beard, and the feeling in his hand as the knife had slid into Karl's chest. And his lasting regret he hadn't gotten one last kiss. He blinked a couple of times to clear his eyes and kissed Artie's forehead. "You're lucky. He's lucky. It's going to be all right."

Cormac reached up and tucked a loose wisp of hair behind Anders's ear, concern crossing his face just long enough for Anders to see it, and then fading back into the warm smile he'd almost managed to hold since he'd determined Artie was little worse than drunk.

When Bethany reappeared, Artie drank the potion she handed him without question, and Anders helped him wobble in the direction of the nearest chamberpot. "Fond memories," Artemis teased, earning him a cringing laugh from Anders, while Bethany arced her eyebrows in a look that said she didn't want to know.

Artemis looked clearer-eyed but no less wrung out by the time he poked his head into the lounge doorway, holding his breath and hoping Fenris wouldn't cringe away from him this time. The elf sat on the couch, his feet finally on the floor, and stared down at the sandwich in his hand as though trying to ascertain its existence as well.

"Fen?" Artie asked softly, almost afraid to disrupt his concentration.

"Artemis--" Fenris looked up, suddenly, eyes confused and embarrassed. There were so many things he didn't want to say, so many wrong things to say. "I'm sorry," he settled on. "I lost myself. Can I..." he trailed off. That wasn't the question for right now, however much he wanted it to be. "Are you --?" He gave up, gazing mournfully up at Artemis, sandwich forgotten in his hand.

"Don't. Don't apologise, love." Artemis stepped into the room, stopping himself at the last minute before stepping into Fenris's space. Fenris hadn't wanted to be touched, before, and Artemis wanted to respect that, despite how badly he wanted to fold his elf into his arms. "Don't worry about me." He twisted his hands before gesturing at the seat next to Fenris. "Can I...?" Maybe eventually one of them would finish asking a question.

Fenris nodded, cramming the rest of the sandwich into his mouth, not to start another sentence he wouldn't finish. Anders had said he needed to eat. He busied himself licking the radish sauce off his fingers and trying to wash down the sandwich with tea, the bread melting into sticky lumps in his cheeks as he tried to work his way through it, and to think of something intelligent to follow with.

Artemis sat next to Fenris, still carefully not touching him, hands smoothing over the wrinkles in his clothes instead. He tried to think of something intelligent to say too, but he found himself watching the way Fenris's cheeks bulged out as he chewed, like an awkward, elfy chipmunk. A snicker caught in his throat before he could change the sound to a cough.

A few more gulps of tea, and Fenris managed to swallow the sandwich, at last. He wiped his hands on his trousers, lacking anything more reasonable -- Anders was a damned mountain savage, after all, and one couldn't really expect him to have remembered a napkin -- and grabbed Artemis, one hand curled in his shirt, the other on the back of his neck.

"I adore you. Please don't leave me." Fenris choked out, before pulling Artemis into a kiss.

It was like a dam breaking, the way Artemis kissed back, hands coming up to cradle his elf's face, before wrapping around his shoulders and pulling him close. "I wouldn't leave you, you bloody fool," he murmured against Fenris's lips. He rested his forehead against Fenris's. "Even if you did just wipe your hands on your pants." He gave Fenris a watery, if relieved, smile, and kissed him again, softly, sweetly. He'd been worried Fenris would never want to touch him again after that. "I love you. I'm sorry." He wasn't sure what, specifically, he was apologising for, but the words spilled out.

"No, there's nothing for you to be sorry for. Blame Danarius for ruining this for us. Even with his death, it seems I am not yet free." Fenris pulled Artemis onto his lap, and leaned back against the couch, looking up at this beautiful mage -- _his_ beautiful mage. "You are... not angry with me?" he asked, but kept talking anyway, as if he couldn't stop the words. "I couldn't tell what was real any more. I couldn't tell, and I had to get out. I thought I needed to know. But... I realised it doesn't matter, because I want to believe in you, in this, even in this gods-forsaken fish-stinking city, because this is where you are. I don't care if you're just a delusion, although I'd really rather think you're not, because you're the best thing to ever come into my life, and I love you. I love our life together. And if it turns out that none of this is real, I hope I die not knowing."

"You love me enough to put up with the fish stink?" Artie joked, eyes brimming. "That's devotion." He held Fenris's face in his hands, thumbs tracing the sharp bend of cheekbone. The words 'amo te' stuck in his throat. He didn't dare speak Tevene, not right now. "I'm real, love. I wish I knew how to prove that to you." He kissed Fenris's forehead, felt the lines of tension there smooth away under the touch. "But I'm not going anywhere."


	345. Chapter 345

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today we've got a lust for chowder.

"He didn't write me poetry or any of that sappy shit. He wasn't really that kind of guy." Anders smiled sadly, squeezing Cormac's hand as they walked. The best chowder house in Kirkwall was down past the pier, and they'd come out just for that, just the two of them, because Cormac insisted Anders didn't get out enough, and Anders couldn't help but agree, after a good many protestations about his patients and his work. "Instead, he'd slip refutations of political arguments and tiny treatises on psychological warfare into my books, when I wasn't looking. But, you know, I knew what he meant. It was the same thing I meant when I'd distract the templars, so he could get into the books we weren't supposed to have access to. And then Elfhole would finish up by flooding the corner of a room with wasps. I swear, for years they thought we had a wasp infestation in the walls. It was great."

Anders paused, looking out over the sea, between ships. "But, you were right. I loved him. I thought we could get away. I thought when they sent him up here, they'd just made it easier for us -- he wanted to go north, and I'd go anywhere, if I could stay with him. But, you know what happened. You were there."

"I'm sorry, sweet thing. Maybe we should've done something different, but it's a little late for that, now." Cormac tipped his head, resting it against Anders's shoulder. "And now you're stuck with me. Alas, the horror!"

"I like you. I could be happy with you, for the rest of my life. Just... not here. Not like this. Something's got to change."

"By which you mean the templars, and I second that." Cormac rubbed his thumb along the side of Anders's fingers. "That mean you love me, too?"

"Don't be an asshole," Anders scoffed, shoving Cormac off with his elbow.

"Good. I'd hate to do that to you." Cormac smiled to himself, just enjoying the sea air.

For a moment, things were peaceful. The chowder warmed a line down Anders's throat and settled in his stomach with a warm glow. With talk of Karl came an ache in his chest, but it was a familiar ache, one he almost found comforting by now. But even as Anders closed his eyes against the wind, Justice was vigilant in the back of his mind.

Justice drew his attention to the pair of toughs loitering under the eaves of a nearby warehouse. Anders didn't pay them any mind, at first. They were exactly the sort he'd seen around the Docks or drinking in the Hanged Man. But once he noticed them, he couldn't un-notice, and he could feel their stares when they thought he wasn't looking.

Anders reached for his staff, bowl balanced in his other hand. His first fear -- his first thought -- was that they'd figured out he was a mage. For a blood-chilling second, he worried they would tell the templars, before he remembered that the templars already knew and had known for a while.

"Are we being watched, or am I being paranoid?" Anders asked conversationally, trying to decide how he could balance staff, bowl, and spoon in two hands.

"Two of them, to the right. Three more, maybe by the crates on the edge of the pier. They might just be waiting for somebody, though." Cormac didn't look concerned, but Cormac almost never looked concerned. "Don't worry about your staff. If they make a move, just throw the chowder at them, first."

"But, that's my chowder!" Anders protested. "I'm not throwing good hot food on trashy thugs!"

"Then eat faster," Cormac suggested. "They're just a bunch of guys, right? Nothing interesting?" It was Kirkwall, and Cormac's concerns were primarily about demons, as usual. There was an unusual prevalence of demons, in the city. At least he thought it was unusual, but he hadn't spent much time in actual cities, over the years.

"Denerim wasn't like this, was it? With the demons?" he asked Anders, between slurps of chowder. "Or Amaranthine?"

"No, those were both considerably less demon-y," Anders answered, scraping up another spoonful of chowder, "though colourful in their own ways. More darkspawn. Or at least the threat of darkspawn. Amaranthine had more cats, though." As he chewed, Anders considered Justice's reaction. Concerned but not glowy. "Just guys," he confirmed. "Guys in dreadful need of a shave and possibly a bath, but guys."

The pair Anders had first spotted idly approached as though they'd heard this insult, but Anders kept on eating his chowder. He also kept on eating his chowder when the other three ambled over just as slowly, hemming in him and Cormac.

Of course. He knew it'd been too peaceful.

"Lovely day for a fish stew, isn't it, boys?" Cormac glanced at them as if he hadn't a care in the world, one finger tracing patterns on the far side of his bowl, as he kept eating, and the shield came up around Anders.

"Pity you ain't gonna finish yours." The man in the middle spoke Common like it was his third language, with a thick accent from somewhere up north.

"Yes, but it's only because I'm going to share," Cormac replied, hand already in motion to toss the chowder into the face of the man next to the one talking. "Didn't your mother ever teach you the benefits of sharing?"

The thug wearing the chowder lunged, only to be brought up short by a green glow under his feet. Feet that would no longer lift off the ground.

"What do you think, pretty thing? Cover them in oil and leave them for the gulls?" Cormac smiled warmly at Anders, as if there were nothing wrong at all.

Anders took a long, contemplative sip of his chowder, looking for all the world like he didn't have a spell ready, on the edge of his lips. "The gulls _have_ been looking like they could use the company," he answered in a similar tone.

The thug stuck to the ground stared at them, eyes round, while his companions paused behind him. "Mages," one hissed as he took a step back. He hadn't planned on crossing _mages_.

"You sound like a friend of mine," Anders replied, scraping up the last bit of food and spooning it into his mouth. "Yes, 'mages'. That would be why interrupting our chowder was a bad idea." His smile bared too many teeth to be friendly.

The shadows in the alley across the way stirred, and a crossbow bolt slammed into the guardrail Cormac had rested his bowl on, taking out the flaming pot of citron balanced on the support beside it. With foul-smelling wax now splashed across the remains of his chowder, Cormac was quite through trying to enjoy his evening. "Oh, how nice! You brought friends!"

The glaive was already in his hand, by the time he finished turning around, and a couple more arrows failed to connect with his flesh. As the thugs near them backed away, Cormac stuck them to the ground, before turning his attention to the alley. The archers had failed, and now the rest of the gang piled out of the narrow space between a pair of warehouses. Cormac sighed. He tried so hard not to use too much magic in public, but there were more than ten angry thugs rushing them, and it was only him and Anders.

As the thugs raced across the road, yet more of them gathering from another alley, Cormac laid out the largest grease spell he could manage, and watched several of them introduce themselves firmly to the cobblestones. An oil spill wouldn't be that difficult to pass off as an easy coincidence, around here.

The sight of the thugs slipping and sliding and scrabbling at the walls brought a smile to Anders's face. "Sometimes I forget that spell has a combat application," he said. He reached for lightning, only to pause mid-cast. Lightning and grease. That had not ended well last time. The memory distracted him a moment, face going pale, while the thugs found solid ground again, looking less than pleased at their new bruised and greasy state.

A shout echoed down at them from overhead, and before Anders could decide that he knew that shout, he caught sight of Anton bracing himself on a windowsill on the second storey. "What...?" Anders started to ask, before Anton leapt from the window, howling a wordless battle-cry. He landed on the shoulders of a surprised ruffian, legs wrapping around his neck and chin as he bore him to the ground, throwing himself off the guy's shoulders, sideways, as they fell. "What," Anders said again, leaving it as a statement this time.

The thug's neck broke, from the force of Anton suddenly falling to the side and then down, his chin pointing back over his shoulder, by the time Anton's back hit the ground. Anders stared in horror at the scene unfolding before him, with just enough presence of mind to flick a stun across the crowd rushing toward them, before Anton threw his own knees back over his head, rolling to his feet and slamming the corpse between his thighs against the woman running up on him with her sword raised.

"Did you miss me?" Anton called out, finally untangling himself from the corpse and reaching down to slice the neck of the warrior he'd knocked to the ground.

"If I did, it's because I wasn't trying to hit you," Cormac joked, tripping a thug with his glaive and then slamming the butt of it into the man's face.

"So, what'd you do this time?" Anton asked, rolling out of the way, to let one swordsman take a chunk out of another.

"I'm really not sure!" Cormac carved through the chest of one thug, shoving him back onto the grease, and into two more, who did not recover fast enough to keep their heads.

"I think they just really wanted some chowder," Anders quipped distractedly, punching one thug square in the nose when he got too close. A follow-up kick knocked the man out cold.

"Ooh, chowder?" Anton's eyes brightened. "Can't say I blame them. I'd murder for the local chowder." His grin was just this side of unsettling. Flipping a knife in his hand, Anton looked around, making sure they'd gotten the last of them. "Aveline should really be paying us guard wages at this rate."

"That would make her your captain," Anders pointed out, "and you already have one."

"Sometimes many nights a week." Anton waggled his eyebrows. He nudged one of the limp bodies at his feet and crouched to rifle through his pockets. "But honestly. That's an awful lot of idiots for a simple mugging"

"So, do what you do, Anton. Why are they after us?" Cormac leaned on his glaive, debating another bowl of chowder. That was the nice thing about being well-off, he'd noticed. He never had to worry about losing food to unfortunate circumstances -- there was always money for more.

Anton shook his head, moving between corpses, still rifling pockets. "I don't--" He unfolded a piece of paper from one of them. "Oh, hello. It's a bounty notice." Looking up at his brother, he held it out. "For Fenris."

"Shit." Anders rubbed his face. "Everyone thinks Danarius is still alive, so the bounty's still good."

"Yeah, but what's that got to do with us? We're not exactly elfy. Not really a case of mistaken identity," Cormac pointed out.

"Well, you do make a good hostage," Anton joked, pocketing a handful of coins.

Cormac huffed, but didn't say a word.

"Taking Cormac and myself as hostages?" Anders said, putting a hand to his chest in mock horror. "Fenris would probably laugh and let them keep us." Not true, of course, and even Anders knew it. He _would_ probably laugh, however.

Anton poked through a few more pockets, tutting when all he found was lint and a snotty handkerchief. "They likely just saw the opportunity and seized it." He shrugged, straightening and stretching his back. "Doesn't look like they thought this out too well. But -- hmm. I think I know this gang. 'The Reining Men' or something equally ridiculous. Izzy tussled with them a couple times, I hear."

"Is this all of them, do you think?" Anders asked, humour gone. "Or should we bring some muscle along the next time we go out for chowder?"

"More to the point, if this isn't all of them, should we go make a point that our brother-in-law is not to be fucked with?" Cormac asked, finally shouldering his glaive.

"Or that _we're_ not to be fucked with, which I think is much more applicable, right now," Anders pointed out. "Fenris will probably just be sorry he missed this fight. Slave-hunters?"

"I propose we have more chowder," Anton said, looking down the pier. "A nice uninterrupted bowl of it. And then let's go get Fenris and introduce him to the rest of these idiots. If nothing else, I can make a killing in wagers alone."

"And he can make a much more literal killing or twelve." A tiny smile crossed Anders's face.


	346. Chapter 346

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris finishes the fight Cormac started. Later, Thrask discovers the incredible benefits of knocking.

"Anders, my darling friend," Anton groaned a few hours later. "Wisest of warlocks, most magnificent of mages --"

"What do you need, Anton?" Anders sighed without breaking stride.

"A bit of healing? I suspect that chowder was in league with the slavers." Anton rubbed his stomach. "Treachery."

"Which is why I'm glad you didn't invite me along for that part," Fenris drawled, following at Anton's heels. "That, and chowder is disgusting in general." Fenris thought he knew every inch of this city by now, but he didn't remember ever coming down this alley. Perhaps he had been too busy trying to avoid the stench of fish.

Anders threw some healing in Anton's direction without even thinking about it. "I'll have you know that my chowder was perfectly agreeable, delicious, and has not yet tried to mutiny."

"Chowder that only rebels against non-magical consumers," Cormac agreed. "The chowder of the mage rebellion."

"Some days, I think we're the last ones left. That only we survived and didn't turn to demons," Anders sighed. "Which, yes, would make that the chowder of the mage rebellion, since neither of us is sick from it."

"That or the cook's just got some stupid grudge against the Champion of Kirkwall," Cormac suggested, raising shields for all of them, as something moved, further down the alley.

"It's not poison. If it were poison, that would necessitate a different spell."

"It is fish," Fenris muttered. "Is that not enough?"

"What do you have against fish?" Anton asked, offended on their behalf.

"The same thing that chowder has against you, I imagine," Fenris replied, blade gleaming as he drew it out of its sheath. An arrow plinked off his shield, another off Anton's, and they both darted deeper into the alley, Anton into the shadows while Fenris drew most of the fire. With a dying gurgle, one archer fell and then another, Anton's dagger darting between ribs and across throats.

"Come out!" Fenris roared, voice filling the alley, sword held wide in a challenge. "You were looking for me, weren't you? Well, come get me!"

The air around him rippled, the stink of magic twice as thick for a moment before dissolving altogether, taking Fenris's shield with it. On instinct, he stepped into the Fade, the next arrow shooting through him without harming him.

Cormac flicked his tongue and squinted. That hadn't been a smite. These weren't templars. Therefore... "Mage!" he warned, before laying a tempest into the middle of the hidden courtyard, lighting it with bright flashes of electricity that danced between the metal on the slave-hunters' weapons and clothes.

"What, you?" Anton teased, darting across the alley, between flashes, and leaving another corpse in his wake.

The tempest ceased, abruptly, and a woman stood out in all the violence -- unbloodied, unmoving, and bearing a staff. Anton took a swipe at her, but the knife turned away, long before it got near her. As Anders busied himself ensuring nothing snuck up on them, Cormac brought up his own barrier, forcing it to intersect the one the woman held. He couldn't make it intersect flesh, but he could definitely make the space between the two spheres uncomfortably small.

She retaliated almost immediately, and Cormac's shield dropped along with the woman's own barrier, as she stumbled forward into the more open space inside Cormac's. She couldn't move, but she didn't have to, calling down a single indigo-tinged bolt of magic that bounced off a barrier Cormac raised around himself.

"I can do this all day!" he called out to her.

Fenris and Anton cut down the last of the mage's companions, and Fenris sheathed his sword, still glowing. "I would rather you didn't," he drawled, watching the mages shove each other back and forth without touching.

Patience was rarely one of Fenris's virtues, especially when it came to slavers, and he rolled his eyes, reaching through one, two barriers and interrupting her next spell with a hand in her chest. She went rigid, mouth open around a soundless gasp before she fell like a puppet with its strings cut.

"Well," said Anton, cleaning off his daggers. "I don't know about you lot, but I feel better. Do you feel better?"

"I feel better," Anders agreed cheerfully.

Cormac looked a bit ill. "I don't!"

"Oh, don't tell me the chowder's catching up with you, too," Anders sighed, shouldering his staff.

"What? No, no. I just didn't need the reminder he could do that." Cormac gestured at Fenris.

"What, that I render you useless?" Fenris laughed and headed back out toward the street. "Yes, you did."

Cormac's shoulders squared, glaive still in both fists, and Anders darted past, putting himself between the two of them. "Let's not have that argument in the middle of the street. You're both pretty, okay? And you both give great --" Anders squeaked as Cormac's hand cracked across his backside.

"Not in front of my brother," Cormac muttered, as Anton stared in horror.

"I'm just going to assume that sentence ends in 'Wintersend presents', for my sanity. 'You both give great Wintersend presents'." Anton nodded decisively. Without all the magic in the way, Anton took a moment to rifle through the dead mage's pockets too, but wasn't exactly thrilled by anything he found there. "Though at this rate, no one's getting any Wintersend presents from me. No wonder they were desperate to cash in your bounty, Fenris."

"Too bad," Fenris drawled. "They would have been disappointed anyway." He tipped his head, as he considered. "I wonder how much I'm worth..."

"Depends on who you're asking," Anders replied, "and whether you've given them any... Wintersend presents."

Fenris threw him a rude gesture.

* * *

* * *

It was the noise that alerted him to the fact that something other than brooms were behind that closet door. The tranquil moved through the tower like ghosts, most of the time, ignored unless someone wanted something -- and Thrask could guess what kind of something someone had wanted this time. In a fury, he threw open the door, only to find Ser Keran and one of the new tranquil, in a state of half-undress.

"For all your kind words and good motivations, _this_ is where I find you?" Thrask roared, jerking Keran out of the maintenance closet by his ear.

"Ser Thrask, it's not what it looks like! She's... we were--" Keran fumbled for words, trying to hike his trousers back up.

"I see no evidence it was anything other than it looks like! And this is conduct unbecoming a member of the Order, and in particular, you! I thought you would be above this sort of thing!" Thrask's grip tightened, and Keran began to fear he was going to lose the ear. "Pull your robes back down and follow me," he commanded the girl, who obeyed, precise and unblinking.

Thrask's grip stayed on Keran's ear as he marched them down the hall, and Keran tried to walk, wince, and lace up his trousers at the same time. He knew these halls well enough that he could tell where they were going, even bent at this angle, staring at their feet. At least he didn't have to see the curious glances from the people they passed, even if their boots pointed his way.

Thrask threw open the door to Cullen's office, letting it slam dramatically against the opposite wall. "Captain, were you aware of--? Oh."

"Knocking," Anton muttered. "I am a fan of knocking. Why is that something no one does in Kirkwall?"

"This is why I told you to lock the door behind you," Cullen hissed, hands fumbling with something behind his desk.

"Cullen, Cullen, you know I'm allergic to locks. Or, rather, they're allergic to me."

Cullen gave his husband a dry look, trying to regain an air of respectability even with the blushing cheeks. "Ser Thrask," he said, "what am I aware of and why are you holding my assistant by the ear?"

Thrask stepped aside and waved the girl into the room. "Your assistant was molesting one of the tranquil, in a maintenance closet! I expect better from all of us, and particularly from someone so recently ... inclined to other views on the proper care of Kirkwall's mages!"

Cullen looked confused, but that passed quickly, once he recognised Ella. "Ella? Oh, no, it's ..." He sighed. "Close the door behind you, and do let go of Ser Keran's ear."

"She's--" Anton started, horror spreading across his face, but Cullen cut him off.

"Assisting me. She is my other assistant." Cullen rubbed his face. "On second thought, go home, Anton. This is business, and probably shouldn't have outside observers. I'll catch up with you tonight."

"You hope you catch up with me, tonight," Anton grumbled, sliding off the desk. Ella stepped aside to let him pass, and he wondered how it was Cullen hadn't told him that had happened.

"If I don't, I'm sure you'll find me when you're done with the Orlesians." Cullen's blush deepened even as the words left his mouth. "And take the door with you, as you go."

"Oh, don't challenge me, husband! One of these days, I'll do it, and not in the way you meant!" Anton pulled the door shut behind him.

"They've been together a long while, and even her current state hasn't changed that," Cullen said, as the footsteps grew quieter. "She's the reason for his sentiments. I am hardly the one to deny two people the happiness they found."

"Then how is he able to do his _job_ , if he's in love with a mage?" Thrask demanded. "You know he shouldn't even be here, at this point!"

"It was this or Aeonar, you know. He came to me, himself. They came to me, together." Cullen shrugged, still only telling half the story, but the half that served his purpose. He still wasn't quite comfortable with the way he'd had to talk around people, since Meredith's leadership came into question, but he'd picked up a bit of skill, listening to Anton go on.

"But it will affect his judgement," Thrask tried again, tone already weaker.

"Is that a bad thing, caring about a mage, any mage?" Keran challenged, but Cullen shook his head and motioned for Keran to be quiet for the moment.

"Frankly, I am more concerned with the behaviour of a few other templars," Cullen said before Thrask could respond. He knew Thrask wouldn't -- couldn't -- argue that. "Templars who care too little about their charges. I am not saying Keran is right, but his error is one I mind less."

Keran still looked affronted by the word 'error', but he knew they had to keep up appearances. Next to him, Ella looked serenely blank, hands hanging at her sides. He didn't know how she could go so long without fidgeting.

Thrask looked back and forth between the mage and the templar to either side of him, and then back to Cullen. "I don't know if I agree with you, Captain. But, in the short term, it does seem like a lesser risk than the damage that's already been done. In the long term, though..."

"Let's concern ourselves with the long term, when we have a long term to consider. For now, the focus must be on repairing the damage done. Mitigating this crisis before it gets any worse. I don't want to see an Annulment any more than you do, but that's the standing threat. We can't concern ourselves with the future of the mages in Kirkwall, and mage-templar relations in the city, until we manage to ensure there will continue to _be_ mages in Kirkwall." Cullen sighed and leaned back in his seat. "And Keran? Not in public. How many times do I have to say it?"

"But, Captain, you were busy in here!" Keran protested.

Cullen's cheeks turned a deeper shade of red, while Ella cracked a smile behind Thrask. "That is not what I meant, Keran." He cleared his throat. "So, Ser Thrask, is there anything else I can help you with?"

Thrask frowned at Keran, still looking less than pleased with the situation. "Not at this moment," he decided grudgingly, if respectfully. "Captain." He took that as the dismissal it was and dipped his head politely before taking his leave.

Once he had closed the door behind him, Ella let her shoulders slump, moved her jaw to flex facial muscles she was not used to using.

Cullen dropped a stern look on them both. "You two need to be more careful," he insisted.

Keran coughed and scuffed a boot against the floor. "Sorry, Captain. Won't happen again."

"We'll wait until after you go home, for the day," Ella said, with a tiny half-smile. "But, you know, the Champion's just so inspirational. We got a little carried away."

Smothering Anton with a pillow seemed more and more appealing to Cullen. "I'm led to understand his charms are nearly universal. Most of those stories are not true, by the way. Particularly the ones on a certain page of the Gazette." Cullen heaved himself out of his seat, trousers still askew. "I am going to go have a long lunch. I expect the reports on my desk to have been dealt with, before I return, and I also expect those reports and my desk to be _clean_. And for both of you to be in both your clothes and no more trouble than you're already in."


	347. Chapter 347

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another kidnapping on the Wounded Coast. Doesn't anyone have any originality in this city?

Bodhan had told Anton that there was some mail waiting for him on the desk, but 'some', it turned out, was a bit of an understatement. 'A pile' of mail would have been a more apt description.

"This is your fault, isn't it?" Bethany sighed, already sifting through the letters. She handed him what she'd already looked through. "I am expecting a message, but all I'm finding are replies to your sausage party -- which I still can't believe you're throwing by the way."

"Is that surprise I hear, dear sister?" Anton asked sweetly, thumbing through the letters. "At me? And here I thought you knew your brothers better than that."

"Not surprise. Exasperation. Aha!" Bethany finally found an envelope addressed to her.

Anton started separating the messages into three piles, people who were coming, people who weren't coming, and everything else. He'd go through the last one again and get his own messages out of it, after the rest was done. But, the count needed to be started if Bodhan was going to know how many people to plan for. It would be an awful lot of sausage in any case, but he'd hate to run short.

And this one was Spincter and his daughter, and they were-- No, that wasn't an RSVP. That was ... Anton sighed.

"What is it?" Bethany looked up.

"Another kidnapping. On the coast." Anton rubbed his face. "Doesn't anyone have any originality in this town?"

"Not one of our brothers, again, I hope?"

"No, no. Reggie's girl. Kidnapped by bandits, for some reason. He's afraid it'll ruin her marriage prospects if word gets out." Anton looked disgustedly at the letter. "Remind me why we keep inviting this guy to things?"

"Because we're the Amells, but we're not proper Amells. We really can't afford to go pissing people off. You make enough of a stir as it is," Bethany reminded him.

"I'm the champion! Doesn't that count for anything?" Anton complained.

"Free drinks at the Hanged Man?" Bethany reminded him cheerfully, fluttering her letter like it was one of her fans.

Anton harrumphed, throwing the letter onto the side table. "I could just pick Carver's pockets for that."

"Just be grateful Reggie didn't make it to the corset party. I doubt even the Champion could have saved that disaster. Enjoy the bandit-hunting!"

"Are you sure you don't want to do it for me, Bethy?" Anton whined. "I just came back from a long night. With Orlesians. I miss my bed and Mintaka."

"Poor dear," Bethany said with no pity. "And I'm quite sure."

* * *

Anton had a plan. It might not be a good plan, but it would probably be a working plan. And then he could go home and get back to bed. He put on his best smile and knocked at the door of his brother's house.

A moment later, Orana answered the door. "Ah! Messere Anton! Come in, come in. I'll go get your brother for you. They're playing cards. I think he's even dressed, still."

Anton was still trying to wrap his mind around the idea of Artie playing strip Diamondback, as Orana left him in the main hall, smiling at his befuddlement as she went. Surely those two things weren't related -- playing cards and potentially being undressed. No, no. That... no. Artie was still dressed because he was ... Anton couldn't find an end to that sentence that made sense. An hour he usually spent in a dressing gown, rather than proper clothes, so the washing could be done. Yes. That sounded much more like Artie.

Artemis shuffled into the hallway, barefoot and grinning. "Hello, Anton! You're awake already? I haven't been playing cards for _that_ long, have I?" He peeked out of the nearest window to make sure the sun was still out. Yep. Still daylight. "Has something happened?"

"Oh, nothing big," Anton replied. "It just seems we've gotten our mail mixed up. Letter for you, 'Champion'." He pressed Spincter's letter into Artie's chest before turning back towards the door, whistling to himself. Now he could go back to bed, Mintaka, and --

Anton's heels scrabbled at the ground, rucking up the entryway rug as he was dragged back. Artie skimmed through the letter, still pulling his flailing brother back without even looking up.

"Nice try, Messere," Artemis drawled. "Someone's kidnapped Reggie's daughter? Is there no originality in this town?"

"Right?" Anton agreed, twisting to look at Artemis over his shoulder. "No originality! Which is why you are perfectly capable of doing this on your own!"

Fenris appeared in a doorway leading further into the house. "Anton." He nodded, then paused. "Is there a particular reason my husband is restraining you?"

"What? No! I'm just delivering his mail." Anton grinned. "It was addressed to the champion, you see."

Fenris made a small sound of amusement. "And what is so terrible the Champion of Kirkwall needs to pass it off to an impostor?"

"Kidnapping. Orlanna Spincter's been nabbed by bandits, or so her father says. I look at that letter and wonder if she didn't run away from home," Anton drawled, leaning against the magic, as if it were a wall.

Artie took that as his cue to drop the spell, and Anton stumbled, nearly falling face-first into the floor. "Serious enough that we should make sure, one way or another," he said. "And then help her run away if she hasn't already." He handed the letter to Fenris, who read it, one dark eyebrow creeping up towards his hairline.

"Nobles," Fenris groused, as if the three of them weren't technically nobles themselves. "I suppose I'll grab my sword. And your boots, Amatus." He kissed Artie's cheek and disappeared around the corner.

Anton sidled towards the door.

"Don't even think about it," Artemis said. He made a fist, and this time Anton fell to his ass.

* * *

Fenris spent half the trip out of town trying to explain the rhythm of Tevinter drinking songs to Anton, who seemed incapable of singing anything outside of maybe six common tunes that most drinking songs in Ferelden had fit into. From the way Artemis's eyes sparkled, though, he expected Anton was just doing it to annoy him. Brothers. In moments like these, he wondered if he really was so pleased not to have any. Who would quietly restrain their amusement if he decided to keep up an hours-long prank?

His ruminations were interrupted by the appearance of a man all in black, tattoos on his face similar to Anton's, but not the same. "Hold there," the man commanded, and the three of them stopped, expecting another plea for the champion's intervention.

"Who are you?" Anton asked.

"The name's Evets. As in 'Evets Marauders', the folks you killed a few years back." Evets spread his arms and tipped his chin up, challengingly. "Now, you're going to die for what you've done!"

Fenris looked at the man in confusion. "You do know that's the Champion of Kirkwall, don't you? The man who duelled the Qunari Arishok after fighting through hordes of raging Qunari to get to the Viscount's Keep, right?"

As the new marauders filtered out of the rocks around Evets, those in the rear began to drop, almost silently, with little more sound than they'd have made stepping out of their hiding places, a quick gleam of blades the only sign something other than magic was to blame, until Isabela laid down a corpse that left her in view. She winked at Anton, fluttering her fingers.

Anton waved back cheerfully, drawing a confused look from Evets, who turned to see the men at her feet. The man gritted his teeth hard enough for them to creak, face flushing red with anger under black tattoos. "You'll die for that, wench!" he roared, pulling out his axe.

Isabela didn't look concerned, especially when a choked gasp followed Evets's taunt, a glowing fist sticking through his chest.

Anton didn't even draw his daggers. He leaned against a tree, hands clasped behind his head, and watched his brother and friends stab, disembowel, and smack the other marauders into the cliff face.

"Who in blazes were 'Evets Marauders', anyway?" Artemis asked, repeatedly slamming one particularly stubborn idiot into the rock. "Was I there for that? I can't recall."

"With all the smugglers and bandits we've removed from the coast, I can't remember the names of all of them." Anton shrugged, stretching one leg out a little further. "A few years back? I definitely don't remember. Maybe Aveline knows."

"It's not like I ever stopped to ask what they called themselves, once all the stabbing started," Isabela added, finishing off a battered marauder and picking his pockets.

"I do not believe I've heard the name, before," Fenris said, taking a look around to ensure there weren't more marauders lying in wait. "The man might've had a long and joyful life ... marauding. Instead, he was an idiot. What kind of fool announces themselves, before launching an attack on a man said to have carved his way through a Qunari army? At the very least, stealth might have served him a little better." His eyes darted to Isabela, a tiny smile curling the corner of his mouth.

"Indeed," Artie drawled. "The Champion may even have needed to draw a weapon and taken part. Imagine!"

"You all had it perfectly in hand," Anton said. "Fenris perhaps a bit too literally." When Anton finally did push off of the tree, it was to rifle through Evets's pockets. "Oh, really? Nothing? This is what I get for sitting back and watching, isn't it? Andraste, why do you punish me?"

Artemis rolled his eyes and poked around the area, finding the marauders' campsite tucked behind bushes. "No trace of Sphincter's daughter," Artemis said, doubling back. "Looks like we have _other_ bandits to find."

"Spincter," Anton corrected automatically.

"I know what I said."

"Why are there always so many bandits?" Fenris asked the ground. "It's a wonder why anyone would want to come through here."

"It's not so much a matter of want," Isabela pointed out, backing up the hill as she talked, "as a matter of it being the only way to get from some places to some other places. It's exactly what attracts the bandits -- there is no alternative."

"And you'd know this because you spend so much time with the sea," Anton joked, walking up after her.

"No, I'd know because I spend so much time with the bandits." Isabela grinned. "I can't help it if they're good looking!"

"And then you come out here and kill them," Fenris drawled.

"Of course I do! It's good business. And so many of them underestimate me after one good night."

"I am not sure how anyone could underestimate you," Fenris muttered, and Anton nodded his agreement.

"Now, now, don't start talking like that, or people will get wise, and I'll lose my advantage." Isabela spun around at the top of the hill, looking down the paths that forked out. "Is that a corpse? I think that's a corpse! Maybe we'll get some loot after all!"

"Or maybe whoever made that corpse beat us to it," Anton pointed out.

"Always such a pessimist!"

"As opposed to you," Artie said, "who always sees the pocket half full?"

"More than half." Izzy winked and sidled up next to him, and Artie slapped her hand away when she reached for one of his pockets.

"If you do that at the wrong time, I might end up knocking you off a cliff," Artemis warned, hooking a thumb over his shoulder in the ocean's direction. "Possibly by accident."

"But if I do it at the right time, it might be worth it."

The corpse, it turned out, still had a few coins on him, which made Anton feel better, at least until he spotted another corpse up ahead. "Well. Somebody was busy." Anton picked that corpse's pocket too.

They followed the corpses, like a trail of breadcrumbs, back to another, larger camp. This one was empty, save for more corpses and a young woman in noblewoman's clothes standing in the middle.

"Orlanna?" Anton called out, looking her over for injuries.

The woman turned, a smile lighting her face when she spotted them. "Champion!" she said. "Did my love send you? Will you take me to them?"

"Either your father didn't give me the whole story, or I really, really hope you're talking about someone else." Anton paused. "Those aren't mutually exclusive. Either way, I really hope you're talking about someone else."

"What, you wouldn't do your dad? I heard he looked like Cormac. I'd do your dad." Isabela draped herself over Anton's shoulders, using a rock for the extra few inches. "Wildly good-looking guy like that? Whoo!"

Artemis's cheek twitched. "He... didn't look _that_ much like Cormac," he muttered, feeling ill.

"Maybe when we were born, but not by the time he died. The Hawkes are good-looking, but that's pushing it." Anton reached up and swatted at Isabela's face with the back of his hand.

Fenris stared intently into the dirt, trying not to listen to this conversation. None of the places it could go were places he wanted to end up.

"Well, nobody looks their best when they're dead!" Isabela argued.

"Oh, I can think of a few faces that looked much better dead," Fenris muttered, toes clenching the sand.

Artemis saw that look and knew where Fenris's mind had gone. His hand brushed Fenris's in a question, and Fenris turned his palm outward, twining their fingers.

"This is true," Isabela conceded. "But what about you, hmm?" She rested her cheek on the back of Anton's head and eyed Fenris like he was something she meant to eat. "Bet your dad was a hottie."

Fenris's blood turned cold, and he couldn't feel his hands. After a moment of quiet panic, he remembered that she didn't know who his father was.

"Oh, right, you wouldn't know, would you?" Izzy went on, expression turning contemplative. "Hm. Well, let me imagine it for you."

"Izzy," Artemis said in warning, but she paid him no mind.

"I'm seeing... a cross between you and Orsino. Mmm, yes." Isabela purred and rubbed Anton's head with her cheek. "Your eyes, his hair..."

"I promise whatever you're imagining is incorrect," Fenris muttered. "I _do_ know. And Danarius wasn't that good looking."

"That toad? No, no. That's ridiculous!" Isabela rocked upright, wobbling on the stone she stood on. "Your ears are much too pointy. Where did you hear that? That's stupid. Can't be true."

Anton returned his attention to the woman they were supposed to be rescuing. "Excuse her. She's like that. You were saying something about your... love?"

"Feynriel, the man of my dreams!" Orlanna declared, hands on her hips, as if they should already have known that. "These brutes intended to take my maidenhood. As they argued over who would go first, I fainted! Then Feynriel spoke to me in a vision and told me not to fear. When I awoke, the men had slain one another. Please take me to Feynriel. I want to thank him properly."

"You can thank me, instead!" Isabela butted in, grinning broadly, attention torn from her continuing tirade about how it was completely impossible for Danarius to have been Fenris's father.

"Excuse her," Anton said, again. "I don't know where to find Feynriel. The last I knew, he was headed to the Imperium to learn to use his talents. If he comes again, you should ask--"

A voice cut in from behind them. "Hey! What did you do to my men? I'll kill you 'til you're good and dead!"

They turned as a team of bandits bearing swords and shields spilled out from behind the rocks.

"Oh look!" said Anton brightly. "More future corpses to loot!" He grinned at Izzy. "See? I can be optimistic!"

Artie cast while they were still clustered, his spell knocking them off their feet and pulling them towards the ground, chins jarring on stone. It occurred to him a moment later that he'd just used magic in front of a noblewoman, but it occurred to him a moment after that that she hadn't seemed to mind Feynriel's magic, which was, in his opinion, much more terrifying.

Isabela and Anton danced in to stab their exposed backs, and Fenris slid his hand out of Artie's to cut down the first bandit who tried to get up.

The fight was over almost before it began, leaving the four of them and Orlanna alone again. Anton and Isabela started rifling pockets.

"Yes, of course," Orlanna said, as the tension bled out of the air. "It seems I must wait a bit longer to ask my love where to meet. Will you take me back to Kirkwall, please? Thank you for your aid."

"Sure, sure." Anton waved her over. "Just stay close, so nobody else grabs you on the way back. Are you sure you want to go home? Your dad sounds like kind of a --"

"Jerk," Fenris cut in, before Anton could unload his no doubt expletive-laden opinion.

"Where else would I go?" Orlanna asked. "I have nothing but what you see. I was taken right from my home!"

Anton shrugged. "We could put you up at the Hanged Man for a few days. Just long enough for you to figure out where to meet loverboy. Once you're gone, I'll tell your dad you ran away to Tevinter."

"I do not expect it will take so long," Orlanna confessed. "The walk will tire me, and we'll be reunited in my dreams! Feynriel, my love -- I'm coming!"

"Well, she seems easy," Isabela muttered.

"Just so we're clear, if she passes out, I'm not carrying her," Anton said to Fenris.

"Oh, I'll carry her," Isabela volunteered, with an eyebrow wiggle and a wide grin.


	348. Chapter 348

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders is having an off day. Good thing Cormac's there to solve this problem.

Hearing the door open and shut, Cormac looked up from his papers just in time for the whole of his vision to be occupied by Anders hauling him up into a kiss. The quill dropped from his fingers, bouncing off the chair -- and Artie was going to kill him for that, the next time he was over. But, now, right now, he wrapped his legs around Anders's waist for balance, as Anders kissed him so hard he thought his lips might bleed, whimpering desperately into his mouth. And those were the wrong sounds. Those were not the sounds he loved to hear, when Anders could be eased and teased into them.

"Hey," Cormac breathed, Anders's tongue held gently in his teeth. "You okay?"

Anders pulled his tongue back, resting his forehead on Cormac's. "Take me," he whispered. "Take me, fuck me, ravish me. I need you, Cormac. I want you inside me. I want you to fuck me so hard there is nothing in my world but you."

"Hey, hey, pretty thing. First? Yes. If that's what you want, that's what we'll do." Cormac lifted a hand and ran it through Anders's hair, finding it already untied and spilling loosely over his shoulders. "But, this isn't like you. What happened?"

"No, not now," Anders insisted, voice cracking. "Talk later. Can't talk now. Don't _want_ to talk now. Just want you. _Please_ , Cormac."

"Shh." Cormac continued to stroke Anders's hair. "Now. Right now," he agreed. "Let me down so I can help you out of that. I can feel your hands shaking."

Anders nodded, offering support until Cormac's feet touched the floor again. His hands clenched and unclenched in Cormac's robes, and a thousand things flashed across his eyes, none of them making it out of his mouth, and he let Cormac back him toward the wall, relaxing a bit as his back bumped it.

"Whatever this is, is it magic?" Cormac asked, as his fingers made quick work of the rings holding Anders's coat shut.

Anders shook his head, still not daring to speak again, arching as Cormac eased the coat off him, tugging to get it off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

"Are you hurt at all?" Cormac asked, picking open the laces of Anders's trousers. "Anywhere I shouldn't touch, other than the usual?"

That question sank in deeper, and Anders's eyes focused. He tipped Cormac's head up, to look him in the eyes. "No. I promise. No one's touched me."

Which wasn't the question Cormac asked, but it was the answer he'd implied, and he supposed that distinction was fair. Anders was very obviously not all right, but he hadn't been physically harmed, and as far as he knew, he hadn't been compelled. Cormac knelt, tugging Anders's trousers down with him. Looking up, he unbuckled Anders's boots. "Tell me, sweet thing. Tell me what you want from me."

"Take me," Anders said again, shivering against the wall as Cormac pulled his boots off. "Make me forget, even for a little while. The only thing I want is you."

Cormac pressed kisses to Anders's thighs, rubbing his cheek against Anders's flaccid length, before he licked it into his mouth, with a contented hum. Above him, Anders burst into tears. Cormac tried to pull back and look up, but Anders's hand caught him, fingers sliding into his hair. Anders didn't pull, but even the gentle touch on the back of Cormac's head was enough to make the point, and Cormac stayed right where he was, sucking gently, hands caressing Anders's thighs.

Anders moaned, raggedly, between racking sobs, his other hand pressed to the side of his tear-streaked face, as he stared down the wall. He didn't want to see Cormac looking at him. Not right now. He didn't want to be seen at all, just swept away with pleasure until nothing else mattered, until his own vanity and the pooling heat between his hips blocked out the sun itself. He remembered being beautiful, before all the scars; remembered being desirable, always wanted and always ready -- and the rest of that thought got shoved away before it could catch, but a sharp gasp marked its passing.

He remembered how Karl's lips had felt around him, and his legs trembled, hand shifting to cover his mouth, to block in the raw grief that rushed up from his lungs. Cormac felt so different, but no less perfect. It was as if he'd found a different melody to the rhythm of the blood in Anders' veins, every suck, every flick of tongue just when Anders wanted it most, but the details entirely changed. Cormac had his own patterns, and Anders never ceased to be amazed how well those worked with his own.

And now, the warmth rose in him, the pleasure wending, serpentine, through his flesh. Here was Cormac, wonderful, strong, kind Cormac, kneeling before him, tenderly stroking him, nuzzling at his belly as if he had meaning, serenely sucking and swallowing around his knob. This was desire. This was what he loved. This was what he didn't know how to live without. Cormac wanted him, just as he was; had been concerned for him, while stripping his clothes off. Cormac wanted him enough to care about his health and safety. Wanted him not just now, but tomorrow, and the day after, and the month after. An honest, beautiful, complex lust they could share as long as they both wanted. As long as they survived, anyway -- but he pushed that thought back. Cormac's mouth was on him, warm and wet and wonderful.

Cormac sucked, making little warm sounds that he licked into the flesh in his mouth, as it began to stir against his tongue. He heard the sobs slow, above him, into little choked-off sounds of pleasure, as he worked his talents on this body he adored. He backed off, a little at a time, as his mouth filled, the thick scent of Anders occupying less of every breath, as he did, and Cormac counted that as a loss. A few tugs, now that Anders had regained his wits, and the trousers finally came off, instead of just down, Cormac tossing them across the room to be dealt with later.

Anders tugged at his hair, and Cormac rose up, slowly and sloppily, lusty noises vibrating down Anders's finally almost-glorious flagpole, as he reluctantly let it pass from his lips. Pressing himself close, he took a moment to wipe his beard, before licking his way up Anders's chest, pushing the tunic up as he went. Anders finally had to let go of Cormac's hair, as Cormac pulled the tunic off him, throwing it in roughly the same direction his trousers had gone.

"Tell me," Cormac purred around Anders's unscarred nipple as he pressed his thigh between Anders's legs. It was an awkward position, and one that didn't last long, but the shudder that ran through Anders's body was worth it. "Tell me," he said again, body pressed tight against Anders, teeth nibbling at Anders's collarbone, Anders's strong arms clutching him close, and the base of the flagpole tucked into the inner curve of his hip, where he could feel every beat of Anders's heart in his bones, the heavy thudding against his chest just a little out of time to the throb against his hip.

"Take me," Anders begged, pressing his face against Cormac's hair. "Throw me down, force me open, fill me up. Make me warm. I'm cold, Cormac. I'm cold, and I'm empty, and I don't want to be alone again."

"You'll never be alone again," Cormac promised. "This city would have to kill us all. I'm not going anywhere. And if I die, Justice had better make room, because I'm not leaving you and Fenris to take care of my brother alone."

"That might be a little more inside me than I really want you, Cormac," Anders joked, huffing out a weak laugh.

"Then I guess you'd better make sure I don't die, healer!" Cormac laughed against Anders's neck.

"But the rest..." Anders sounded like he'd started to second-guess himself.

Cormac stepped back, careful not to pull out of Anders's encircling arms, but just to put space between them. He looked up. "Offer yourself to me, pretty thing. Show me how you want me to take you. And tell me you left one of those potions somewhere in this room, and I don't have to go downstairs, if I expect to keep up with you."

"It's in the dildo drawer." A small, sly smile lifted the corners of Anders's lips. "And how I want you? I ... I can't decide." The nervousness still clung to him.

"I think you know exactly what you want, and there's something you're not telling me." Cormac tugged the ends of Anders's hair, pulling him down into a long, slow kiss. "What if I put you down on your knees and I kiss your ass like that, hmm? Tease you until you forget how to speak. Taste your insides. You know how hard just the taste of you makes me. You know I love to fuck you full and lick it out. I love the way we taste, together."

"Yes," Anders breathed, dizzy at the thought. "Yes, fuck, _yes_!"

"Will you beg for me, while I do it? Will you moan and whimper, like you did for me when I licked Messere Howe out of your hole?" Cormac backed away, hands on Anders's arms, leading him toward the bed.

"Ohh, fuck--" Anders groaned, looking away. "I don't-- I'm sorry--"

"Sorry about what?" Cormac asked, honestly confused.

"Sorry you had to see that. Sorry I dragged you into it. More sorry I dragged Fenris into it..."

"I am absolutely not sorry about any of it. Maker's tits and bits, Anders, watching him ream you while you sucked yourself off? Why is it, after all these years, I didn't know you could do that?"

"Because I'm not really that flexible any more, and it's a good thing I'm a healer?" Anders rubbed a hand over his face. "But, really, that wasn't...? I don't want to be like that, but I am. I was so afraid, but I couldn't stop. I was afraid if we woke you up, you'd never touch me again, but I wanted you to see it. I wanted you to know."

"I, ah... I hope I cleared up that misconception?" Cormac eyed Anders like there was a punchline he'd missed somewhere, and he was waiting for Anders to explain the joke.

Anders covered his face. "I am _still_ sorry about the bedroll."

"Okay, _that_ you can be sorry about." Cormac chuckled. "But, not the rest. That was incredible. As soon as I figured out what was going on -- that you were enjoying him -- I wanted to touch you more than ever. I wanted to give you all of those things."

"I didn't want to ask. I wanted to believe I'd had it all out with Nate, and I was done. That it wasn't something I wanted any more." Anders slid his arms around Cormac again, resting his chin on the top of Cormac's head. "It's not something I should be. It's not something I should want."

"And I probably shouldn't want you to fuck my ass inside out and then suck on it, but hey, I do." Cormac shrugged. "In fact, I think that sounds like the hottest bad idea I've had this month."

Anders choked a few times before the laugh started. "You have a wonderful sense of perspective, Cormac. What would I do without you?"

"Sulk more. Probably work yourself to death." Cormac pinched Anders's ass, and Anders squeaked, hips jerking forward. "Now, didn't I just finish promising to put my tongue to good use, until you decide how you actually want me?"


	349. Chapter 349

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cormac has terrible ideas, but sometimes Anders likes them. Sometimes those ideas do not quite go according to plan.

When Cormac was in the middle of pulling off his robes, Anders spoke again. "And Cormac? Everything's shit, and I'm probably going to cry more, and I don't want to talk about it. I just want you to fuck me until I stop caring."

Cormac draped his robes over the footboard and studied Anders, for a long moment, concern clear in his eyes. "I can do that. At least I hope I can do that. If I can't do that, I'm blaming the potion." He paused. "Just... tell me if I need to stop?"

"I promise."

"And, I don't know, don't... vanish for a week, if this doesn't go as planned?"

"Shit, Cormac, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to--"

"Nope. No sorry. You were sorry enough when it happened. I just-- you took years off my life. Can we not do that again?" Cormac stroked Anders's hair, twisting around his fingers.

"If I have to go-- If Justice has to take care of me, for a while, will you be here, when I come back?" Anders asked, blinking up at Cormac.

"I'd rather you didn't have to go, in the first place," Cormac admitted. "But, unless he tells me I have to leave -- like last time -- I'm not really going further than the kitchen, unless the city catches fire again. You know I don't mind him all that much. He can write, I can blot. We'll make sure there's something for you to come back to."

Anders started to shake, eyes tearing up. "Thank you."

"Thank nothing. Entirely selfish. No one touches me the way you do." Cormac leaned down to kiss Anders's cheek.

"That's sweet and all," Anders choked out, tears dribbling down over the bridge of his nose, "but I'm pretty sure that's not where you were going to put your mouth."

"Are you so sure of that? I mean, I could be convinced--" Cormac yelped as Anders pinched his hip, but he moved, then, crawling down the bed to settle himself between Anders's legs. "This is the ass I dreamed of, under that coat, you know." He nibbled at the curve of muscle, still rambling as he kissed and bit one cheek and then the other. "First time I laid eyes on you, it was from behind. And then you turned around and laid that glowy blue righteous wrath on me? I was sold. And then--" He darted his tongue against Anders's hole, and Anders sucked in a sharp breath. "--then you proved it was all the coat, and I was still hooked. I mean, gorgeous revolutionary wants to share a bed with me? Yes, please." Cormac moaned, quietly, lapping at the crack of Anders's ass. "But, this is the ass that coat pretended to be."

"It, ah--" Anders gasped, pressing back against Cormac's tongue. "It is fitting a bit better, lately."

"It's getting tight in the shoulders. I'll buy you a new one." Cormac murmured, and Anders wasn't sure if he heard the words or felt them. And really, Cormac figured he'd buy three, but he wouldn't say it or Anders would object. One just like the one he had, maybe another in black, and the third in Warden colours.

That was the last thought either of them had about the coat, as Cormac gave his full attention to the glorious Warden ass under his tongue, the rich, earthy flavour heavy in his mouth, as he licked at the muscled edge of Anders's hole. Anders writhed and chewed at the sheets, stifling the sounds he thought he might make. That obscene tension was still in him, the one that wouldn't let him just relax into the pleasure and be swept away. Instead he fought the urge to cry out his approval, even as his hips twitched, riding Cormac's tongue. But, it was Cormac's thumb, rubbing hard behind his balls, that broke his disciplined silence.

First, a wordless whine of desperation, and then a cascade of words in its wake. "Take me, fuck me, put yourself inside me-- I want you, Cormac! I want you to fill me -- I need it! I need everything you'll give me! _Please_! Make me warm. Fill me up until I can't hold any more and fuck it back out of me. I want you..."

Cormac licked the curve of Anders's tailbone, kissed his way along that long ridge of spine, until he could stretch no further. "Well, if that's what you want, you might've warned me to load up on tea first," Cormac joked. "But, we can improvise."

Horror clattered through Anders's mind as he realised what he'd said, but Cormac seemed just as willing to try as he'd been the first time, even after everything. "You'd... do that?"

"Maybe not something I'd have thought of, but you're begging me for it, and I don't see the harm in it. Besides, I saw you after Messere Howe gave you a taste. That conversation wasn't as quiet as you thought, and I could taste it on you, after." Cormac nibbled at the flesh beside Anders's spine. "A little strong, but I'm not sorry I stuck my tongue in it. Not with the noises you were making."

Anders pressed his face against the bed. "Can you please not remind me you stuck your tongue in that?"

"And I thought you liked it when I licked you there!" Cormac kissed his way back down Anders's back.

"That's hardly the point!"

"On the contrary, I think that's nearly the whole of the point." Cormac licked into the crack of Anders's ass again. "That and the fact I like the way you taste. And I like the way I taste inside you even better. And just maybe I wanted to know what you tasted like full of someone else, too. But, those sounds you made--" He thrust his tongue against Anders's hole, licking into it like he never meant to surface. "The way you fluttered and flexed around my tongue trying to keep it all in-- Fuck, Anders, I could feel myself trying to get hard again. I wanted to eat you out and fuck you again. I wanted to fuck you until I passed out still buried inside you. I wanted to fuck you like you fuck me."

And that, really, left Anders wondering if his objections had any substance. Yes, it was disgusting, but he wasn't on the disgusting end, and Cormac didn't seem bothered. More than that, Cormac seemed enthusiastic -- just as enamoured of the idea as he'd seemed at the time. His hips were rolling again, shoving him back against Cormac's face, against that tongue he was so willing to accept, wherever Cormac wanted to put it. He writhed, deciding finally that it really wasn't his business to be disgusted _for_ Cormac.

"Do it," Anders panted. "Take me like that. Fuck me like that, tonight. The potion's in the drawer. I want it. I want _you_."

A few more flicks of tongue and Anders was left making tiny pleading sounds against the sheets, as Cormac leaned back to get the potion from the drawer. As he set the empty bottle aside, he studied the curve of Anders's back. "You all right?"

"The only problem I have is that you're not fucking me yet," Anders huffed, glaring over his shoulder.

"Yeah?" Cormac ran a finger teasingly along the wet trail his tongue had left behind. "You want me to fill you until you can't hold it, fuck it out of you, and suck it off your balls?"

A raw and broken sound spilled out of Anders, followed by a few seconds of incoherent pleading, before his eyes focused again. "I thought you said you didn't drink the tea..."

Cormac grinned. "Like I said. We'll improvise. Your aim's better than mine. You're a healer. You can summon water, can't you?"

"Little amounts -- what--?" Anders twisted, propping himself on an elbow to look at Cormac.

"I'll fill you with as much water as you put in me." Cormac's eyebrows wiggled over a smug smirk.

"You're a lunatic," Anders breathed, reverence breaking across his features. "You're also going to need to drink the tea after this, because I'm not really sure how much of that water is actually going to come out of you, if I try that. Summoning gets a little... Let's just say it gets lazy if I stop paying attention. I won't miss, but I might wring you dry."

"You expect to stop paying attention?" Cormac teased.

"I expect to forget my own name." Anders grinned back, finally.

Cormac flicked a hand and dropped a chunk of ice into the pitcher on the bedside table. "For later, when I need it." He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Anders, resting his cheek against Anders's back. "You want it like this, or do you want to move first?" he asked.

Anders untwisted himself, nervously kneading the sheets. "Just like this."

"Grease?" Cormac asked, pressing a kiss between Anders's hips, before he straightened up and settled his knob in the crack of Anders's well-muscled ass.

"I figured I'd wait until you stopped licking," Anders teased, taking a deep breath. "Done."

Cormac pressed in, slow and unceasing, and Anders opened easily for him. Yet another skill he knew better than to ask after. "Have I ever told you how much I like the way you feel, inside? Creators, if this is anything like what you get from me, it's no wonder you keep me around."

A breathy laugh slipped out of Anders, and he shoved back against Cormac. "You going to rhapsodise about my ass or are you going to do something useful?"

Cormac felt the touch of Anders's magic rushing through him, and then a sudden freezing weight between his hips. "Oh, shit, that's _cold_! I should give it to you just like this, for that! It's freezing! Anders! What the fuck!"

"I said my aim was good! I didn't promise anything else!" Anders pressed his face against the sheets, embarrassed and laughing.

"Andraste's tits aflame, I think that's the least sexy thing you've ever done to me..." Cormac shivered and curled forward over Anders's back, grinding in, deep and hard. "It's a good thing I drank the potion before we got started."

"You're the one who came up with the idea! Do I need to warm it up for you, next time?" Anders teased.

"Yes!?" Cormac squeaked, trying to find a rhythm he could hold, while full of cold water. After several long and distracted moments, his own magic came back to him, and he laid a warming hand on himself, before relaxing back into a more comfortable pace. Or as comfortable a pace as he could manage under the circumstances. This was not, all told, a condition in which he tended to be engaging in this sort of thing. He argued with himself, trying to convince his body he actually meant what he was demanding of it.

"This isn't working," he admitted finally. "I can't--" The sentence cut off in a strangled sound as Anders pressed sparking fingers against him.

"It'll work," Anders promised, sending another charge through Cormac.

"That feels," Cormac panted, "so good. Again. _More_."

"Come on, Cormac." Another spark. "Fill me up. Make me warm."

Another spark ripped a confused sound out of Cormac, and he shuddered, clinging to Anders, as the water rushed out of him. He panted and whimpered, hips rolling as the dizzying sensation rushed through him -- lust and relief, a powerful need for more. Under him, Anders howled with raw desire, hips canting up to meet him, to take him in, to accept what he gave and beg for more.

"Please, _please_!" Anders's voice was ragged, his entire body taut and tuned so every touch felt like a desire demon's fingers under his skin. His back bowed, fingers clutching at the sheets until his knuckles were white.

The white-hot coil of lust between Cormac's hips finally sprung, leaving him open-mouthed and dazed as he emptied a more usual fluid into Anders, as well. "Oh, fuck. Oh, _Anders_!"

A knock at the door cut into their passions. "Anders, honey? Awful loud. You all right?" Bethany called, from the other side of the door.

"Fine," Anders panted, and then louder so she could hear him. "Fine! Sorry! I'll--" He trailed off in a needy moan, and then tried again. "I'll stop!"

"No, no! It's delightful to finally hear you enjoying yourself! I'm just making sure you're not _dying_ or anything!" Bethany laughed, easily.

"If I die from this, I don't think I'll be too upset about it!" Anders called back, his entire face reddening. This was exactly why he was so quiet for so many years. Templars and other people's little sisters. He supposed he was grateful it was Bethany and not Carver. Another thought occurred to him. "Is Anton--?"

"No, he's out with the Orlesians, tonight. And I don't think Cullen's coming home, either. It's just me and Bodhan, and I don't think you could pay him enough to come upstairs." Anders could hear the smile in Bethany's voice. "If my brother breaks anything you can't fix by yourself, I'm just down the hall." She patted the door, soundly, and her footsteps retreated.

Cormac breathed a fart noise against the hands clapped over his mouth. "That was my sister."

"That was your sister," Anders agreed, back shaking with embarrassed laughter, as he pressed his face down into the bed.

"Are you okay?" Cormac asked, between mortified chuckles. "Do you want to stop?"

"Cormac, I'm so hard I think I'm _going_ to die from it. Don't you dare stop. I'll send your sister flowers in the morning. With an apology. And earplugs." Anders groaned and covered his face with one hand.

"Well, if we're going to keep going, you should know I meant it. I'll fill you up as many times as you give me the water to do it with. Just... _less cold_ , next time?"

"Not really a skill I've had much cause to practise, I'm afraid," Anders laughed again. "You want me to try again? You want to give me more?"

"Shit, yes," Cormac panted, one hand sliding down from Anders's hip to toy with Anders's throbbing knob.

Hours later, the bitter taste of orichalcum thick in Cormac's sweat, he drove himself into Anders again and again, revelling in both the gurgling liquid sounds and in the raw-throated pleas for more that Anders still managed, every few thrusts. His warm hand caressed Anders's swollen belly, with just enough pressure that the water dribbled out, running down the inside of Anders's thighs in a heated trickle. He'd have to clean the bed, before they could sleep in it, but the radiant joy emanating from Anders made it worthwhile.

"Again," Anders demanded, barely able to form words. "Just once more. Just one."

"Just one?" Cormac teased, thighs trembling with effort, stomach rolling from the second potion he likely shouldn't have had. "Not three or four more?"

"Fuck, Cormac, _please_!" Anders sobbed, so close to the edge, his body fucked out and exhausted, in a way he hadn't been in a very long time. Another few thrusts, a crackle of electricity along his shaft, and his knob pulsed painfully as the pleasure wracked his body. His shoulders shook as he wept into the already-damp sheets under his cheek, the relief more profound than anything he'd felt all night. The fact that Cormac had given him this, that Cormac was still here, still offering more -- there was something horribly wrong with both of them, he decided, but at least they were together.


	350. Chapter 350

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magic and an understanding of motion. Then, a serious conversation.

Cormac gave a few more slow, grinding thrusts, his hand rubbing warm circles against Anders's lower back. "You all right, sweet thing?"

Anders nodded. "Yeah, I--" His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open as he clenched hard around Cormac. "Can't stay like this," he panted, gritting his teeth. "Tell me you have more than one chamber pot in here."

"No, but I have magic." Cormac laughed. "I think we can fake it."

"You're out of your mind, and I don't want to get up," Anders muttered.

"Yes, but the sooner you get up, the sooner I can clean off the bed, so we can get back into it, clean and warm, and stay there until the crack of noon," Cormac reminded him. "No, Justice, we're staying in bed 'til noon, if there's no emergency. He needs it, and that means you do, too."

Anders laughed, and then the tears came again. Sniffling, he patted Cormac's leg. "I can't get up unless you do."

Cormac eased himself out, slowly and gently, watching the ripple of Anders's muscles as he moved. A sudden dismayed squawk from beneath him set off a flurry of spells, after which he sank onto the bed, beside Anders. "You're covered. Do what you need to. I'm just going to lie here and stare at the inside of my eyelids, for a little bit. Sorry about the timing. I did mean for you to get up, before I did that but..."

"What did you even...?" Anders squinted back over his shoulder.

"Barrier. I'll hit it with ice, when you're done, and then I'll figure out if I'm dragging that out to the sewer, or if I'm just going to lob it over the garden wall and then dispel the ice." Cormac chuckled.

"You wouldn't," Anders choked out, between his own spells.

"Please. It's the LeClair estate. You know I would," Cormac huffed, stretching his legs. "I want you to know I have never appreciated your stamina in quite the way I do, right now. If I ever move again, it will be the work of a god."

"Or, you could sleep, and I could heal you in the morning," Anders offered, one hand pressed to his no longer distended belly, as he forced the last of the fluid out of himself, with a spell designed for exactly that. Well, approximately that, anyway. It was a good one for food poisoning, really.

"You're so good to me," Cormac purred.

"I'd ice this myself, but I don't think I can aim at this angle." Anders admitted after a moment.

Cormac sat up and froze the contents of the barrier before releasing it, and Anders crawled out of the puddle of questionable fluids to sprawl across a drier part of the bed. "Magic," Cormac said again, heaving the frozen lump onto the window sill. "Magic and an understanding of motion."

"You're really going to--" Anders started, but Cormac had already let go, squinting after the ice ball.

A loud thump echoed up from outside. "Yes!" Cormac cheered. "Take that one to heart!" He turned back to the bed to find Anders icing the fluids up out of the mattress, and he grabbed the chamberpot to sweep the ice chips into.

After a few minutes of both of them working at it, the bed was dry and, as promised, warm. Cormac tucked the chamberpot under the edge of the bed and slid under the blankets to join Anders, who wrapped tightly around him, almost at once, shaking.

"Empty again," Anders complained.

"Fix that in the morning. Roast pheasant and cheese salad and barley noodles with fig paste and pickled dates..." Cormac purred at the thought of the feast. "I know what you like."

"Yeah, you do," Anders choked out, eyes tearing up again. "Why? Why do you do this for me?"

"You're my family, Anders. Why wouldn't I?" Cormac chuffed against Anders's neck. "I just also happen to like to bone you. As often as either of us can manage it. You're kind; you're gorgeous; you unapologetically believe in the right of all people to determine their own fate, regardless of any accidents of birth; you've got the libido of a stag in rut... What's not to like?"

"Well, when you put it like that..." Anders said with a watery smile. Even that he couldn't maintain, and he held Cormac as though he were a lifeline. He sucked in a deep breath, making sure his voice was steady. "Cormac, you've stood by me, when I gave you every reason to turn away. Just remember, whatever happens, I wanted you to know that."

"Whatever happens?" Cormac pulled back, twisting until he could see Anders's face. "What, are you expecting something to happen? Because if you are, I'm pretty sure it's going to happen to both of us, not just you. Unless this is the part where you turn into a bad romance novel, and tell me I'm too perfect, so now you have to leave. Which is shit, by the way, if you were thinking it. I hate those books. And didn't I just promise you'd never be alone again?"

"Oh please. I'm not the tree. And for someone who hates those kinds of books you seem to know an awful lot about them." This smile wouldn't stay, either, but this time it resolved into something less broken, more resigned. "It's just that... it's just you and me, you know. The mage underground is all but destroyed, and those left have turned to blood magic as their only option. There's no way the city will take our side now, and Meredith knows it. I'm out of hope, Cormac."

"First we take Kirkwall, then we take Thedas." Cormac grinned, tossing a leg over Anders's hip. "If Meredith were to meet with an accident, I think Cullen's the obvious choice of replacement. He _is_ the knight-captain. We put that kind of power in charge, and things change. It's not much going to matter what the people think of apostates, once the Circle is in better hands. Once people come to trust the Circle, again -- which they don't right now, because Meredith is terrifying, but they're afraid she's right -- then they'll start to come around to the idea that maybe it's not mages who can't be trusted, but assholes. And we'll have less mage assholes as there's less of a reason for them to be. There's hope, but maybe only if we shove hard. Just once."

And that was a decent thought, Cullen as Knight-Commander, but Anders shook his head against the pillow. "Meredith needs to go," he agreed, "but she is as much a symptom as a cause for what is wrong with the Order. She's already had Cullen investigated, imprisoned even. Even if she found nothing, the whole incident still affected his reputation. What if something happens and Elthina appoints someone other than Cullen? Would we really be any better off?"

"So, maybe we shove a little harder," Cormac ground his hips against Anders's thigh, "we can clear out the upper ranks entirely." He wasn't sure how he felt about assassinating the Grand Cleric, as annoying as she was -- as honestly threatening as she was. He just... didn't think killing religious figures was generally wise, regardless of their gods, just in case those gods decided to start paying attention. On the other hand, by the Chant itself, she'd strayed from the Maker's path, and she wasn't actually doing the job she'd been given, so whatever she called herself, perhaps she wasn't shielded by her god, but only by her faith. It didn't sit right with him, but other options sat worse.

Anders pulled back far enough to look at Cormac. "Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?" he asked, expression guardedly neutral. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't thought about it, if _Justice_ hadn't thought about it, but thinking and admitting were two separate things.

"What, that I stay right here and rut against your thigh until I'm raw and the last potion wears off?" Cormac smirked and rolled his hips again. "Oh, you meant about Elthina. I don't like it, but I'm not sure there's another way out of this. I mean, the Divine's half likely to bring down a march, anyway. Meredith's pushing to Annul, and at some point, that's finally going to go through, no matter what Orsino has to say about it. Maybe it's not the best, but we're running out of time, and we know an Antivan Crow. ... former Crow."

"You... want Zevran to assassinate the Grand Cleric," Anders said. It felt dangerous just to say it aloud, but he had to, to make sure he'd heard that right, to make sure his ears and brain weren't playing tricks on him this time. He looked over his shoulder, just to reassure himself they were alone.

He considered that, for a moment. Meredith, Elthina, their underlings all out of the way. Brutal, but it would free up the right people. And yet...

"She's a symbol," Anders said. "Or she would become one if assassinated. Symbols are useful, but her death might be useful to the wrong people."

"So, it has to look like an accident. Almost makes me wish we'd let the Qunari have her." Cormac nuzzled under Anders's chin again, speaking quietly. "But, we've lost everyone else, you say. If they decide to come for us, now, nothing's going to protect us, but us. I can't imagine Meredith's going to continue to allow mages in her city that aren't under her direct control. I think she's going to pick that fight with the First Warden, and I think we might not survive it, so we'd better get our hits in quick. If she gets an Annulment, every mage in Kirkwall dies. I don't expect there will be a tower here, again -- just an outpost of the Order. She's pushing for a return to the pre-Chantry mage-hunting days, and as soon as the Divine realises what's happened, there's going to be an Exalted March, to wipe out everything in Kirkwall, but it'll be too late, by then, for you and me and every other mage here. I don't think we have a choice, any more."

"We don't," Anders agreed, and in the back of his mind, Justice echoed his agreement. "Even if we save Kirkwall, what of the other mages? The other Circles? I can't pretend there wouldn't be consequences." There was no way this wouldn't end in a war, even -- especially -- if they succeeded. There was too much anger there, under the surface, anger Anders knew too well. But, perhaps, a war was exactly what Thedas needed. Like rebreaking a bone so it could heal properly.

Anders pulled Cormac close again, buried his face in Cormac's sweaty hair. "He'll still be here, you know -- Justice -- long after you and I are gone. Sacrifice doesn't mean the same thing to a spirit. He'll just go back to the Fade."

"He doesn't seem to mean to let you die, you know. The two of you are going to outlive me by a very large margin. Centuries from now, you'll still be there. Still righteous and beautiful and good. And if you're really lucky, maybe he'll have learnt to let you sleep, by then." Cormac laughed, one hand kneading the tense muscles in Anders's back. "You're amazing, and I will never regret a moment I spent with you. Even those times you pushed me out of bed."

"There is something seriously wrong with you, you know that?" Anders said, knowing Cormac would hear the smile in his voice. Idly, he traced the lines of Cormac's back. "But you've been a better friend than I ever thought to have." The words came out choked, half muffled by Cormac's hair. Despite everything that had gone wrong in his life, Anders must have done something right to end up in this man's life and his bed.

"Pretty thing, if it's taken you this long to notice there's something seriously wrong with me, maybe you're a little less intuitive than I give you credit for. I thought maybe the part where I beg you to cut me until I come would have been a sign, there," Cormac teased. "But, somehow, you're still here in my bed. My very own bed contains a gorgeous revolutionary. How did I get so lucky?"

"Because your bed is more comfortable than mine," Anders teased, stretching his legs as far as they would go, toes curling. He wriggled down the pillow far enough to press a kiss to Cormac's lips. "Thank you, Cormac. For being every bit as insane as you are."


	351. Chapter 351

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merrill comes to terms with the changes in her life. Carver and Theron help.

Carver opened the door to the sound of sobbing, and without thinking, he set the basket he carried on the edge of the nearest shelf and drew his sword, as he edged into the room. He found Merrill alone, crying in front of her magic mirror.

"She's gone... she's really gone..." But, she wasn't speaking to him. Hadn't even noticed he'd come in, yet, and he rested his sword against the wall in exactly the way he knew he shouldn't, before he crossed the room, to her side.

"Merrill?" Carver wanted to get her attention before he touched her.

Her sobs cut off mid-breath, and she straightened, rubbing her nose on the edge of her sleeve and composing herself before she could face him. "Carver," she said, turning her tear-stained face his way. "How did all of this happen?"

"Hey." Carver wiped away the tears falling down her cheeks and pulled her into his arms. This he could do, physical contact to let her know he was there. The rest was not so easy. "It's not your fault, you know. She should have listened to you in the first place. It was all one big misunderstanding, really. A really giant, fucked-up misunderstanding."

Consoling. He never really was good at consoling. The intentions were there, but the words were not.

"Why didn't any of them listen to me?" Merrill cried against Carver's chest. "All this time I thought... I could help them. Save them. But, they won't let me, will they?" Her voice changed, bitter and biting. "They'll destroy themselves to escape my help."

"You can't help people without their consent. You can't help them, if they don't want to be helped." Carver rubbed her back, gently. "I'm sorry, Merrill."

Merrill tucked her face against Carver's shoulder, watching the rise and fall of his chest, for a few moments. "No, I suppose I can't. All the time I've wasted... Maybe... maybe it's time I stopped living for them. My people will kill me, if I go back."

"Time to get some new people, don't you think?" The words were warm with humour, and they reverberated through Carver's chest. "Good thing you've already got some waiting."

"Your family are wonderful people, Carver, but... I don't know that they're my people," Merrill pointed out.

"Our people are on the other side of that door. Think of all the people we helped who wanted our help, all these years. What do you think they think of you? The whole Alienage adores you, Merrill. And they think I'm pretty fun, too, but you're the one with the pointy ears. They like you better." Carver stroked Merrill's cheek and squeezed her chin.

"Do you--?" Merrill started, but a knock on the door interrupted. "I don't want to see anyone, yet," she said, and Carver nodded.

"Let me go tell whoever it is that you're not feeling well, and you'll see them when you're a little better." With a quick kiss, Carver made for the door, opening it on an elf rummaging in a basket.

"And how's my favourite girl?" Theron asked, before looking up and seeing Carver in the doorway. "Well, that's... not you, I suppose."

"Is that Theron?" Merrill called from inside. "Oh, let him in, Carver!"

Carver stepped aside, squinting suspiciously as Theron brought in what appeared to be a basket of Dalish food. "I'm still pissed about that 'Ser Shemlen' thing, you know."

"You'll get over it. It was memorable, that's what matters. People are _arguing_ about Merrill, for the first time in years. The demon's gone and we've stopped losing hunters to the wood. We have more children than the clan's seen since we left Ferelden. Things are going to be all right." Theron turned to look at Merrill, really seeing her for the first time. "Oh, what? Crying? The Hero of Sundermount is crying? Have your shem and I got to go put someone to the sword?"

"Keep your sword in your pants, elf," Carver grumbled.

“Don’t worry, Carver,” Theron replied with a wink. “There’s only one Hawke I’d unsheathe my sword around and you are not him.”

Carver made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. He was going to punch Cormac for this later.

"Hero of Sundermount?" Merrill huffed through a teary smile. She wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand, but they still glimmered. "Failure of Sundermount, more like."

"Failure?" Theron said,pressing a hand to his chest. "How do you say that? You faced down a demon, and a powerful one at that. Destroyed it at great pain to yourself. All to make sure we didn't lose sight of our past. I never should have doubted you, Merrill, and I am sorry that I ever did." Theron set the basket down on her table, reaching in and offering her a jar. "Pickled almonds?"

"Gross," Carver mumbled.

"Did you come all the way down here to bring me pickled almonds?" Merrill asked, sniffling a bit between words.

"Not entirely," Theron admitted, unpacking the basket onto the table. "I mean, there's some yoghurt, here, and I think those are the stuffed pancakes you like -- the chestnut ones, and --"

"Theron!" Merrill laughed weakly. "Did you really come all the way down here to bring me food?"

"Sort of..." Theron grinned and sat on the edge of the table, handing Merrill a sesame-honey cake, as he took another for himself. "There are still people who miss you, up there, and others who want to apologise. It's..." Theron shrugged. "It's too tense to bring you back, right now, because if you came back, it would have to be as the Keeper. So, I came down to bring you their apologies and best wishes. Their very tasty best wishes, I might add."

Merrill's answering laugh was little more than a huff of air as she turned the cake over in her hands. Best wishes. Did other members of her clan really think that or was Theron saying all that just to make her feel better? “I guess the clan doesn’t have a Keeper any more, does it?” There were no other mages that she knew of, certainly none of the proper age and training... “Who is leading them?”

Theron paused, mid-chew, answering with a half-shrug as he swallowed. "Paivel, mostly," he said. "I help where I can. We're making it work."

Merrill considered that, nibbling on her cake to give her hands something to do. It took a moment to process, her clan led by a non-mage. Her clan led by anyone other than Marethari. "Paivel is wise," she said, nodding. "The clan will be in good hands with him. And with you, I suppose, as long as Kalli keeps an eye on you."

"See, but then it wouldn't really be in my hands, would it? It would be in her hands. It should be in your hands, and it would have been if anyone else had been there to see what happened..." Theron shook his head. "Though I wish I could return to a point where I knew less of demons. Do they teach you about that stuff in the templars, Ser Shemlen?"

Carver glared, from where he was helping himself to a little cake of unknown contents. "Knock it off, point-ears. I have a name," he growled, deliberately not using Theron's. "And no, they don't teach us about that stuff. They think they do, but they don't. Maybe if they did, Cullen would sleep at night."

"So, your templars have actually faced demons! It's not just encouraging propaganda!" Theron grinned and Carver elbowed him off the edge of the table.

"Cullen's the only survivor I know," Carver pointed out. "Everyone else I've heard of facing a demon _that strong_ died. Well, except my siblings, but they're not templars. They teach us all these things about demons and blood mages, and almost none of it's true. People get complacent, thinking that these hungry runaways, most of whom have never touched blood magic or demons, are the worst of the worst. And then the real thing shows up, and nobody knows what to do with it."

"How'd you do it?" Theron asked, knowing damn well he'd been there for it.

"You know what else I've fought? Darkspawn." Carver laughed, bitterly, and stuffed a cake in his mouth, holding up a finger, as he tried to figure out what he was eating. It was better than most of the elf-food Cormac liked, but then, so was almost everything Merrill cooked. He had started to suspect Cormac just had horrible taste in food, and it was nothing to do with the Dalish. "Don't panic, and keep hitting it with things until something sticks."

Theron hummed around a bite of cake, ears perking. "A sound tactic, useful for many occasions."

"Why? Is that how you cook?" Carver snarked as he picked at the cake in his hand. "That would explain so much."

Theron clicked his tongue and pursed his lips in distaste. "Rude, Ser Shemlen. You are unworthy of my delicious and bounteous foodstuffs." He shifted the basket further away from Carver and eyed the cake in his hand as though he meant to steal it back.

Carver held his stare and took a large bite just to nettle him.

"Ignore him, Theron," Merrill sighed. "I love your cooking."

Theron looked appeased. "Anyway. Merrill... I am trying to make the clan see reason, and some of them are."

The 'but' went unspoken, but it hung between them nonetheless.

"I don't know if I could ever earn their trust again, Theron," Merrill said. "Marethari.. or the demon within Marethari... She turned the clan so completely against me. I don't know if I can undo all the damage she has wrought." She shook her head when Theron started to protest. "And I'm not sure I want to try, Theron."

"What will you do with your free time, then? You might have to find a hobby!" Theron teased, eyes uncertain. He spread his hands, half a cake still in one. "Merrill of the Dales, Hero of Sundermount, Hunter of Demons. You could make a name for yourself, you know."

"You just want a hero to make a famous story about." Merrill plucked the cake from Theron's hand and nibbled at it. "I thought maybe I'd teach the people, here. The clan aren't the only elves in the Marches. These people aren't stupid, and they didn't turn away from what we once knew. They've never known it. They know only what the Chantry teaches, because we don't talk to them. The stories are lost to them -- the gods are barely names taken in vain."

"How do they not know? Weren't we all the same people?" Theron looked horrified, as he remembered the things he'd seen in the cities of Ferelden, on his quest for another shemlen to give him earthquakes. He'd always thought they were stubborn fools, but he never imagined how deep their ignorance went. Even Kalli, he'd just assumed was poorly educated, rather than a sign of a more general ignorance.

"How much do we not know?" Merrill asked, rhetorically. "We were all of Arlathan, once, but I can't make this eluvian work. They've just lived so long in the cities, they've forgotten everything else -- generations without any of it. We came out of Tevinter with almost nothing, and some had less than others."

"Speaking of the eluvian..." Theron shrugged inquisitively.

"It still doesn't work. Or maybe it does, but there's no one on the other side. I don't know what to try." Merrill looked over her shoulder. "I thought I might travel. Anders says there are books -- Tevinter books -- that talk about eluvians, at Kinloch Hold. Assuming they still exist, I thought I might try to go and read them."

"Please don't." Carver looked horrified. "They'll -- I don't know, but if you walk into that tower, I don't think you'll walk back out, even if I'm with you."

There was no question that Carver would be with her, no hesitation, and Merrill squeezed his arm, green eyes expressing the depth of her gratitude. "I'm sure we could think of something. And there are other ruins, other hidden places where our ancestors once lived. There is so much left to explore and recover. Perhaps... perhaps there might be another eluvian out there, somewhere." She spoke with more hope than she felt, but Carver looked less concerned.

Theron tilted his head, eyeing Merrill speculatively. "The clan wouldn't be the same without you around. No, I know you haven't been with us for a while, but. Even then, you were always just down the mountain. You were never really _gone_. Do you know what I mean?"

"I do," Merrill said with a soft smile. Gone was what Marethari was, what Merrill's old life was. "But I need to find my way outside of the clan. You know that."

"I suppose," Theron sighed. "I'll just have to find new ways to traumatise Ser Shemlen with my illustrious cooking."

"That's not how you pronounce 'disastrous'," Carver muttered.


	352. PART LXIII: SAUSAGE PARTY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anton throws a sausage party, truly the event of the season, whatever Cullen might think of it.

Anton was already flitting between tables, checking the signs, adjusting the number of glasses stacked behind each assortment of drinks, when Cullen got home, still dressed in plate. Cullen took in the endless trays of sausages and sausage toppings, before wondering if maybe he shouldn't have stayed late at the office. But, Anton was holding another grand celebration, and it simply wouldn't do for Cullen not to at least make an appearance. Perhaps a few drinks would settle him -- he did usually enjoy these things, except for the endless supply of Orlesian women eyeing him like meat. The theme, tonight, would not help with that.

"There you are, Captain!" Anton purred, turning away from the table to reveal the rest of his outfit -- which wasn't that unusual for him, aside from the much larger than usual codpiece -- all sleek black and deep reds, colours all the Amells looked good in. "I was starting to worry you might not make it!"

It was still early enough that the thought would have been ridiculous, if Cullen wasn't well aware of the hour-long argument he was about to have with Anton about his own codpiece. He generally trusted Anton with his wardrobe, and Anton was very rarely wrong, but the theme parties... Anton had a way of dressing Cullen to match him, and Anton wanted to be seen, adored, admired, and objectified. He'd been getting better at more subtle things, for Cullen, but this time, the point of contention would be the codpiece, and Cullen could feel it, just looking at what Anton had on.

"Of course I made it," Cullen said, guardedly cheerful as he tried to think of a way he could convince Anton to let him stay in his armour. His armour, which had skirts that left everything to the imagination, whether Meredith would approve of him representing the Order like this or not. "Like I would miss a second of this... affair. This glorious affair."

He tried not to stare too much at Anton's codpiece, but as his husband, he supposed he was allowed to stare a little. Trying not to look wary was another matter, and something Cullen failed at spectacularly, judging by the look on his husband's face.

"You look worried," Anton pointed out, adjusting plates almost as meticulously as his brother would have. "No need to be worried, Captain. I know my sausages, and I have, of course, only chosen the best." He offered Cullen an exaggerated wink that was the opposite of reassuring.

"The best of sausages, perhaps, but the best for those sausages? That remains to be seen." Cullen choked out a laugh and rubbed his thumb and forefinger along the tops of his cheeks.

"Upstairs with you, o ye of little faith! I know what you like!" Anton looked melodramatically offended as he leapt toward Cullen, shooing him up the stairs with a few well-placed swats that clanked against the templar plate.

Once in their room, Cullen eyed the outfit on the bed, suspiciously. It seemed almost reasonable, with subtle templar-themed embroidery on the shirt and largely unexciting trousers. He began to unbuckle his armour as Anton brought out the last piece. The codpiece.

Anton waited until his husband was stripped nearly bare, before presenting the thing, if only to keep him from walking out of the room, the instant he saw it. It wasn't nearly the masterpiece of cod-artistry that he was wearing, but the ruffled front both drew attention and concealed everything of note -- a means of showing off but showing nothing. And really, given what he was wearing, it would likely pass almost unnoticed, among the guests.

Cullen eyed the thing suspiciously, comparing it with Anton's considerably more ostentatious model. This was almost... well, he wouldn't say 'tasteful'. 'Tasteful' and 'codpiece' were not words that went together. "Hmm."

"Hmm 'good' or hmm 'bad'?" Anton prompted, waving the codpiece back and forth.

"Hmm 'that's still ridiculous but not as bad as I was expecting'," Cullen replied. When he took the codpiece from his husband, Anton considered it a victory, his grin nearly blinding.

"Ridiculous? Please. You know you're just there to make me look good."

Teasing tone aside, Cullen knew that that was more or less true, and he was fine with it. He shooed Anton out of the room. "Go on and see to your party. I'll be down to make you look good in a few minutes."

"So, I don't get a taste of your sausage, before the party starts?" Anton smiled slyly, running his hands over as much of Cullen as he could manage, before he got slapped away.

"You can lick the horseradish sauce off my sausage later, Anton. Right now, you are about to have guests, and I know you don't want to leave the Antivans alone with the wine, or Isabela with the silverware." Cullen took some pity, as Anton continued to make sad eyes at him, and pulled his husband in for a warm, slow kiss. "Thank you for not picking something outrageous, this time."

"I said I know what you like, and I wasn't kidding. More to the point, I wasn't wrong." Anton winked, groping Cullen just a bit more, before he headed downstairs again, a smug smile firmly in place.

"I didn't say I _liked_ it," Cullen muttered, as the door swung shut.

By the time Cullen mustered the courage to come back downstairs, wearing a codpiece that was, as far as he was concerned, worse than an arrow pointing to his knob, Anton already had his hands full with a few Orlesians. And with Izzy, who was wearing more pants than he'd ever seen her in, and more _in_ her pants than he ever thought to see.

"Good evening, Isabela," Cullen said, trying not to stare.

"Hello, Captain," she greeted him, grinning with none of the embarrassment that plagued him. "Aren't we looking splendid? And I do mean 'we'. You look marvellous, of course, but I am rather delighted with this particular outfit. Fran's versatility always amazes me."

"Versatility," Cullen agreed, still determinedly not staring, despite how openly Isabela was staring at _his_ crotch. Although, to be fair, Izzy was usually staring at his crotch. "Yes."

A whoop of laughter announced the arrival of Cormac and Anders, the two of them cackling and shoving at each other, as they staggered into the ballroom. Anders was rather tastefully dressed in Warden colours, aside from the steel griffon jutting from his crotch, and Cormac wore a deep red, with black accents, and a golden codpiece with what looked like a barrier rune on it, in brilliant red. Perhaps Anton had been right, Cullen thought. He would hardly show up at all, with these absurd and obscene displays around him.

"Cullen!" Anders called out, waving, as he headed over. "Let me see what Anton's gotten you into this time. Is it terrible?"

"You take that back!" Anton insisted, from where he was trying to keep the wine all facing the same way until Artemis arrived and had a few glasses. "My taste in knob-wear is amazing."

"It's... ah..." Cullen felt his cheeks redden as Anders, of all people, studied his crotch. "It's really not that bad."

"No, it's really not. Looks a bit like you've got a cravat in your fly, but it's surprisingly tasteful, for Anton." Anders looked amused, but lowered his voice. "He picked good colours for you. Look around -- you'll blend right in with the tablecloths."

"What--?" Cullen knew exactly what he meant, but hadn't realised Anders had a clue about that.

"I'm observant," Anders pointed out. "And you might have said a few things that suggest I'm right. You'll look like part of the furniture, unless you introduce yourself. You'll be fine."

And Cullen relaxed at that assurance. As Knight-Captain, he knew how to command attention when he needed to, but he didn't need his crotch to be demanding that attention for him. "Ah. Of course. Thank you. Have you tried the..." He cast around, looking at the assorted plates. "...chorizo? It's from the..." He tilted his head to read the label in front of the plate. "Er. The Anderfels." He flushed and proceeded to shove a piece of chorizo into his mouth to shut himself up.

Anders gave him a dry look. "Not recently," he said. "How's it compare to the Fereldan horseradish?"

Healing sprang to Anders's fingertips when Cullen started to choke. He patted Cullen's back.

"Sorry," he said. "I hear that's a common problem with Anders... chorizo."

"Not helping," Cullen wheezed, massaging his throat.

"Is someone already choking on sausage?" Isabela asked Anton, nudging him with her elbow. "I knew this would be my kind of party!" She grinned around a piece of sausage of her own.

"The Knight-Captain is choking on sausage, in the presence of a mage. Now, there's a Gazette headline waiting to happen," Varric chimed in, relieving Isabela of her drink.

"Headline?" Isabela asked, raising an eyebrow. "I think that's waiting for Page Six."

"After what you wrote about my brothers, I'm not sure I want you writing about my husband, Izzy," Anton warned, helping himself to a slice of wine-cured Antivan sausage, skewered with cheese and an olive.

"What she wrote about your brothers?" Varric inquired, looking all too entertained at the idea. "What was it?"

"Do you remember that dreadful, incestuous Page Six? Well, Sebastian made an excellent argument that it was intended to be about two of my brothers," Anton explained. "A bit more literate than I tend to expect from Izzy, but very much her sort of theme all the same."

Varric nearly choked on his wine, realising that Anton was talking about the story _he'd_ written about the elder Hawkes. "Your brothers? You don't say? I suppose there was that game of spin the bottle... That's really nudging the bounds of politesse, Rivaini." He glanced at Isabela, waiting for her to call him on it.

"What can I say?" Isabela said with a sharp smile. "Some stories are begging to be written."

"And then burned," Anton drawled, pressing a slice of kielbasa to her lips to get him more quiet. "And then never mentioned again."

"Like that masterpiece on Meredith and Orsino?" Varric suggested. "I believe Meredith had a similar opinion on that one."

Izzy hummed around the bite she was chewing on, perking up. She covered her still full mouth with one hand and asked, "Did you invite the Knight-Commander? I would love to see her in codpiece. There's a joke in there about Swords of Mercy that I am desperate to make."

"I would rather my husband didn't die of shock," Anton said, "but chances are the chorizo will kill him first anyway."

"Is that a yes?"

"An invitation might have been sent. Whether she did anything other than burn or shred it seems regrettably unlikely."


	353. Chapter 353

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More fun with sausage jokes. Varania brings a date. Fenris is less than thrilled with any of these turns of events.

Cullen had finally regained his breath, if not his dignity, when a third Hawke made his appearance, sidling up behind Cormac and resting a chin on Cormac's shoulder.

"A barrier rune, hmm?" Artie asked, eyes crinkled in amusement. "Not to keep griffons out, I assume?"

"Just to deter wandering Orlesian fingers. You know the de Launcet girls are still interested in the piece in my cod, and the fortune and high living they assume goes along with it." Cormac tipped his head, rubbing his cheek against his brother's face. "But, no, definitely not to keep out griffons." He eyed the way Anders kept getting Cullen to blush and sputter, every few jokes. They seemed to be much easier with each other than he'd ever imagined, but that was probably for the best, if Cullen was going to end up in charge.

"And what about you, hmm? What outrageous design are you expecting me to decipher with my glorious ass, rather than showing me? And what are people going to think with you trying to get your own brother to recognise your codpiece by touch alone!"

Anders glanced at the Hawkes behind him and then grinned at Cullen. "Brothers, right?" He shrugged. "I had a brother, too. No idea what ever came of him. Older, of course. Gone before... Well, he moved to Ansburg, and there was my mum with no sons to help with the harvest. But, they're just like that, aren't they? You'd never believe the things he used to try to convince me of."

"Did he used to throw sausage parties too?" Cullen asked with a droll look. "I'm so glad my brother never did. And..." Artie finally stepped out from behind Cormac, and Cullen's stare dropped to his crotch. "...speaking of brothers. What is my brother-in-law wearing?"

Anders turned to look and guffawed. "Fran's work?" Artie nodded, grinning. "That is some marvellous craftsmanship, if a bit blunt."

"I thought so!" Artemis gestured at his piece, which formed a pair of cupped hands holding his velvet-clad crotch. "Fenris seemed to find it funny. Fenris... where did he wander off to?"

Artie looked about, rising to his tip-toes to look for his husband. The white hair and tattoos made him simple enough to find, balancing a pair of drinks and trying to extricate himself from Izzy. Spotting Artemis, Fenris ducked under her arm and came over, pressing one of the glasses into his hand. Cider, by the looks of it.

Fenris looked up at Cormac and then down at Cormac and snorted.

"All black?" Cormac asked, squinting down at Fenris's leather accoutrements. "A pity. I thought you might go for something a bit more exciting."

"Perhaps it's simply to keep you from looking too long," Fenris retorted, wrapping his free arm around Artemis.

"Then you don't know me very well, do you?" Cormac grinned. "I'll be here all night, trying to figure out what the trick is. Does it turn lyrium blue, if it gets warm? Will it open into red-lined slits, if you squat?"

"Then I suppose you'll be staring at my crotch all night." Fenris smirked at Cormac, across the top of his glass. "Don't let the Orlesians catch you. Even Anton might not be able to save you from those rumours."

"Worse than the rumours I've been stroking off my little brother in Lowtown alleys? I doubt that," Cormac shot back, reaching behind Anders to help himself to the chorizo, and to nick the sign from the table. "I'm sure the family's survived worse than the oldest son staring at some elven nobleman's crotch all night." He stuck the chunk of sausage in his mouth and adjusted the clip on the sign, before attaching it to Anders's belt. "Besides, you know my true lust is for the fine, thick sausage of the Anderfels."

Fenris squinted at the sign now dangling over Anders's crotch. "Is that what we're calling it now? Ch... hm." That wasn't a word he remembered reading anywhere before.

"Chorizo," Artemis supplied, and that made sense, he supposed. For a certain value of sense. "Chorizo of the Anderfels. Cormac does like them spicy." He waggled his eyebrows at his brother. "And please do keep staring at Fenris's crotch. It's worth it, I promise."

Fenris quirked an eyebrow at his husband. "I'd much rather you were the Hawke staring at it. Then I would make sure it would be worth it."

"Oh, I'm always staring at it. Even if it seems like I'm looking at something else, I am devotedly focused on your crotch in my peripheral vision."

"How sweet."

Artie grinned and offered Fenris a sausage, waggling it in front of his face. Fenris caught it in his teeth with a teasing growl.

"You two are gross," Carver muttered, and only then did Artemis realise he was there, strategically standing behind the table.

"And I would like to thank my youngest brother for keeping his crotch out of my line of sight, this evening. Excellent use of a table, Carver," Cormac congratulated him, snatching up another bit of sausage and dipping it in one of the cups of sauce. Fig sauce, apparently, he realised as the flavour settled into his mouth. "Pretty sure I've found the best sausage at this party, already."

"And it's not the one you just put in your mouth," Anders joked, with a sly smile.

Cullen choked, again, and Carver reached across the table to slap him on the back a few times.

"Still trying to lower the number of templars in the world?" Carver asked Anders, snidely, helping himself to the conspicuously unlabelled sausage on the table between them.

"I had no idea you found Ander sausage so appealing." Cormac smiled over the table at Carver, who looked entirely disgusted and surreptitiously spit into his hand, before making his way toward the nearest potted plant.

" _All_ of you are gross," Carver muttered.

"No, no. _That's_ gross," Artemis protested, nose crinkling as he pointed at Carver's hand.

"And isn't it rude to spit?" Fenris asked innocently.

Cullen wheezed again. This time Anton appeared at his side, patting his back. "Could you all please stop trying to kill my husband with sausage? That's my job!"

"I hate this family," Carver muttered, scowling until he spotted Merrill across the room. With Theron. "And for the record, I also hate sausages." He caught the smirk Anders was determinedly not making. "Literal sausages. The food. Also the metaphorical sausages -- oh shut up."

With a huff, Carver skirted the table and made for his girlfriend, still determinedly keeping the table between himself and his siblings.

"Scarring templars," Artie said to Cormac. "That is tonight's theme, apparently. Well. Tonight's other theme." He poked at one sausage plate, reorganising the sausage so that they filled the plate in a more symmetrical way.

"Artie?" Cormac took his brother's hands in his own. "Stop fondling the food. People who aren't related to you mean to eat that, and I think they might object."

"My hands are clean!" Artie whined, still aware of the lack of symmetry out of the corner of his eye. "Or do you mind me handling your sausage?"

"I'd trust you only to put clean, delicious, and symmetrical sausage in my mouth, because you are my sweetest and most delightful brother. I'm not sure if that says more about you or more about Carver and Anton." Cormac squinted over his shoulder at where Anton still stood, attempting to adjust Cullen's codpiece.

"I am your most delightful brother," Anton argued. "I am quiet and cunning, and I bring home ridiculous amounts of money."

"You're not as quiet as you think you are," Cormac pointed out, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

Cullen blushed furiously at the very idea.

"I thought maybe you should see what it was like." Anton smirked, then tucked a bit of sausage into his mouth.

"Carver's right," Artie sighed. "You _are_ gross."

Fenris agreed, watching with disgusted fascination as Anders tried to shove as much sausage into his mouth as he could fit.

More guests arrived over the next few hours, filling the hall with all kinds of codpiece concoctions and sampling the sausages (in an unsymmetrical way, to Artie's distress). A crowd had gathered around Jethann to ooh and aah, gawking at what he _was_ wearing, for a change of pace.

Theron stared pensively down at his own crotch. "I still think mine's better," he said. "What do you think?"

Natia took a step to consider Theron's codpiece from a different angle, squinting at it over her drink. "I don't know. The colours are nice, but the detail of his..."

"Mine has detail!" Theron protested. "It's a very detailed dragon head!"

Natia hummed. "Let me get a better look at his, and I'll report back to you."

Bethany swept across the room, her flowing silver shirt tucked into slim, ice-blue leggings, with what seemed to be some sort of jewelled animal skull at the front. She smiled and held her hands out to Varania. "You brought a date! Who is this handsome man, and does your brother know, or am I going to have to keep him distracted?"

Varania chuckled. "This is Paivel," she said, gesturing to the man to her side, "from the Sabrae clan of Sundermount."

"Oh! You're one of Theron's people!" Bethany's smile widened as she shook the thoroughly overwhelmed elf's hand. "My brother is terribly fond of Theron."

"I'm actually his teacher," Paivel noted, eyes caught on Bethany's codpiece. "Is that... a wolf?"

"It is! Merrill suggested it, actually. An empty codpiece, a trickster's mask, and my own studies in Nevarran funerary tradition..." Bethany shrugged. "But, how have you been?" she asked Varania. "We never have the time to talk, at Fran's. Are the children well? Are you enjoying Kirkwall?"

Varania smiled shyly, hooking an arm through Paivel's. "Kirkwall is... an interesting place," she answered neutrally. "I can't say I'm used to the food here yet. Or the cold. But it is nice to have a job, a community for the children to grow up in." Here, she found herself less afraid that her children would be taken from her and sold into slavery, and that alone was worth the change of address. "And Paivel tells the most marvellous stories." She looked at him like the moon shone out of his ass. Or his codpiece.

Theron saw the couple, and his ear twitched. He took the glass out of Artie's hand and took a long gulp. It was only after he'd almost drained the glass that he paused to consider the taste. He held the drink in front of him and sniffed. "What is this?"

Clearing his throat, Artemis took his glass back. "Cider. The not alcoholic kind. Sorry."

"Blasphemy."

Fenris offered Theron his drink instead, before finally turning to see what Theron had been staring at. "Is that...? Who is she with?" His brands lit for the barest moment.

"Ooh!" Theron said, distracted by the glow and by Fenris's codpiece.

"That's quite a sword," Merrill remarked, having also seen the flicker of Fenris's codpiece. "Though, the pommel looks a bit big. That seems like it might interfere with proper swording."

"The pommel of my sword is just the right size," Fenris purred, slyly, eyes still on his sister and that other elf.

"Oh, didn't you know? That's Hahren Paivel -- my teacher. He's the head of the clan, now that Marethari's gone. A brilliant storyteller and historian, really," Theron gushed, helping himself to the rest of the Nevarran sucuk Merrill had just taken a bite of.

"If you keep going on like that, I'll think you're dating him, not my sister." Fenris eyed Theron. "Your teacher? For how long? Wouldn't that make him a bit old for her?"

"Since forever, really. Paivel's the best. And it doesn't matter how old he is, really, he'd be a bit old for her if he was seventeen, from what the rest of the clan says. He's just always been old." Theron paused. "Do you even know how old your sister is?"

"No, but it doesn't matter, does it? He's old enough to be our father." And that was something Fenris didn't need to have thought of -- except that the idea of having a father who was an elf did appeal, to some greater degree, if only because that wouldn't be the father he had.

"Do you really care about that, darling?" Serendipity asked, leaning over Fenris's shoulder, holding her wine a bit out not to spill it on him. "Or is it just that there's some man sniffing about your sister? She is _very_ pretty. I'd be more worried if he was human, no slight meant to your adorable husband or his brothers."

"Why _more_ worried?" Fenris asked, squinting at Serendipity. "In my experience, elves are just as capable of being asses as any human is, particularly when they're around asses they find attractive." Which... no. He did not want to be talking about his sister's ass, no matter how obliquely. He'd blame the drink.

"My wife will tell you that I am an ass all of the time, whether I'm around attractive asses or not," Theron cheerfully replied. "But then, if I'm around her, I'm around an attractive ass, so how would she know?"

Fenris sighed, wishing he had something stronger. When he finished rubbing his eyes, he opened them to see Theron staring appreciatively at Serendipity's crotch, which was festooned with folds of fabric the shape of a flower. A familiar pink -- and suggestive -- flower. "A... blooming rose?" Fenris drawled, raising one eyebrow.

"Oh!" Theron exclaimed with a relieved laugh. "That is... not what I thought that -- Erm. That's a lovely flower."


	354. Chapter 354

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paivel annoys Sebastian. Certain parties sneak off to better enjoy the sausage privately.

At least it seemed that Bethany was keeping an eye on Varania, and Fenris found himself grateful. It wasn't that he thought his sister incompetent, but perhaps that she might be too relaxed, having come away from so much trouble, too trusting in a city that had been comparatively good to her. But, Bethany was wise and cunning and dangerous, and Fenris believed her an excellent influence -- she certainly had been, for him.

Beside her, Sebastian wore his royal armour, all white with the face of Andraste in an indiscreet location, and not for the first time, Fenris wondered about that. A man who'd likely never had anyone else's face in his crotch, with the face of the Maker's supposed prophet slung across his junk. There was a crude humour in it, he supposed. Just his kind of jest.

"That is absurd!" Sebastian insisted, interrupting Paivel for the sixth time in the middle of the same story, while Bethany and Varania amused themselves with wine, sausage, and talk of strange magics. "The Maker is the father of all creation. Why would another, lesser god need to make the stars? The stars have always been the light of His glory, even in the darkest hour. He made the Fade, first, and his First Children, and then he made the world, and we, his second children, in it. And never were the two intended to meet, but the glory of the world -- and its stars -- were his gift to us!"

"The world and what you call the 'Fade' were one, until the Dread Wolf tricked the Creators and sealed them away by splitting the world into three parts," Paivel explained, as if he were speaking to a small child. Shemlen always thought they knew best, and Paivel had always thought it a minor miracle any of them could lace their own trousers.

"One?" Sebastian repeated, incredulous. "You believe we walked next to spirits and demons once, as if we were neighbours?"

Paivel looked even older in that moment and decidedly unimpressed. Patiently, he started telling Sebastian a story, while, impatiently, Sebastian listened. Bethany and Varania watched them, grinning and exchanging sausages and sauce.

"He has promise," Fenris decided, noting the distinctly uncomfortable way in which Sebastian held himself. "And here I thought the codpieces and the sausages would have put that look on Sebastian's face."

"He had warning for the codpieces and sausages," Gytha pointed out, reaching around Fenris for a glass. "They were right there on the invitation. He had time to prepare."

"Paivel's the best," Theron said again, grinning.

"I know what you like. Next you'll tell me he's some revolutionary trickster, and I'll have to be offended again," Fenris grumbled around a bite of a heavily spiced Nevarran sausage. "This tastes like deep fried licorice," he noted, after a moment, eyeing the platter, suspiciously.

"Isn't that usually an Antivan flavour?" Serendipity asked, spearing a slice of the sausage in question, for a thorough inspection.

"I can't say I've had much experience with Antivan sausage," Fenris admitted, as Anders reached over his shoulder for a salt-boiled roll and a few slices of the disputed sausage.

"Not to say you didn't have an excellent opportunity to avail yourself of some genuinely delicious Antivan sausage," Anders teased, before stuffing his mouth with the sandwich.

"I didn't see you taking advantage of that opportunity, either." Fenris poured himself a glass of a bubbly bright-pink wine, and declined to sample any more sausage, with Anders nearby.

"I had, of course, already experienced the joys of that particular sausage. I was merely saving some for you and Isabela." Anders smirked, a mouthful of bread and sausage stuffed in one cheek.

"As I recall," Fenris said primly, "Isabela did not avail herself of any _Antivan_ sausage..." A self-satisfied grin curled his lips.

"What's this about Antivan--?" Gytha started to say as she turned, only for Anders's griffin to prod her in the chest. She slapped a protective hand over her bosom. "Ancestors! Careful with that thing!"

"Can't say that's the first time I've heard that," Anders said, adjusting the codpiece with one hand. He twisted his hips so that the griffin was no longer staring down Gytha's cleavage, but she still circled him warily as she topped off her wine.

"I imagine so, if the stories are true," Theron said, eyebrows creeping up. He snagged a piece of bread for himself.

"All the worst ones are," Anders replied.

"Ooh!" Serendipity's hand leapt to her lips. "Are there truly depraved stories about you, then? Worst of the worst? Worse than that one Jethann tells?"

"I was drunk then." Anders tipped his chin up, squared his shoulders primly. "You haven't seen anything until you've seen me sober."

Serendipity swooned, artfully, right into Anton's arms. "A wonderful party, Tony. I think the Warden, here, was about to tell me about all the terrible things he gets up to with his sausage."

"And I'm going to get a glass of that bubbly wine and then I'm going back to my husband. I've heard all about this Warden's sausage, and so has half of Hightown, the way my brother shouts its praises every night." Anton reached for a glass, and Fenris handed him one and poured.

"It's a very light wine. You'll need several glasses, if he starts talking," Fenris joked, the corner of his mouth twitching.

"No, no, you don't get to pretend I haven't heard you enjoying his sausage, too. Maker, it's like nobody in this family has ever heard of a gag," Anton huffed, pouring the wine down his throat and following with a dainty belch.

"It's not like you have, either, with all your 'dragon noises' and squalling for your husband's dragon meat!" Anders pointed out, between bites of another sandwich. "And technically I was the one enjoying Fenris's sausage. Lyrium makes for a lovely seasoning on Tevinter sausage, it turns out. Who knew!"

"I don't know who knew, but I know who didn't _need_ to know," Anton said. He raised one hand. He downed the rest of the bubbly wine, and Fenris poured him another glass, as well as another one for himself, ears twitching.

"Please leave my sausage and its seasoning out of this," Fenris asked.

But Anders was looking in the direction of said sausage, a speculative look on his face. Fenris held the wine bottle in front of his crotch and looked askance at the mage. "Sorry. With all this talk of sausage and seasoning, I was thinking of a few other... flavours that might complement."

"That's my cue," Anton said brightly, saluting them with his glass before escaping to chat with Jethann.

"Flavours?" Fenris asked, somewhere between curious and concerned.

Anders hummed, nibbling on another bite of sausage -- one of the Nevarran types, if Fenris was reading that label correctly. "I think... chocolate. It would complement your skin." And the lyrium, Justice reminded him, perhaps too eagerly.

"Chocolate," Fenris repeated, blinking. "I am not a candy, mage."

"But you make such a sweet dessert." Anders lipped his fingers and grinned.

Something Anders had said in their last venture to the Deep Roads stood out in Fenris's mind. 'Always so sweet on my tongue,' he'd said, which, from anyone else would be a very strange description of the taste of a knob or of lyrium. But, Justice, he suspected, had in some way altered Anders's senses. "You don't like sweet things," Fenris shot back.

"I don't like overly sweet things. A bit of lyrium, a nice Orlesian dark chocolate... I wonder if any of these cups have an orange-- no, that would taste like Cormac. Let's not do that." Anders studied the table they stood beside. "You know, I do live here. We could take a room and spend the night investigating the limits of sweetness."

"The two of them?" Gytha whispered to Theron. "Really? Isn't he married?"

"Mmm," Theron agreed, around a mouthful of sausage, before rinsing his mouth with wine. "Yes, but his husband is just as adventurous. Maybe moreso. Though, I _am_ a little surprised. I thought mages were the exception, not the rule."

"I am firmly convinced that magic belongs in everyone's bedroom." Gytha eyed the two before them. "You don't think they-- That wouldn't fit, would it?"

"You'd know?" Theron asked, eyebrows arching up.

"I sell enough copies of it," Gytha replied, with a sly smile.

"Then you know better than I do, though I've heard some rumours." Theron stuck a pin in an end of sausage and stuffed it in his mouth. "I bet it's the other way. I know that would work."

"He's not tall enough!" Gytha protested.

"He's exceedingly creative. And that I know, for certain." Theron smirked.

Fenris looked like he might refuse for a moment, but then Theron remembered that that was just his usual guarded expression, the one he wore when he was seriously considering something. And apparently he considered it intriguing, by the way he tipped his head towards the door, taking the bottle of wine with him as he followed Anders.

Artemis nudged Cormac in the ribs. "Is that my elf leaving with your Warden? I didn't realise Anders was offering a private sampling of his... chorizo. I'm a bit envious."

"That is your elf leaving with my warden, who appears to be carrying..." Cormac squinted at Anders's side and then at the table he stood beside. "... sauce cups. He's just walked out with an assortment of sausage dressing." He paused and glanced at Artie. "Did I ever tell you about the time he tried licking chocolate off me? It was wonderful and terrible. I didn't think that was ever going to wash out of my anything. But, Fenris is a whole lot less, well, fuzzy."

"Licking... chocolate...?" Artie pictured it and looked like he might be ill. "That sounds messy. Messier than usual. Certain... messiness is to be expected, especially with you, but. That is... Chocolate does not belong on a person. Not even on their sausage. Is Anders putting chocolate on my husband's sausage? The horror." Artemis took the drink out of Cormac's hand and took a gulp, not caring what it was, at least not until it frothed on his tongue. He held the glass out in front of him and squinted at it. "What in blazes is this? Never mind." He pressed the glass back into Cormac's hand. "Your Warden better return my elf sparkling clean or I'm rearranging his potion ingredients."

Cormac swigged the stuff in the glass and set the empty on a passing servant's tray. Strawberry, he thought, which was probably why Anders had tried it in the first place. Unfortunately, it was also hideously honeyed, for all the bubbles it had. He whispered, ever so close to Artie's ear. "The only thing left on your elf will be a thin coating of Warden-spit, and you know it. Or have you forgotten all the times he licked you clean?"

Artemis shivered, hyper-aware of Cormac's closeness, the lips at his ear, the body at his side. "He was... very good at that," Artie admitted, shifting his weight. Without the stickiness, the thought of Anders licking Fenris was certainly an enticing one. He turned to whisper in Cormac's ear in turn. "And he's not the only one."

"What do you think, little brother?" Cormac purred, turning away to help himself to a bit more actual sausage. "Shall we slip away to the library? I'm sure no one's going to be looking for any books with all this ... sausage on display. They've just been seen going that way, so no one's going to think much of it, if we follow. But, I bet they've gone downstairs."

"And whatever shall we do in the library?" Artie asked innocently. "Do you plan to read to me, big brother? Or is there another sausage delicacy you will only share away from prying eyes?" Artie picked up one last piece of sausage, taking it between his teeth, grinning at Cormac as he bit down ever so slowly. Waggling his eyebrows, he made for the door.

Theron exchanged a look with Gytha. "Looks like the Hawkes are heading for Fenris and Anders's sausage party. I wouldn't mind an invitation to _that_."

Gytha squinted at him. "Aren't _you_ married?"

"Very happily," Theron said, eyeing Artie's rear as it left the room.


	355. Chapter 355

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief dalliance. Hot Hawke-on-Hawke action, interrupted.

Cormac closed the library door, behind them. They were far enough down the hall that no one would see which door they'd come through, and if all the doors were closed, no one would really come looking. It would be assumed they were wherever Fenris and Anders had gone. In the dim light, by the door, he pulled Artemis against him, tucking a leg between his brother's thighs.

"Do you want me to lick you clean? Maybe to lick you until you dirty yourself, and then lick you clean again? What do you think, my lovely god? Should I start with kisses and work up to worshipping every inch of you with my tongue?" he purred, pressing a kiss to the corner of Artemis's jaw.

An agreeable sound shivered past Artie's lips. They could hear the party from here, the voices of family, friends, and Orlesians, all within shouting distance, and that knowledge just made Artemis press closer to his brother, rubbing against the leg between his. Hands led with the bite of fingernails as he traced the familiar shapes of his brother's shoulders and back.

"Please," Artie breathed, tilting his chin up to expose his throat to Cormac's lips and tongue.

Furniture. He was sure there was furniture in here, a couch even, but he didn't want to peel himself off of Cormac long enough to look.

"I love you," Cormac breathed, tucking an arm under Artie's bottom and lifting him. "I love all of you. Everything about you. Everything you have ever been and ever will be." A few steps took him across the room, where he pushed a table aside with his foot and sat down on the couch, pulling Artemis down over his lap. "Let me worship every bit of you." He nipped the side of Artie's neck and followed with his tongue. "Let me taste you, outside and in."

He was getting sappy, he realised, but Artie always got him sappy. One hand darted between them -- a third hand cupping the last uncovered velvet over Artie's crotch. "And let me lick the sauce out of your sausage."

A laugh snorted out of Artemis. "My sausage is all yours tonight," he drawled, bending to pull Cormac's earlobe between his teeth, tugging playfully. "As is the rest of me, if you like." Tilting Cormac's head up with a hand on his beard, Artemis looked into blue eyes that were so much like his before pressing their lips together. Grinding into Cormac's hand, Artie lost himself to his brother's taste and touch and feel.

The door didn't creak when it opened. "I hate to interrupt, but, Cormac, have you seen my book on Nevarran death rituals? I have a particularly obstinate Orlesian to disprove, and it's not where I left it."

Cormac pulled Artie's head to the side, hiding his brother's face with his own. "Ah, which one? The one you wrote? Yeah, you've got four copies of it on the edge of your desk, upstairs." Tipping his head toward the stairs to the second level, he collided with Artie's cheek and ran a soothing hand down the back of his brother's head.

As long as she didn't get a good look, they'd be fine. He'd pass it off as messing around with some Orlesian, if she asked, later. There was no way he could let her see this was Artemis with him.

"Why aren't the two of you downstairs with your better halves?" Bethany asked, as she swept past, heading for the stairs.

Cormac's cheeks darkened, eyes squeezing shut. "They're doing something, er... messy. We were going to join them, but you know how he gets. Drunk. Upset. We came in here so he wouldn't tidy the Orlesians into oblivion."

Artie was frozen, eyes wide and unseeing as he stared at the back of the couch. No. Nope. That wasn't his sister. His sister hadn't just... Why didn't she sound _surprised_?

"Ah!" Bethany said, a tiny exclamation of victory when she found the book she was looking for. "There we are. Artie, darling, please try not to reorganise the room while you're here. I know you hate the way I arrange my books, but it makes more sense to me, and I'm the one using them."

Artemis tried to talk, but all that came out at first were high-pitched squeaks. "Of course, Bethy," he finally managed, hearing the click of her heels as she walked by.

"If anybody asks, we're with Anders!" Cormac called after her, as the door swung shut.

And then he panicked. The shaking started low, one heel knocking incessantly against the floor, as he tried to figure out how to handle any of that. That had been his sister. Bethany had just walked in on Artemis kissing him -- and that was clearly Artie kissing him, and not the other way, since Artie was in his lap. There had been no surprise at all in her reaction, but she was so very difficult to get a reaction from at all, until she started laying down the nightmares. And he was very glad, he realised, hands clutching and kneading at Artie's shirt, that she hadn't done just that.

"Tell me that did not just happen," Artie asked, his voice too calm, almost flat. "Tell me we're in the Fade or something and that some demon has an awful sense of humour." He unclenched enough to sit back on his brother's lap, eyes round and face grey as he looked at Cormac to see how he was taking this.

"I'm sorry," Cormac breathed, eyes just as wide, and then a smile cracked his face. "Wait, wait. You know what else she saw? She saw you giving the Orlesian tongue to Carver, at the funeral. And at least some of that thing with Cullen, that one time. I just told her you were drunk and upset. She can't possibly think it's more than just that." He laughed. "Which, I'm still sorry, but that's a lot less horrible for either of us, I think. If she just thinks you're being hopelessly drunk, it's not flattering, but it's not going to get us killed."

Artemis groaned weakly, dropping his forehead onto Cormac's shoulder. "And now I have to act drunk, don't I. How do I act when I'm drunk? Right. Like a horny idiot." He hadn't seen Bethany's face so he couldn't gauge her reaction. Even if he had, she was difficult to read. He didn't think she'd buy that, not really, but it was worth a shot. "So... earthquakes would probably be a bad idea, after that." As disappointing as that was in theory, in reality Artie didn't think he could get it up again after that.

"Not if I go get Theron," Cormac purred. "Two brothers sneaking off with a handsome Dalesman? You can't convince me Theron, of all of them, hasn't figured it out. Not after your wedding. Not after he got to you right after I did." His hands rubbed Artie's thighs, soothingly. "And maybe you get a little loose when you're drunk, but I don't think you've done anything all that regrettable, really. I'd think your regrets might lay in not remembering things much more than doing them."

Artie's face went from grey to green. "No," Artemis said, drawing out the word, "it's very much what I do that I regret. Not remembering just tends to make it worse." As he spoke, however, he climbed off of Cormac's lap, sifting frantically through memories of Theron, of words and glances and touches. _Did_ he know? Maker. Then who else knew?

Carver already suspected...

"And now I need a drink," Artie decided. "And possibly a bucket."

Cormac looked up at his brother in confusion. "Hey, hey. What's wrong? I mean, other than the obvious." He pointed at the door. "If you've done something _I'd_ be ashamed of while you were drunk, it's not a story I've heard." Catching Artie's hand, he rubbed his thumb across the knuckles. "You worry so much. I wish -- I've always wished -- there was something I could do to take away the reasons for your worries. Not to make you worry less about them, but to stop them, so you don't have to worry any more."

That had been like a spear in his chest, since they were young. Artie had been somewhere between worried and outright terrified so much of the time, but Cormac never stopped trying to help.

"You want a drink? We'll have a drink. We'll have four drinks. Each." Cormac tried to smile. "And then we can go sit in Varric's lap and try to get him to tell us stories. Both of us. Together. It'll be ridiculous."

Artemis laughed weakly. "You do have a way with dwarves," he said, trying to reassure his brother with a smile. He bent to brush Cormac's lips with his. "Though I suspect Natia would rather sit in _your_ lap, the way she was admiring your, uh... codpiece." Four drinks sounded like a great idea just then, though he knew he'd feel guilty in the morning.

"Why don't we go pick up an elf and a few drinks and flirt our way through the dwarven contingent, hmm? It'll make quite a splash, even if nothing comes of it." Cormac stood carefully, easing himself up until he stood pressed against his brother. "And then, after everyone goes home, you and I can go to bed. Like we used to. And I'll just hold on to you and nuzzle your neck, until you're sober again." He pressed a kiss to Artie's cheek and stepped away. "And I know exactly how interested Natia is in the piece I keep in this cod. You know she made me an offer, while we were in the Deep Roads? Wasn't really the time for it, though. You know how Anders gets, underground."

Artie's eyebrows rose. "You mean when he's in the Deep Roads, excavating someone else's deep roads? Or someone excavating his?" It was a distraction, at least, from remembering what had just happened. "She saw that and wasn't frightened off? My, my. The girl's naughtier than I thought. I like her."

Artie nudged Cormac's shoulder with his as they stepped back into the hall, but then he consciously put more space between them, enough to fit an elf. "Hold on," he said. "Not really the time, you say? Are you considering it?"

"Ah, you know me, I'm usually considering it," Cormac laughed. "And after what she saw, down there, she won't get near Anders. Still eyeing my codpiece, though, even if I'd be shocked if she'd let my mouth near her. But, you know the sorts of things I'll lick. And I always drink whiskey between that and kissing y-- someone."

He tossed an arm over Artie's shoulders, leaning in close, like one does when discussing cards and women, while drunk. "If she's still interested, you want to bring Theron and watch? We could make a real show of ourselves, I'm sure. And if she's willing to go the distance, I'm sure you'll get quite an eyeful. And an earful." To anyone else, it would sound like he was offering a good view of the woman, as they came back into the room. Only the two of them would know what he really meant.

Artie caught sight of Bethany, reading an excerpt from her book to a crowd of Orlesians, one arm around Sebastian's waist. The combination of mask and codpiece was a bit ridiculous, but that was Orlais for you.

"Drinks first," Artemis decided, looking pained. He ducked out from under Cormac's arm before Bethany could catch sight of them again, and poked around the drink table, looking for something heavier than the bubbly sweet stuff Anton had been serving. When he didn't have any luck, he grabbed a bottle.

"You two are back sooner than expected," Theron said as he passed by Cormac. He looked around but saw no sign of Fenris or Anders. Hm. Maybe the Hawkes hadn't been invited to the party after all.

"They're playing with melted chocolate," Cormac sighed. "You can imagine my poor brother's reaction. And now he means to drink himself into obliviousness. I strongly suggest spending some time a whole lot closer to him, if only because he won't be displeased to wake up next to you, in the morning. And it'll be a lot less scandalous than if I attempt to keep him away from the Orlesians."

Theron snorted and raised his eyebrows at Gytha. "Pardon me, my lady, but my evening has just gotten a great deal more exciting." He bowed to her and spun, setting off after Artemis, and slipping an arm around the darling shem's waist, when he caught up.

"You know, it's terrible trying to find the rest of my dwarven friends in this crowd," Cormac sighed, pouring himself another drink -- this one just as bubbly, but much less pink. "It's all codpieces and Orlesian hats!"

"Now you understand my problem," Gytha sighed, pulling a small flask out of her codpiece and splashing a bit into Cormac's glass. "You look like you need a stiffer drink."

"Creators bless you, kind woman." Cormac bent down and kissed Gytha's cheek. "Forgive me, but I've got to find my brother. We've got a bet going on which of us ends up in Varric's lap first."

"Oh, that I want to see!" Gytha laughed. "That man... never a woman for him. Never a man for him, either. Buys nothing from me, but information."

Cormac considered the situation and then rested a hand on Gytha's shoulder. "Well, come along, then! It's not something you get to see every day! Let me know if you see Natia. I know we invited her, but Andraste only knows if she's here..." He shook his head and led Gytha into the crowd, following in Theron's wake.


	356. Chapter 356

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris and Anders enjoy a different sort of sausage, downstairs.

Downstairs, in a different kind of party, Fenris's brands flickered blue, lighting Anders's room with a ghostly glow. Anders could light a candle if he wanted to, but he didn't care, and Justice certainly didn't, not with lyrium lines like a roadmap of where he wanted to place his tongue.

"Chocolate," Anders said, grinning as he held up the bowl and knelt between Fenris's legs. "Orlesian chocolate on a Tevinter sausage. Look at us being multi-national!"

"An Anders choking on Tevinter sausage?" Fenris drawled. "Indeed. Terribly multi-national."

"Promises," Anders replied, dipping a finger in the chocolate and bringing it to his lips. Or his lips to it, the way it dripped. He hummed at the sweetness on his tongue, and Fenris watched the way his lips moved around the finger a little too closely.

This promised to be messy, terribly messy, and he was glad Artemis was upstairs for this, if only for that reason.

With that wet finger, Anders lifted Fenris's barely-interested knob and dipped the tip in the warm chocolate, watching the elf squirm a bit at the sensation. Anders leaned down and licked at the chocolate covering the tips of the lyrium lines, the flavours blending, as he sucked at just the very tip of Fenris's knob.

Fenris's thighs flexed, his fingers clutching at the blanket beneath him, his breath stuttering at the first touch of those ragged lips. For a healer, Anders didn't take very good care of himself, Fenris thought, not for the first time, and then thinking was some far distant concept he might come back to, one day, as Anders's tongue nudged back his foreskin, darting against the frenulum like hesitant caresses. For all the things he might not like about Anders, the man was amazing with his mouth. Particularly when it was occupied with something other than words.

"I was right," Anders breathed, as Fenris's knob slipped from his lips, back into the cup of chocolate, kept warm by the heat spell in his hand. "Chocolate covered lyrium is an excellent dessert. A perfect counterpoint to Tevinter cream sausage."

Fenris groaned, head falling back to stare up at the ceiling, and that groan was as much pained as pleasured. "Do stop talking," he said. He meant it as a mild, if gruff, suggestion but worried the next moment that Anders would take it as an order. "I'll never be able to eat another sausage, if this keeps up," he added, teasing.

"On the contrary, you might find sausages even more delightful after this," Anders replied. With one finger, Anders tipped Fenris's knob back out of the bowl, and he bent to catch the dripping chocolate with his tongue before laving the tip. He heard the shift in Fenris's breathing and grinned.

"Artemis has... more of a taste for sausage-eating than I do," Fenris quipped, or tried to. The words seemed clever in the moment, but then anything seemed clever to the few braincells left in his head when Anders did _that_ with his tongue. "M-mi care botule!" he cursed, toes curling.

Rippling his tongue against the underside of Fenris's knob, Anders sucked and swallowed hard, as if he could draw the lyrium out by force alone. As he pulled back, he darted the tip of his tongue against the slit, feeling Fenris's thighs quiver as he lapped at the tip.

"Perhaps you've been eating the wrong sausage," he suggested, painting chocolate along the lines of lyrium, with one finger. "If only your own dear sausage had a twin -- I think you'd discover the joy of it. The taste is incomparable." Anders flicked his tongue along a chocolate line. "And the tingle of the lyrium is compelling."

"The tingle of the lyrium is in my bones," Fenris reminded him, any further thoughts on the matter cut off by a drag of tongue down a long, thin line of chocolate-painted lyrium.

"I like the sounds I can lick out of you," Anders purred, lips brushing Fenris's sensitive knob as they moved. His tongue dipped in again, lapping up the rest of the chocolate. He hummed at the taste of chocolate at the same time that Justice hummed at the taste of lyrium, two voices purring in one throat, which was just odd enough to pull Fenris out of his pleasure-drunk haze.

"Is Justice a fan of chocolate?" Fenris drawled, prompting a self-conscious laugh from Anders. And that _was_ still Anders.

"We both know what he likes." Anders shrugged. He drew more chocolate lines up Fenris's knob, this time in patterns perpendicular to his markings to better savour the difference in taste. Alternating his touch between skin and lyrium made Fenris's thigh twitch. "I can't say I blame him."

Then Anders wrapped his lips around Fenris, and the elf groaned, the kind of long, ragged sound that left him feeling embarrassed the next moment. But Anders grinned around him, taking that as the best kind of encouragement.

"Please don't show your teeth that close to my sausage, mage." Fenris shifted uncomfortably, and then much more comfortably, as teeth gave way to softer lips and a long lick along a lyrium line. This was a pleasure that had no memories attached, that he could find -- none before Artie, anyway, and Artemis was not the sort of man to involve _chocolate_ in the bedroom.

He leaned back, resting on his elbows as Anders tugged at his leg, trying to get a hand further under him. Fenris was curious for as long as it took Anders to drag two chocolate covered fingers from the bed to the back of his balls, and then to chase the line with tongue. Fenris's leg hooked over Anders's shoulder, pulling hard against his back, as the elf arched and gasped, one of his balls suddenly inside Anders's mouth, laved and gently sucked as Anders nuzzled the base of his knob.

Fenris was certain there were words for this somewhere and that none of them were in his suddenly limited vocabulary, as he stared, wide-eyed down the length of his own body, at the mage between his legs, licking faint sparks into his flesh. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the faint smell of spiced oranges registered, along with the thought that this should be offensive, but he couldn't focus on the reason any longer than it took to establish the scent wasn't actually a sign of danger, but just an annoyance.

Anders did something with his tongue -- something Fenris couldn't even begin to describe, and suddenly the other of his balls was in Anders's mouth, in that crackling wet heat.

" _Mage_ ," Fenris panted, the sound almost pleading, and Anders hummed against his flesh, in response.

Anders let Fenris drop out of his mouth with a wet sound. "Who knew?" he said. "The best dessert for a meal of sausage is a pair of chocolate-covered nuts!"

That drew another groan from Fenris, but this was more pained than pleasured. "I am tempted to kick you out of your own bed for that, mage."

"What? For calling you delicious?" Anders sucked on one of Fenris's balls, just hard enough to make Fenris's breath hitch and his hands clench in the sheets. "Because you are."

Fenris didn't know if more chocolate was added or if that was just Anders's tongue, but at the feel of more wet heat on his skin, his head rolled back, leaving him staring dazedly up at the ceiling again. This mage's mouth was worth the horrible jokes and the obstinate puns, worth even that smug smile Fenris knew he was making.

And Anders was definitely smiling smugly at the way Justice squirmed against the back of his eyes and Fenris squirmed before him. Quick flickers of tongue against the lyrium, over lines of hot, wet chocolate, as he took in the scent of Fenris's body, that storm-smell that hung over the lyrium and the smell of desire, beneath. Somehow, he'd never stopped craving desire -- he wanted to be wanted, even when there was no power in it, and Fenris very definitely wanted him.

Anders rubbed a sparking knuckle behind Fenris's balls, just enough pressure to be interesting, just enough electricity to be compelling. Pouring the melted chocolate into his mouth, he let himself enjoy its bitter weight, before he wrapped his lips around Fenris's knob, again, a swirl of thick, wet heat, the chocolate and his tongue. This time, he could hear Fenris clutching and clawing at the sheets, the low moans and heavy breaths clear in the crisp cellar air, as Anders licked, caressed, and teased the flesh in his mouth.

Fenris didn't scream and the floors didn't shake, but there were signs that he was close, signs Anders could read with his eyes closed. The quickening of his breath, the tightening of already taut muscles, and Anders was glad Fenris had the presence of mind not to squeeze too hard with those thighs. Fenris growled something, perhaps mindless syllables, or perhaps words in Tevene Anders didn't quite catch, but one ragged word (" _Mage_!") he knew and understood. And as Fenris came, hard and sudden, Anders decided that went well with chocolate too.

This wasn't cause for Anders to stop licking, of course. He'd never return Fenris to Artemis with sticky trails of half-licked chocolate -- Artemis would have a fit, and it would be much harder to repeat this experience, assuming, of course, that Fenris meant to repeat it. So, Anders's tongue made a long, slow, thorough journey along Fenris's thighs, chasing the last taste of chocolate from his skin. Everywhere he'd tasted, he now tasted again, licking away all evidence a mess had been made, however temporary.

Beneath his ministrations, Fenris continued to writhe, every touch hovering between enough and too much. Turning his head to the side, Fenris pressed his face into a ripple of the blanket, and breathed deep -- only to be met with the rich orangey smell of Cormac. That was what he'd been smelling, this whole time -- Cormac slept in this bed, and the sheets were redolent with his presence.

As disgusted as Fenris felt like he ought to be, something else nagged at him. This was Anders's bedroom, unquestionably his, from the décor to the ease with which he moved through the room. This wasn't just some guest room. It was the room in which Anders lived. It was the bed in which Anders slept with Cormac. And, for a moment, Fenris felt as if he'd overstepped, somehow, despite the invitation. And then, the weight of that invitation struck him. This was something he'd never have done -- brought Anders into his own bed. But, here was the mage, kneeling beside his own bed, Fenris's chocolate-sticky knob in his mouth.

When Anders had all but licked Fenris out of existence, he looked up to see Fenris sprawled bonelessly on his bed. He took some pride in that, if not in the pensive look on Fenris's face. Pensive was not what usually came after a strategic application of his tongue, but this was Fenris. Then he remembered a night when the elf had come to him, drunk and wobbly and alone, and Anders's bemusement turned to concern.

"Good?" Anders asked. "Did we enjoy dessert?"

Fenris blinked, realising he was still staring at the ceiling, and his chin dipped towards his chest so he could meet Anders's look. "I was not expecting a sausage party to serve such excellent dessert," he said, lips twitching in an almost-smile. "Is this how Orlesian chocolate is usually served?"

Anders chuffed a laugh. "I want to say no, but in my experience, yes, statistically speaking."


	357. Chapter 357

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anton vs. Orlais. Fine elven craftsmanship. The introduction of Andrastian sausage. Varric to the rescue.

Anton caught the Orlesian's hand, twisting it subtly but painfully as his thumb dug in to the base of the palm. "Perhaps messere is looking for Serendipity or Jethann? I'm certain I've seen them both, tonight. They're good friends, you know, and neither one can resist a good party." A flick of his wrist and the mask and codpiece staggered back, trying not to spill wine. "But, attempting to fondle the host's husband, in the midst of the festivities? Perhaps you'd like a cup of Nevarran black, before you have any more of that wine."

Anton's voice never raised above a conversational volume, and the entire exchange took merely a few seconds, but a good quarter of the room observed it, all the same. And that was half the game, he knew. To establish the limits of his tolerance, without making a scene, until the time for a scene was right. He didn't expect the Orlesians to respect his word any more than they respected Cullen's obvious, terrified disinterest. But, eventually, some fool of higher status would try their luck, and Anton would make a spectacle of them. And then, it would stop -- or at least it would be more subtle, and probably a lot less upsetting to Cullen.

He put an arm around his husband's waist, and pressed a quick kiss to Cullen's cheek. "No one but me, Captain. I'm just waiting for the one I need to duel, to stop this. Demons or not, I won't let them have you."

"My hero. Just tell me you're not going to swoop down from the balcony," Cullen sighed, showing all of his affection and exasperation in that one breath. He could certainly slap around a few Orlesians if he needed to, but not with the same politesse as his husband. With the Orlesians that was important, if irritating, and Cullen was more than happy to let Anton deal with them.

Anton looked up at the balcony and the chandelier contemplatively, and Cullen's next sigh was almost completely exasperation.

"Anton, no," he said.

"But--"

"Eat a sausage." Cullen stoppered Anton's protest with... where was the label for that particular piece of meat? Oh. Had they circled back to the Ander chorizo again? Cullen's cheeks coloured while Anton obligingly chewed.

"Not bad," Anton decided, licking his lips. "I love it when you distract me with sausage." Somehow, Anton pressed himself tighter to Cullen's side.

"Your codpiece is digging into my leg," Cullen muttered, reaching for a labelled sausage. Anything other than the chorizo, which made him think of -- but he wasn't thinking of that. "Stop that, before you rub the gilding off."

"Might be worth it. I can afford to have it re-gilded," Anton purred, helping himself to another slice of chorizo.

"Yes, but will it be worth the Orlesians seeing the gold stain you've left on my _hip_?" Cullen asked, taking a bite of ... something dark and strongly herbal. He poured himself a glass of wine to chase the flavour.

"Are you suggesting I should be leaving gold stains on your crotch-cravat?" Anton asked, taking a sip from Cullen's glass, and then handing it back.

"Please don't be leaving gold stains on my anything," Cullen said, but Anton's attention was already elsewhere.

And, really, Cullen wished Anton would look at him the way he was looking at Theron's crotch in that moment. Anton squeaked but wisely paused to swallow before speaking. "That is glorious. And unfair. Why did I not think of that?"

Cullen looked again and -- ah. Theron's crotch-dragon. "And please don't leave gold stains on his crotch either, no matter how beautifully clad." And beautiful was not the word Cullen would have chosen, but he knew Anton would, the way his eyes sparkled.

"That is excellent craftsmanship," Anton called out, approaching Theron and interrupting him in the middle of whispering a stream of filth in his brother's ear, filth Anton cheerfully pretended not to notice. "Wherever did you get that?"

A hand still lingering on the small of Artie's back, Theron turned, puffing out his chest when he saw where Anton was looking. "Well, I was born with this excellent piece of elven craftsmanship -- oh, you mean the _codpiece_."

Artemis glanced between then, confused, until he remembered to look down. He then rolled his eyes and left to refill his glass.

After a moment of confusion, Cormac followed, trailing Natia and Gytha, who were exchanging stories of the 'Pillar of Passion' and laughing uproariously.

"I think the piece in your cod is more my brother's interest. Possibly more than one of my brothers. There's an implied question there, and I'd really rather you didn't answer it." Anton winked and squeezed Cullen's bottom. "I've got more than enough to play with, and I don't need to know how many of my brothers are playing with you."

"Well, to answer the question both more and less explicit, it's Ilen's work, same as Paivel's. We wanted to make sure we were showing off the true glory of the Dales to all the less-cultured people here, tonight." Theron smiled brightly. "I mean, just look around you! The Orlesians still hide their faces in shame that they've never come close to our wondrous works, even after looting Halamshiral and taking everything apart. They're right to be ashamed. I wouldn't show my face in public either."

"Paivel's?" Anton repeated, tilting his head curiously. "I don't believe I've seen this other finely-crafted codpiece."

Theron tilted his head in the direction of another Dalish elf, who hovered uncomfortably around the Nevarran plates with Varania. Anton had noticed him but not the startlingly detailed halla's head over his groin, its antlers following the curve of his hipbones and disappearing behind his back.

"Oh my," said Anton, both eyebrows shooting up. "Is that what happened to your halla?"

Theron nearly choked on his sausage. "Elgar'nan, I hope not, or Paivel has some explaining to do. And no, I do not plan to strap an aravel to the poor man's codpiece."

"Too bad," Anton sighed. "I would have paid to see that."

 

* * *

 

On the other side of the room, by a tray of Fereldan sausage, Sebastian tried to explain himself to Artemis, while Cormac poured wine for the lady dwarves. "You are a very good looking man. For a man. And listening to Varric... er... talk about you, I started thinking that maybe I should expand my thinking." Sebastian took the bottle from Cormac and poured another glass for Artie. "I mean, maybe we should get to know each other a bit better."

"So, explain this to me again?" Natia asked Cormac. "He's the kind of religious where he can't do the do, but he's going to marry your sister, except he's making the moves on your brother?"

"Pretty much." Cormac nodded, handing a sausage roll to Gytha. "These are great. Almost every city in Ferelden's got sausage rolls in the market. They're almost the base flavour of Ferelden. No matter where you go, there they are."

"Get to...?" Artemis echoed, blinking owlishly at the glass Sebastian was offering him before hesitantly taking it. Sebastian seemed to take that as some sign of approval, because he sidled closer. "Um. Hold on a moment. Just to be sure the drink hasn't addled my brains... you _are_ Sebastian, correct?"

"Yes."

"Then this drink _has_ addled my brains." Artemis squinted distrustfully down at the drink in his hand.

"Perhaps you are simply overwhelmed," Sebastian suggested, hand lighting on Artie's arm. "Why don't we go somewhere quieter? For your health, of course."

Gytha snorted. "Of course," she said into her drink.

"It might be better for your health, Sebastian, if you keep my brother in my line of sight." Cormac smiled impolitely around Artie's shoulder, reaching between them to grab a loop of onion sausage.

Sebastian eyed him, looking uncertain for a moment. "I believe that is up to your brother," he said, tilting his chin proudly up.

"I'm... fine here. Sebastian." Artemis still looked more confused than anything. "But thank you for your concern."

"Ah. Well, I suppose it would be a shame to miss any of the party, anyway." Sebastian hand-picked a particularly plump sausage and offered it to him, holding it to Artie's lips.

Artemis's eyes crossed as he looked at the bit of sausage before taking it between his teeth just so Sebastian would stop holding it there. As Artie chewed, he turned a desperate look Cormac's way.

Cormac raised an eyebrow at his brother, eyes suddenly serious. This was it, then. He was going to have to perform a daring rescue, without looking like a jealous lover. And then Varric walked past.

"Varric! Come sit by us!" Cormac called, waving over the storyteller. As one might expect, Varric had hollowed out one of his own books for a codpiece, and more than a few Orlesian hands had tried to pick it up to read.

Varric made his way to the table of Fereldan sausage, taking a seat on the tiered decoration at the corner of the table. "What news?" he asked. "Other than that every beautiful woman here is clearly following you around."

"Varric, I will hit you with a dildo," Gytha threatened, and Varric held up his hands in surrender.

"Things are getting a little exciting here," Cormac said, leaning over to explain the situation to Varric.

"You're shitting me." Varric looked between Artemis and Cormac.

"Just watch for a minute, and you'll see." Cormac took a bite of sausage and scanned the crowd. Still no Anders.

"He really is," Natia chimed in, nodding.

"Can I get you some more wine?" Sebastian asked, looking for a bottle that hadn't been emptied already, but having difficulty looking away from Artie's face.

"C'mere, Nervy," Varric said, holding out a hand. "You look like you need a real man."

Gytha choked on her wine and Natia patted her back.

"Uh." Artemis had trouble forming words with his jaw hanging open. With an audible click of teeth, he finally remembered to shut it. "I... Wine is... No. I've had enough of... whatever was in this drink." Artie considered his options -- his two equally absurd options -- and decided that Varric was likely the safer of the two. Likely. Hopefully. "Thank you, though. Sebastian. Uh. Yes." Artemis pressed his glass into Sebastian's hand and edged away from him towards Varric.

With a wink and a grin, Varric patted his lap invitingly. Artemis eyed him and then Cormac, and then looked around desperately for his husband. Not finding him, Artie let Varric pull him into his lap, to Sebastian's disappointment.

"My hero," Artemis said, wrapping his arms around Varric's neck like a heroine in an Orlesian novel. "I thought you'd never ask." He took the opportunity to pet Varric's chest hair, which was even silkier than it looked.

Sebastian frowned down at his own chest, which remained hidden from view.

From across the room, Bethany shot Cormac an inquisitive look, to which he shrugged and tipped his chin toward Sebastian. She pinched the bridge of her nose and fell back into conversation with Varania, on the horrors of sisterhood.

As Cormac kept an eye on the situation, still introducing the dwarves around him to the delightful taste of Fereldan sausages, Anders and Fenris appeared at the entrance to the room, each a little weak-kneed and distinctly not leaning on the other. Cormac was sure he was very sorry he'd missed whatever had gone on, downstairs, even if dazed and contemplative were not the anticipated looks, after something he assumed hadn't involved trousers. Cormac shot Anders a somewhat distressed look, and Anders tapped Fenris's shoulder, gesturing across the room.

It took them a bit of time to arrive, by which point Sebastian was sulking and Varric was feeding Artemis perfectly round slices of sausage, off the point of his knife, sliced one-handed, as the other hand supported Artemis on his lap.

"Varric, what is my husband doing in your lap?" Fenris asked, assuming there was a perfectly reasonable and non-sexual explanation for this -- primarily because he was sure Varric wouldn't look so amused, otherwise.


	358. Chapter 358

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian, no! Anton and Anders to the rescue. Natia has her eye on a particular brother.

Oddly, it was Fenris's arrival that finally led Sebastian to take his sulking elsewhere -- the reminder that he'd been flirting not only with a man, not only with his fiancée's brother, but with a married man, on top of everything else. Whatever scandalous argument was about to break out over the dwarf, Sebastian counted himself suddenly lucky not to have been the third man in.

"I was rescuing him from Choir Boy's sausage," Varric said. "Your husband seems to prefer mine." He somehow managed to say that with a straight face, holding another bit of sausage to Artie's lips. Docilely, Artie took it between his teeth while giving Fenris a tired look and a shrug of his shoulders.

"Choir Boy?" Anders stuttered out. He looked, but Sebastian was at Bethany's side again, an arm around her waist and his back to the dwarf acting as a mage's chair. He pointed. " _That_ Choir Boy? I didn't know there was a sausage to speak of, behind Andraste's face."

"M'not entirely sure that happened," Artemis said, and Fenris frowned, recognising the drunken slur in his voice. "M'not entirely sure _what_ happened." With a bit of flailing, Artie managed to swing himself off of Varric's lap, and Fenris helped steady him. "But yes, that Choir Boy. And Varric's sausage is better."

Varric grinned, offering a bite to Fenris, who politely declined. "See? And this from a sausage connoisseur. Dwarf sausage is better, he says!"

"I'm pretty sure that Choir Boy was attempting to introduce my little brother to some Andrastian sausage. Varric was the best choice for a rescue, for obvious reasons. I mean, I'd have slung Artie over my shoulder and carried him off, but the Orlesians might've gotten a little warm about that," Cormac sighed, shrugging. "So, we added another good-looking dwarf to the ensemble of good-looking dwarves. And the ladies are very much into the Fereldan onion sausage." He paused and pointed to the table. "Actual sausage. Right there. You should try some. It's really good."

"Oh, I'm sure I'll get my fill of Fereldan sausage later tonight," Anders joked, with a sly grin.

"Provided you haven't filled up on Tevinter sausage first," Gytha whispered loudly.

"Oh, if we're talking about filling, I don't think it gets more filling than the ungodly chorizo of the Anderfels." Natia hid a smile behind her glass.

Varric looked at the ladies beside him. "Why do I feel like I just learned much more about Blondie than I ever needed to know?"

"I decline to comment." Cormac demurred, and Anders turned a bit pink around the edges.

Artie raised his hand. "I'll comment!"

"No, you won't," Fenris sighed, popping one of the Fereldan onion sausages into Artie's mouth. He finally noted the bottle in Artie's hand and borrowed it for a long drink while his husband chewed. "I can't leave you alone for a minute, can I, Amatus?" he teased, kissing Artemis's cheek.

"Ha. Yes, there's... there's a funny story about that," Artemis said, voice high with a nervous laugh. "I'll tell you later." Artie shut himself up with another drink straight from the bottle.

Fenris shot Cormac a questioning look, having no doubt in his mind that Cormac either was involved or had witnessed whatever happened.

Cormac rubbed his forehead and shrugged at Fenris. It wasn't really a discussion for right now, in public.

Fenris sighed and eased the bottle away from Artemis, again, handing it to Anders, who promptly finished it.

"I needed a drink. I needed about six drinks." Anders shook his head. "Choir Boy's actually acknowledging he's got a knob? The end is near." He grinned. "Whether that's the end of the world or the end of him depends on Bethany, I think. Shall I go tell her, and then we can watch the fireworks?"

"Pretty sure she already knows, after the looks she was giving us." Varric smirked and stood. "But, I feel like I should step away, before anyone starts making unfounded assumptions about my part in any of this. Tell your brother he's got excellent taste in sausage." With a wink at Cormac, Varric made his way back into the crowd.

The ring of a spoon against a wine glass pierced the hall's clamour. All faces turned in Sebastian's direction, masked or otherwise, as he raised his glass over his head. Next to him, Bethany's smile looked decidedly pained, and she whispered something to him that he waved off.

"Oh, this should be good," Gytha said out of the side of her mouth. She refilled drinks and passed out sausages to the group around her, as though they were standing around, watching a show.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Sebastian said. The smile he gave the room was that of a politician, and in that moment, it was easier to believe that he was a prince of Starkhaven. At least until he swayed a bit. "I think we should take a moment to thank our illustrious hosts for such a splendid spread." He managed to only slur one 's' in that sentence. He raised his glass higher. "I would like to offer the Hawkes my _deepest_ felicitations!" he proclaimed, blue eyes scanning the crowd until they found Artemis.

Artie blinked, eyes round, as Anders choked on the Fereldan sausage. He wheezed, and Fenris patted his back to help him spit it up.

"Your illustrious hosts thank you," Anton replied, making his way to the centre of the room, strutting and bowing, as Cullen followed in his wake. "The Knight-Captain and I hope you're all having as wonderful a time as Brother Sebastian clearly is! Perhaps we need more wine. Do we need more wine?"

Cullen looked around, trying to look less confused than he was. Obviously Sebastian had said something objectionable, but he couldn't imagine what it was. Was the 'splendid spread' a double-entendre? "I rather think we need less wine. Several Orlesians look like they could dry out a bit, not to mention Brother Sebastian," he muttered to Anton, still holding his chin up, and trying to remember he was there to represent the Order.

"More wine and they'll notice less when I move you out of their reach," Anton pointed out, quietly, before calling to one of the servants to bring out fresh bottles.

On a similar line of thought, Anders wrapped an arm around Artemis's shoulders. "Perhaps it's time to adjourn to anywhere other than here," he suggested to Fenris. "I think it's time to remove the temptation, and perhaps to have a quiet conversation about what in Andraste's name is going on, here."

Artemis looked longingly at the bottles of wines being passed around, but Fenris moved to block his line of vision. Artie let the two men steer him out of the room. "I think my old room is still available," he said in a loud whisper. "Or we could steal Cormac's." Cormac's bed would smell like him, and he liked the idea of being surrounded by all three of them. Assuming sexytimes were in his future, which he did.

Natia cleared her throat and moved closer to Cormac, close enough to 'accidentally' brush her breast against his arm when she reached for another Fereldan sausage. "Assuming they leave your room alone," she said, "I don't suppose you have any plans for it? Because I have a few ideas, most involving what I am sure is a very comfortable bed." She wrapped her lips around the sausage in what she hoped was a sexy fashion for humans. "Ideas involving you," she hastened to add, unsure if that part had been clear.

Gytha didn't choke, but she paused, mid-drink, wine pooling on her tongue.

"Well, ladies," Cormac said, addressing both of them, "I'm usually open to suggestions. But, Izzy will tell you I can be a little difficult."

"I'm surprised your ass stays shut at all," Gytha cracked, finally getting the wine down. "I've seen the Pillar of Passion."

"But, it's such a sweet pain," Cormac purred, with a smug smile. "Makes my toes tingle just thinking about it. If you want to get me naked, I hope you're ready to make me bleed." The genuinely excessive amount of wine he'd had made this sound like it might almost be a good idea. He figured it was what he got for matching Artie down a few bottles. They'd neither of them been drinking like they used to, lately, and it had definitely taken a good deal less to put him in an agreeable state of mind. Not that he'd necessarily have been disagreeable, sober. But, if Artie was going to vanish into an upstairs room with Anders, then Cormac had obviously been left to fend for himself, and he didn't see Isabela anywhere.

"Bleed?" Natia's eyes rounded. "I didn't take you for the tied up and spanked sort."

"Good, because I'm not," Cormac replied, pouring himself one more glass of wine. "I just like the bite of metal on my skin and the smell of my own blood." If that didn't put her off, maybe this wasn't such a bad idea, he thought.

Natia leaned back, eyeing him less like a piece of meat and more like she was taking his measure. Gytha could all but see the scales she was weighing in her mind. "You can't be serious," she said, waiting for a refusal that was taking longer and longer to come.

Natia shrugged. "Can't say I've tried it before," she said. "Can't say I've wanted to either, but." The same went for humans in general, she supposed. She tilted her head, first one way, then the other. "Tell me what you like, and I'll see what I can do." That sultry smile was back on her lips. "Your room's this way?" She pointed in the direction the trio had gone and started to back towards it.

Gytha's mouth hung open.

Cormac looked at his drink, looked at Gytha, and shrugged. "You want to come along?" he asked, following Natia toward the stairs.

As sure as Gytha was that the answer should be no, she trailed along, curiously, interested to see if Cormac was just joking. Having seen Anders in the nude, though, she sort of doubted it.

Across the room, Bethany watched her brothers disappear up the stairs. "They're always like this," she told Varania. "Any minute, Anton and Cullen will sneak off into the coat closet, in honour of their first tryst. And they all act like I don't know." She shook her head.

"And my brother married into this?" Varania asked, perhaps a little surprise around the edges of her eyes.

"Your brother is so in love with my brother, I think he would've married into the Qun." Bethany laughed and took another slice of Nevarran blood sausage. "And my brother... well, you know, they got off to a rough start, but I don't think there's anything he wouldn't do. It's sweet, really. Stupid, but sweet."


	359. Chapter 359

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sausage-filled demonstration of the flexibility of certain blue-glowing individuals.

Said brother was, at that moment, sloppily kissing his husband in his former bedroom, trying to pull him towards the bed without breaking lip contact. It was a room he once could walk through with his eyes closed, but he'd already managed to knock his knee on the dresser. Anders was there the next moment, tossing healing at Artie's knee without even thinking about it, and then his healing wasn't all that was on Artie.

Artemis mumbled something against Fenris's lips. Fenris cupped his face and pulled back long enough to ask, "What?"

"No chocolate sauce this time."

Anders stifled a laugh against Artie's shoulder. "Guess I should have known you figured that out."

"Thank you for not inviting me," Artemis said, rubbing his cheek on the top of Anders's head. "I _am_ sorry I missed all the licking, though."

Fenris nipped the soft skin under Artie's jaw. "You know you can lick whatever you want of me, Amatus," he purred.

Anders closed his eyes and took a sharp breath, forcing Justice back. "Sorry." A breathy laugh slipped out of him. "I... he gets a little excited at the thought of licking you." A blue tinge still wavered around the edges of his eyes.

"Haven't you already licked me enough, this evening? Perhaps you should try licking yourself some more," Fenris scoffed, before once again occupying his mouth with Artemis's neck.

"As good as that is, I'm really getting a little old for that position." Anders laughed, sliding his hands down to squeeze Artie's hips. "Besides, I don't taste like lyrium. That's what it is, you know. I wish I'd remembered to save his ring -- I could just suck on that, if you're so tired of us."

"Mmm, I didn't say _that_ ," Fenris muttered, contemplatively, around a thin fold of Artie's skin in his teeth.

Fenris could taste the next shivery sound his mage made, and he remembered another time when it was just the three of them, when he'd held Artemis's breath in his hand.

Artie, on the other hand, was distracted by something else. "'Some more'?" he said, cupping the back of Fenris's head, fingers massaging his scalp. "I know you're endowed, Anders, but..." He tugged Anders closer by the griffin codpiece.

"But what?" Anders said through a grin. "But you don't believe it? It's true!"

Artemis threw him a dubious look.

"Is that supposed to be impressive?" Fenris grumbled against Artemis's throat.

Artemis's dubious look landed on Fenris next, or Fenris's direction, the way his head was tilted. "It's supposed to be physically impossible." At least he thought it was. He'd never tried it. Why had he never tried it?

"I've won so many bets from people who believed that," Anders laughed. "I'm just a little bendy and ... well, the flagpole helps. Definitely makes up the difference. I can't get as far as I could when I was twenty, but it'll still reach."

"He's less flexible than I am, because he doesn't stretch enough," Fenris assured Artemis, his hands settling under Anders's, on Artemis's bottom, which was just as squeezable as it had been the last time he checked.

"You're telling me you can do that?" Anders scoffed, leaning to the side to look at Fenris around Artie's head, instead of over it.

"I'm telling you I can do more than you could imagine." Fenris smiled dangerously, hands still kneading his husband's ever-so-touchable backside. " _That_ , in particular, is not that difficult or complicated."

"That's... You..." Artemis looked back and forth between the gorgeous men on either side of him. "Hold on, I think my brain just melted out my ears. Fenris, you've had this hidden talent all along and never shared? I thought you loved me." He placed a hand on his chest as though struck.

Fenris's eyes crinkled in amusement, brows lifting. "What use have I for licking my own knob when you do it so well?" He nibbled at Artemis's lower lip.

"He says like I wasn't the one licking his knob earlier," Anders huffed, looking mildly offended. "How about you put your knob where your mouth is and prove it?"

"I... would pay to see that," Artemis agreed, hands kneading where they traced the planes of Fenris's back.

"Oh?" Fenris asked, amusement still plain on his face. "And what would you pay me in, hmm? I think I already have the best of you." He nipped and kissed under Artemis's jaw.

"And I'd do it just to see the look on your face," Anders offered, loosening the laces of his trousers, as he glanced at Fenris. "And you and I both know I can do this, which leaves you looking a bit the arrogant blowhard. Or the arrogant no-blow."

Fenris glared, shifting his weight to one foot, as he lifted the other straight out, caught it with his arm, and tucked his foot behind his head. "You were saying?" He smirked, before rolling his shoulder, tipping his head, and untangling that contortion, wholly without losing his balance.

Anders blinked. "Okay, I can't do _that_. But, I still say you can't do this," he said, shoving his trousers down and taking a seat on the edge of the bed to pull off his boots.

Artemis dropped to sit on the edge of the bed before he fell down instead. Sometimes Artie forgot just how bendy his elf was, especially when he was the one being bent over or folded in half. Fenris looked nothing less than smug as he climbed onto the bed next, settling on the opposite side of Anders as he plucked at the laces to his trousers.

"Care to make this interesting, mage?" Fenris asked, smug smile curling towards wicked.

"I already find this interesting," Artemis mumbled to himself, pretzeling his legs and settling back against the footboard. "Exceedingly interesting."

Anders's boots, codpiece, and trousers made a pool of fabric in the middle of the floor, a pool which Artie decided to leave be for the moment. "You want to bet for real, do you?" Anders asked. "You've been spending too much time with Izzy. Unless we're betting in actual sausages, I'm afraid I don't have much currency to bet _with_."

"How about this," Artie suggested. "Winner can have me however he wants. Seems like a win-win, to me."

"But, if you're the judge, you'd be cheating," Anders pointed out. "Fenris wins regardless, in that case."

"Fenris wins regardless in any case," Fenris shot back, folding his own clothes and setting them neatly beside the bed. "It's a matter of will and talent."

"Eat me," Anders scoffed, lying back and bringing his legs up until he was supported on his neck and shoulders, hands on his back, elbows braced on the bed.

"I'm not a fan of chorizo," Fenris replied, the smugly wicked smile undented.

"Your husband is. Maybe you should give it another try, some time," Anders drawled, slowly bringing his knees down as healing magic poured into his back. He really was getting a little old for this. But, even in its half-interested state, his knob met his lips easily as his knees touched the bed to either side of his head. This was much further bent than he'd gotten with Nate, and the more he thought on it, the more glad he was he hadn't bent this far -- he'd have choked himself. Still, he purred contentedly around his own knob, letting the healing magic ease the sensation of his spine separating and his ribs moving.

A garbled sound caught in Artie's throat. "That's... so that _is_ physically... wow."

Fenris looked much less impressed. His brands itched from his proximity to Anders's magic, and he caught the blue-green glow of healing before it seeped into the mage's back. "Getting too old for this, mage?" he asked. "Do try not to break anything."

Anders replied with a "fuck you" muffled by his own knob.

Fenris met Artie's look and bared his teeth in a grin that Artie took as a promise. Then Fenris shifted, finding his centre of balance as he lifted first one thigh and then the next, bending in on himself at an impossible angle. He wrapped his lips around his knob as though it were no effort at all.

Artemis didn't realise he had his mouth open until he felt the drool pooling at the corners of his lips. He swallowed and wiped his mouth. "Wow." Thank the Maker for gorgeous elves, particularly this one.

Anders's back unbent enough to let him speak. "I'm surprised I can still do this at all, after what the templars did to my back. And my knees. And my knob. You know they expected I'd lose it to gangrene?" He stretched his tongue, letting it dance over the tip. "So, maybe I am a little old for this, but I play well, despite the handicap."

And there it was again, the implication that Anders had been broken and left without healing of any kind. The idea of it still chilled Fenris to the bone. He lifted his head a little. "Ah, but the contest wasn't 'who could overcome the greatest hardship', was it?" he taunted, without the least sympathy in his voice. He knew it was true, but he also knew he couldn't let Anders play the damaged mage card, here -- to tug at Artemis's sympathies.

"No, but if it was who could swallow come from the greatest hard knob, that would still be me." Anders sucked at just the tip, making obscene sounds of pleasure, before lowering himself down until an utterly absurd length of his flagpole vanished down his own throat.

Fenris rolled his eyes. If the mage wanted to show off, two could play at that game. He bent over his knob again, licking the tip and trying too hard not to think about the flavour or the way the lyrium sparked on his tongue. Then he hugged his thighs closer, tattooed knob disappearing into his mouth.

Artemis looked from one to the other, shifting and adjusting the way his codpiece sat. "If I, uh... if I call it a tie, could the two of you try ravishing me as a tie-breaker? As your judge, I feel it is the only way to remain objective in these proceedings."

Fenris chuffed around his knob, his whole body moving with the sound, before he let it fall from his lips. "For the sake of objectivity, hm?"

"I take my role very seriously."

"Yes, yes, yes! Right there! Creators, yes, just like that!" Cormac howled from the next room. "Oh, make me _bleed_!"

The flagpole stoppered Anders's laugh.

"I see my brother is having his own party next door," Artemis said, eyes round. He counted the dicks in the room, and wondered who he was with. Probably Izzy.

"We did leave him in the company of dwarves." The words were slow and thick with spit, as Anders lifted himself out of his own mouth again. "We left him in the company of Gytha, so Maker only knows what they've gotten up to..."

"As Theron once pointed out, your brother is, in essence, a very tall dwarf," Fenris noted, no longer quite as interested, with the sound of Cormac in the background.


	360. Chapter 360

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Artemis decides he has an even better idea. Fenris isn't sure about it, but Anders is willing to give it a try.

"I think we should ravish the judge," Anders decided, slowly unfolding himself. "For the sake of his objectivity, of course, and maybe to give the party next door something to think about."

"It's not exactly like you or I are loud," Fenris reminded him, straightening his back. "And my mage is very subtle in his sounds."

"Perhaps in his sounds, but not in some other regards." Anders's eyebrows flicked up suggestively. "And I think we've gotten him less than entirely quiet on a few occasions."

Artemis stretched his legs out on the bed, rubbing Anders's thigh with the back of his foot. "I like the way you think," he said, biting his lip.

Not to be outdone, Fenris unfurled from his pretzelled state and crawled over to his husband, his hand smoothing over Artemis's chest and up to wrap around his throat. He didn't squeeze yet, merely stroked the soft skin there with the pads of his fingers and watched his mage melt under him. "This is true," Fenris hummed. "I remember pulling some interesting sounds out of you when I held your breath in my hand."

Fenris's hand glowed but still didn't press into skin, and Artemis all but whimpered. "Okay, yes, I like the way you think, too," he said.

"Hear that?" Fenris said to Anders over his shoulder. "I think the judge favours me."

"The judge isn't done with you yet," Artemis reminded him. "And the judge is also still wearing pants, which is a travesty."

"The judge only gets to judge one of us, because I'm not touching him while you're doing that," Anders said, with a shrug, sitting up and pulling his knees up. "I'm not doing anything that might end in an accident that could kill one of us. Okay, it's probably pretty hard to kill me, but I worry about the two of you. Mostly him." He gestured at Artemis. "I don't doubt the two of you can keep it together, for that. I've watched you do it. I do doubt the three of us can."

"So, you admit you're the problem?" Fenris asked, with a faintly antagonistic smile.

"The problem is that you can't read minds," Anders shot back. "I don't actually want to get between the two of you. You know that, right? This is just for fun."

And in a way, Fenris supposed he had known it, but the way Anders went on, sometimes, he still had the occasional doubt. "If you wanted to get between the two of us, I'd prefer you did it on your knees. And there are much better ways to drive us apart than seducing both of us in the same evening."

Fenris's hand still glowed where it touched Artemis, at least until Artemis's hand on his arm brought his attention to it. Fenris's hand became solid again, non-glowing skin against non-glowing skin. "Anders is right," Artie murmured to his husband. "There are other ways we can do this. Other ways we _have_ done this." Artemis stretched up to nuzzle at one pointed ear. "And you get to have me all to yourself later. You know that." Artie bit the ear's tip just to watch it twitch.

Fenris made a noise somewhere between a purr and a growl.

"I could get on my knees if that's what you want," Anders offered, his smile just this side of defiant. "Or did Messere Elf prefer his own tongue?" Fenris's next sound was definitely a growl. "I'm teasing. Relax."

"And I thank you two for not bringing any chocolate into my bed," Artemis joked, trying to defuse the tension he could still feel in Fenris's shoulders. "That is murder to get out of bedsheets, no matter how tasty."

"You say this like you've had the experience!" Anders marvelled, settling onto his elbows and knees in the middle of the bed. "Your own, or were you cleaning up after one of your siblings?" He didn't say 'brothers' this time, figuring chocolate might actually be on Bethany's list of things to do. Bethany and chocolate... that was almost appealing, now that he thought about it. Aside from the part where Cormac would knock all his teeth in and never come back to bed.

"Anton," Artemis muttered. "The messy little shit. I swear he did it on purpose, too."

"Oh, well, if it was Anton, I'm sure he did." Anders snorted. "I'll let the two of you work out where you want me. Justice and I don't mind, as long as there's some lyrium at some point. I don't mind even if we don't get a taste, but he gets a little excited being this close."

"Justice has already had a taste of lyrium, tonight," Fenris reminded him, fingers unlacing Artemis's trousers.

"And I've already gotten quite a mouthful of Tevinter sausage cream. Maybe I should move on to spicy Fereldan horseradish." Anders shrugged, ass in the air, as he rested his chin on his hands. "Either way, I've got some doubts the chorizo has a place in this party." He glanced toward the wall as another of Cormac's screams spilled through, a bit muffled. "I really hope they don't break him too badly."

"That's why we have a healer next door," Artemis reminded him. He paused to listen for a moment and then shrugged. "That doesn't sound half as frightening as some of the things I usually hear him scream."

"I have tried to block those screams from my memory," Fenris drily replied. He helped Artie wriggle out of his pants and bent to nip at a sharp hipbone as it was exposed. "So how does our fair judge want us, then? I'm afraid there isn't any interesting Tevinter furniture in here to put to use. More's the pity."

Fenris nuzzled the inside of Artie's thigh, and Artemis let out a shaky breath, fingers carding through Fenris's hair, white strands against dark skin. And that was his elf, always asking what _he_ wanted, and Artie wondered how he got so lucky.

"I want..." Artemis licked his lip as he considered. "I want to spoil you the way you spoil me. What would _you_ like, hmm? I know you like my fingers and his mouth..."

That wasn't what Anders had expected at all, but he could manage. He rather liked the way Justice nearly purred at the taste of the lyrium in Fenris's skin -- at the taste of Fenris's skin even where the lyrium wasn't, too. "I'm easy. Whatever the two of you want, I'm probably good for it. Unless it's actually a bad idea. I'll tell you if it's a bad idea."

Fenris's eyes lingered on Anders, almost as if he hoped to draw some inspiration from the easiest mage in Thedas. "What _I_ want? I thought we were supposed to impress you with our talents."

"Adaptability is a talent," Anders suggested. "You want me to suck you off again, I'll do it. Without the chocolate this time. You want something more complicated, I'll hear you out, and probably do it. You don't usually have terrible ideas, that I've noticed."

Confusion crossed Fenris's face, as he finally looked up at Artemis. "You... want him to please me?" he asked, needing to be very sure what was happening.

"That was merely a suggestion," Artemis replied, pulling Fenris up into a kiss. "I want you to be pleased in whichever way would make your toes curl."

"I want you to touch me," Fenris decided, the words rushing out, before anything could stop them. "I want you to touch me with your fingers. I want him to touch me with his tongue. Anywhere. Everywhere. And the magic that tingles -- I want that, too. I --" He stopped, suddenly, abashed, and glanced at Anders.

"I'm not hearing any bad ideas," Anders assured him, running one sparking finger across Fenris's knee. "This magic that tingles?"

Fenris nodded, eyes still uncertain.

"I think we can do that." Anders looked up at Artie. "Can we do that, Artie?"

"Can and will," Artie agreed, tracing a sparkling finger of his own along the back of Fenris's ear. Fenris shuddered, twisting as though he wasn't sure he wanted to lean into or away from that touch. Artemis couldn't remember the last time Fenris had asked for something so eagerly, and for a moment he wondered if that had been his fault, if he had been neglecting his husband's needs and desires. If so, he would be sure to make up for lost time, with Anders's help.

"Amatus," Fenris breathed. The look in his eyes turned from wary to cautiously hopeful. Artemis pressed a kiss to Fenris's forehead and nudged him towards Anders.

Anders's eyes were blue around the edges, but he spoke with his own voice. "Good thing I've developed a liking for Tevinter sausage," he said, licking his lips obscenely, walking his sparking fingers up the side of Fenris's leg.

That voice was enough to bring Fenris back to himself. "And here I was hoping there was some creativity left in you." He shot Anders a pitying glance. "Oh, I know, tattered old mage. Even your creativity is scarred."

"You are outrageously lucky I like you," Anders grumbled, squinting at the teasing smirk on Fenris's face.

"Prove it," Fenris replied, with a shiver of amusement that could have been a laugh if there were sound in it.


	361. Chapter 361

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris rediscovers the joy of being in bed with two mages, instead of just one.

Anders put one finger on the tip of Fenris's knob and the other on the point of his chin, and current darted down the lyrium lines, a faint blue glow chasing it. Fenris's breath stuttered, and he arched against Artemis's legs, settling back down, panting, as Anders pulled his fingers away. With a smug smile, Anders curled up by Fenris's feet, massaging them as he licked at the tips of Fenris's toes.

And that was new. Artemis had touched much of him with his tongue over the years, but Fenris didn't think his toes were on that list. Fenris hadn't considered his feet for much, other than walking, kicking, or potentially picking something up with his toes. There was pleasure to be found there too, it seemed, between a sparking tongue and lyrium-lined feet, and he wondered what else these mages would show him before the night was over.

Behind him, Artemis shifted, settling at Fenris's back, one thigh to either side of Fenris. His fingers traced the hard planes of Fenris's back, just the ghost of a touch before adding pressure, sending a low pulse of electricity down his spine with each press of a thumb.

Fenris didn't recognise the sounds leaving his mouth as his own.

Anders hadn't expected this kind of response. In his experience, even while outrageously drunk, Fenris was relatively reserved -- obviously not as quiet as he was, but that was only to be expected. That was his own curse, not Fenris's. Still, most of what had come out of Fenris, in the past, had been low moans and quiet, breathy sounds, more air than noise. And, of course, the occasional commanding growl. But, this... surprised squeaks and relaxed groans. Maybe it was time to introduce Fenris to the rest of this set of his talents. He'd had Fenris's feet in his hands, before, but it hadn't gone much further, then.

Fenris's head rested against Artemis's shoulder, as he tried to make sense of the sensations. Certainly the magic was something he'd felt before. He'd gotten a taste for electricity, even beyond the runes he wore almost constantly. But, the way Anders's thumbs pressed at his feet -- he could feel his hips relax. He hadn't known his hips were capable of relaxing, but he swore it was happening now. And the constant flow of Artemis's magic against his back was a reminder that he'd finally found a mage he'd trust behind him. There were two mages in the room with him, and he'd removed his clothes, intentionally, to allow them to pleasure him -- and that wasn't the way these things worked, he was sure, even in the South, but... nothing ever went quite the way it was meant to around the Hawkes, and maybe that was a good thing. Certainly there were demons and ancient magisters, but there were also inversions of the generally accepted order, like this. Like the two mages pleasuring him like he told them to. Like the fact that he was expected to have desires for other people to fulfil. Maybe that wasn't a bad thing at all.

Artemis feathered a kiss over Fenris's cheek, his hands working lower and lower. Those lovely little sounds were right in his ear, and Artie wondered what Anders was doing to get that kind of response. He felt a bit ham-fisted in comparison, hands moving more out of instinct than skill, but he took his cues from Fenris and those shaky sounds, knowing it was silly to be envious of Anders's talents, considering how often he'd enjoyed them himself.

"Mage," Fenris breathed at a particularly sharp jolt at a surprisingly sensitive spot, unsure which mage he was addressing.

"Mages," Artie reminded him, thumbs digging in behind Fenris's hips. And _that_ drew an interesting sound.

Fenris found himself panting, unable to catch his breath as waves of pleasure crashed over him. Anders's hands hadn't yet left his feet, but those thumbs shot sparkles behind his eyes. And speaking of thumbs, whatever strange thing Artemis was doing to his back...

"You all right?" Anders asked, as Fenris looked particularly baffled, both hands clutching at Artemis's thighs.

A few moments passed, and then Fenris nodded, gazing at Anders in wonderment.

"Been a while since anyone's looked at me like that," Anders joked, fingers pressing in around Fenris's ankle, before he leaned down to trace a lyrium line with his tongue from the top of Fenris's foot all the way up to his knee.

Fenris squeaked, and that was a very un-Fenrisy sound in Artie's ear. Chuckling, Artemis nipped what he could reach of his husband's throat. "Having fun yet?" he rumbled against Fenris's skin.

Fenris's response wasn't quite a word. It was a sound Artie hoped was pleasured that sounded equal parts needy and confused, like he wasn't quite sure what was happening, but he didn't want it to stop.

"I'm going to interpret that as a yes," Anders said, meeting Artemis's eyes over the length of Fenris's body.

"It's... yes," Fenris finally managed.

Slowly Anders's lips and tongue worked their way up Fenris's body, while Artemis's hands worked their way down, and Fenris's fists twisted in the sheets.

"Mage!" Fenris's voice was breathy and strained as Anders's tongue traced the lines along his inner thighs, hands still kneading his lower legs.

Anders's eyes sparkled, and he looked like he might say something -- no doubt something outrageously foolish, when voices from the other side of the wall interrupted.

A feminine whoop of glee preceded an utterly ragged, wordless shout of pain -- clearly Cormac's. More of Cormac's excruciating screaming followed, and Anders could see the look that would be on his face, eyes bright, tears streaming down his cheeks, as he begged for-- "More, yes, _harder_!"

"Sometimes, I worry about him," Anders sighed, rubbing his face, before he returned his attention to Fenris's thighs, current darting along the lines of lyrium, followed by his tongue.

"I always worry about him," Artemis sighed in turn, hands stilling on Fenris's skin before he shook off the distraction of Cormac's voice. He pictured the same thing Anders did, a picture his knob took especial interest in, and he tried not to squirm. Fenris. This was for Fenris's pleasure.

And Cormac's screams were certainly to Fenris's displeasure. The breathy, squeaking sounds that had fascinated the mages gave way to sullen growling even as these mages tried to coax him back into his earlier relaxed and dazed state. The electricity and press of fingers and tongue were, thankfully, distracting enough for Fenris to put Cormac and his screaming from his mind.

Artemis's hands kneaded at the tops of Fenris's ass while Fenris swore at something Anders did, bucking up into his touch. It was certainly a fine ass, Artemis reflected, one he never tired of squeezing. Artie's thumbs continued to spark as he moved, kneading in small circles until the pad of one thumb found the cleft of Fenris's ass and his entrance, sending a teasing jolt to the ring of flesh there without pressing in.

Anders looked up from where he'd been licking at the top of Fenris's thigh, as he realised where Artie's hands had gotten to. "Fenris. Deep breath."

Confused, Fenris struggled through a few more stuttery breaths, at Artemis's teasing, and then managed to inhale in a way that involved his entire body. Anders's hand swept across his belly, and a very strange sensation ran through him. Runny. Wet. "... What--?"

"For him. So the two of you don't make more of a mess than you need to." Anders shrugged, keeping his hands cupped on the points of Fenris's hips, little flickers of electricity leaping between them, sparking against the tip of Fenris's knob.

Fenris arched and writhed at the sparks, Cormac's voice nearly forgotten, even as it continued to thrum through the wall, along with rather suggestive thumping and scraping sounds. Oil, he realised, as he felt it run down but not out. Anders had put oil inside him, but made no move to make use of it, because he expected Artemis would. Which seemed an odd expectation, except that, oh, the way that thumb rubbed and stroked at him. It had been a kindness to Artemis, Anders had said, and Fenris could almost believe that. Artemis disliked getting grease on things, however much he knew to use it.

"I really wish you'd teach me that trick," Artemis said, but what he really meant was 'I really wish I could _do_ that trick without accidentally getting grease in places not meant for it'.

"Or you could just invite me to more parties, and I can keep doing it for you," Anders replied with a wink.

Artemis's touch was still light on Fenris's hole, still tracing the ring but not dipping in just yet. Artie kissed the shoulder in front of him and asked, "Ready?"

"Please," Fenris panted. "Amatus, touch me."

Implying Artemis hadn't been touching him, but Artie knew what he meant. He grinned against Fenris's shoulder and closed his teeth around it in a teasing bite. "I love you," he said, "most gorgeous of elves."

Before Fenris could respond, before he could tell Artemis that that was high praise coming from him, Artemis pressed one finger into him and curled it, stroking electricity into his inner walls.

Fenris's entire body twinged, toes spreading, fingers digging into Artemis's thighs, and Anders took advantage of the moment, wrapping his lips around Fenris's knob and slowly lapping at the long lines of lyrium that ran from base to tip. Anders's hands moved in, thumbs tucking behind Fenris's balls, as the tips of his forefingers touched, just shy of Fenris's navel. Warmth and a faint tingle of electricity spread out from his hands, soothing the flesh he touched.

Above him, Fenris panted desperately, at a loss for words, as he clutched at any part of Artemis he could reach, the surprise so clear on his face. This -- all of this -- was new, somehow. Not that these things hadn't been done before, but never all at once. Never simply because he wished for it. Certainly never so thoroughly. Every time he thought Artemis had granted him the ultimate pleasure, every time he started to get comfortable with the limits of his own delight, his mage would find some new thing to entice him to further bliss.

And he wondered if this was somehow the offset to Danarius's unending parade of pains.

A part of Artemis wished he could better see Fenris's face from this angle, but then he wouldn't have those shaky breaths right at his ear, those soft barely-there sounds that made goosebumps rise on his skin. He thought, for a moment, of the last time he had stroked Fenris's insides this softly, this delicately. _That_ part of the evening, at least, had gone well, even if it had ended in disaster.

A soft kiss behind Fenris's ear, and Artemis pushed in a second finger, both sending a pulsing current through Fenris's flesh in time to their movements. Fenris's hips jerked back on those fingers while Anders licked him to a different tempo. Together, they wrung sounds out of him that were as much desperate as pleasured.

"Artemis... Anders..." Fenris panted, ears trembling as he kneaded the thighs in his hands. Artemis smirked down at Anders over Fenris's shoulder.

The sound of his own name shot straight to his knob, and Anders looked up in surprise. He didn't think that had ever made the list, between the two of them, with Fenris either just calling him 'mage' or maybe addressing Justice. That was new, and he wasn't quite sure what to think of it -- if it had just been an act of reflex or if he'd somehow gained something. It wasn't as if Fenris had a proper name, either, except that wasn't quite true. Fenris did have a name -- a name his sister brought back to him -- but it was the name of a person he didn't remember being. Still, his names were names, and not simply adjectives or common nouns. Even so, Fenris panting out what everyone else called him seemed like a small victory, after all this time.

Fenris's own thoughts were not nearly so collected, as he writhed, lost in both desire and having his desires granted. Everything seemed so simple, somehow. Everything felt good. He was naked and unafraid, between two mages whose magic seemed devoted to his pleasure. It was somewhere he was strongly considering making a point to be again, although, perhaps with less shrieking magical bear in the next room, in the future. That was getting a little tiresome.

Slowly, Artemis's touch built from teasing to merciless as he found a rhythm that matched Anders's, trading currents between his hand and Anders's tongue, currents that Fenris let sweep him away. Hips shivering, toes pointing, Fenris forgot how to breathe for a long, dazzling moment, forgot even why he needed to, forgot why he needed anything at all other than this pleasure as he pulsed on Anders's tongue.

Even with his eyes closed, the Fade sparked bright and blue, and Fenris knew that, if he opened his eyes, it would be to see blazing blue staring back.

The magic slowed, touches turning lazy and gentle, somehow both too much and just enough as these mages teased every last shiver out of him. "Amatus," Fenris breathed, only then realising that he was gripping Artemis's thighs perhaps a little too hard. He let go, soothing the crescent marks his nails had left with gentle strokes of his fingers.

Artemis offered no complaints, merely drew his fingers out slowly, almost regretfully, and wrapped his arms around his elf. "Right here, Amatus," Artie said in reply, kissing the shoulder in front of him.

Anders pressed a few more gentle kisses to the junctures of the lyrium lines down Fenris's legs, before he sat up and dragged his trousers back on, spending a long while fiddling with the codpiece. How had Cormac gotten it to sit so perfectly on him? Perhaps this was a thing that required another set of hands. Or maybe it just required the flagpole to be standing at something less than half-mast. Still, he was dressed before the long, lingering kiss behind him broke.

"Anders," Fenris said, quietly, waiting for the man to stop fiddling with his crotch and look back. "Thank you."

"No need." Anders took in the confusion that had returned to Fenris's face, in the aftermath, and went back to straightening the griffin. "Doesn't take much to convince either of us. Justice thanks you for sharing." He'd excuse himself, he thought, and get out of their way. Maybe stand around on the balcony until one of the dwarves came running for a healer, because Cormac had done something inexplicably stupid. At least they were upstairs. Maybe he just needed some air. Maybe he just needed this stupid griffin to stop digging in to his soft parts and his extremely less than soft parts.

Artemis frowned at Anders, or more specifically at Anders's trousers and codpiece. It wasn't sitting on him quite right, but he wouldn't mention it. "You look like you're leaving," he said. "You don't have to."

It wasn't the first time he'd made such an offer to Anders while wrapped around Fenris, and he suspected the offer would only be declined again. He also suspected Anders planned to check on Cormac, which was probably a wise choice, considering the sounds coming from next door.

Fenris grunted something non-committal and nuzzled under his mage's jaw.

"What," Anders teased, "and deprive the rest of the party of the Ander chorizo? That would be incredibly selfish."


	362. Chapter 362

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conversations with Bethany, who knows and sees all things.

The noises from behind the next door were reaching a point Anders recognised, by the time he stepped out into the hall, and he didn't expect it would take much longer for someone in that room to come looking for him. It certainly wouldn't take much longer for someone in that room to come. He leaned on the rail and stared down into the party below, wondering if Anton had dragged Cullen into a closet, yet. That seemed to be a theme, with them, closets. One closet in particular, from what he'd heard.

A sudden squeak of laughter from a little closer than he was expecting got him to look less out and more down -- and hidden in the corner by the stairs, behind some decorative trees, he spotted Varania and that older Dalesman, from earlier. It certainly looked like they were having a good time -- a constantly shifting tangle of hands and loosened clothing. He wondered if he shouldn't point out that there were convenient closets that might provide slightly more privacy and a few Orlesian coats to ruin, but then realised that would deprive him of the show. They were much cuter than he'd ever been, really. But, it was like Howe said. He was beautiful garbage. More of an erotic nightmare than a sweet, romantic dream.

Anders wasn't surprised when a Hawke in a codpiece joined him at the railing, though this particular Hawke was unexpected. Bethany peered over the railing and smirked down at the entwined couple. "They really are cute together, aren't they? Almost sickening."

"Honestly, I just want to see how they manoeuvre around that halla," Anders replied. From the wince he caught on Varania's face, followed by muffled laughter, he assumed they were still working out those logistics.

"At least it's not a varterral," Bethany said with mock seriousness. A loud noise from the other room caught her attention, and Bethany glanced at the door, one elegant eyebrow raised. "Ah. Is that where my brothers ran off to?"

"One of your brothers. I just finished getting misused by another. Apparently it's 'appreciate Fenris's lyrium' day. Justice is thrilled. I can't get my codpiece to sit right." Anders re-settled the griffon for what must've been the hundredth time. "Cormac ran off with Natia and Gytha. I expect one of them will be looking for me, shortly, if only to make the bleeding stop." He paused. "What makes you think they'd both be together, with Cormac making noises like _that_? Doubly so if I'm not in there with them? I think Artie'd faint, before Cormac got quite ... there." He winced at a particularly raw scream. "Very messy. Also, your brothers. You been reading too much Page Six again?"

"I think they've been reading too much Page Six." Bethany chuckled, quietly, offering Anders her glass. "I caught them snogging in the library, earlier. Cormac said Artie was drunk. Artie didn't say anything at all. But, I know the way Artie looks at him. It's been almost twenty years. Did you really not know?"

"Twenty years--? How long have you been looking? Are you even old enough to have noticed it twenty years ago?" Anders laughed and took a swig from the glass before handing it back.

"Maybe it's only fifteen, but Artie's been mooning forever. Used to watch Cormac like Cormac watched that guy from the next farm. Gary? Something." Bethany shrugged and took a sip, eyeing the halla speculatively. "But, you know, if they're happy? Good for them. They deserve it. We've all been through so much."

Anders couldn't argue with that. The way those two were, shakes and screams, it was a wonder no one else had caught them, and it was a good thing Bethany had only caught them snogging. "I wouldn't mention it to Carver, though," he said, though Bethany clearly already knew better.

"Of course not," Bethany said, batting her eyelashes innocently. "Not unless I want him to have nightmares."

"Or to punch Cormac," Anders sighed.

The door behind them creaked open, and a dwarven face peeked around the door. "Warden," Gytha said with the utmost poise, "may we borrow you?"

"Any time and any place, Gytha," Anders said. "You know that."

Gytha scoffed. "Keep your Pillar in your codpiece, Anders. That's not the kind of service we're looking for."

"Are you sure?" Anders teased, following Gytha into the room. "I can multitask."

Bethany watched Anders follow the dwarf back into Cormac's room. It was a good thing Cormac had Anders looking after him, especially since their father had died, and there were no other healers of any merit in the family. She turned back to watch the elves below, just in time to be backed into by another elf.

"Oh, sorry. I got lost." Theron looked totally turned around. "How do you live in this place? It's a maze... I was just looking for a place to take a tinkle. Next time I'm just going to water the garden! At least I can see that from here."

"Still looking?" Bethany asked.

"No, no. Bodhan got me there. I just got lost getting back. I think this is back. Is that-- oh, thank the Creators, those are stairs." Theron sighed and leaned against the rail. "So, did I hear Anders a minute ago?"

"You did. He's gone to clean up my brother's mess. Did you need him for something?" Bethany swirled the little bit of wine left in her glass.

"I don't know that I'd say 'need', really, but the curiosity is killing me. Artemis talks about him. My wife talks about him." Theron shrugged, following Bethany's gaze with his eyes. So, _that_ was where Paivel had disappeared to, the sneaky old goat. "Looks like that halla is getting luckier than I am tonight."

No sooner had he spoken than the floor started to rumble, a fine tremor that most of the guests ignored, but that had Theron's ears perking up.

"I guess the halla's not the only one," Theron said, looking around for the epicentre of the earthquakes. "And he didn't invite me. I'm terribly hurt. Terribly."

"I'm sure he will make it up to you," Bethany said. She didn't smile, but the amusement was plain in her eyes. "And I believe he's in the room behind you, if that's what you're looking for. Not that you should go in," she added, when Theron turned eagerly. "If Artie's with his husband, that is a fast way to get yourself killed."

Theron pouted but waited with her. He didn't have to wait long, for Artemis and Fenris stumbled out of the bedroom minutes later, hair rumpled and codpieces askew. The grin froze on Artie's face when he saw his sister was just outside.

"Fenris!" Bethany smiled brightly and raised her voice a bit. "Why don't you and Theron go downstairs and check on your sister." The sound of shuffling and elbows knocking into walls could be heard from below. "I'm sure she's having a lovely time, but you know how these parties get. I just need to talk to my brother for a moment."

Artemis looked nothing short of terrified, his grip on Fenris's hand almost tight enough to bruise. Fenris looked curiously down at their hands, then up at his husband. This was, he suspected, related to why he'd found Artie drinking so heavily. Pressing a kiss to Artemis's knuckles, Fenris pulled his hand free, smiling at the desperate look Artie gave him.

"Oooh. Scary sibling conversations." Theron patted Artie on the shoulder as he passed, and looked back at Bethany. "Please don't break him. I spent my whole life looking for a replacement, and there's not one."

"Sometimes I wonder why he married me, and not you," Fenris muttered, following Theron down the stairs.

"Obviously, because I'd already been swept away by a rampaging scoundrel with very pretty eyes." Theron grinned. "And when we find your sister, please don't kill Paivel. We've already lost the Keeper, this year. I can't handle any more political upheaval."

"Is there a reason I would kill Paivel? What do you know that I don't..."

Bethany waited until the voices faded, before she held out her hands to her brother, inviting him to take them. "Did you tell him, then? Does he know that's not just you being drunk? Because if you haven't, I really think you should. I think he'd surprise you." She smiled knowingly.

Artemis blinked at his sister, waiting for her to elaborate, but she merely stared back. Did Artie tell whom what? Which drunken thing was she referring to? Well. Okay, he knew _which_ drunken thing, but. His mind raced with questions, and he reminded himself to breathe. "Who?" he finally asked. "Fenris? Theron?" Cormac? "What?"

Bethany chuckled and squeezed her brother's hands. "Artie, relax," she said. "You look like you're going to pass out. I meant, have you told Cormac how you feel?"

"Feel?" Artemis repeated. Breathe. Right. "Cormac?"

"I mean aside from the way you were feeling him earlier," Bethany teased. "With both hands."

A strangled sound caught in Artemis's throat and died there. "I... I don't..."

" _Breathe_ , Artie. Maker's sake. I know. I've known for a long time." She cupped Artemis's face between her hands.

Those were words Artemis had been afraid of. He squeezed his eyes shut. "How did you figure it out?" he asked.

"I've seen the way you watch him. You never paid me much mind, when we were young -- you were both so much older, maybe you didn't think I'd see. But, that boy from over the fence -- the one whose brothers kept bulls -- I saw how Cormac looked at him. And you always looked at Cormac almost the same way, but only when you thought he wasn't looking. Like he was a bag of sweets from one of the Northern traders." Bethany chuckled again, tugging at a lock of Artie's hair, before she tucked it behind his ear. "And I know he looks at you like both moons and all the stars shine out of your ass. He always has, as long as I can remember. Do you know how much he loves you? More than all the rest of us, and I don't say it to be cruel. He cares quite a bit for us, and we care quite a bit for you, but ... not like he does for you." She let that sink in a bit. "So, if you haven't, I think you should let him know. I really don't think he'd be upset. It might ease his mind to know what you've been all bent up about."

Artemis stared at her chin, words sticking in his throat before he could work them free. "He knows," he admitted. "He... We..." He paused, unsure how much he should confess, how much Bethy needed -- or wanted -- to know. "We were drunk one night, and it sort of... spilled out." Which was more or less true, if vague. "That night, after we helped Feynriel -- that somniari we told you about. I was angry with Fenris, and..." Artemis swallowed, chewing his lips.

Bethany's eyebrows rose. "While you were with Anders? Oh my." Her smile turned wicked, and she could feel Artie's cheeks heat under her palms.

"It wasn't...! Er..." He felt like Bethany's hands were the only thing holding him up. His baby sister. "Are you going to punch Cormac now too?"

"Why would I punch him?" Bethany actually laughed, this time, the sound ringing off the wall beside them. "I'm happy for you. You deserve to be happy, and he does, too. And if there's something I'm pretty sure I saw, before I interrupted, it was at least contentment. I was so worried you'd never say anything, and he'd spend his life sneaking you your heart's desires under the table. You know that's what that was, growing up, don't you? He'd slip Anton a few silver, and whatever it was you'd been staring at all week would show up in the house, because he just wanted you to be happy. I always thought it was sweet -- mum and dad would fight about you, well, about all three of us, but mum always came back to you, and then Cormac would be there to look out for you. Did you wake up at all, those times he came down and yelled at mum? Because he did, you know. Told her she'd wake you. Told her she didn't deserve you. Dad made him go back upstairs -- said he'd heard wrong and it was nothing to worry about, and they'd keep it down. I always thought one day I'd marry a man who treated me like Cormac treated you. Instead, I'm to be wedded to a weak prince, so I can rule his city in his name. Ah... I was so optimistic once, but this is better for all of us."

Artie's throat felt raw, his eyes misting as she spoke. He muttered a curse under his breath, wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand. He'd known. A part of him had known. The peppermint sweets he'd been eyeing, the halla toy whose fur had felt soothing under twitchy fingers. Little things, simple things, the kind that fill a child's life, none of which he ever asked for. Cormac had been spoiling him even then.

And the shouting... that Artie remembered too well.

"Hey." Bethany's voice and her light tug on his hair drew him back into the moment. "I just want you both to be happy. If I ever torment you, it's out of love." She tugged Artemis down so she could kiss his cheek, and Artie wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her tight against him. His baby sister. Sometimes he forgot she wasn't the impish little girl with the flyaway hair any more. "And you are welcome to try Sebastian's sausage, if you like, since I know he's offered it."

Artemis muffled his horrified laugh against her shoulder. "Is this what you mean by the tormenting?"

"No, no, the tormenting is the part where if you do, I insist you tell me what it's like and if he's any good with it." Bethany cackled into the space between his shoulder and her face.

"And this is what I love about the Hawkes." Anders's voice came from behind them, the only warning before his arms wrapped around both Artemis and Bethany. "Always so cuddly. And warm. And adorable."

Cormac cackled, shooing the ladies ahead of him, so he could close the door. "Anders, what did I tell you about touching my sister?"

Anders straightened up so fast he made himself dizzy, wobbling precipitously as he staggered back from the Hawkes he'd been hugging. "But, your brother's here, too! I couldn't just hug one Hawke!"

"The bold Warden falls at last to my charms!" Bethany cackled like the villainous sorceress in one of the children's festival plays, from when they were young.

"Alas!" Anders cried, dramatically, leaning to the side until his head was just above Bethany's shoulder. "She has me! I am done for!"

"Bloody right you are. Keep that on, and I'm letting the dog sleep on your side of the bed," Cormac teased.

"No worse than any night you've had cabbage salad," Anders reminded him with a sniff.

"Oh, shut up, both of you," Artemis laughed. Still hugging Bethany with one arm, he reached out with the other and dragged Cormac into the hug.

Cormac let himself be manhandled. "Sorry, ladies, it's a family moment!"

Anders met Gytha's glance. "There's nothing like a sausage party to bring family together," he drawled. Not that he would know, but then 'sausage party' wasn't something he'd tried. "Should I fetch your brothers before Carver punches something out of envy?"

"For your sake, I wouldn't interrupt Anton," Bethany said, her voice all but buried under her brothers' bulk. Slowly, she managed to extricate herself, leaving Cormac and Artie still touching as she drew back, smoothing out her shirt. "And I really should check on my darling idiot of a fiancé, while he is still a drunken darling idiot."

"Don't worry," said Anders. "The worst thing he would do is Artie, and Artie's right here."

Artemis groaned, resting his forehead on Cormac's shoulder.

"Hey, hey, what do you mean 'worst'? I'd think Artie's a step up from most of what's still down there." Cormac leaned to the side, glancing over the balcony rail, just in time to see Theron step between Fenris and Paivel. "Ah, Bethy? Would you please go teach Fenris how to have a sister? I think he's about to do something regrettable."

"I have enough regrets for all of us, tonight," Anders sighed, adjusting his codpiece again.

"I'm still amazed you're not a virgin," Gytha scoffed, "speaking of regrets."

"Oh, I've seen proof he's not." Natia shook her head. "And I'm pretty sure only one person there regretted it."

"You!?" Gytha asked, looking a little surprised.

"Oh, no. I wasn't... no. I was just there." Natia shuddered. "Wardens. Everything you've heard? It's all true."

Artemis quirked an eyebrow but didn't ask. He could probably guess part of it anyway. "Bethy, perhaps I should join you to make sure my darling husband doesn't murder anyone, if we're concerned about him and sisters."

"Should I be offended you think of sisters as a probable cause for murders?" Bethany asked, taking Artemis's arm.

"You should be flattered," Artemis replied. "We both know it's true."


	363. PART LXVI: THE INEVITABILITY OF DEMONS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More delightful gifts from Tevinter.

The shipments from Tevinter had kept coming. How much shit could one man own, Varric wondered, as the latest round of furniture was hauled into the house. This seemed to be outdoor furniture, from the look of it -- all stone and metal, carved into wild shapes. Dragons dominated, but vines of strange flowers Varric had never seen in any garden were also a strong theme. He directed the haulers to bring it all out to the back -- to the wild garden they hadn't yet approached.

Elaiodora was deep in discussion with some of the new arrivals. Varric had never imagined this many elves in one place. He'd always thought of elves as few and rare -- a handful in each Dalish clan, a smattering in alienages throughout Thedas, some up in Tevinter -- but this was really bringing home the idea of how many slaves were in Tevinter, how many elves were in Tevinter, if tens of them still arrived with each shipment of furniture. The house was getting crowded, and he was glad he'd invited Merrill and Theron to come talk to some of them. There had to be room somewhere else. Ancestors knew, it wasn't that he didn't want to help, but he only had the one estate, and it was becoming very obvious how much less of an estate it was than what Danarius had maintained.

The flash of a hand caught his eye, and he gestured for a few more pieces to be taken to the back, before he went to talk to Elaiodora. She had really become his guide and interpreter, in this venture.

"We've come to some conclusions, Messere Varric," Elaiodora said, using the title as if she'd been saying it all her life. "Those of us who have been here the longest, we believe we have found a way to earn our keep. To provide for the ones just now coming in, and the upkeep of this house."

A house. He'd thought of it as a mansion, really. Nearly a bloody palace, with the way he kept getting turned around in the halls. "I'm going to remind you that it's not necessary, but I welcome any contributions you'd like to make."

"The, ah, special furniture is in this shipment. The furniture that could be on your Page Six." Elaiodora smiled slyly. "We think we should offer romantic afternoons to the nobles of Kirkwall."

"I'm not running a brothel!" Varric exclaimed. "Absolutely not!"

"No, not a brothel! We wouldn't be providing services. Only goods. Tea, sweet desserts, exciting furniture, privacy." Elaiodora leaned in closer. "There is always a market for discreet and delightful places to meet one's paramours. I do not think the South is so different in that regard."

A romantic getaway. It was the sort of thing the Orlesians would find scandalous and irresistible, and Varric found himself considering it. "Isabela would never leave," Varric muttered. He eyed some of the furniture being moved around, furniture Isabela might even need to explain to him later, judging by the shape.

"You could provide copies of the Gazette for an added fee," Elaiodora suggested with a coy grin. "Or at least a sampling of Page Six stories?"

Varric barked a laugh. "Meredith would close us down within five hours, if we tried that." Which didn't make the idea less appealing. He did so love picturing her foaming at the mouth.

"Perhaps not if we invite her to use the furniture," Elaiodora added.

"That's an image I did not need in my day." Varric shook his head, then eyed a crate being carried in. "Is that books? Books go to the Amell estate."

* * *

"Anders?" Cormac called out, as he opened the door at the top of the stairs. He was thankful he'd taken Varric's advice about lighting the cellar stairs behind the second door, because stumbling down in the dark with a case of books that weighed as much as the dog was a sincerely distressing concept. Around the corner, down the other hall, door on the right. He propped the box against the wall, to get the door open. "Anders? I got a box for you. It's more Tevinter books Varric sent over. Merrill's going to be by the clinic, later, with some of the new elves."

He kicked the door shut and stumbled down the last flight of stairs into the room below -- only a half-level, but still further than he wanted to fall.

Anders met Cormac at the bottom of the stairs, taking the box from him with ink-stained fingers. "More elves?" he asked, wishing he could say he was surprised. He could still picture the faces of the first 'shipment' of elves from Danarius's estate, the hollow-eyed stares that looked no higher than his chin. He suspected these new elves would be the same, and he reminded Justice to try not to scare them.

Anders set the books down next to the desk, where his manifesto was still set out, ink drying. "I don't suppose these are all Orlesian romances?" he asked.

"The top few aren't his handwriting. I didn't figure it was worth unpacking them all, until we got them down here. How are the shelves holding up?" Cormac teased, wedging the top layer of books out of the box.

"It'll take more than a few volumes from a magister's library to bend them," Anders pointed out, glancing at the covers, as he moved to start putting them away.

Cormac studied the next book for a long time. Opened it, checked the front and back, shook out the pages. No, this was the real thing. "Is this... I think I'm seeing things. Is this a copy of 'Hard in Hightown'?"

"You're joking." Anders squinted at Cormac, waiting for him to say he was. When Cormac didn't, Anders took the book from him, examined it inside and out and failed to choke back a laugh. "Okay, now I'm picturing Danarius, sitting by the fire with this open on his lap. I wonder if he was a fan." Maybe Fenris and Artie's wedding would have gone differently if Danarius had known Varric was there. "Not quite an Orlesian romance, but there are quite a few books in here." He pushed a few books around in the crate, just to check.

"Here, here, put it down and see what it falls open to. It's got to be loose somewhere!" Cormac cackled and grabbed at the book, missing because he was laughing too hard. "On second thought, let's not. I don't want to know that much about him and his passions for bold Southern ladies."

He set the book down flat and went back to unpacking, finally hitting some in the style they'd come to know as research journals. With a sharp intake of breath, he pulled one out and opened it. Cormac didn't read Tevene well enough for this, but the sketches and a few words were usually enough to get a general idea. "That's a dwarf," he muttered, squinting at the sketch on a right-hand page. "And that's... something about lyrium mining? I can't read the labels on this. They don't make sense."

"Lyrium mining accidents," Anders replied, all humour gone from his voice. Justice stirred at the mention of lyrium, but Anders pushed him back. As much as he would like the extra light, he would rather it didn't come in the form of glowing skin. Anders skimmed through a few pages and tried not to look as sick as he felt. "He was researching lyrium exposure and how it mutated these dwarves." A few of the sketches were barely recognisable as dwarves, and in the back of his mind, Justice was the disturbed sort of quiet. "This... could be very useful." He set it on his desk next to the manifesto.

Anders was dying to know how so much lyrium hadn't warped Fenris in this way. And, moreover, he was dying to make sure Fenris stayed un-warped.

"He really thought he was on to something, didn't he?" Cormac muttered, unpacking the next journal. "This looks like more of his work. At least, I think it is. Elves, this time, and the lines look familiar. Not the same, but similar. And there are measurements." He flipped through the pages and then paused, eyes caught on a phrase. "They had books. Elves. Before Tevinter. Somewhere in one of these shipments, there are going to be elven books."

Shoving the book into Anders's hand, he tapped the line he'd been looking at. He didn't read much Tevene, but that phrase stood out from a few places in his father's library. He'd always assumed the books in question were _Dalish_ , but in the context of these lines, in the context of the things Paivel had said, all those years ago, of course there had been books before Tevinter. And all of them probably didn't sink into the ground with Arlathan. But, had they survived? Were these just copies? Would any of them even be in any of these boxes, or were the kind of thing that was kept for scholarly research, in towers and colleges?

Nothing in the box. All the books were in Tevene, from the printed ones to the ones scrawled in Danarius's own hand, and Cormac sighed. "He had them. He had them in his hands and he read them."

"Perhaps in another shipment?" Anders suggested without much faith. "Have we gone through all the boxes?" He scanned the line Cormac pointed at, trying to decide if it was familiar. He'd spent quite a bit of time in the library at Kinloch Hold, after all, but little of it actually reading, and now he wished he'd spent more time in the Elvish section. At least then he might remember a few titles from staring at the spines. "I am afraid I am not familiar with these texts. Why would Danarius need them?"

"I don't know. But, they're definitely Elvish-language. I don't read enough Tevene to know what he was doing with them, just that he read them. And that tells me that something about his research went back to 'Continuity with the Beyond' and 'Living Apart'." Cormac shrugged, sorting the other books into piles by subject. "I'm guessing this is something about breaching the Veil, or possibly ... dividing yourself to pass through it? Being in two places at once? Wasn't there an Archon who claimed to have done that?"

"Lovias," Anders supplied without even thinking about it. He may not have paid much attention during his history lessons, but Fen'Din wouldn't shut up about him. "He's the one who choked on a fishbone and died. And that's a thought, but this research seems more focused on elves. Not just as subjects, but in their texts, in their history. Is there something I'm missing there? You're the one interested in elf culture. Or... well, _literal_ elf culture."

"I know the Dalish. Nobody knows much before that -- well, I'm sure some people do, but I don't read Tevene, so..." Cormac shrugged again. "I do know they were said to be immortal, once, and that humans stole their immortality somehow. I don't know if that's true, but I do know dragons live a real fuck of a long time, so it might be like that. I know Merrill's clan doesn't trust spirits, but I know not all the clans are like that. I know they say that the Dread Wolf locked their gods in the Beyond, which is the Fade, which makes not trusting spirits seem a little silly. I know they say the Dread Wolf locking up the gods is why Arlathan fell -- but isn't that what any culture blames their fall on? Losing their gods?" Cormac shook his head. "If we're talking about what elves have to do with Fenris, beyond the obvious, then the Fade, the Dread Wolf, and immortality seem like key points that are likely to keep coming up. He has got a wolf name, after all, and he's definitely still alive with all that lyrium under his skin."

Anders nodded, counting the books as he stacked them on the desk. "Looks like I have quite a bit of reading to do. And I don't mean Hard in Hightown."


	364. Chapter 364

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ella learns Meredith's next plan, and Cullen must make a decision. Anders makes a very different decision, and Cormac checks his plans for sense and reason.

"Girl!" Meredith hadn't bothered learning Ella's name, even after she became Cullen's assistant. Really, it suited Ella just fine. The Tranquil were invisible, and she was invisible right along with them.

"Take these down to Archives." Meredith gestured with a stack of pages, a few tabs sticking out between them, with filing notes. She didn't look up from the papers on her desk. "And tell Captain Cullen to stop screwing around with his husband and bring me the summaries from last week."

Ella took the pages and nodded deeply. "Commander, it's Makersday. The summaries always arrive on Hopeday."

"Because he's walking proof why we're supposed to give up our affiliations outside the order. How I appointed such a lazy captain, I'm not sure. Perhaps I should replace him." Meredith eyed the stack of paperwork on the corner of her desk. "But, then I'd have to waste the time teaching someone else to do his job. What is wrong with the men in this city? None of them have any strength of will! None of them have any backbone or righteous certainty!" She huffed and waved Ella out of the office.

"I will give him your instructions, Commander," Ella said, voice as blank as her face. The last thing she or any of the other mages needed was another Knight-Captain, particularly one chosen by Meredith, but every week Meredith found something new to whine about when it came to Cullen and had only acted on it once.

Meredith had already gone back to her paperwork, and she didn't so much as glance up when Ella backed out of the room, didn't notice when Ella thumbed through the papers in her hand. Which was for the best, Ella decided, since she wasn't sure she was quite able to keep the horrified look off her face. Smoothing her face back into something neutral -- or as close to neutral as she could -- Ella kept walking, not towards the archives, but towards Cullen's office.

She slipped in and closed the door behind her, leaning on it, as Cullen looked up from his own work. At the table before the file cabinets, Keran was on his feet in an instant.

"Have they tried again?" Keran asked, crossing the room. "Have they hurt you?"

Ella shook her head and held out the papers, rattling the stack, wordlessly, until Keran took them. He helped her back to his chair, but she wouldn't sit, springing back up after a moment, and pacing.

"Shit," Keran breathed, looking at the top of the third page. "Captain, she's done it. The Commander's sent for the Right of Annulment."

"Well, she's not going to get it," Cullen scoffed, finally standing to read over Keran's shoulder. "This makes it sound like the mages are rioting in the corridors every night. I think I'd have heard if that were actually happening."

"You don't think Grand Cleric Elthina's going to pass judgement on just this, do you?" Keran asked. "I mean, maybe you and the First Enchanter should go talk to her. If the Commander just filed today, you can probably beat the runners. I don't think this is going to get there until afternoon, when the handoffs at the bridge happen."

"She wouldn't possibly agree to this," Cullen said with a certainty he didn't quite feel. So far, if there was one thing he could trust Elthina to be, it was useless. If Meredith pushed too hard, Cullen couldn't be sure Elthina wouldn't be cowed. "It is absurd. But... a meeting with her and with Orsino would not be remiss. Meredith is getting out of hand."

An understatement, but Cullen worried what news was making it back to the Divine. Anton had told him all about the Divine's Right Hand and her visit, the threat of an Exalted March that hung over their heads.

"Keran, stay here with Ella," Cullen said, marching for the door. "I'm going to have a word with the First Enchanter. You did well to bring this to me, Ella. Thank you."

* * *

* * *

Cormac came down the stairs, half-expecting to find Justice bent over that too-small desk, blindly writing and tossing finished pages to the side, only half-blotted. That was fairly usual for this time of the day. He was armed with a tray of sandwiches and a small bowl of soup -- soup usually wasn't a good idea around Justice; he tended to get distracted and knock it over. But, Cormac was going to try to get them to come to bed, and this particular vinegary maize soup was something Anders would take a few minutes from anything but the most critical patients to have a bowl of.

"How's my blazing blue tower of righteousness, tonight?" he asked, swaggering into the room, only to find Anders standing before a map hung from the side of a bookcase, a few smaller pages clutched in one hand.

"Hmm? Oh, you've brought supper. You're so good to me, you know that?" Anders smiled warmly. "Put that somewhere and come take a look at this. I need another opinion."

"What are you doing?" Cormac asked, sliding the tray onto a table and grabbing a sandwich for himself. He tore a sliver of bacon out of the side and tossed it to Purrcy.

"Arranging an accident." Anders's smile widened. "I've got a letter back from Temmerin. Dworkin won't let anyone know where to find him or what he's up to -- even Temmerin doesn't know, but what Temmerin does know is going to be very useful."

"Temmerin... That dwarf Warden? With the kegs of dwarven boom?" Cormac's eyes lit up, and he looked expectantly at Anders. "Okay, what are we doing, and how bad is it going to be for the rest of Kirkwall?"

"We're going to be having our own Kirkwallian brand of 'dwarven boom'," Anders said, smile too wide to be completely confident. Cormac had been at his side through all of this, but Anders wondered -- Anders _feared_ \-- that this would be the point where Cormac put his foot down and refused. When Cormac didn't protest, Anders held up one finger, motioning for him to wait, and returned moments later with a furled piece of parchment. Pushing his desk's clutter to one side, Anders opened the parchment. "Do you remember when there were 'earthquakes' in the Chantry, and Natia and her company went to work strengthening the foundations? I... may have swiped some of their plans."

Anders let Cormac put the pieces together, and he wondered if _this_ would be the moment Cormac said no.

Cormac nodded, looking over the plans. "How is this going to come down?" he asked, finally. "Do I need to worry about shielding the house? Is it going to blow out far enough to hit Lowtown?" He looked up at Anders. "I'm all about the symbolism, here, and the fact that if it's done right it probably can be passed off as an accident, but you've saved a lot of people in this city, and I'd hate to think of us accidentally killing them all."

Anders didn't voice his relief that Cormac was still on board, but it settled there, in his chest, making it easier to breathe. "I'm thinking just Hightown," he answered. "After all, it _is_ all about the symbolism, as you say. But I don't want it to look like an accident. I'm done trying to do this peacefully. If a war is what it takes for change to happen, then so be it." He didn't hear the dissonant chord that was Justice's voice overlaid with his. "I would, however, like to ask about your barriers. How strong are they and how many can you pull out of your ass?" He knew where Cormac's first worry would be.

"Not enough. Not on that scale. Runes, though. If we can get runes onto the roofs of anywhere we want to save..." Cormac's eyes slid shut and he tipped his head back. "They're good for thirty feet, but I'd feel better with a five foot overlap. One every twenty-five feet. Hold off a while, yet. I need to talk to Sandal, and see what we can do." He scratched at his beard, looking down at the plans, again. "Still, the question remains -- how far is that going to go? How concerned do I need to be? How many places do I need to be able to cover?" He crouched down to squint along a couple of the lines. "If you blow it backward, and it falls into the harbour, are we going to ruin the economy of Kirkwall? I'm all for war, if war is what we need. You know that. But, the problem with war is always what happens to the people who don't have a stake in the outcome. We can't fuck everyone, Anders, or we're not going to win. We'll be the bad guys."

Assbiter climbed up onto Cormac's leg, tearing into the sandwich Cormac still hadn't taken a bite of to get to the meat. Bits of bread bounced across the floor as the cat shook his head.

Anders tried to shoo the cat. "Hey! Your name is Assbiter, not Sandwichbiter." When the cat merely blinked up at him, Anders sighed and picked up the cat instead, holding him to his chest and scratching behind his ears as he frowned, considering. "The Chantry is the main thing," he said. "I know there is going to be collateral. That can't be avoided, but I would like to minimize it." He hadn't really considered which direction the Chantry would fall in, and he should have. He certainly was now. "So perhaps not into the harbour, unless we have it well shielded. I am... honestly uncertain of some of the logistics, still. Where should we place the explosives and how? I might need to get better acquainted with Natia." A smirk crawled onto Anders's face. "Then again, you're already plenty acquainted with her, aren't you?"

"Are we trading my ass for information, now?" Cormac teased, picking the meat out of the sandwich for the cats. There would be enough left for him, even without it. "Am I to seduce her and get her to talk dirty to me about bringing down buildings?" He laughed. "I was hoping your crazy dwarven Wardens would know something about this kind of thing."

Cormac rocked backward, sandwich in one hand, bacon in the other, and at a misplaced foot from Purrcy, toppled onto the floor. "Aww, who's a fuzzy little savage!" he cooed, holding up the bacon to distract the cat from the other half of the sandwich, as he crammed as much into his mouth as would fit in one bite.

"My crazy dwarven Wardens know plenty," Anders told him, shaking his head at this display but not lifting a finger to intervene, not this time. "Plenty about the exploding business. They, however, know less about the particulars of this one building, which Natia now knows like the back of her hand. And... speaking of my crazy dwarven Wardens -- Dwardens? -- I was hoping to ask for your help." Anders had been expecting to do quite a bit more wheedling before getting to this point, but Cormac was already perfectly agreeable. "The explosive calls for two more ingredients, and I could use assistance collecting them."

"Ooh, another trip up Sundermount? A couple days out in the wilds with you all to myself, and nothing to worry about except potion ingredients and the occasional half-witted bandit?" Cormac tried to keep the rest of the sandwich out of Assbiter's way, while he talked. "I think I like this idea. I think I like it an awful lot." He paused a moment. "Yes, and you, Justice. You don't have to sulk so loudly, just to get some magic ass for yourself."

Anders cleared his throat. "I hate to interrupt what I'm sure is a lovely fantasy, but I'm not sure how much wilds we'll be seeing, except, perhaps, on the way to the Bone Pit. Which I mean literally and not figuratively. I know there's Drakestone up there." He offered Cormac an apologetic look, giving Assbiter's tail an affectionate tug just to see the offended look on his face. "Our second ingredient is in an equally romantic destination. We'll be looking for Sela Petrae."

"Hey, I own the Bone Pit. We can bone all we want, up there. I'll just, you know, send Janssen and the guys back to town for the weekend." Cormac grinned gamely, just in time for Purrcy to step on his forehead, trying to get to the remains of the sandwich. "Hey, hey, don't act like we don't feed you! I brought you each an entire fresh cod, this morning." Purrcy remained unconvinced, and finally, Cormac had to make the effort to remove the cats from his person and sit up. "Sela what now? That's a salt, right? Another mine?"

Damn. Anders had been hoping he wouldn't need to explain that part. "Sela Petrae," he repeated. "And it's... well, we're more likely to find it in the sewers, since it is, essentially, a mix of manure and urine." He offered Cormac a cringing smile.

"A romantic holiday scraping up shit in the sewers. You've always got the exciting ideas, don't you?" Cormac drawled, stuffing the last of the sandwich into his mouth. "Lemme change my boots," he muttered. "Pants, too. Not wearing robes in a sewer."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Rhapsody One Year Party is happening on Friday, around 5pm EST! Chapter 366 will be posted early and the link to join in will be included in the endnotes.


	365. Chapter 365

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mysterious and ancient door, where there has never been a door before.

"I'd just like to point out for the ninth time that I'm so glad Artie's not with us," Cormac muttered, scraping the questionable yellowish crystals off the underside of yet another drainpipe. "I am taking a bath, when we get out of here. I am taking six baths in a row. I think, maybe, we should just head up the coast a bit and jump in the sea."

"Yes, let's," Anders agreed, failing to keep all of the disgust off of his face as he scraped up some more as well. He didn't think he would ever feel clean again. "And let's not mention this to Artie at all, shall we? I doubt he'd touch either of us again, and I do like watching you two." And Justice liked the excuse to lick the lyrium elf.

Just a little more, and, "There. That should be enough, thank Andraste."

As they dragged themselves back up the ladder, buckets in hand, Cormac got an odd look. Handing the bucket to Anders, he stared straight across the floor, under a junk dealer's table, over a few more drops into the less sewery depths of Darktown, at something that looked very much like a door. "Anders? Has there always been a door over there?" He pointed. "Because I'm thinking maybe one of the old runes just gave out, and maybe we should pay a visit, before someone less scholarly decides to take a shot at what's down there."

Anders paused to get a good look at what Cormac was pointing out, and no, he did not recognise that door. "I agree," he said. "Though I could do without a second temple of dicks." He glanced down at the buckets in his hands. "Perhaps we should bring someone else along when we investigate? You know with our luck there will be either demons or dragons, and flinging poop at them might not be enough."

"I'd think you'd favour a second temple of dicks. Or maybe just a temple of asses to offset it. Either way, we should probably have a wash, before we do much more. I doubt tracking excrement across the floors is going to do us any favours with the demons, dragons, or arcane horrors living in there." Cormac laughed and pulled the sewer lid shut behind him. "And we should definitely not smell like this if we're going to propose adventure to my brother and sister. As much as I hate to slog this through your place, it's a stone floor and the bath is closer to the door."

"My floor can handle it," Anders agreed. "The sooner we're in a bathtub the better. I've got something in my hair I'm praying is dirt." He made for the Amell Estate's cellar, bucket first.

Purrcy flitted about their legs, eyes wide and hopeful, and Anders made a note to feed him later. Purrcy was less pushy than Assbiter, but he knew how to manipulate Anders with sad looks. But the moment there was water sloshing in the bathtub, Purrcy ran off, ears flat to his head in a look of annoyance Anders associated with spiky elves.

The tub was filled and emptied several times, until the water stayed the same faintly milky colour it came out of the pump, and Cormac took the time to make sure Anders's hair was spotless, using the same spells he used on his own, if with a little less grease. "I hope you like lemon," he said, running his fingers through that long, murky honey-coloured hair, as he drew it back from the temples in plaits that joined in the back.

Anders nearly purred at the feel of fingers in his hair, and the fresh, almost sharp scent of lemon helped push the memory of the sewers from his mind. Honestly, the things he did for mage rights... "And now I feel clean," he sighed, which would change the moment he put on his newly stained clothing. He had robes, sure, but he wasn't about to go wandering under the city without pants. That hadn't ended well the last time.

They stood naked beside the bath, just looking at the pile of filth-encrusted cloth on the floor, until Cormac spoke. "You got anything left clean that fits?" he asked. "Put on your armour -- that's from the last time you had shoulders. I'm sure Anton's laundress can handle ... that. I'm going to pay her a lot. I think I'm going to pay her more than Anton does." He slid his arms around Anders's waist. "And I am going to toss on that underrobe I left on your floor last week, and go upstairs to find the rest of what I just took off to go crawling around in the sewers. And something to put that in."

Cormac winked and grabbed an orange-coloured linen robe from where it hung on the corner of a set of shelves, shrugging into it as he let himself out. "I'll be right back to help with the buckles. You know I love the buckles."

Anders watched Cormac's skin disappear under the robe and sighed at the loss. He sent him off with a wink and one last eyeful.

It was still odd putting on his Warden robes. He'd worn them on occasion, sure, when Kirkwallian politics required, but this was the best they'd fit since he'd come here. It was rather nice having shoulders again.

A bit later, Cormac came back down, dressed and carrying a package under one arm and a plate for the cats in the other hand. "Here, kitty kitty!" he called out, setting down the plate under a table. "Leave your daddy's sandwiches in peace."

The cats heard the clink of the plate hitting the stone floor, and before Cormac had time to straighten up, they were at opposite sides of it, tearing into the leftover meat.

"Brought you something too," he said to Anders, holding out the parcel. "Perfect timing, if it's what I think it is."

"Oh, a package from you?" Anders said, taking the parcel and tearing into the paper. "Usually there's less to unwrap when that happens." He smirked at Cormac, fingers meeting cloth under the paper. "What's this?" he asked, brows knitting. He set the bundle on the desk, trying to make sense of the pieces. "Is this...? Clothing. There you are, putting clothing _on_ me. That's usually the opposite of how this works."

"Well, you know, with your profound shoulders, I thought maybe I should get you something that would go on with a little less cursing and getting stuck in the sleeves." Cormac grinned and leaned against the corner of Anders's desk. "And maybe I thought it'd be a little easier to get you out of, too. I do like taking clothing off you, but you have to be able to put it on, first. I just..." He shrugged. "I've been watching your wardrobe get smaller. You don't wear the robes out of the house, and I'm pretty sure what you've got on is the only other thing you have from before. Just seemed silly. Boning a nobleman's supposed to come with a certain set of advantages, and I finally noticed you're not taking nearly enough advantage."

"I don't take enough advantage of you? How remiss of me." Anders knew he should be saying 'thank you' instead of running at the mouth, and yet... "Ohh, Warden colours! You are consistent, aren't you?" he teased, turning over a feathered coat in silver and blue. There was another coat, underneath it, the same tan as its newly shit-stained predecessor but less ragged and wider in the shoulders. His coat used to look like this, years ago, and he smiled fondly at it, but it was the third coat that caught his eye: the same cut as the other two but black on black. He ran his fingers through the feathers and they spilled like oil over his skin.

"I thought you needed something a little more... evening-appropriate. A hint of danger, a touch of class, and, you know, I thought a bit more black would be dead sexy on you. Especially now, with your hair getting longer." Cormac smiled unapologetically. "I might have been waiting for that one to come in so I could very specifically not take it off you."

"Is that so?" Anders purred, putting an arm around Cormac's waist and pulling him close. "I'll have to model it for you when we get back." He bent to nip at Cormac's lip before softening the contact into a kiss. "Thank you," he said, finally. "This is... unexpected but certainly welcome, especially after this morning."

 

* * *

 

Cormac stood before his desk, maps of Darktown and the undercity pinned up all around him, eyes and hands leaping between points. "Here. This is where it disappears. There's not even a Darktown to speak of -- it's all just mining tunnels, which makes a door there even weirder. Probably some kind of access from somewhere else. But, then, this part of the city was always a little weird. Here's the door, just a little over from us. Here's the clinic, here's the cellar. Did I ever tell you your clinic used to open from the other end? Fell in at some point."

He dug out more maps from the pile on the desk, unrolling them. "So, the dragon, here, is the Chantry... And we're somewhere over here, so... this is... I have no idea what that is. It's not labelled. And the tunnel doesn't finish on this page. In fact, there's no indicator that there _is_ another page." Staring intently at the map in his hand, he suddenly grew very still. "Assume with me that this is a very long passage, and it goes very deep. Where are you? You're probably under the stairs. You know what else is under the stairs?" He reached up and tapped on the red lines on the map on the wall. "I've never found the ends of those. And now we have a tunnel that ends in stairs, leading in about the same direction. Why the fuck would it have a door _there_? That doesn't make any sense."

Anders looked back and forth between the maps, tracing lines with his fingers. "So you're saying this door might connect to whatever's in the middle of the ancient blood channels?" he asked. "Oh that is not ominous at all. Ah, Kirkwall, forever surprising and delighting us."

Anders's expression turned serious as he looked at Cormac, one finger still tapping the map. "We might want to bring some friends -- or relatives, in your case. Chances are, whatever's down there isn't going to be sweet and fluffy."

"Chances are whatever's in there is under the sewers, at least part of the way. I'm going to vote we don't take Artie." Cormac grinned wickedly. "How about Carver? Get some swording action -- well, actual swording. With a sword. Probably Merrill, too, now that I've brought up swording. I don't think we know anyone else with quite that perspective on demons, and I'm pretty sure 'hit it until it falls down' isn't going to be so good against something with that much blood under it. Here's hoping she can keep my baby brother alive. What the hey, you want to bring our whole templar entourage down into the depths? Cullen probably needs to get out of his office for a while."

Anders looked askance at Cormac. "You... want us to bring a blood mage, her templar lover, and his templar _boss_ \-- who doesn't know she's a blood mage -- along on a scouting mission that might involve demons and ancient blood magic?" He considered it for a moment and shrugged. "Sure, why not. We'll be doing terrible things to the Chantry soon anyway, and this is practically an average day for Cullen."

"What can I say? I think we might need some perspective on what we're about to walk in on. And a lot of smite. Like, a lot of a lot of smite. I really hope smite actually does something useful against demons." Cormac rubbed his face and looked at the maps again, as the door creaked open behind them.

"Demons?" Bethany asked. "Sorry, didn't realise you two were back upstairs. I just wanted to return this book." She slid it into the shelf where it went.

"Demons. Probably. Ancient Tevinter-summoned demons and more blood magic than anyone's seen since Archon Hessarian saw the light of Andraste." Cormac laughed and covered his face with both hands. After a moment, he peeked over his fingertips. "You want in?"

"You had me at demons, brother dear," Bethany said. "When are we leaving? Do I have time to put on more sensible shoes? I see Anders is already dressed in his Warden finest."

Anders looked down at himself as though to check. "My Warden finest already comes with sensible shoes," he said, turning out one booted heel. "And you have time, yes. We were just about to send word for your brother-in-law. The templar, not the spiky elf."

"Templars. Oh, that's going to be exciting." Bethany rolled her eyes and headed back out, as Anders knocked off a quick note on a scrap of paper from Cormac's desk.


	366. Chapter 366

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marketday in Kirkwall -- demons, blood magic, and the Knight-Captain.

They'd gathered in the front hall, when Bodhan announced that Cullen had arrived, and the Knight-Captain looked a little less than entirely pleased to see Anders armoured and obviously prepared for the worst Kirkwall had to offer.

"Did you bring me a sword?" Anders asked. "I should get my own, I know, but I'd really rather not accidentally disarm you in the middle of combat, because I need one."

"Demons. You dragged me up here from the Gallows, because you're expecting ancient Tevinter demons," Cullen clarified, crossing his arms with a creak.

"I thought we might be walking into demons, and I really couldn't think of anyone better suited to walk into that with me. We've done this before." Anders shrugged, taking responsibility for the idea, even if it had been Cormac's.

"Fuck you, Anders. Really. Fuck you." Cullen sighed and shook his head.

"You missed your chance years ago, Ser Cullen." Anders's eyes gleamed in amusement. "Is that a no? If that's a no, give me your sword and go back to the Gallows. I won't blame you for it. Not after Kinloch Hold."

"That's-- no. By which I mean it's not a no. What kind of Knight-Captain would I be if I left you and what I imagine must be some assortment of my in-laws to face off against demons on your own?"

"Well--" Anders shrugged, head tilted to the side.

"That was a rhetorical question," Cullen said before Anders could find something snarky -- if honest -- about templars. "So where are these demons?"

"Potential demons," Anders assured him. "There might not even be demons, but with our luck it would be best to assume demons anyway. And they are beneath us. Literally. Well, I suppose figuratively too, if you want to make a moral point of it." Which Justice did, muttering in the back of his mind. "But I mean they are underneath us. That way." He pointed down at the floor.

Cullen squinted at the mage, one hand on his sword already. "There are demons in the cellar? What did you do?"

"Demons in the cellar?" Merrill asked, and Anders only realised just then that she was in the doorway, a scowling Carver in tow. "That doesn't sound like you, Anders. Should I be worried about the cats?"

"The cats are fine," Anders rushed to say as Justice pushed aside a memory he didn't need right now. "And the cellar is fine and currently demon-free. The demons -- potential demons -- are in Darktown."

"Under Darktown, really," Cormac clarified. "You know there's another city down there, right? That's not just under the Chantry. It's Tevinter, it's unlabelled, and it just became obvious recently. I'm assuming that means the wards gave out. I'm also assuming, given some studies I'm acquainted with of what's down there, that there was a fairly significant blood sacrifice pretty much where we're going. I'll be honest. I don't like the odds, and that's why I want templars, including my charming shithead little brother."

"Die in a fire," Carver huffed.

"Might," Cormac shot back, with a pointed look.

"Oh!" Merrill looked surprised. "An ancient Tevinter demon? Carver and I ... There was one on Sundermount."

"Was," Carver emphasized. "Past tense. There is no longer."

Cormac nodded. "We heard from Theron. Hell of a poet, that man."

"Why am I hearing this for the first time?" Cullen asked, looking between Carver and Merrill.

"Dalish problem." Carver shrugged. "But, she asked for some help, so I went. Good thing, too. But, that's what she does, you know. She's a Dalish demonologist, studying Kirkwall."

"And she's really the best I've seen. How many people do you know who've danced with demons that've been here since the Tevinter occupation and are still here to talk about it? Because I can name four, and two of them are in this room." Cormac couldn't swear how long the last demon they'd encountered in the undercity had been down there, given the fact that Tarohne might have summoned the thing herself. "So, whatever goes on down there, what I want you to hold on to is that she's _Dalish_. You understand? And she's probably keeping you alive."

There was something in Cormac's tone that set Cullen's teeth on edge, but he didn't argue, merely set that observation aside.

"Oh good!" said Bethany, stepping into the room with her spear and her much more sensible shoes. "Looks like we're all here. Shall we?"

* * *

Before any potential demons, there was a long tunnel, and Cullen was grateful for the mages and their fireless light. There was no doubt this was Tevinter and ancient, judging from the cut of the walls, the detailed stonework and inscriptions he couldn't read but that caught the edges of the light. He thought of the last time he'd stumbled his way through ancient tunnels under Kirkwall, hunting dragons. He turned to say as much to Anton over his shoulder, only to remember that Anton wasn't with them this time.

"You know if we find a dragon this time, he'll never forgive me," Cullen called to the mages ahead of him.

"Maker, if we find a dragon, I'll be _relieved_ ," Anders laughed. "We can take a dragon. We've got the Dragonslayer with us." He reached up and tugged Cormac's ear. "And a _healer_."

"Ow! I wasn't expecting a dragon! I was expecting a simple inspection of where we broke into the Deep Roads!" Cormac flailed with his free hand, batting at Anders's arm. "I wasn't expecting to need a healer! Or any of your other magnificent talents."

"And yet, just this afternoon you were talking about boning me in the Bone Pit." Anders rolled his eyes and let go to study a panel of the wall. "This is definitely before the Blights. Just look at this!" He shouldered his staff and spread his hands, lighting a decent expanse of the wall, engraved with Andoral in the sky behind the skyline of ancient Emerius, wings wrapped around the city.

"A dragon." Cullen did not sound impressed.

" _Andoral_ ," Bethany pointed out. "Tevinter's not really my thing, but you go back far enough in Nevarran tradition, and it's everywhere. I suspect it's like that all over. They touched everything and left their mark behind."

"I prefer Urthemiel myself," Anders said with a glance at Cormac, somehow managing to keep a straight face.

Eventually, the tunnel opened up, rough stone giving way to smoother, if still ragged, panels, and a set of stairs emerged from the debris, leading into a chamber that Anders's light barely touched. The air was close, oppressive with the stink of death, the sickly-sweet stench of rotten flesh, and Anders muttered another spell, feeding more energy into the light in his hand. The spell cut more shapes out of the dark, but he could hear something moving beyond its reach.

The sound of breathing, heavy and growling, and Cullen already had his sword drawn. "I swear, if this actually _is_ a dragon..." he muttered.

There was movement out of the corner of his eye, a massive shadow, and the ground _shook_.

"You're in luck, Captain," Carver said, looking up, up at the towering creature, all scales and spikes and jagged teeth. "That is definitely not a dragon."

"The seals are gone," boomed the demon -- Pride, judging from the spikes, and Carver hated that he knew that now. "Foolish wards held by pretenders. Aspects. The true source is missing, the power unheld. But I... command a piece."

"Summoned a horror. Of course I did. Why wouldn't I do that?" Cormac sighed, with a wry look at his sister.

"Horrors are pieces, slivers of greater crimes," the demon went on, focusing on Cormac. It opened its mouth to continue, but Bethany cut in.

"The true source? What do you claim to have?" she asked, eyeing the remains scattered across the floor of the chamber.

"Fragments of every fool who held a throne, here or in the black." The demon smiled -- or maybe it just bared its teeth.

"Oh, shit," Cullen sighed.

"Every fool who held a-- Say, you wouldn't happen to have heard of a thing called the Pride of Kings, would you?" Anders asked, eyeing the demon contemplatively, as Justice skipped across his skin, not quite glowing, but definitely fighting for control.

"Are you kidding me?" Carver shot a glance at Anders. "This--? That guy with the...? Andraste's tits aflame, it's never boring in Kirkwall, is it?"

"Is it Marketday?" Anders sighed, skin still flickering. "It must be Marketday."

"Another Pride demon?" Merrill asked, sounding more tired than intimidated. "A bit on the large side for one, but it looks like you've been eating well." Grimacing, she glanced around at the mess.

"I am more than pride," said the demon, straightening to its full height, which had them all craning back their heads. "I am pride with reason. I enslave the whims and wyrds, the dreams from the other side of the Veil." Its voice filled the room. "Face me! Face everything!"

"Wait-!" Merrill called out, but she knew talking wouldn't matter. It didn't save Marethari, and it wouldn't help them now.

The demon slammed its fist into the ground, hard enough to crack the stone and shake dust loose from the ceiling. Blue light lit the ground around the creature, streaming up from between cracks in the stone.

"Stick it!" Cormac shouted, gesturing with one hand as he reached for his glaive with the other. He had no idea if this would work, but it was the best idea he had -- pin the thing down, strip its magic, and hammer it until it fell over.

As the blue ring faded out, a green glow replaced it, and Cormac knew Anders was paying attention. "Back, back, back!" he called, bringing up shields around Carver and Cullen. "I need you two up here. If it tries anything smite it. Anders, hold it down! Merrill, Bethy, you're with me! We're gonna kill it, but from over there! Away from the templars."

As they backed away, Bethany already starting a hex, Cormac tripped over a pile of sceptres and swords. Pulling out a blade, he whistled sharply and slid it across the floor toward Anders.

"Do what you need to," Cormac whispered to Merrill, as he caught up. "They're looking away, and we have a healer."

Merrill nodded, expression grim as she sliced a finger on a sharp edge of her staff.

Carver and Cullen's swords caught on the demon's spikes. They sought the creature's weak spots in the same way they would try to get past a suit of armour, slicing at joints, at the throat, but the demon batted them aside as though they were playthings. Its laughter filled the chamber, and green fire danced around its fingers.

"Is this how you seek to defeat me?" the demon scoffed as the ground opened up around them, shades clawing their way through the ground. "How disappointing."

"Of course," Bethany sing-songed, laying down another hex. "A demon always brings friends!"

Anders glanced at the sword Cormac has slid to him, but Justice picked it up. At his touch, it lit with blue flame. "THEN WHY SUMMON OTHERS TO FIGHT FOR YOU, DEMON?"

Uncaring, the demon didn't dodge Justice's swing, and judging from the shriek, it was a nasty surprise when the blue-lit sword sheared through its spikes.

Cormac raised a barrier around himself, Merrill, and Bethany. They couldn't go anywhere, but nothing could get to them. "Hit the big one," he reassured them, unleashing lightning across the rising shades. He heard Bethany's fan crack open behind him, and the demon staggered, glowing brightly for an instant.

Supporting herself with her staff, Bethany listened to her brother lay more and more lightning across the room. Merrill was making sounds of frustration, that finally culminated in a shout of, "Move!" as an enormous chunk of stone slammed down on the demon.

The templars darted back, Cullen laying another smite in his wake, and Anders -- if that was still Anders -- seemed wholly unperturbed, leaping back into the fray as the stone crumbled with the impact. A swipe of Justice's crackling-blue sword cut off a chunk of the creature's hip. The shriek that tore from the demon was loud, _piercingly_ loud, and Carver cringed, clapping a hand over his ear even as he cut through the shade clawing its way out of the ground behind him.

Demons. They were surrounded by demons, but Cullen would panic later. He had no room to now, laying down yet another smite as the Pride demon crackled with green light. He didn't know what that meant or what it was doing, but in his experience, a glowing demon was rarely a good sign. He turned to fight the shades at either side of him, but they sizzled out in a cloud of lightning and smoke. With a grateful nod at the mages, Cullen jumped back into the fray, aiming his swings for the exposed -- and oozing -- bits of not-flesh that Justice carved out.

"Insolence!" the demon roared, but even Merrill could hear the fear under the exclamation. It countered Justice's next slash with a backhand, knocking spirit-and-mage into the wall.

"Anders?" Cormac called out, unthinkingly laying down a tempest across the demon and whatever it might think to raise, as he dropped the barrier long enough to get out and darted around the edge of the room.

The shields drowned out most of the electricity, but Carver still shoved Cullen back. "My brother does that sometimes," he muttered. "It's not going to kill you."

Justice was on his feet again, before Cormac got to him, the damage righting itself even as he stood. Without so much as an acknowledgement, he charged into the tempest, unshielded, lightning glittering down the blade in his hands, skittering along the metal parts of the staff at his back. As he leapt at the demon, it turned as if to strike him again, leading with its shoulder -- and then it staggered to the side, bellowing, a bright flash of blue licking around it like flames, there and then gone before Justice's sword sunk in.

"Stab it, Carver!" Bethany shouted, clinging firmly to her staff. She could hit it harder than anyone, but the effort was exhausting.

Bethany didn't need to tell him, but he appreciated the added encouragement. With a roar that started from his chest, Carver charged, putting all his weight behind his sword. Blade met demon-flesh, spilled demon-ichor, and the pride demon let out another anguished shriek. Cullen pulled Carver back just in time to evade the demon's claws, and the creature shuddered, folding in on itself.

Bethany held her breath, another spell on her lips in case the creature got back up, but the only direction it went was down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rhapsody One Year party is going on now! [Join us here!](http://www.groundline.net/rhapsody/chat/) (We'll probably be going for a few hours.)


	367. Chapter 367

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunate discoveries, in the wake of demons. The Scholar is found, at last.

Cormac wrapped himself around Justice, nuzzling under his chin, before the spirit could make any unfortunate decisions regarding the two templars. "Head count!" he called across the room. "Anyone down? Anything still moving that isn't us?"

"Your sister--" Merrill started, helping Bethany sit down, but Bethany waved her off.

"I'm fine. Carver?" Bethany squinted across the room at the gleam of platemail where there had once been a demon.

"Is it Marketday?" Carver groaned. "Demons in the middle of the day, it's gotta be Marketday. You still with us Captain?"

Cullen's grip on his sword remained firm as he took in the room, wild-eyed. Nothing gave up that easily. No ancient demon would fall so readily. He remembered Solona fighting to free him, all those years ago. But, nothing moved that hadn't come down there with him. And Pride... Pride was sudden and horrible. It couldn't have taken any of them so silently, so easily and soundlessly.

With Cormac still whispering in his ear, an awkward position, to say the least, Justice caught Cullen's eye. "THERE ARE NO MORE HERE, CAPTAIN. THE DEMONS ARE GONE."

That booming voice jolted Cullen, and he blinked, remembering where he was, whom he was with. His hands were still clammy inside his gauntlets. The demons looked gone, certainly, but the stench of death remained.

"Poor man," Merrill said, poking at some fairly recent remains with her staff. "At least, I'm assuming that was a man. It's a bit hard to tell since he's been so... well-chewed."

"That is quite disgusting," Carver informed her, walking past to check on his twin.

"Which is why you should thank Cormac for the shields," Bethany told him with a tired smile.

Carver muttered something unflattering that didn't dent Bethany's smile in the least.

"How recent?" Cormac asked, not letting go of Justice, who was getting less blazingly blue as Cormac's hands continued to wander. "Recent as in maybe this guy broke the ward? Or maybe he got in here before us when the ward fell? Or is this some mangled Tevinter demonologist who's disgustingly well preserved by the fact this room's been sealed for centuries?"

Bethany made her way over to the remains, moving a bit more slowly than usual, but looking much less fragile. Crouching, she studied what remained of the face and the blood pooled around the body. "Recent. In the last few days, it looks like. Probably not today, but this week. He's got nice clothes, too. Plain colours, but good fabrics. Probably not noble, but maybe a Chantry brother? Oh, I do hope it's not that old fool Genitivi," she sighed, picking through the blood-stiff robes.

Cullen finally sheathed his sword and joined the ladies near the corpse. He wasn't sure how Bethany could stand to be so close to the smell, but she seemed entirely unaffected. But, then, he'd also seen her raise the dead, so perhaps this was one of the side benefits.

"There's a note!" Bethany exclaimed, studying a smudgy, damp page she'd unfolded. "Oh, dear. He's here because of the demon. 'We went to the centre of it all. F. is dead and I am alone and injured. I must go back and put an end to it. The maddening thing is there is still no answer. But the Forgotten One, or demon or whatever it is, must be destroyed. I fear one may already be unbound.' This poor man tried to fight the thing alone. 'I foreswear my oaths. The magister's lore must be burned and the ashes scattered. No good can come of it. And Maker help us if someone does answer what we could not.' It's signed 'The Band of Three' -- isn't that the name of those people in the Gazette series? 'The Enigma of Kirkwall', isn't it? The one about the undercity and the Tevinter blood magic. Oh, these poor fools, I wish they'd come to us!"

Cormac swallowed hard, his face greying. He knew of them, but he'd never known them. He'd been following their progress via the notes they left, filling in as much as he could with his own research, as he wrote the series. And now he knew what had become of them. They'd tried to bind this demon, and failed. "How many fingers does he have, Bethy?"

Bethany turned over first one hand, then the other. "Five on the left," she said. "And... four on the right. He's missing a pinky." She shared a look with Cormac.

"So?" Carver asked, shrugging plated shoulders. "What in blazes does that matter?"

"A four-fingered hand-print," Bethany replied. "That was at the bottom of the scroll, the one that led us to that Arcane Horror and his charming friends. This is the Scholar who bound the three horrors."

"So?" Carver asked again, and Bethany rolled her eyes.

"You are hopeless," she sighed. Leaning heavily on her staff, Bethany rose to her feet and handed the letter off to her more interested sibling.

"I wish I knew your name, Scholar," Cormac muttered, accepting the note, one arm still around Anders -- he was fairly sure that was Anders, even without looking, because there was no longer blazing blue light to read by, but only the glow off his glaive. "We have done what he came to do, in the end, but I still don't know what he found that led him here. Some of it-- some of it led me, too. They found parts of things, we found other parts. It was coming together, even if I held some of it back. There's no need for tourists in these demon-crowded ruins..."

"Are you saying you wrote the Enigma series?" Cullen finally asked, after a long pause.

"Shit. I wasn't supposed to let on, was I? Too late now. The man's dead, and by this, so are his friends. V. and F.. I didn't know their names. I didn't print even their initials. I didn't want them found, but I trusted them to be reading me -- to be reading the Gazette. I thought I could help. I didn't help enough." Cormac looked infinitely sad, for a moment. Just a split-second hollow-eyed and grey-faced, before a firm smile returned. "But, here we are. It's dead... or driven back, or whatever happens to demons. It's not _in Kirkwall_ any longer."

"A piece of everything to ever hold a throne, here or in the black, it said," Merrill mumbled, examining the piles of sceptres, crowns, blades, and bones that ringed the chamber. "But, how did it hold them? How did it keep them? I don't think these are what it meant."

"Andraste's flaming knickers," Anders said, after a bit, looking around the room with Merrill's light, as he held Cormac closer to him. "It's not the things, it's the symbolism. They're tokens of something -- wishes, promises..."

"Pride," Bethany ventured. "They're the pride of their owners. Or symbolic of it. Most people who are rulers are proud of that -- most proud of that. Or the ones who were heroes, those are the swords."

The mention of swords reminded Anders that he was still holding one, a faint charge running from the hilt into his hand. "I wonder who this belonged to," Anders muttered, turning the blade over and trying to make out what he could in the dim light.

"Someone very proud of it, apparently," Cullen said. His face was almost pale enough to let off his own light, and he fiddled with his gauntlets, glancing at the door. "Might as well hold onto it. It seems like your, uh... other half knows how to wield it. I'm impressed." And still uncomfortable with Anders's 'other half', but he left that unsaid.

Anders offered him a lazy smile. "Impressed with my swording, Knight-Captain?" he teased, voice dropping to a purr. "My, my. This is hardly the place."

"Don't," Carver cut him off. "Please don't. I never want to hear another combination of you, the Knight-Captain, and swording ever again."

"Well, come on, Carver," Merrill coaxed. "You can't be the only one good at swording!"

In the dark, she couldn't see the shades of red and purple Carver turned.

Bethany plucked up a few more trinkets of interest, a bent crown inlaid with rubies, a ring that purred with magic. "Enchantment," she informed the group.

"Taking lessons from Sandal?" Cormac asked, finally turning his face from Anders's robes.

Bethany rolled her eyes and tossed the ring to Cormac, who missed it. It bounced off his shoulder and Anders snatched it out of the air.

"Oh, that's nice. I like the feel of this one," Anders said, running his thumbnail along the engravings. "Got some weight and definitely a little extra. Let me know when you figure out what it's for." He tossed the ring back, and Bethany caught it easily.

"Definitely," Bethany agreed. "What about that sword?"

Anders held it up, wrapping his arm around Cormac to do it.

"That looks familiar," Cormac muttered, squinting at it. "That sword is either famous or a really nice replica. Given where we are, I'm betting on famous. Is that Calenhad's missing sword? Is that why I know it?"

"I don't know, the work along the guard seems a little Tevinter for that," Anders pointed out, eyeing the dragons. On the other hand, they didn't look like any of the Old Gods.

Cullen stepped in for a closer look. "It's Alamarri. Cormac might be right, but I feel like Calenhad's sword was double edged?" He glanced at Cormac, who shrugged back. "How many years did you spend in Ferelden, and you don't know an Alamarri sword?" he scoffed at Anders.

Anders raised an eyebrow and tipped his head.

"Right. Sorry." Cullen rubbed the back of his neck.

"That's an awful lot of staring at my sword, Cullen." A smirk crept across Anders's face. "You want to touch it? You want to play with my sword a while? Get a feel for it?"

"I... don't..." Cullen's face turned red enough to led off its own light. He really wished Anton had come with them... but then again, Anton would probably have made it worse. "Playing with swords is... not... safe?" He cleared his throat and turned back to the doorway before he could see Anders bite back a laugh. "Can we... can we please get out of here? It smells of demons... death. It smells of death."

Cullen all but fled out of the door, pausing outside of it and waiting for the mages -- and their light -- to follow.

"That?" Carver sighed. "That was part of the 'please don't' I requested earlier."

Bethany ducked her head, trying not to laugh as she caught up with Cullen, linking his arm with hers.

Anders followed, Cormac still tucked under his arm. He swept healing over Carver and Merrill as he passed and then held up his hand, lit in blue. "Cullen. Look back."

Cullen glanced over his shoulder and groaned. "What now?"

"Magic. I'm just going to make sure you're not bleeding on anything." Anders's eyes were oddly serious. "So, please don't smite me."

"What? I wouldn't--" Cullen sputtered.

Anders healed him and then Bethany. "Yeah, you would. You'd do it without thinking. So would most of your men."

"That's absurd," Cullen protested, but the feel of magic under his skin had made it crawl, even knowing that it was healing. That hadn't happened the last time Anders had healed him, and he wondered if it was because he was still shaken up about the demons or if it was because Anders kept ... he supposed it was flirting.

"You didn't warn me, and I didn't smite you," Carver pointed out.

"You're doing a mage on the regular. Didn't seem like you needed assistance figuring out which was the friendly magic. Also? You grew up with three mages in the house. Four. Four mages in the house. I'm pretty sure you know better." Anders shrugged and kissed Cormac's eyebrow.

And that put an uncomfortable thought in Cullen's head. Another uncomfortable thought. If mages were their charges, then why did so many templars react to mages as though they were enemies? Why did Cullen?

Well. Cullen knew, but that wasn't something he wanted to think about with the stench of death still so close and with magic still itching under his skin.

"So!" Anders said, voice gratingly cheerful. "Hanged Man? Post demon-slaying pint or three? Well. Pint. Justice gets grumbly if I have more than a pint. He's getting grumbly now just talking about it."

"I'm getting more than a pint," Carver muttered. "One of the perks of not having another glowy person in my head."

"Ah, but the benefits are fantastic." Anders laid a hand against the middle of his chest and grinned almost ferally. "On the dim side, there's this unending compulsion to lick lyrium, quit drinking, and strangle the Knight-Commander."

"Lick--" Carver's eyes crossed. "That-- you--" He made a strangled sound, but Merrill petted him soothingly.

"I might not cry too hard if you strangled the Knight-Commander," Cullen grumbled, gauntleted fingers clicking along the engravings on the wall.

"Is that a fact?" Anders purred.


	368. Chapter 368

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red lyrium, revolutionaries, and Cullen getting a little closer to Anders than he ever particularly meant to.

"I shouldn't be telling you this. Any of you. But, I think by now -- after that, after everything that's come before it -- I can trust this family as much as I'm going to trust anyone in this Maker-forsaken city. She's called for an Annulment. The Grand Cleric hasn't responded yet, but she's called for it. I don't want to believe it's going to happen -- Elthina hasn't been much of a force for change, but that's just it. I can't see her approving anything so dramatic."

"Shit." Anders shook his head and took a deep breath. "Has she been spending extra time with _her_ sword, lately? Whispering to its broad red blade?"

"What--?" Cullen looked over his shoulder again.

"Oh. That's right." Anders took another deep breath and blew it out slowly. "You don't know, do you?"

"Know what?" Cullen asked, voice turning sharp. Broad red blade? She did have a sword with a red blade, but what did that have to do with anything?

Blue light flickered through Anders's eyes, only to be gone just as quickly. "Her sword. It's made of lyrium -- you told me that. But, it's the red kind. The kind I _don't_ want to lick."

"Red?" Cullen asked, brows knitting. "Doesn't it usually come in the one colour?" But even as he spoke, he wondered. That sword... it had a feel to it that most weapons didn't, even across the room. Or perhaps less of a feel and more of a sound, a dissonant chord out of earshot but still close enough to feel in his chest.

"Generally," Anders agreed. "Usually. Except, apparently, when it's red and in a primeval dwarven thaig."

"Oh, shit," Carver breathed. "You're shitting me, right?"

"Ah, how exactly did this not come up?" Cormac asked, finally shaken out of his funk by the mention of red lyrium.

Anders shook his head. "I don't know. I thought I'd said something. Varric and Isabela were there. And Fenris, but he was so drunk I'm not sure he'd remember if I slapped him. Which I didn't, for the record, but he took a crack at me later. I guess I just got distracted by Fenris." He shrugged. "But, yeah, Bartrand said he sold the idol to somebody. Justice... hears lyrium. So, I hear it, too. And the last piece of the idol sounds exactly like Meredith's office." Pinching the bridge of his nose, he closed his eyes for a moment. "I hear everything. This city doesn't shut up."

Cormac rubbed circles just above Anders's belt, unsure if it would do any good through the armour, but content to at least make the effort. "Her sword's made of the idol, then." He looked back at Cullen. "We knew a dwarf -- Varric's brother, actually -- who touched it once, and the instant it met his hands, it drove him mad."

"He tried to seal us in the Deep Roads," Bethany explained. "I understand Varric's finally found a use for what was once Bartrand's house. Bartrand, though..."

"Bartrand's no longer with us. He's not dead, but he's ... He sees things that aren't there. Talks to things even I can't hear. All he wants is the idol back." Anders shifted uncomfortably. "I tried, you know. But, I couldn't help him. Whatever's wrong, it's not something I can change."

Cullen closed his eyes, took a deep breath to keep from being sick. Meredith had always been paranoid, always been harsh, but even Cullen knew it had been getting out of hand. "So you're saying you think this... sword has driven her mad?"

"It would explain the request for the Annulment," Carver said cautiously. Family or not, this was still his boss he was talking about. "The Gallows has issues, but Annulment? That's drastic."

"And so was locking you up," Bethany reminded Cullen.

Cullen wiped a hand over his face. "And taking the sword from her... that wouldn't help? It's too late?"

"I think it was too late when she became a templar," Anders muttered. "But I can't fix any damage the idol has done, no."

"I need air," Cullen said, shaking his head.

"You need whiskey," Cormac replied, finally letting go of Anders. "We'll go up the easy way, grab a bottle on the way. Assuming you're willing to spend about ten minutes blindfolded, Cullen? I can't betray the trust certain people have in me, but I can get you out of here a lot faster."

Carver blinked in confusion for a moment, and then, "Oh! You're going to--?"

"Yeah." Cormac nodded.

"It's a good idea, Captain. No magic, just a secret door," Carver assured him. "I've been through there."

Still, Cullen looked to Bethany for reassurance. Bethany had looked out for him since he'd met this crazy family.

"My brother will take care of you. We'll have you back up to Anton in no time." Bethany smiled. "When it's time, I'll cover your eyes, and Anders will carry you. There's a lot of stairs."

"Oh, sure, just volunteer the mountain savage to haul around a templar in full plate," Anders scoffed, and then caught himself. "She's right. I'll carry you. We don't want you bumping into anything in there." Or tripping on a cat.

Cullen couldn't decide if he was more curious or concerned by all the secrecy. He trusted these people, he swore he did, _but_.

Doubts aside, before long, he found himself blindfolded, carried bridal style by a Mage Warden. And how on earth Anders could carry him, Cullen had no idea. "Anton never holds me like this," he said just to cut the nervous tension. Anders's polite chuckle was a bit too close for Cullen's comfort, but at least Cullen preferred the lemony scent that clung to Anders to the deathly and demonic reminders in the room behind them.

"Anton might hurt his back if he tried," Anders replied. " _I_ might hurt my back if I weren't a healer."

"I think he just implied you were fat, Captain," Carver said from up ahead.

"Never!" Anders said, mock horrified. "But, perhaps, if the Captain ate more chorizo..."

Cullen blushed, the red spilling down his neck, as he squirmed, nearly missing the sound of another door opening. Was that the first or the second? But, this was definitely the smell of Darktown, and not the smell of demons.

"Go on ahead," Cormac suggested. "I'll catch up. I just need to take care of this door. I don't want every curious ragpicker in Darktown ransacking the place before we can get back in and inventory it. The history in that room..." He sounded awed as he fished a handful of wrapped runes out of a pouch. "It'll just take a minute. I've got a wall kit."

"Don't worry!" Bethany chimed in, cheerfully. "We'll get out just fine without you. Don't get savaged by the Coterie, while you're down here, brother dear!"

Cormac sighed. "Thanks. Really."

"Savaged by the Coterie?" Cullen asked, after a moment. "Is that likely?"

"Not really." Carver shook his head, even though Cullen couldn't see him. "If it was Anton, you might have something to worry about."

"I don't know," Anders said, "Anton handles himself rather well, down here. And I'm sure the Coterie have much less interest in starting trouble with him, after the last time."

"The last time?" Cullen asked. "Do I want to know?"

"Probably not. He and Aveline had a strong word with some people. A strong word that might have ended in a few dead bodies." Anders shrugged and Cullen shifted in his arms.

"This city..." Cullen sighed.

"Cullen?" Anders paused, waiting for the acknowledgement. "What would you do for this city, if you were Knight-Commander?"

"Oh, yes, ask strong political questions of the blindfolded man in your arms," Cullen scoffed.

"No, I mean it. And I'm not going to drop you if I don't like your answer. Although I might drop you if I trip on the stairs." Anders felt around in front of himself with one foot, looking for the broken step he knew was there.

And Cullen supposed that was something he needed to think about, if Meredith continued going down this path. He had thought about it, abstractly, being Knight-Captain and all. But those daydreams had never held this kind of urgency before. "I would have my work cut out for me, that's for sure," Cullen muttered. "But this city... its biggest enemy is fear, fear of suffering another war so soon. Meredith fears mages and what they're capable of. Mages fear the templars and what _they're_ capable of. It's a mess. No, it's more than a mess, it's an explosion waiting to happen. Mages are supposed to be our charges, not our enemies. We shouldn't _fear_ each other, and that? That is what I'd like to try to remind the Order. No Tranquility as punishment, no more men like Alrik abusing their station."

Which sounded all well and good, he knew. But he would need to fire quite a few people, upset quite a few others. What if he accidentally made it worse? What if he couldn't even do half of what he wanted to?

But Anders hadn't dropped him on the stairs yet, so Cullen hoped he'd said the right thing.

"They're right to fear another war. It's coming, one way or another. But, I trust you. I've seen your work." Anders paused, a distant look on his face as he tapped at the stairs with his foot again. "And I know where I didn't see you, all those years ago. I believe you know enough to make a difference, and I know you're willing to try. You'll be Knight-Commander, Cullen, and I'll help you get there. We'll make a difference, you and I. We'll do something that matters. And one day, men like you and men like me, we'll stand up and face the Blight, together, like it was supposed to be, and the only fear will be of the darkspawn."

"Holy shit, Anders," Carver breathed.

"Surprised?" Anders laughed. "So am I. But, if I wanted to kill all the templars, I'd never have put your intestines back in. I'm a revolutionary, not a mass-murderer. I just needed another revolutionary on the other side of the wall."

"Revolutionary?" Cullen asked, brows knitting under the blindfold. "I'm not sure, I'd..." He trailed off. That's exactly what he'd just sounded like, wasn't it? And yet that was not a label he'd ever thought to have.

"What, Captain?" Anders asked, polite but almost coldly so. Cullen could almost see the grim smile behind those words.

"Never mind," Cullen said. A shift in Anders's stride told him they're weren't on the stairs any more. "...Did I just hear a meow?"

"Carver does that sometimes," Bethany replied.

The room seemed moderately warm, a little warmer than the rest of Darktown, if only because of the lack of sea breeze blowing in from the cliff-side, and it was filled with a heavy herbal scent and an underlying smell of books and cats.

"This is someone's house, isn't it?" Cullen suddenly asked. "That's why you've covered my eyes. We're walking through someone's house."

"Well, it's not usually polite to wander through someone's living room uninvited," Merrill pointed out. "But, extreme circumstances... You're looking a little green, Captain."

And then another door closed behind them, between more stairs and more stairs. Stairs and doors and the shifting scents of the surrounding rooms filled Cullen's awareness, as he tried to place where he was. Another door, and the air was humid again. Another, and he thought they might be outside.

"Just a minute more," Anders assured him, spinning around every few steps, before finally setting Cullen on his feet. "We're here."

Pulling off the blindfold, Cullen took in the front of the Amell estate, just before Cormac opened the door with a bottle of whiskey in his hand. "I thought you were behind us!"

"I was. I also wasn't carrying a templar in full plate. Did you want that drink?" Cormac grinned and held the door open, a cat perched on his shoulder, chewing on his hair.

"It's not so much 'want' as 'need' at this stage," Cullen admitted. Mintaka ran out to meet him, wagging his stump of a tail hard enough to make the rest of his body wriggle. "Drink and a dog," Cullen decided, bending to rub Mintaka's back and getting a face full of dog slobber for his trouble.


	369. Chapter 369

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting spoony over swording. Fantastic uses for whiskey and cream.

Cullen was well into his whiskey, Mintaka's head in his lap, when another Hawke walked into the room. Not Anton, it turned out, which was unfortunate. Drinking whiskey was so much more fun when his husband was in the room, especially if Cullen was drinking said whiskey off of said husband.

"Hello, Artie. Fenris." Cullen saluted them both with the bottle.

"Hello, Captain," Artemis replied, watching him in bemusement. "I'm looking for my idiot brother."

Cullen gestured at the chair across from him. "Carver's right there," he said.

Carver scowled while Merrill snickered in his lap.

Artemis raised an eyebrow. "I suppose I really should have been more specific. Apologies. I'm looking for the oldest of my idiot brothers."

Cormac leaned out from behind Anders, who stood in front of the couch, looking contemplatively at the assortment of ingredients on the table before them. "Why am I an idiot this time?" Cormac asked, hand darting out to grab a sliver of candied orange peel. He got it, but Anders still slapped his hand.

"That's supposed to go in the bowl," Anders scolded, mixing fresh tea with cream and mint leaves in another bowl. "Sweet?" he asked Merrill.

"Ooh! Yes, please!" Merrill smiled broadly, looking terribly excited. "This seems so adventurous! I wonder why we never thought of it..."

"A speciality of Kinloch Hold," Cullen drawled, tongue thick with the whiskey. "Solona used to make it for me, sometimes."

"As for you, Cormac, you're always an idiot," Artemis said without rancour. "I was simply-- What _are_ you making?" Artie approached the sideboard, trying to get a look at what was in the bowl Anders handed to Merrill.

"I know of this," Fenris said, ears pricking up. "Danarius would serve it as a dessert to his guests. Gelatus. I... don't know your word for it."

"What's gelatus mean?" Merrill said, scooping up a spoonful and examining it before taking a bite. She let it melt on her tongue, and let out a pleased hum.

"'Frozen thing'," Fenris said distractedly, watching Anders pull out another bowl. Gelatus was a delicacy he'd never had the opportunity to try.

"We call it 'ice cream'," Anders said without breaking stride. "Would you like some, Fenris? Artie?"

"I see how it is," Artie said, folding his arms across his chest. "Don't invite me to your mage-templar shenanigans, and then try to win my affections with food. The food part, at least, is a very good idea. Yes, I would love some."

Fenris cleared his throat and mumbled something agreeable as he followed Artemis to the couch.

Anders started the next bowl with honey and added whiskey, first, blending the two together, before he poured in the cream. Candied cherries and a fistful of crushed nuts followed, and he stirred as he cast the ice spell. "Wasn't much in the way of shenanigans," Anders said, passing the bowl to Cullen. "There was a sewer and some decomposing corpses involved. I didn't think you'd much want to go along. Of course, it ended in demons, but it's Kirkwall and it's Marketday -- you can come out for demons in less-sewery places with us next week."

Cormac nodded, snatching another bit of candied orange peel, while Anders was distracted. "That's about the size of it. Oh, and Anders got a very nice sword."

"Can we not discuss the healer's sword?" Fenris groaned. "Or swords that may have been inserted in the healer?"

"No, no," Cullen corrected, waving his spoon. "A real sword. Alamarri design, I think. Old, too. Cormac thinks it's Calenhad's."

"And Justice showed off his incredible swording techniques." Merrill smiled mischievously. "The Knight-Captain was admiring them."

A strangled sound escaped Cullen.

"Stop it," Carver groaned. "I really don't want to be the one who tells Meredith that the Captain died of ice cream and sword jokes."

"Then don't mention the ice cream," Anders replied, reaching for another bowl. "And I'll show you my sword once I'm done with this, Fenris. The Alamarri sword with the blade, not the other one. Although..."

"Just the one sword, please," Fenris cut him off. "The other one can stay where it is."

"You might want to specify which sword," Artemis told him, grinning at the sour face Fenris gave him.

The next bowl went to Fenris, the ceramic cold against his fingers. There was something backward about this, a mage serving him gelatus, but that seemed to be the theme of his life the past few years.

"Next bowl goes to Artie," Cormac said, standing up and making his way around the table. "I'll go get his hefty Alamarri blade."

"Will you show us your swording skills, too?" Merrill asked, eyes sparkling. "I know you're very good with a polearm."

"Can we not, ever, discuss my brother's swording? Or his ... polearm talents?" Carver looked like he might stick a spoon in his own eye, if this went on much longer.

"Carver! You can't be the only good sworder in your family!" Merrill teased.

"Actually, he's right. I'm really much better with a polearm. No stunning swording skills, here." Cormac shrugged and stepped out to retrieve the sword.

"Fruits and nuts, sweet," Anders announced, handing a bowl to Artemis. "Just like you."

"Which part is like me?" Artie asked, picking up his spoon, shifting his fingers around the bowl so they wouldn't freeze. "The sweet, the nuts, or the fruit?"

"All of the above," Fenris answered sweetly.

"Should I be offended by how quickly you said that?"

Fenris's chuckle broke off into a pleased hum as he slid the spoon into his mouth. Oh yes. He could see why the magisters loved this. He slid the next bite along his tongue, picking out the blending tastes as it melted.

Artemis paused in his eating, spoon halfway to his mouth. He doubted Fenris even knew he was making those sounds, sounds Artie knew well but that he usually had to be trouserless to make. "Uh. Enjoying the ice cream?" Artie was, perhaps, enjoying his enjoyment a little too much.

"It is good," Fenris answered neutrally between spoonfuls.

"Don't worry, Carver," Merrill assured her templar, patting his chest. "I'll stop making sword jokes. Clearly we've moved onto spooning anyway."

Carver made a strangled sound around a mouthful of ice cream.

"I think those two are spoony enough for the room," Anders laughed, cocking his chin at Artemis and Fenris as he made himself a bowl flavoured with just tea and chestnuts.

"I'll get spoony for your sweet cream in a minute, pretty thing," Cormac said, returning with a sword resting on his shoulder. "Knifey time, first." He offered the sword to Fenris, who took it in one hand.

Fenris blinked at the sword, resting the blade across the arm still holding his bowl. "That's an impressive replica. Where did you find it? Is there a maker's mark on it? Varania would be so amused."

Anders and Cormac were very still, looking at each other, for a long moment. "Ah, whatever that is, it's the real thing," Anders said, quietly.

Fenris shook his head, still examining the blade for some sign of its maker. "Can't be. Doesn't make sense."

"The demon said it had a piece of 'everything to hold a throne, here or in the black'." Merrill quoted slowly, trying to remember the words. "It was a pride demon, and it was very old."

"Tevinter vintage. A few hundred years, at the very least, it's been down there. Wards finally finished giving out, in the last couple of days." Cormac accepted a bowl of ice cream heavy with candied fruit. "I'm pretty sure that thing is Calenhad's."

Carver snapped his fingers. "Nemetos," he filled in. "It was called Nemetos."

Fenris's next spoonful didn't go down as easily, and he took a moment to swallow, processing what he was being told. "No," he said, drawing out the word. "It is originally of Alamarri make, yes, but... no. No, it's can't be." He set down the bowl to hold the sword with both hands, taking note of every imperfection in the blade, every crease in the hilt's leather.

"You keep saying that," Artemis said, eyeing the sword. It was old but otherwise looked like any other sword to him. "Could you tell us what it isn't, then?"

"The book my sister gave me," Fenris replied. "It has illustrations. Detailed ones. There is one such illustration of a sword bearing a striking resemblance to this one."

"The book on Shartan?" Carver asked around a mouthful of ice cream. Fenris nodded. "Are you saying you think this sword belonged to someone who knew Shartan?"

Fenris cleared his throat. "I'm saying I think this sword belonged to Shartan. If it is the real thing. Which I still think it can't be."

"Oh," Artie said eloquently, bending to get a better look. "An important sword, then. From an important sworder."

"The Blade of Brona was last seen somewhere near Minrathous, wasn't it?" Cormac asked, referring to it as Andraste's mother's sword -- which was how he knew it from his own studies. "In Tevinter. So, what's it doing in Kirkwall-- stupid question. Demons. But, why is it here?"

"I don't recall Shartan being a king," Anders agreed around a mouthful of melting cream.

"Brona was almost a queen, sort of. A wife to the leader of the northern Alamarri. But, that's still pretty weak." Cormac shrugged, eyes still on the sword as he licked candied orange peel out of his teeth. "Who owned it after Shartan? Where did the blade go, when he died rescuing Andraste?"

"A sword like that, you'd think it would be passed down to the next generation," Carver pointed out. "His children, if he had any."

"Or hers," Cullen volunteered. "She also had children. Or I should say, she definitely had children, two daughters. Do we know if he did?"

"Wasn't her husband renowned for his swording?" Merrill asked, suddenly. "Andraste's, I mean. He was some great barbarian sworder, right?" She squeezed Carver's knee. "Those barbarian sworders are very attractive."

Carver was looking less and less thrilled with the ice cream. Or with the day in general.

Fenris turned the sword over in his hands. "I am unsure if he had any children. If any are mentioned in the book, I have not come across it yet. It is not impossible, but since he married a man, it is unlikely."

"You never know," Artie said, scraping the bottom of his bowl with his spoon. "Tevinter. Blood magic. Ass-babies."

"Thank you for that," Fenris drawled. Artemis smiled sweetly and stole a spoonful of Fenris's ice cream. His husband looked nothing short of offended.

"I imagine ass-babies would have come up in the book," Anders assured them. "Otherwise the book is focusing on all the wrong details."

" _We're_ focusing on all the wrong details," Carver muttered.

"Carver's right," Merrill said solemnly. "We should get back to spooning."

"Who's getting spoony?" Anton asked, slinking tiredly into the room and stopping just short of dropping into his husband's lap, when he spotted the half-finished bowl of ice cream.

"Oh, you slept through all the fun," Anders said with a smile. "Cullen was getting spoony over my swording."

Cullen sputtered futilely, cheeks reddening as he struggled for words.

"Have you been showing your sword to my husband?" Anton demanded, smiling wryly.

"Just that one," Anders said, cocking a thumb at the Alamarri blade. "But, he's seen the other one before. The pride of Kinloch Hold."

"You're lucky _that_ didn't end up in that demon's pile," Cormac joked.


	370. Chapter 370

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More swording and spooning.

Carver leaned forward, setting his bowl on the edge of the table, before scooping Merrill into his arms, as he stood. "Well, thank you for the lovely demon-filled afternoon, but I, for one, have had enough of swords and spoons, for the day, and I'm taking this beautiful woman with me, before you fill her head with worse ideas than she has on her own. Captain, I'll see you in the morning, assuming you survive another night with my brother."

Merrill waved at them cheerfully, peering over Carver's shoulder. "Back to the swording!" she said, just to hear Carver groan.

"Demons, hmm?" Anton asked, all smiles even as he checked his husband over. Cullen didn't have the nightmares as often now, but he still had them. He would probably have them tonight, judging by the empty bottle by his feet. "That does sound exciting. And like the sort of thing I'll only pretend to be sorry I missed."

"I think my ice cream needs more whiskey," Cullen declared, and Anders obligingly handed him another bottle.

Anton eyed the whiskey, eyed Cullen. "Anders, I don't suppose I could charm you into making another bowl?" Anton tilted his head back to bat his eyelashes at the mage in question.

Anders hummed, tilting his head as though putting serious thought into this. "Depends on what you mean by 'charm'."

"Please, nothing involving swords," Artie sighed. He reached for Fenris's bowl again, but Fenris grabbed the bowl and held it just out of reach, the sword still in his lap. Fenris answered Artie's pout with a sharp smile.

"Oh, I don't know, I thought maybe I'd go down on one knee and recite Orlesian poetry," Anton said, with a smile.

"I don't think that counts as 'charming', Anton. 'Tormenting', perhaps. 'Coercing.' If I make a bowl for you, do you promise not to say anything Orlesian, for the rest of the night?" Anders reached for a pitcher of cream and another bowl.

"But, what if Cullen wants to hear some of the excellence of Orlais?" Anton replied, hands clutched in front of his chest, as he batted his eyes innocently.

"Then I'd advise taking it upstairs, or at least into a closet, like most of your adventures in Orlesian excellence." Candied orange, whiskey, and filberts went into the bowl, and Anders swirled it and froze it, before passing it off to Anton. "Dragon noises and accusations of ass-banditry are more than enough for my delicate sensibilities."

Cullen choked on a mouthful of ice cream and scoffed. "You. Delicate sensibilities."

"But clearly not delicate hearing, or he'd be deaf by now," Fenris mumbled into his ice cream. He took another bite, the ice cream mostly melted on his spoon. "Do I want to know about the ass-banditry?"

"I'm sure it's exactly as bad as it sounds," Artemis cheerfully replied, finally managing to grab the bowl away from Fenris. The elf huffed and let him hold it, swatting his mage's spoon away with his own every time he took a bite.

"If by bad, you mean devilishly wicked, you are correct," Anton said. "Anders, this is delicious, by the way. Why have we never had this before? What's the point of having so many mage siblings, otherwise?"

"I apologize for failing in my brotherly duties," Artie drawled.

"Not you. You'd probably set the cream on fire."

Artemis scowled but looked offended when Fenris nodded in agreement. "This is why we have Orana," Fenris said. "You know that as well as I. And thank you for taking the bowl. My fingers were getting cold." They engaged in spoon warfare until Fenris managed to sneak a spoonful past Artie's defences.

"Wait, wait, this is on me?" Cormac looked outraged. "What about Bethy?"

"Ice cream," Cullen pointed out, "not frosted zombies."

"Hey, now," Anders protested, "I learned this from a necromancer!"

"That... _elf_." Cullen looked less than entirely amused. "I've seen elves, before. I've seen elves since. I'm still not convinced that was an elf. Some strange spirit sent to torment us all, more like."

"He was kind of a shit, wasn't he." Anders smiled fondly. "I liked him, though."

"No wonder," Cullen muttered. "You're kind of a shit. Still. Present tense."

"Is that any way to talk to the man who's going to make you Knight-Commander?" Anders teased.

"Are you... wooing my husband?" Anton asked, wrist pressed against his forehead, as the cold finally caught up with him.

"I might be, but he started it, getting all spoony about my swording." Anders re-froze his own bowl and sat down in Cormac's lap, to eat.

"I assure you there was no spooning or spooniness in your absence," Cullen told Anton gravely.

Artemis foisted the bowl on Fenris again, who proceeded to scrape it clean. "You need mittens to eat this," Artemis said, rubbing his knuckles together. With no mittens handy, he went with the closest thing available, shoving cold hands up Cormac's sleeve just to hear him squeak.

Cormac squawked, trying to leap out of his seat, but foiled by Anders's weight in his lap. He cast a flash spell in his sleeve, not enough to burn, but a biting burst of sudden warmth. He put his own bowl in Anders's lap, grabbed Artie's hair, and licked his cheek. "Creators, you little shit, I thought you stopped doing that when you were twenty-two!"

Artie whined, shoulder scrunching up in an attempt to shield him from any more licking. Artemis rubbed his cheek on his sleeve, the whine still caught in his throat. "And I thought you'd stopped doing _that_ ten years ago, you bigger shit!"

"Please don't lick my mage," Fenris said. "That is my job." Fenris licked a stripe up Artie's other cheek, earning the same reaction, complete with squirming.

"Eww! Cold tongue!"

"Too much tongue," Anton declared, "and not enough of it mine." He held out his hand to Cullen, who seemed to have slid down into a whiskey-flavoured puddle with knees in the seat of his chair. "Come husband, let us retreat to the boudoir, where we may put our own cold tongues to excellent Orlesian uses."

"I prefer the Fereldan uses for your tongue," Cullen grumbled, grabbing Anton's hand and heaving himself out of the chair. He set down the bowl, but kept the bottle. "But, perhaps the Orlesian uses for the whiskey."

"Gentlemen," Anton said, with a quick bow, "dragon noises to follow." He turned to lead Cullen out, just in time to almost crash into Bethany, coming in.

"Isn't there a spell for that?" Bethany asked her brothers. "Something to make it less loud in the back hall?"

"Less loud, you say?" Fenris said. He tipped his head at Anders and Cormac. "Perhaps you should teach it to them."

"You don't even live here," Anders huffed.

"No, but I live in the same city. It is enough."

"I _do_ live here, and I agree with Fenris," Bethany sighed. She examined the empty bowls curiously but didn't ask. "One spell for volume, one for earthquakes, and we are set. I can continue my research in peace."

Artemis tugged at one reddening ear. "There's nothing for the earthquakes. Trust me, I've looked."

"Artie?" Bethany raised an eyebrow and flicked her hand. Cormac's shield flickered out. "Yes, there is. And once he's back on, he's got his own version. Don't you remember, when we went chasing after that book?"

The memory dawned across Cormac's face. "Oh, balls, Artie. She's right. There's an -- I have an anti-magic field. I just almost never use it. It didn't even occur to me. I'm sorry. I'm such an idiot. All these years..." He looked sick and grey. "I'll see if I can get some runes made for you."

The red drained from Artie's cheeks, and so did the rest of their colour. "That's-- You can--" Artemis looked at Cormac, at Fenris, and looked like he was about to be ill.

"Amatus?" Fenris asked carefully.

Artie had done so many stupid things through the years, trying to shut off that part of him. Drinking, more drinking, one particularly unpleasant occurrence involving magebane... Not so long ago, he would have seized what Cormac was offering, but now?

"Amatus, please don't turn off the earthquakes."

Now Artie just _laughed,_ apparently. He kissed Fenris's cheek and shook his head. "Thank you, Cormac, but no."

Cormac shifted Anders over a couple of inches so he could lean to the side and kiss Artie's cheek. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, but I'm glad you don't want them."

"As to the noise," Anders said, with a shrug, leaning forward to re-use Carver's bowl, "even in the tower, we had nothing for that. There was no spell for silence, just a lot of determination."

"And that is something Anton and I both lack -- a determination to be quiet." Cormac laughed and then licked the last bits of cream and candied fruit out of the bottom of his bowl. "I mean, he's a married man, doing his own husband, in his own house. Where's the incentive?"

"And here I thought I gave him enough incentive," Bethany blithely replied.

"That would be incentive enough for me," Artemis agreed. "Which is why I'm glad we have our own earthquake-proof home."

Fenris purred his agreement, holding his mage tight against him and nibbling at one round ear. "I don't think we've tested our house's resilience yet today," he growled in Artemis's ear. "That seems a travesty."

"It is! Perhaps that is something we should fix?"

"Are you two going to wander off for some swording too?" Anders asked. "Spooning and then swording. That appears to be the theme."

"Well, I'm up for some swording, after this," Cormac volunteered. "Or at least a nice, long staff duel. Mmm, mages and their polearms..." He swooned sideways, before realising he'd missed Artie entirely and landed his head on Fenris's shoulder. "Uh, hm. Make a bowl of that for my sister, yeah? An advance apology for what we're about to do."

"I gave you earplugs, didn't I, Bethy?" Anders asked, holding out a bowl of the same tea and mint blend he'd made for Merrill.

"Thank you again for those." Bethany cracked a smile as she took the bowl. "They'll keep me from making my brothers wish I'd killed them, until I move to Starkhaven. Assuming I move to Starkhaven." She rolled her eyes. "His devotion isn't even to the Chantry, not that it's to Starkhaven, either. He's just so attached to Elthina. I think if his parents weren't dead, I might slap them a bit. He's to be wed! He's to take on the rulership of a city! And what is he doing? Protecting a woman who's trying to martyr herself! It's ridiculous!"

"Just remember, Bethy, you're in it for the crown," Cormac teased.

"And hopefully to get him to stop offering me his sausage," Artemis added, face twisting like he'd tasted something sour. "Assuming he even remembers doing that."

"I don't think he even remembers that night existed," Bethany sighed. She smoothed out her ice cream with the flat of her spoon before taking a bite. "Which for his sake, is probably safer. I do wish someone would try his 'sausage', however, just to prove it exists."

"Don't look at me," Artie muttered. Fenris's teeth continued to worry at Artie's ear. "I have an elf about to throw me over his shoulder, and I am already quite a fan of his sausage."

"And you've only room for one sausage?" Anders asked. "Your appetites have changed."

Artie's face turned a splotchy shade of red. "Not in front of my sister," he squeaked.

"This isn't news," Bethany replied, happily occupied by her ice cream.

"Perhaps we should adjourn, before this becomes more than just loud noises and turns into a floor show, instead," Cormac suggested, as one of his knees finally went numb.

"Mmm, yes." Bethany nodded. "Perhaps you should go and leave me with all this candied fruit and cream. I like this idea quite a bit."


	371. PART LXV: PREPARATIONS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A holiday at the Bone Pit. No dragons, this time. Mostly.

Morning found Anders and Cormac taking a long walk in the mountains. "Just have to check on the mines," Cormac had told his sister. "You know how things get, up there." After several reassurances that Cormac wouldn't try to take on a dragon without sending for help, first, Bethany finally shooed the two of them out the door.

As they followed the path up to the mining camp, Anders glanced up, nervously. "I keep expecting dragons. Centuries-old feral dragons, expecting Tevinter masters bearing treats."

"Don't worry, pretty thing. I think we scared them off. And if we didn't, Janssen would've been at my door raving about it." Cormac bumped his head against Anders's shoulder, affectionately. "He's good at recognising the signs, by now."

"He'd have to be," Anders drawled, still looking a bit unsettled.

"Janssen!" Cormac called out, as they came up on the camp. "You here? I'm looking for something, and I think you're the man who knows where to find it!"

Anders heard the mage before he saw him.

"Is that so, boss?" Janssen said, dusting off his hands. "Depends on what you're looking for, I suppose." He tipped his head cordially. "Just please tell me you're not looking for dragons."

"I think I speak for us both when I say we've seen enough dragons for a lifetime, thank you," Anders said with a nervous laugh.

"You speak for us all," Janssen agreed.

Anton would protest that, Anders was sure. "Drakestone. I've read you can find it in old dragon lairs, and, well." He shrugged, gesturing at the mine entrance.

"Ah, so not dragons, but some presents from our old dragon friends." Janssen scratched one scruffy cheek. "That's not some fancy word for dragon poop, is it? I'd hate to be the guy poking around a dark tunnel, looking for poop."

Anders coughed into his fist. "No, no. It's a yellow stone. Smells like bad eggs. Seen anything like it?"

"Oh, yeah, that stuff's horrible." Janssen nodded. "I'd almost rather dragon poop. We mostly dig it out and dump it down the pit, so it stops stinking up the tunnels. I bet there's a big old pile of it, down there."

"In the pit of bones. The actual Bone Pit of the Bone Pit." Cormac looked less than thrilled. "How much you want to bet me there are angry corpses in that pit?"

Anders sighed. "I promise you, it's not Marketday any more."

"Angry corpses?" Janssen looked confused. "You mean like those things that came out of the wall, up here, a couple years back? Those kind of angry corpses?"

"Exactly those kind of angry corpses. This pit was used for sacrifices, when it was a Tevinter holding. I can't imagine anything down there is happy about it, except maybe some lucky and hopefully extremely dead dragons." Cormac shook his head and looked out toward the edge of the pit. "Oh, shit. Tell me there's not going to be angry dragon corpses..."

"Should we be evacuating the mine just in case, messere?" Janssen asked, more tired than concerned.

"I doubt that will be necessary," Anders said. He laughed, only to stop abruptly. "At least I hope not."

"Maybe just a long lunch break then," Janssen said, shrugging one shoulder. "That way, at least we won't be stuck in the tunnels should any undead creatures come shambling by. Even if they have wings." Janssen suddenly looked unsure. "They couldn't fly with bone wings, could they? That would put a damper on things."

"I would assume not," Anders assured him, backing towards a path along the edge of the pit. He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. "This way?"

Janssen nodded. "Careful now. No one's been that way in a while. If you see anything unfriendly, give us a shout, yeah?"

"If I see a dragon, I'm doing more than that. Go back to town and get my sister, if that happens, all right?" Cormac said, turning to follow Anders down into the pit.

Janssen nodded and called out to the crew. "Everyone out of the tunnels! Long lunch! Anyone want to go to Kirkwall for the afternoon? Feel free! Boss is down in the Tevinter stuff again!"

Cormac snorted as he caught up with Anders. "Dragons. Anton's going to be so pissed. I mean, mostly dead dragons. Hopefully all dead dragons." He glanced over the edge of the curving path and shuddered, edging closer to the cliffside. "That is a very long drop. I know I'd survive, because I've done that before, but that is a very long drop."

Anders quirked an eyebrow at Cormac. "There's a story there, isn't there?" he asked. He stepped ahead of Cormac, sliding his arm along the cliff face. "I jumped from the library window in Kinloch Hold, once. But there was water on the other side. Water is a very welcome way to end a long fall."

"Ah, you know how it is. I have brothers." Cormac laughed. "Artie missed, I went flying. It's a good thing I can cast a barrier while flying through the air. Excellent survival skill, though. You get thrown off a cliff, and people just assume you went all the way down. I still don't like standing on what looks like nothing, though."

Anders tried to picture that, against his better judgement, and promptly felt his stomach twist. "That is not on my list of things I want to try," he said. He focused on putting one foot in front of the other, watching the path creep by in inches and trusted Cormac to keep anything too disastrous from happening. "That does, however, almost make me feel grateful for not having any siblings around."

They came around the last curve into the bottom of the pit, where a large pool of water was dotted with what looked like the remains of old quarrying equipment. Even as far back as the last deaths down here dated, there were still bones visible, jutting out of what Cormac had thought was part of the cliff wall, until he got a closer look. Vines and flowers covered little hills along the edge of the pit closest to the mine, and Cormac had the sense that those weren't just dirt. Here, the air felt like it was pulling at his skin, whispering in his ear. Kirkwall was loud, Anders always said, but this was thick.

"So, what do we do, just sniff around on the mine side until we find something yellow and gross?" he asked, still glancing around, unsettled.

Anders slapped at the flickers of blue that crawled across his skin. "That was my brilliant plan, yes," he said. "At least we shouldn't need to do any digging if the miners threw the stuff down here." Shielding his eyes against the sun, Anders peered up at the cliff, at where they had been standing earlier. He edged closer to that side of the cliff.

Justice was an inch under his skin, and Anders suspected they'd be pacing restlessly if the spirit had control of their shared limbs. The Fade was close but so was death, and the ground remembered. Even after so long, these bones cried out for justice, but their murderers were long gone.

Or perhaps they weren't. The first thing to rise wasn't some unarmed slave skeleton, not with that glow and those tattered robes.

"Balls," Cormac sighed, flicking a hand and then squeezing it tightly closed. "I guess the rebellion happened here, too."

The arcane horror slowly caved in on itself, as they looked around for more angry corpses. There wouldn't be just the one. One was just the beginning, and with the veil as thin as they both knew it to be, this had the potential to get extremely ugly.

Cormac shuddered and passed the sack to Anders. "You know what you're looking for. I know what I'm looking for. Get the stuff and I'll keep them off of you." Still nothing, but it wasn't quiet. Heaps of bone creaked and settled, and the long history of sacrifices -- not all of them elves, to look at the bones -- purred against his ears, as he picked his way across rounded, gleaming-yellowish shields, he thought, at first, that jutted from the ground. He realised, getting closer that they were the remnants of hatched dragon eggs, probably centuries old.

Anders set to work without question. They both knew what they were doing, and they both wanted out of here. Nudging a broken pickaxe out of the way, Anders caught a flash of something yellow. "Aha!" Crouching down, the stink was more obvious than the colour, and Anders held his breath as he scraped up the bits of drakestone, shovelling it into his sack.

A fist of bone caught in Anders's coat, but Anders swatted it aside. "Get off. This is a new coat." Magic or not, time had made the bones brittle, and a well-aimed smack of Anders's staff turned the fingers into dust.

A barrier rose up around Anders and a decent swath of ground around him, as Cormac eyed the shifting piles of bone, the creaking and grinding growing louder. "They know we're here. We're here, and we're mages. Every demon's dream." Cormac considered the surrounding area. "Just stay put. The barrier will keep you safe. I'm going to get a little unpleasant."

Raising a barrier around himself, as well, Cormac laid down a tempest, watching the bolts skip between tiny bits of metal -- chains, most likely -- in the piles of bone. Dirt poured off the hills around them, baring more bone, and the ground chittered as it tried and failed to rise again and again. The pit, apparently, was lined with bones, even more than Cormac had anticipated. The Tevinter records the 'Band of Three' had found were incomplete, and only for the city of Kirkwall. How many more slaves had been sacrificed up here?

"That is quite a lot of angry dead people," Anders joked weakly even as his stomach roiled. So much needless death, and they were helpless to do anything for them except make sure they stayed dead. "Maybe we should have brought Bethany. Angry dead people is her area of expertise."

Anders spotted more yellow outside of the barrier, and he waited for the tempest to die down and for Cormac to drop the spell. They couldn't bring justice to the dead, but there was still the living to consider. For them, it wasn't too late. Focusing on that thought settled Justice and the sick feeling in his stomach.

"I'm just going to freeze everything," Cormac said, softly, the spell coming easily to his fingers. "Even if they manage to get up, frozen, they'll explode if you sneeze on them. Can we go? Do you need more?" He looked over his shoulder to see Anders point at another pile, and dropped the barrier. "Quickly, yes? I want to get out of here. I think they'll settle, if we leave."

Something lunged from beside Cormac, something reassembling itself from inside the cliff wall. It slammed into the barrier and the bones crumbled away, leaving behind a rage demon, pinned between the barrier and the wall.

"Holy shit!" Cormac shrieked, ice even quicker to his fingers, this time, as he lashed out against it. "Andraste's blazing gown of fiery burning holy shit!"

Anders looked up sharply from where he crouched over another drakestone deposit. "Shit, shit, holy shit," he agreed, if less creatively. He flailed for a moment, before tossing a spell at the demon, and the ground beneath it glowed green. Hopefully, that would buy Cormac enough time to kill the thing. If not, at least it had bought Anders enough time to scrape up the last of the drakestone.

"We can go now! Let's go. I am in favour of going." Anders threw the sack over his shoulder and trotted to Cormac's side, side-stepping bone and shards and what was, he suspected, actual dragon shit.

A few more waves of ice, and the rage demon went out in a puff of smoke. Cormac dropped the barrier and ran for the bottom of the now-snowy winding road back up to the top. "Just keep moving! Maker, Creators, whatever's out there, do us a favour -- I'd really like to get out of this alive..."


	372. Chapter 372

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwarf boats, skeletons, and the raw power of the stone of eternal stench.

The ground bucked under his foot, and he stumbled as a skeletal drake's head surfaced. First the shield came up for Anders, as the drake pried itself loose from a few centuries of shifted dirt, and then the tempest came down again. "I'm going to need a potion if this keeps up," Cormac complained.

Anders pressed a lyrium potion into his hand without even thinking about it and then pulled Cormac after him by the sleeve. "Dragon. Undead dragon. Small dragon, but a dragon. And dead." This was their punishment for not bringing Anton, wasn't it?

As careful and slow as they'd been on the way down, they raced towards the top. Anders didn't dare look behind him, but he could hear Cormac following.

Cormac tried to cast again, and Anders's shield fell first. He dropped his own and re-cast it, icing the slope behind them, as soon as he had the power. They'd make it. The skeletons chasing them had already started to slide, some slipping back into the others, knocking them over the edge, others falling and splintering.

He wished he knew more about what had happened here -- certainly hundreds, if not thousands, of slaves were sacrificed, presumably fed to the dragons in the pit, but why? And when? What was the purpose and the pattern? What were the Tevinter owners trying to do, here? He owned the mine, and the records for it had to be somewhere. This was yet another thing he'd have petitioned the viscount for, if the city still had one.

Cresting the top of the path just after Anders, Cormac called out. "I need a rock! A boat! A ... thing! Throw a thing! At the things!" He paused and tried again. "Angry corpses! Roll something big down the path!"

"Boss says he needs a boat!" Janssen called out.

"A _boat_?" called back another voice.

Janssen wheeled a mine cart into view, motioning Cormac and Anders out of the way. "Dwarf boat! Excuse me, boss!"

Anders darted out of the way, pulling Cormac with him, as Janssen charged, sending the cart rattling down the path. The clatter of wood on bone told them when it hit the undead, and Anders peered around the corner to watch the dominoes fall.

Janssen wheeled over another cart, knuckles white on the edge as he waited to see if it was needed.

"Is anything moving down there?" Cormac asked, peering down after the cart. "That's a lot of broken bones, and I don't think I'm seeing much movement."

"Is this something I'm going to have to worry about, boss?" Janssen asked, joining the mages at the edge of the cliff. "Angry corpses rising up and storming the mines?"

Cormac watched a breeze ripple the water below. "I don't think so. As long as nobody goes down there, I don't think they're getting back up, but if you see anything weird--"

"I know, boss. Come get you. Send everybody home." Janssen nodded and patted Cormac's back.

"I am so glad you didn't get eaten by dragons. Maker, I don't know what we'd do without you," Cormac joked. "Really, though, how's the family? You getting by? Am I paying you guys enough?"

"I might need a raise. Angry corpse hazard pay." Janssen smirked.

"Don't I already give you dragon hazard pay?" Cormac sighed dramatically. "Yeah, all right. I've seen what's in that pit, up close and personal. I'll take a look at the books when I get back to town."

"You're too kind, boss," Janssen said, tipping his head gratefully. "There's no one else I'd rather work in undead-and-dragon-infested mines for. Except maybe that pirate friend of yours. Messere."

"You wouldn't want to work for her," Anders assured him. "She'll pay you half as much for more work. Her ruthlessness balances out her other... assets."

"Ah, in that case, I think I prefer Messere Hawke's assets," Janssen decided. "Anything else we can do for you, messere?"

Anders pointed his thumb over his shoulder and raised a brow. "Dwarf boats?" he asked.

Janssen shrugged. "Worked, didn't it?"

* * *

Anton came down the stairs, just as the front door closed. He'd go get himself a nice plate of chocolates and cheese, maybe some of last night's ham... and then the smell hit him, and food was the last thing on his mind. "Mintaka!"

"It's not the dog." Cormac sighed. "Potion ingredients. Something called 'drakestone'."

"Why, because it smells like dragon farts?" Anton covered the bottom half of his face with his sleeve. "How far did you walk with that, and why does it look like you haven't thrown up?"

"We went up to the Bone Pit!" Anders filled in. "The actual pit part. It was full of bones. And then they got up and chased us around a bit, until your brother told Janssen to hit them with a boat. A dwarf boat."

Cormac groaned. "I forgot where I was! I was thinking of a rowboat! It would go down like a toboggan and smash through everything trying to come up!"

"Was any of that your lunch?" Anton asked.

"No, just angry corpses." Cormac grinned and shrugged. "We're Hawkes! These things happen! But, more importantly, there are a lot more bones in that pit than I thought -- not to mention dragon bones and the remains of eggs. Last thing I want is an angry corpse dragon over Kirkwall."

"Corpse dragon?" Anton repeated, still holding a sleeve to his nose. On anyone else, Anders would have taken those wide eyes for panic, but he knew better.

"Yes, and we made sure it was extra dead," Anders told him. "Please don't try to raise and tame it. It would think my cats are snacks."

"Tame a corpse dragon? Me? Never!" Anton convinced no one. "Are you _sure_ it's completely dead? And hold on, did you say _potion_ ingredients? Please tell me that's not what goes into the healing potions. I'd rather bleed to death than drink farts, even if they're from dragons."

"Just in Carver's," Anders assured him as a dog-sized lump decided to sit on his feet.

"So, I got to thinking, while I was sniffing dragon farts and getting chased by angry corpses, a lot of the records from Kirkwall were lost in the slave revolt. But, not all of them. And the last people who got an eye on any of them, Falon'Din guide them, were only looking at slaves inside the city. The mine records had to have been kept somewhere, and I don't see anything up there that looks sufficient for the kind of record keeping the Imperium is famed for. The records must have been in Kirkwall, somewhere, and I have no idea if they survived, but having spent the afternoon close enough to spit into the Fade, I'm starting to think I want to know what was going on up there, beyond just 'they threw a bunch of slaves in a pit and maybe fed them to dragons'." Cormac clapped a hand onto his brother's shoulder. "And that's the part where you and I are going on an adventure, later in the week. You think you can get into the vaults in the Keep? I'm going to take a shot at the stuff that hasn't been removed from the Chantry."

Anders looked a bit too interested. "I might want to come along for that. I've got some business to take up with the Chantry."

"Ooh, how clandestine!" Anton said, grinning behind his sleeve. "I've spent too much of this week pretending to be respectable. I could use a break. Just..." Anton stepped out from under Cormac's hand. "Maybe wash off some of the dragon farts, first. We want to be sneaky, not stinky."

"Later, later. I need to talk to Sandal about some runes first, anyway. I'm a little worried about the angry corpse dragons, and more worried about Meredith." Cormac eyed his brother. "You take some of those runes and you get them up on the roof at the Rose. They'll protect against anything coming down from above. Like dragons."


	373. Chapter 373

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Community reactions to an important announcement in the Kirkwall Gazette.

_An excerpt from the Kirkwall Gazette:_

## MAGES LOOKING OUT FOR YOUR RIGHTS IN THE FACE OF TEMPLAR INCURSION

by His Nobs

The Knight-Commander has grown increasingly unstable, templars report. Templar patrols have increased in Lowtown, seeking not only mages, but their families and friends. This is well beyond the purview of the Order, as far as this correspondent is aware, and edges into territory usually handled by the City Guard. Guard Captain Aveline Hendyr reports that she, personally, has been involved in the arrest of several patrols caught harassing citizens with no magical talent.

"This cannot go on," Captain Aveline said. "The templars exist to handle magical threats to this city and all of Thedas, but when no magic is involved, where is the line? Chantry law provides no place for templars interfering in the lives of non-magical individuals, when no mages are present. This is an outrage and an insult to the law of Kirkwall and the memory of Viscount Dumar."

The Seneschal agreed wholeheartedly with the Guard Captain's sentiments.

But, what are we, the citizens of Kirkwall, to do in the face of this potent outrage? Thankfully, the mage community of Kirkwall has made a suggestion, and the city's smiths and stonecarvers have been quick to respond. We at the Gazette advise going to your local smith or stonecarver and asking for a 'roof rune' kit, to shield the upper stories of your residence against potential ballista fire or magical assault. As these are what the Qunari used in their most successful assault on the city, it is important to protect against others who might seek to use the same or similar tactics, now.

Public houses and brothels are being reinforced with donations from the community, so if a war starts and you haven't been able to shield your home, make for your favourite drinking establishment. Remember, people, the Kirkwall Gazette is looking out for you!

* * *

Artemis woke in the library with Orana's hand on his shoulder and a book on his face. "Mrph?" he asked the pages before the book slid into his lap. "Ah. Good morning, Orana."

"Not quite morning any more, messere," Orana replied with a small smile.

"Evening?"

Orana shook her head.

"Afternoon? Good afternoon, then." Artie sat up and stretched, rubbing at stiff neck muscles. "How can I help you? _Can_ I help you?"

"Your brother is here, messere. Your older brother. Shall I let him in, or would you like to go back to your, ah, reading?"

"I _was_ enjoying my reading," Artemis muttered, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "But sure, let the bastard in. He's probably already outside the door anyway."

"Don't say such things about our sainted mother," Cormac teased, stepping in from where he'd been leaning next to the library door. He tried to smile, but it was obviously one of _those_ smiles -- the kind he put on for everyone else. "You seen the Gazette, yet? It's kind of important, and I wanted to make sure I put some things in your hand, personally. I'm worried about you. I'm worried about this whole fucking city."

Artemis knew that smile. He set down his book. "Thank you, Orana. Would you mind excusing us?"

Orana ducked her head and slipped out of the room, silent as a shadow.

"What's this about?" Artemis asked, even as his brain went through all the things that might have gone wrong since the last time he'd seen Cormac. "No, I haven't seen the Gazette. Is everyone all right?"

"So far? Yeah, we're all fine." Cormac sat down on the arm of the next chair over, facing his brother. He took a clacking bag from one of his pouches and pressed it into Artemis's hands. "These are barrier runes. They're Sandal's work, so I know they're the best in town. Knowing Sandal, probably the best in Thedas. They go every twenty feet, on the roof. I know this place is mostly stone, outside, but I also know the roof isn't, and I don't want it burning through, if -- No, I started in the wrong place. Meredith. The Knight-Commander has become a serious threat to the City of Kirkwall, and I want to make sure that if there's war, your house is one of the safe zones. If the city burns down around our ears, I want to know that you're going to be all right, and you'll have something to come home to, that's not a smouldering pile of wreckage, if someone starts throwing flaming pitch."

Artemis opened the pouch and peered inside, his expression inscrutable for a long moment. "You seem incredibly earnest for a 'maybe'," he said, brows knitting in concern as he peered up at his brother. "Cormac, is something going on that I should know about?"

"She's called for an Annulment," Cormac said, first. That, alone, would be enough to excuse this. "Spent some time with Cullen, the other day, and ... it's not looking good. He and Anders agree we've reached the point where outright war is inevitable, and I want you to be safe. Even the Gazette is running stories on it, and I'm not the one writing them. It doesn't look like Anders, either. I know what his work reads like. I'm afraid of what's coming, and I want to make sure you have a chance if I'm not by your side, when it comes."

Artemis swallowed and nodded, counting the runes in the bag. "Another war, huh? Exactly what the city needs." He shook his head, but if Cormac was worried... "Very well. I will put them up. Is there anything else I can--? Hold on, is this Gytha's work? Is that...? Cormac, I am not putting a dildo on my roof."

"Oh, uh, no, that's... not related. Sorry. That's just for you." Cormac laughed. "The runes are under it. It's... well... I thought you might recognise it. An early nameday present from your dearest older brother. That one's equipped with a heat rune."

"So not for the roof, then?" Artie teased, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. "And here I thought I already had one of you -- oh! This one isn't you. This... You brought Theron to Gytha's shop?" Artemis tried not to laugh at that image. "I do hope he didn't buy out the shop."

"Oh, you should have heard him. 'The knob of Hahren Theron will be passed down through the generations! The Shem Tamer will be eternal!' You know how he gets." Cormac laughed, again, eyes crinkling almost shut. "And then he met the Pillar of Passion, and I thought he was going to faint. That or write a treatise on weird shemlen sexual customs. You should've seen his face when I told him it was based on Anders. But, no, he didn't buy out the shop. Just bought a handful of his own, and then juggled them, when he went to pick them up. I'd forgotten he could juggle."

A cringing laugh escaped Artie. "That... I can picture that. I'm not sure I want to, but I can." He waved the dildo. "'The Shem Tamer'? I'll have to see how it compares to Fenris's." His teasing grin turned wicked, but the kiss he stretched up to give Cormac was soft. "Is there anything else I can do? How worried are we?" He eyed the other pouches and wondered how many homes his brother planned to visit.

"It's going to happen. And there's not enough runes to shield the whole city, but Sandal and Gytha are working as hard as they can. The Merchant's Guild has called for more lyrium, but I don't know if it's going to get here in time. The Gazette's telling people to hole up in bars, when the revolution comes, which tells me someone's paid to have those covered. Always public places, first, because they hold more people." Cormac reached out and took his brother's hand. "Cullen's doing his best, but unless Meredith riots in the streets, there's a strong chance he may not be her replacement, if she's removed by ... conventional means. She needs to make a public spectacle of herself, before Cullen's continued clashes with her work to his advantage. And I have no doubt she will, and that it will be frightening. I just want to make sure it's not all that damaging. This city's been through enough. That? That's how worried we are."

He kissed Artemis slowly and thoroughly. "Anton, Varric, and I have Hightown. Carver and Merrill are handling Lowtown, and Isabela's taking care of a couple places down by the docks. If you want to help, either help in Lowtown or figure out what Anders needs in the clinic. He's trying to get ready for the people who don't make it to safety."

Artemis nodded, his hand lingering in Cormac's hair, twisting it around his fingers before pulling away. "I'll go see what Anders needs," he said. "And, Cormac? Promise you won't go running into anything stupid without me."

"I... I'll do my best. But, if stupid's between me and you, I'm gonna have to send a runner."

* * *

Eyes flicked over the little point-ear as she fluttered over to the bar, trailing a large human escort carrying a large bag. They were regulars. No one thought much of it. Some people even knew their names.

"Corff! Corff! Have you seen the Gazette?" Merrill climbed up on a stool. The bar was a little tall in this place.

"I've always seen the Gazette, Daisy-girl. What's so exciting that you had to run over and tell me?" The bartender asked, pouring two pints of slightly better than usual beer for Merrill and her boyfriend.

"We've got your runes! They'll protect this whole place. If you want, we can even help you put them up." Merrill smiled proudly. "I bet you could fit a lot of people in here."

"Runes, huh?" Corff raised a pair of bushy eyebrows and whistled under his breath. "Those ain't cheap, Daisy-girl. But let's see 'em, then."

"Carver!" Merrill called over her shoulder, unnecessarily, as he was right behind her.

"Yes, yes," he grumbled, and with a grunt of effort, he hoisted the bag onto the bar. Merrill loomed proudly over it as Corff reached inside.

He paused, brows knit, as his hand curled around stone. "Doesn't feel like any other rune I've ever--" He pulled it out and stared down at what was in his hand. "That... that's not a rune."

"Yes, it is!" said Merrill cheerfully.

"Daisy-girl," Corff said, eyes pitying and yet still disconcerted. He shoved the object back into the bag when Edwina threw him a curious look. "I'm afraid someone has misled you. This isn't a rune. This is a stone knob. You do know what a knob looks like, don't you?"

"Of course she does!" Carver replied, sharply. "She is very familiar with the appearance of knobs! Knob! One knob!"

Merrill hushed him and patted his head. "And it's a lovely knob," she assured him. "But the stone knob is a barrier rune. It's a safety knob!"

"I don't..." Corff started, and Merrill stuck her hand in the bag and pulled one out.

"Look it's on the other side. You were looking at it wrong." She spun the dildo around so the rune faced Corff. "Once they're activated, upstairs will be safe from dragons and fireballs. You have to watch out for the dragons. I think there's still some up in the mountains."

"Wait, wait, does this mean I just walked across town carrying a big bag of dicks?" Carver protested, suddenly.

"And I thought that's how you usually came in here, Junior Hawke," Corff teased, examining the dildo uncomfortably.

"Now, now, that's is a bag, not carrying a bag," Edwina corrected, leaning over the bar to put down a tray of empties. "Another three of Ragbottom and two shots of house whiskey for the guys by the fire."

Carver sputtered, cheeks reddening, as Corff filled the glasses.

"Oh, Gytha said to tell you that's why they're free. Because they're made from damaged stock, instead of from fresh stone. Also, that it'll make a lovely decoration near the corners," Merrill explained, sipping her beer.

"A... decoration?" Corff repeated. "You don't think it sends the wrong message about the place?"

"Well, it's in keeping with the title, isn't it?" Merrill asked, looking to Carver for confirmation. "If a man is hanged, he is... you know?" She trailed off meaningfully as Carver wiped a hand over his face.

"You're thinking of hung, Merrill. Not hanged. A _hanged_ man is either drunk or dead."

"Oh. Oh!" Merrill peered around her as though seeing the place properly for the first time. "You know, that makes quite a bit more sense. Oops?"

"Don't mind her," Carver sighed. "She's Dalish."

* * *

"He's not joking, Lusine," Serendipity said, hoisting herself up on the bar as punctuation. "He's married to the Knight-Captain. If he says the Commander's starting a war, I'd take his word for it. And really, what's he asking to do? Add protective runes to the upper floors. For free, which is more than you deserve, the way you've treated him and his family."

"I run a business, not a dating service," Lusine grumbled, reaching into the bag and pulling out a large stone phallus with a bright blue rune. "Looks like the right rune, at least. Not that I see many of that kind in here. Kind of the opposite of the sort of thing you want in this sort of establishment. What's the catch?" She eyed Anton suspiciously.

"If the war does start -- when the war starts -- you take in refugees. You protect the people who couldn't save their own homes, until the fighting stops. That's it. And you can still charge them for drinks and the usual services, but I'd greatly appreciate it if you didn't charge them for food. Shit, charge double for drinks and the usual services, if you like, as long as food and shelter are free for the duration." Anton leaned on the bar and grinned. "You'd be a hero, you know. Lots of people would come by after to pay their respects and have a few drinks."

"If I'd wanted to be a hero, I would have a different job," Lusine drawled. She had little use for gratitude. But coin... "Very well, Champion. As long as I'm not paying for it, I don't see the harm. Might give Sabina's brat something useful to do, for a change. Hey, boy!" She shouted, and the boy jumped, his hand halfway in the purse of one of Lusine's drunker patrons. He yanked his hand away and scurried over, and Lusine handed him the bag with some instructions and a threat to whip him if he placed them wrong. The boy scampered off again, tail between his legs.

Serendipity exchanged a dry look with Anton. "I'll make sure the poor fool doesn't trip on them," she said, slipping down off of the counter.

Lusine turned her fakest smile Anton's way. "Well, now that that's taken care of... Do you plan to at least have a drink or are you going to just stand there, looking pretty?"

"I don't see why I can't do both." With a wink at Lusine, Anton waved down the bartender and made himself at home.


	374. Chapter 374

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bethany has plans. They include mice, but not demons.

"Are you ready?" Anders asked, as they came to the Chantry steps.

"Of course, darling!" Bethany smiled all too sweetly. "I was born ready. Now, remember. The side door to the chapel is where you want to come in. The robes will give you a little bit of cover, but if anyone gets too close, they'll probably notice you're not just pilgrims headed south. And do slouch a bit more, Anders. You're much too tall."

Anders struggled to be shorter and Cormac struggled equally hard not to laugh.

"You're the best, Bethy," Cormac said, with a smile.

"I'd better be. I'm the last. It took four of you to work out all the kinks." Bethany straightened her skirts, as they reached the top of the stairs, and as Cormac and Anders vanished around the edge of the building, she swung open the heavy door.

Between masses, the Chantry was the solemn kind of quiet, a quiet broken up into segments by the clack of Bethany's heels. Bethany kept her head down, hands clasped demurely, as though self-conscious of the noise she was making. She stopped by a Revered Mother fussing over a particularly stubborn candle.

"I am looking for Sebastian," she asked as though she didn't know perfectly well where to find him.

The Mother offered the candle one last glare before directing Bethany onward. Clergy and penitent alike looked up at the sound of her heels, including Sebastian.

The first of the mice slipped silently from the folds of Bethany's skirt, slipping into the space between the votive altar and the wall, at her command. As she covered the ground between herself and Sebastian, more mice darted from beneath her skirt, as it bumped the edges of pews and pillars. Finally, the last two darted out and around, crossing in front of her, in the aisle, to stop and chitter at each other.

Bethany shrieked shrilly, hoisting her now-empty skirts, as she leapt onto a pew, apparently to flee the mice in her path. "Mice!" she screamed. "Mice in the Maker's own house! What is wrong with this city?!"

Sebastian leapt to his feet as three more mice made an appearance at the front of the room, where he'd sat speaking to one of the Mothers. Panic seized him, lips peeling back in a horrified grimace as he tried to climb up the other Revered Mother beside him. "Mice? Mice. Why are there mice? There aren't any mice. Those are mice. Mice!"

The Revered Mother squeaked louder than any mouse as she teetered, trying to balance Sebastian's considerable bulk. "Messere!" she tried, voice strained with the effort. "Please get down! Mice are as much a creation of the Maker as any of we--!"

But Sebastian saw another scurry by and cut her off with a sustained and high-pitched shriek. Around them, the prayerful fled for the door, while the Revered Mother from before attacked the mice with the very candleholder that had previously vexed her. In the work of a moment, the Chantry was chaos.

The doors to the Grand Cleric's chambers burst open. "What is the meaning of this?" she asked, raising her voice to be heard over Sebastian's shrieks.

"Mice!" Bethany warned her. "Return to your chambers, Grand Cleric, while we deal with this. And do please shut the door before they get in!"

Bethany walked along the top of the pews to get to her fiancé. "Would you like me to take that?" she asked the Mother barely holding him up.

The Mother gurgled her assent, from beneath Sebastian's struggling weight, and Bethany hefted Sebastian over her shoulder.

"Still lighter than my brother," Bethany decided, after a moment, standing on the seat of a pew and studying the floor. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flicker of red cloth disappearing into one of the upper doors. Good. They'd gotten inside, and maybe Cormac could find the records for that pit of death and sacrifice. She wanted a look at that, herself, really. Perhaps between her and Orsino, they could find a way to lessen the influence, somehow.

But, that was for later. For now, she held out her hand, and let the Revered Mother help her down. The mice were to keep up for an hour, which was the longest she could possibly maintain influence, and even that required a rune that she now slipped into the back padding of a pew. After that, Anders and Cormac would have to find their own way out.

"I was thinking Nevarran, pumpkin. What do you think of--" One of the mice darted out in front of them, and Bethany screamed to shake the rafters, her voice ringing and echoing off the arched ceilings.

The bottom of a candlestick darted out, squashing the mouse into the floor hard enough to crack the marble floors. "Get out while you still can," the Mother said grimly, and Bethany nodded, hoping Cormac and Anders managed to steer clear of her.

"As I was saying..." Bethany's heels could barely be heard over the commotion now. "Nevarran?"

Sebastian clung to her and whimpered.

* * *

They'd led Temmerin to believe they meant to take out the blight-infested tower in the Vimmarks, if they couldn't get the place under control. It might have been the jurisdiction of the Marcher Wardens, but obviously the taint held more sway than any right-minded defenders of Thedas, in there. If they couldn't get a grip on it, they'd told him, they'd have to bring it down -- hopefully with minimal damage to the surface dwarven settlement or the rest of the Deep Roads in the area. But, what Anders had sent wasn't a blueprint of _that_ ancient Tevinter tower, but another one entirely.

Now, Cormac held the plans in front of himself, eyeing the patterns one last time -- where the runes had to go versus the explosives. This was supposed to be a controlled blast. This was supposed to come straight down, except for some adjustments Anders had made up top, to give the impression of a much larger and broader explosion. Those packets were larger, filled with things that would not only blow the roof off magnificently, but add bright colours and huge gouts of smoke.

As he placed another rune, Cormac really hoped Temmerin was right, and they weren't about to leave parts of the Chantry on doorsteps in Lowtown. "You think we'll have time to get into the private archives, while we're in here? I'd hate to think I'd walked right past those records and then _we_ were the reason I'd never lay hands to them."

The shrieks below them were promising, and in that moment, with Cormac and Justice with him, Anders felt like he could do anything. "Worth a try," he said with a crooked grin. "If we're caught, we can say something about making sure the infestation hadn't harmed the archives. If that doesn't work, I'll kiss them, and we'll make a run for it. Kissing people tends to stop them from asking the wrong questions."

And from screaming like that. He couldn't tell if that was a Mother or Sebastian.

One more rune. One more check against the plans to be sure. Anders could taste his pulse, and, since he was in a chantry and it was fitting, he prayed. He prayed that this didn't go terribly wrong.

* * *

Nevarran food was always a good choice, Bethany had found. It was very difficult to remain distressed while eating Nevarran. She supposed that might explain how it came to be the national cuisine of a nation of necromancers. But, at the very least, Sebastian seemed much less distressed about the mice, by the time they left the restaurant.

"It will all be over soon," he said, holding Bethany's hand. "The Divine will send a few agents to sort things out, to assist the Grand Cleric, in these troubled times, and then she'll be safe and this city will settle down. She's just one woman, the Grand Cleric, and Kirkwall is a difficult place. And with the corruption among the clerics and the clerks, she needs more good help. But, that will come. And then, I will be able to step down, knowing that I have done what I could for the city that saved me, and turn my attentions back to Starkhaven, the city I must save. And you, dear Bethany, will be right there by my side, where you deserve to be."

"Of course I will!" Bethany laughed, watching the streets of Lowtown pass, as they walked, alley after alley, the nightsoil men and their shovels and carts. Beggars weren't unusual here, or really anywhere in this part of town, so she didn't quite recognise the danger when she passed the three wild-eyed men, muttering to themselves. "I'll want a royal wedding, of course. I want the envy of Tantervale. We'll be the jewel of the Marches, in Starkhaven. You'll see. And I want the tower brought back. The crowding in Kirkwall is outrageous. We'll find the money, but I want our mages back."

"Anything for you, my sweet," Sebastian said, looking at her like the stars, the moon, and Andraste herself shone out of her eyes. He was so consumed by the sight that he paid no mind to the shifting shadows or to the fact that these shadows were their only company on this street.

The scrape of blades being drawn, however, was hard to miss, and so was the way they glinted in the moonlight. Sebastian didn't see her reach for it, but suddenly Bethany's spear was in the hand not holding his.

"What is the meaning of this?" Sebastian asked, finally letting her hand slip from his so he could reach for his bow. "Speak!"

And, raving and ravening, the men did, murmurings of 'she promised' and the words 'want' and 'need' amidst nonsense.

"Sebastian, my love," asked Bethany, "is it a Marketday?"

Her spear caught the edge of the knife aiming for her belly, and then it caught the man holding the knife, in the throat.

"Mar... why?" Sebastian blinked in confusion and leapt back from a blade aimed at his chest. This was much too close. He needed distance. Perhaps he should've taken Cullen's suggestion to actually look into proper swordsmanship, but he'd never quite expected to be in this sort of situation. Gritting his teeth, he punched one of the thieves square in the face and snatched the man's dagger as it slipped loosely from his fingers.

"Look at their eyes. Doesn't that remind you of something?" Bethany raised the first of the fallen and set him against his fellows. The body still remembered how to fight, and all she had to do was nudge it toward combat.

"Showers of silver!" one of the thieves repeated over and over, as Bethany filled the space in front of her with a spell, and everything stopped moving.

"Young Messere Harimann, perhaps?" Bethany suggested, filling the other end of the street with another spell, but this one didn't work. "I'm right. They're still moving. Demons."

"Quarters of gold!" another thief insisted, lunging for Sebastian, only to be cut down mid-motion.

Sebastian didn't respond, not right away, but the grim set of his jaw said that he'd heard Bethany and understood. "So somewhere in this mess is a demon?" He shook his head. "I almost prefer the mice."

"'Almost'?" Bethany asked as she conducted the dead.

"They're smaller. And sneakier." With an arrow folded in his fingers, he punch-stabbed the next fool in the eye. "What do you _want_?"

"They hunger," said another voice, a new voice, one that filled the alley. When Sebastian looked up, he wondered how he'd missed her, the glowing eyes, iridescent skin, and horns. The demon wasn't bothering to hide any more. "They hunger for what you have, for what you squander. Your wealth. Your status. They hunger to never be hungry again."

"Stabbing us won't get them that," Bethany said, shifting her attention. "I'm barely even wearing any jewellery today. Hardly anything that would benefit them, on my corpse or Sebastian's."

"I'm a Chantry brother!" Sebastian protested. "Vows of poverty and chastity?"

"You seem to be worth more than most of what comes by. The vision of wealth and status," the demon purred, moving easily between the thieves, as she slunk down the alley. "But, what do you want, hmm? I see much bigger dreams in you, Brother Sebastian. The City of Starkhaven? But, that's already yours, isn't it? The money to restore its glory, perhaps. The presence to draw its people back into the light. You could turn all the eyes of Starkhaven to the Maker. I could help you do it."

Behind him, Sebastian could feel Bethany changing, somehow, as if she suddenly occupied more space, but she never brushed against him, so he thought it was his imagination, until a hail of bolts lashed out over his shoulder, a constant stream of magical slivers that hammered against the demon. The demon who was really offering some nice benefits... Sebastian shook his head.

"Your offers are empty, slattern!" Sebastian proclaimed, straightening his back and tilting up his chin. "I can do all that on my own, with the Maker and Bethany at my side!"

By the time he'd finished talking, Bethany had hit the demon with that same spell again, making it shriek in rage and agony.

"Pumpkin?" said Bethany, fingers flexing as she started to cast again. "Bow, not words."

"Oh!" Arrows flew alongside Bethany's magic, and between the two of them, they didn't give the demon a chance to talk, let alone to cast. Bethany made sure the demon's living victims stayed down. The last thing she needed was Aveline complaining about more bodies in the streets.

The demon wore down quickly, unaccustomed to this kind of confrontation, and after a few minutes she went up in smoke, the only mark of her presence the clink of her jewellery and weapons -- yet undrawn -- striking the ground.

"And these people," Sebastian said, glancing around them, "they're just common thieves, aren't they?" A chill settled in the base of his spine, creeping up his back. Once again, a demon had called out to -- and reached -- normal people, regular citizens of Kirkwall without a flicker of magic in them. "How...?"

"Demons aren't as picky as the templars like to make them sound. They _prefer_ mages, for the obvious advantages, but anyone who will listen is good enough." Bethany waited, watching the spell dissipate on its own. As people began to stir, she crouched down near one of the more awake ones. "Can you hear me? What were you doing out, tonight?"

"... I don't remember," the woman replied. "I was dreaming. Fountains of gold and showers of silver. As long as I kept a smile on the Lady's face. Isn't that silly? What -- where am I?"

"You're in Lowtown," Bethany said in her most soothing voice. "The foundry district. I think you might have gotten a little lost."

The woman looked askance at her, but then she noticed the knife still in her own hand. Swallowing visibly, she set it down with a clatter. "What... what sort of dream was this?"

"A bad one," Bethany said, watching the others sitting up and looking around, a few bruised and bloodied. "But luckily, you got to wake up." Bethany stood to address the injured. The healer would probably still be out, but, "Do any of you need help getting to the clinic? The one in Darktown? Do you know of it?"

"We know of it, messere," said one dazed teenager who bent to help up a man bleeding from the nose.

"This city," Sebastian breathed, running a hand through his hair. He still looked shaken, eyes wide and cheeks pale. "Has the Maker abandoned it?"

Bethany squeezed his arm. "No more than he has abandoned the rest of Thedas," she said, which wasn't meant to be consoling.

Sebastian looked out over the ragged people struggling to stand. "Please, when you have been to the clinic, come to the Chantry. It is our duty to provide for those in need, and I know we haven't been doing such a good job of it, these last few years, but it's time for change. It's time for the Chantry to perform its proper services for the City of Kirkwall, and I want to invite you to come take advantage of that. If anyone asks, you're looking for Brother Sebastian. I'll make sure we can do something for you."

Most of the group eyed him suspiciously, edging away as he spoke. These were people who had never seen the Chantry do right by them -- who had never seen the Chantry do anything at all, until the templars started terrorizing people in the streets. He shook his head and offered his arm to Bethany.


	375. Chapter 375

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen is displeased with the latest Gazette headline. Anton, regrettably, admits to finding no further insight into the Bone Pit.

Anton was well on his way to swindling the next set of snooty Orlesians when his husband burst into the bar, his face red and his hand clutching what Anton could only guess was a copy of a particularly infamous broadsheet of their acquaintance. Anton was impressed. He didn't think Cullen even knew this place existed, let alone that he would be here.

"Ser Cullen!" Anton greeted him cheerfully, and Cullen finally spotted him at the corner table. "Grab a drink and a chair. I'll deal you in." He shuffled as he spoke while the Orlesians whispered to each other behind their drinks.

"Have you seen this?" he hissed. "...Lord Dog?'

Anton tilted his head as though trying to read the Gazette's cover. "I see an ill-used broadsheet in your fist," he said with an insouciant shrug. "Is there a particular reason why it is being ill-used or was it in the wrong place at the wrong time?" Anton dealt a place for Cullen, and he caught the bartender's eye long enough to gesture for a round of drinks.

"Was this one of your brothers? Was this _Anders_?" Cullen demanded, quietly, sliding into the chair and pressing the Gazette into Anton's lap, trying to hide the cover story from the rest of the room.

"Page Six, again?" Anton asked, not picking up his cards until he'd gotten a look at the problem. And, oh, now he could see why Cullen was upset. "You know how the Gazette works, Cullen. No one knows who writes this shit." He pushed his chair back and read the article under that headline. "I can tell you it doesn't look like Anders, though. I've seen his work enough times. He leaves half-written things all over the house. This is _not_ his style."

Cullen nodded, looking a little less upset. "I told him something in confidence, and here..."

"Ah, a matter of trust, rather than general outrage." Anton nodded. "But, is it true? Has it gotten this bad? Partially because if it has, you're probably not the only one who knows."

Cullen eyed the Orlesians, but they were too busy pretending not to listen. "That's... probably not something I should discuss in public," he said delicately.

"That wasn't a 'no'," Anton said, "and that is just as damning. Are you angry, Ser Templar, that the people of Kirkwall are taking precautions?"

And Cullen supposed that's all they were: precautions. Not a call to arms. But he doubted Meredith would see it that way. "Not... as such, no," he admitted. "The runes are not a bad idea, and Maker knows the city could have used them against the Qunari. I understand the _why_ , but I fear how Meredith will respond when she sees this." He and his fellow templars were working diligently to keep this issue out of her hands, but he still knew it was a matter of 'when' not 'if'.

Anton arranged his cards in a way, Cullen had learned, that only made sense to him. "Are you expecting a violent reaction?" For a moment, he looked genuinely concerned.

Cullen wished he could say 'no', but he honestly didn't know.

"I believe, sad to say, that my husband and I must excuse ourselves, before this hand begins. The affairs of the city call." Anton smiled like a Carta boss considering the fortunes of Orzammar and rose quietly, folding the Gazette under his arm. "Let us adjourn to my office, husband. The chairs are much more comfortable than they are in your office."

Cullen stood, just as his drink arrived, and he hesitated, uncertain of the etiquette.

Anton, of course, retrieved both their drinks, with a smile. "Arieh, would you be so kind as to find another player for this table?" He smiled far more politely at the man serving the drinks than he had at the Orlesians. "Our guests shouldn't miss out on the rest of the evening, simply because business calls."

"Business." Arieh looked slyly at Anton. "Of course, messere."

"It... actually is business," Cullen felt the need to assure him, speaking over his shoulder as he followed Anton. "For once."

"'For once'?" Anton repeated, balancing their drinks in one hand as he opened the door. He held it open with his foot and gestured Cullen in ahead of him. "You say that like it doesn't usually at least start out business!"

"It doesn't," Cullen said with a flat look, taking his drink.

Anton shrugged. "Well, however our 'meetings' start, they always end happily." Grinning, he took a moment to enjoy Cullen's full-body sigh before returning to the topic at hand. "Have a seat. Take a drink. Tell me what's going on."

"It's not just Meredith. Well, no. It is Meredith, but..." Cullen dropped into a chair with a bit of a clatter and finished his drink in one long swallow, before setting the glass on the edge of Anton's desk. It still struck him as strange that Anton even had a desk. "Do you happen to have any of that Orlesian honey wine?" he asked, still trying to arrange the pieces in his head. "If not, I'm buying a bottle on the way home."

Anton leaned out the door and gestured toward the bar. After a few more motions of his hand, he nodded and stepped back in, pulling the door shut behind him. "It'll be here in a bit."

"Red lyrium," Cullen said, looking up at his husband.

"Oh, shit." Anton looked pale.

"That's exactly what Carver said, too." Cullen rubbed his face. "Anders figured it out. Something about an idol made of it that got sold?"

"Bartrand's expedition. It's how my family bought back our home -- with the proceeds from the salvage. We never saw Bartrand or the idol again. Well, no, we saw Bartrand once more, but the last sane thing he said before we couldn't get him back was that he'd sold the idol to some noble." Anton sat on the edge of his desk, sipping his drink, curiously.

"The idol's been turned into a sword. At least we think so. If it wasn't the idol, then there's a lot more red lyrium than I really want to think about." Cullen ran his hand through his hair, nervously. "It's Meredith's sword. She always said there was lyrium worked into the blade, but I'd never seen it in red. I've only ever seen lyrium in blue."

"There's a lot more red lyrium than you want to think about," Anton sighed. "It's all over, down there. First it's blue, and then you get further in, and it starts turning colour. It's not good, but I think you're right that it's the idol. Given how fast Bartrand turned, I doubt the dwarves are mining it."

"Anders told me about Bartrand, you know," Cullen went on. "About how the idol drove him mad, made him lock his own brother in the Deep Roads."

"In fairness, Bartrand was a bit of a dick even before he was insane," Anton replied. "I'm not sure how much the 'locking up' part is the idol's fault. In fact, at the time I suspected he was just trying to get rid of my brothers so he could have a good night's sleep." He chuckled at a memory he wished he didn't have and took a sip of his drink. "But, once he was back in Kirkwall? That was the idol. Poisoned his mind and made him slaughter his household staff. Freaky stuff, really."

There was a knock on the door, and Cullen beat Anton to it, thanking Arieh for the bottle pressed into his hand. "And now Meredith," he said as he fought the bottle open.

"And now Meredith," Anton agreed. "Which is why, if you think something's about to go wrong, you need to tell me. If she snaps like Bartrand did, no one in the Gallows -- no one in _Kirkwall_ \-- is safe."

"So, really, it's best the Gazette has issued a warning," Cullen finally conceded. "I just wish it wasn't the headline." After a few sips of wine, he looked at Anton again, as he sat down. "Tell me what you've done, today, yesterday, this week. I haven't seen you in days, and you must be dealing with less ... threatening crazy."

"I don't think there really is a threatening crazy that compares to your boss, right now," Anton pointed out as he leaned back over his desk and slid open one of the drawers. "It's been the usual. Cards with the Orlesians. Lord Dog posturing at the Rose." He sat up holding a pastry box. "I picked these up on the way down, so I could bring them home later."

Cullen took the box and set it on the arm of the chair to open it. "Lemon cream duchess cakes?"

"I missed you, too." Anton grinned and nudged his husband's knee with one foot. "Oh, I went digging through the archives in the Keep, yesterday. My brother's got some concerns about weird Tevinter shit up at the Bone Pit. I guess there was something about undead dragons trying to eat him, the last time he went up there."

"I thought we ate it and burned the bones!" Cullen looked a little ill, a tiny smear of lemon cream clinging to his lip.

"Not that dragon. Older dragon. Something about Tevinter sacrifices to feed the dragons in the pit. He was looking for anything that would explain what had been going on up there, during the occupation." Anton leaned over, kissed Cullen, and swiped a cake. "Unfortunately, there's nothing. If there's something, it's minimal. A mention in something else, maybe, but no real records from the mine. Nothing I could find in the half a day I spent going through books and boxes, that's for sure."

Cullen looked no less ill, but he shoved the rest of the duchess cake into his mouth to keep from verbally flailing at that answer. Older dragons. Tevinter sacrifices. Of all places to end up after Kinloch Hold, he came to Kirkwall, the blood-magic capital of Thedas. At least Kirkwall also had Anton, by happy accident. "So we'll never know what was going on in the Bone Pit?" he asked.

"Not without more digging, possibly literally," Anton said, shrugging one shoulder. He plucked up another duchess cake and inspected it from all sides before popping it into his mouth. "Though I'm not sure the quest for potential answers is worth death by bone dragon."

"Few things are," Cullen drawled. "Though I'm thinking maybe... maybe the 'Champion' oughtn't use the phrase 'bone dragon' after that Page Six."

"Now, now, Ser Cullen. You know you're the only dragon whose bone I want."

" _Do_ I know that?" Cullen sighed. "Just please tell me the thing is dead."

Anton see-sawed his hand in the air. "Dead-ish. As dead as it was. So long as no one pokes at it again, however, Anders seems to think that it will stay horizontal and dead-ish, which is the important part, really." Anton watched his husband peek into the box again and smiled. "I'm trying to decide if I should tell you."

"Tell me what?" Cullen asked, looking askance at Anton. "What did you do? Is there something in these cakes?" Cullen looked considerably more alarmed. "Did you adopt the bone dragon?"

"No and no," Anton laughed. "But you've had lemon cream on your face for the past five minutes, and I've been debating whether I should tell you or just lick it off."

"That, ah, I mean--" Cullen started patting at his face, trying to find the bit of cream and wipe it away. "Er, this... this is your office. It's, uh... businessy. That is, I mean, a business environment. I'm sure licking wouldn't be appropriate."

"That is very true, ser, but it is my office, in my business, and you are my husband. I'm sure exceptions could be made." Anton smiled wickedly and dipped a finger into another cake so he could swipe a bit of cream onto Cullen's nose.

Cullen squinted at Anton, for a long moment, sitting ever so still. "Does that door lock?" he asked finally. "I'm not letting your tongue anywhere near me until we have a locked door. Your brother was bad enough. I don't need the Orlesians wandering in on any ... licking."

Anton slid off the desk and snapped the bolt. "We can leave the Orlesians to wonder," he decided, leaning over to lick the lemon cream off Cullen's nose and the other bit that was still smeared on his cheek.


	376. Chapter 376

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Anton plays the damsel to Cullen's villain, and a desk is misused.

Cullen pulled Anton into his lap, arms fitting around Anton's waist as though meant to be there, which he liked to think they did. "Did you miss any?" he asked.

"Hmm, let me check." Under the pretence of inspecting his face, Anton smeared some more cream over his cheek, his lips. His tongue followed, up the line of a sharp cheekbone before he kissed the rest from Cullen's lips.

"You taste like cream," Cullen said with Anton's tongue still in his mouth.

Anton chuckled. "So do you. Delightful." He shifted his weight until he had a leg on either side of Cullen's lap, rather than one thigh squished at an odd angle.

Cullen's arms wrapped tighter around Anton. "So, the Gazette," he said, after another long kiss. "Did you take the advice?"

"Of course I did. Varric's got some space down here, too. Any sailors get caught in the middle of this, we've got them covered." And the dockworkers, Anton supposed, but that was a given. The dockworkers also knew where to find shelter, and he hoped they'd drag along anyone else they caught in the street if things went sour.

"The house?" Cullen asked.

"Obviously. Cormac and Sandal did the house themselves. It's the safest place in Hightown. Except maybe Artie's. You know how Cormac and Fenris both fuss." Anton laughed. "No sense worrying about it, now. We've done what we can, and she'll do what she means to. And I, for one, would like to enjoy some of that rare and delightful time with my husband, before anything else goes wrong."

"Mmm," Cullen agreed, as Anton's lips pressed against his own, again. He supposed he'd done enough worrying for the day. What Cullen needed was a distraction, and Anton was ever the best of distractions.

The chair creaked under their combined weight as they kissed, hands roving, mapping out familiar planes of skin and muscle through ever more frustrating layers of clothing. Anton's hands found skin first, sneaking under the hem of Cullen's tunic.

"How sturdy is this chair?" Cullen asked, stomach muscles jumping at the light touch of nails.

Anton hummed, putting less thought into the answer than Cullen would have liked. "Not sure. Care to find out?"

Cullen gave Anton's rump a teasing swat. "I'd rather we not end up sending the Orlesians for Anders because the chair broke, along with every bone in or around my ass. And no. I know that face. You're thinking of puns involving bones and asses instead of hearing my concern."

Anton cut off this last word with a laughing kiss. "The chair will be fine, Ser Cullen. But if you're _that_ worried, I assure you my desk is every bit as sturdy as yours."

"And every bit as cluttered," Cullen noted, after a moment.

Anton reached out and swept an arm across the desk, depositing most of the clutter on the floor behind it. "Props," he said, after a moment. "I do leave the door unlocked, while I'm in the building. Those who want to look get nothing but an eyeful of garbage. But for you..." Anton squeezed himself out of the chair, brushed the rest of the clutter off the desk, and deposited himself on it, damp-lipped and rumpled. "For you, I'll put something worthwhile on my desk. I'm certain what you see before you is worth a much closer examination and possibly some plundering."

"Well, for you to show me the real worth of your office, I must be special, indeed." A wry half-smile crept up one side of Cullen's face as he stood and ran a hand along Anton's thigh. "Truly excellent workmanship."

"Isn't it?" Anton smiled up at Cullen as he stretched. "But, you should definitely check the hardware. I've come to understand it's truly spectacular."

"You mean this highly polished knob?" Cullen asked, pausing to squeeze Anton through his trousers. "Perhaps you should have a word with the carpenter, however. As I understand it, when it comes to desks, the knob should be outside the drawers."

Anton laughed, and Cullen loved the way it lit his face. "Well, that's a simple enough fix, isn't it? Open drawers, take out knob."

"Well, it would be easier if you didn't wear so many damn buckles," Cullen muttered. He bent to nip at Anton's lip as he fussed with Anton's clothing, taking his time undoing the clasps until his husband grew impatient. Pulling the newly opened waistband down, Cullen ducked to kiss the band of skin there, his hot breath a tease so close to Anton's knob.

"Hoping for another taste of cream, husband?" Anton teased, leaning to the side to pick at the buckles on his own boots.

"Are you going to give one so easily?" Cullen smirked, nibbling at an edge of muscle that only appeared when Anton was using it.

Anton sat up with a whooping laugh. "Not if you keep tickling me like that!"

"Oh," Cullen murmured, turning his head for a better angle, "have I finally found where you're ticklish? After all these years? I might have to pay you back, you know, for all those laughs."

"Oh, shit," Anton wheezed between cackles, as Cullen's teeth dragged across his abs, again. "You are a genuinely vengeful man, aren't you?"

"Vengeful and patient," Cullen agreed. "That's what makes me dangerous." He grinned against Anton's skin and the twitching muscle under his teeth.

"Villain!" Anton gasped, mock scolding. "I will not be so easily vanquished!" Manoeuvring under Cullen's hold, Anton twisted until he could reach Cullen's ribs, and before Anton even touched him, Cullen squeaked, folding in on himself in defence. "Ah, have I found my enemy's weakness?"

Cullen swatted Anton's hand away when it reached for him again, laughing, "Stop!"

"I have!" Anton crowed, reaching with both hands, which Cullen grabbed in each of his.

"You are terrible," Cullen said, pulling Anton by the wrists into a kiss.

"Incorrigible," Anton agreed. "And that's how you like me."

"I like you even better when you're incorrigible and naked," Cullen purred, Anton's lip caught in his teeth.

"Naked? In a businessy place of business? In a veritable office of business?" Anton tried to sound scandalised, and very nearly succeeded, aside from the part where his lip was otherwise occupied. "By the sky above, what scandal!" he paused. "You know you're going to have to let go, if you expect me to stop wearing clothes, don't you?"

"Ah, but you're already in my hands, just as you are. Is letting go worth the chance you'll tickle me again?" Cullen asked.

"Me, tickle you? I think I should be more concerned about you tickling me!" Anton protested, lip finally sliding free, a bit more bruised than it had been. "You wicked and vengeful creature, you!"

"Oh, so are you the damsel, this time?" Cullen teased, kissing the curve of Anton's eyebrow.

"If I'm the damsel and you're the villain, then where is the handsome, bare-chested hero ready to ride off with me into the sunset?"

"On the other side of the locked door, most likely." Cullen bit down on the bend of muscle where neck met shoulder, a playful growl in his throat. "So I'm the villain, am I? I never get to be the villain."

Anton chuckled, nudging him half-heartedly. "Try not to sound so eager about that," he said. "Or are you just that eager to have your wicked, wicked way with me?" Anton's knee came up to rub against Cullen's side. "Be gentle with me. I'm fragile."

Cullen snorted, but he finally released Anton's wrists after pressing a kiss to each one.

Anton unbuckled an assortment of straps and belts Cullen hadn't even realised weren't simply decorative and shrugged out of his shirt, tossing it over Cullen's head, with his hands still in the sleeves. "So, you villainous knave, what will you do with this delicate flower of innocence?"

A pause. Cullen blinked. And then he started laughing uncontrollably, forehead coming to rest on Anton's shoulder. "Delicate flower of innocence? More like hardy vine of lasciviousness."

"And I thought you liked my hardy and lascivious vine," Anton teased, sliding his hands out of the shirt and making quick work of the ties on Cullen's trousers, before plunging his hands down the back to squeeze Cullen's firm and shapely bottom. Not as shapely as his own, of course, but he was a Hawke. "Do you remember the first time I squeezed you just like this? I never imagined, then, that we'd end up like this."

"On a desk?" Cullen teased, nibbling at the side of Anton's neck.

"On any number of desks, chairs, benches years down the line as husband and husband. But yes, this desk in particular. I'm impressed you even found the place."

A nip turned into a bite. "Of course I found it," Cullen said, letting Anton's hands pull him closer, or as close as he could get with Anton's still half-on trousers in the way. "I may have needed to punch a few sailors in the teeth to get directions, but I found it. I have my ways."

"Oh do you ever," Anton purred. "Like how you plan to have your way with me?"

Cullen ground forward into Anton's hips, eager for more skin on skin. "That is the plan," he agreed. "Unless you're still waiting for that bare-chested hero to whisk you away, my delicate damsel."

Anton snorted indelicately. "I'd like to see him try. Actually, that could be fun, sometime, if you were interested. A hero, a villain, and your sweet and charming husband caught in the middle. Or maybe a handsome ass-bandit and his lovely sidekick, and my bold and handsome husband caught in the middle." His hands slid under Cullen's tunic, tugging it up.

But, Cullen pulled his tunic back down. "Am I not enough for you, any more?" he asked, confusion and dismay clear in his eyes.

"What?" Anton laughed and pulled Cullen closer. "That's supposed to be more fun for both of us. Just something else for us to share. I almost feel bad that I've kept you all to myself, depriving the whole of Kirkwall of more of your delights. If you want more, you can have more than just me. Your husband is not afraid to share."

Cullen wasn't sure whether to be offended, at first, but decided this was another one of those weird Hawke things. "Well, I don't want to be shared. You're more than enough for me, you dastardly bandit of asses."

"And here I thought you were the villain, tonight!" Anton joked, tugging at Cullen's tunic again.

This time, Cullen shrugged it off and dropped it on Anton's head. "How villainous would you like me, you dastardly damsel?"

"Ruinously villainous," Anton replied, dropping the shirt onto the floor.

Cullen hummed, tugging Anton's waistband down his thighs, as far as a desk and gravity would allow. "Would tearing these pants off your legs be suitably ruinous, dearest husband?" he said against Anton's lips.

Anton arched against him and purred. "Oh yes. Oh-- wait. No. Not if you're actually _tearing_ them. I like these pants. These pants have been good and loyal to me through many hardships."

"Right now, your pants _are_ a hardship," Cullen drawled, but he grabbed Anton about the waist and hoisted him up as though he weighed nothing, while his other hand pulled his trousers down and out of the way.

"Oh, you villainous brute!" Anton gasped dramatically, putting a hand to his forehand. "You rapacious barbarian!"

Cullen offered Anton's bare ass a smack and set him back down. "Rapacious?"

"It's a good word."


	377. Chapter 377

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is an extremely good thing that Anton's desk is so sturdy, and that any Orlesians are on the other side of a locked door.

Cullen eyed Anton lecherously, eyes bright, lip curling, as his hands wandered the expanse of bare flesh before him. "I feel like I should have a moustache, for this, so I could twirl it."

"You would look ridiculous, not villainous," Anton assured him, wrapping his legs around Cullen's thighs.

"I suppose it's a good thing I shave, then. Can't have my debonair looks ruined by a twirly moustache. Wouldn't be fitting to my position."

Anton leaned to the side and opened another drawer, pulling out a small vial that he pressed into Cullen's hand. "Speaking of positions and fitting, isn't there something else you'd like to be fitting in this position?"

"In _this_ position?" Cullen blinked as he uncorked the oil. "I don't think that's going to work." He poked at Anton's chest with one finger. "But if you lean back and move a little closer to the edge of the desk..."

Anton heaved a dramatic sigh, even as he scooted to obey. "I knew I should have splurged on that Tevinter office set," he said with a devilish smirk of his own. "We'd have more options, and the chair really would be much better for my back."

"Tevinter office furniture?" Cullen scoffed, pouring the oil over his fingers. "What would that involve, I wonder? Knobs that serve as actual knobs?"

Anton tutted, his feet teasing along Cullen's leg. "Nothing so obvious as that," he said. "Where would be the fun?"

"I think this desk is full of enough surprises," Cullen said, bending to kiss the smooth skin right in front of him.

"I think you are terribly intuitive," Anton replied with a smirk. He reached down and wrapped his fingers around Cullen's knob. "I also think it's terribly convenient to have my very favourite knob in reach, perhaps especially not as part of the furniture. It's always such a delight to polish this one, in particular."

Cullen breathed something appreciative but incoherent against Anton's skin, as he kissed his way up Anton's chest. It took him a moment to remember that he was holding a vial of oil, and another few to remember what he was supposed to be doing with it, but as his lips met Anton's, his slick fingers stroked over Anton's hole.

Anton squirmed, hips twitching and rocking as he tried to impale himself on those fingers. "Villainy indeed!" he proclaimed breathlessly against Cullen's lips.

"My villainy has barely come into this," Cullen growled. He pulled Anton's lower lip between his teeth, felt Anton gasp against his skin.

"Is that what we're calling it now?" Anton asked with a breathless laugh. "Your 'villainy'?"

"You have called it far more unflattering things," Cullen reminded him as he pushed his fingers in slow, achingly slow. "Up to and including 'man-noodle'."

Anton twisted to stifle his snicker against Cullen's shoulder. "Well, sometimes villainy is delicious," Anton replied, a gasp making that last syllable higher and breathier than intended.

"Did you want to taste my villainy, before we get further? Before I continue plundering the booty of the bandit of asses?" Cullen pulled his fingers back, teasingly.

"No, no. Do continue the plundering!" Anton gasped, bending his knees to pull Cullen closer. "Plunder to your heart's content. I can taste your villainy, once we get home. Perhaps with another bottle of that Orlesian honey wine."

"I do like the wine and all the ways you've found to drink it," Cullen admitted, twisting his wrist and shoving his fingers back in, only to curl them at the end of the thrust. Anton writhed beneath him, head falling back, giving Cullen access to a lovely expanse of skin, which he was quick to lavish with kisses and gentle bites.

"Honey wine pairs well with villainy," Anton gasped, the quip half-hearted as Cullen's fingers stole his attention.

"Well, it is Orlesian," Cullen reminded him between kisses, and then his mouth was occupied with Anton's skin, Anton's taste, as addicting as any wine. His lips fell to Anton's chest, feeling it rise and fall with each breath, the spaces between shaky inhales growing shorter. "Would it be terribly unvillainous of me to remind you that I love you?" he asked, his fingers giving a few more thorough thrusts before sliding out.

"Ah, has the villain fallen for his damsel captive?" Anton asked, looking down at Cullen with a lazy smile, carding his fingers through curly hair. "I knew my charms would sway you." His legs hooked around Cullen, nudging him closer as his husband lined up his 'villainy'.

"Sway me too much, and I'll miss," Cullen joked, pressing slowly in. His eyes slipped closed as the warm heat drew him in and Anton's breathing scattered into a series of short gasps, those talented fingers clutching at his arms. This was always so perfect, even the very first time, when he'd been so unsure of himself, and Anton had guided him through all of it. Anton had taught him to appreciate this -- looks, touches, every little sound. He'd never imagined most of the things Anton had shown him, even when he was young and a bit more libidinously inclined. Every once in a while, he wondered if he'd ever actually left that place, but he was sure the memories wouldn't be so terrifying and chaotic, if that were the case. The horror made things like this that much more real.

Anton pulled Cullen's hands back to his chest, kissing those strong fingers, before setting each hand down against his skin. "Oh!" he groaned, rocking his hips. "I am struck deep with your villainous blade!"

"You make a pretty sheath for my sword, darling damsel," Cullen said aiming for over-the-top threatening and merely hitting absurd and breathless. "But I fear my villainy is no match for your beauty."

For a moment, Cullen couldn't tell if the squirming under him was from desire or from laughter, but he pulled Anton as close as he was physically able to smother those sounds with a kiss either way. "I hope," Anton panted when Cullen finally allowed him breath, "that you are not overcome with my beauty so soon."

"That would be terribly villainous of me," Cullen replied grinding this beautiful body into the desk beneath them. "Too villainous even for me." Strong legs flexed around him, and Cullen took that as encouragement.

Anton writhed, rocking his hips with every thrust, showering Cullen's cheeks and neck with little kisses, between sharp breaths. "Shall I be overcome by your villainy, first?" he managed, after a bit. "Isn't that how the stories go?"

"Oh, yes, the full force of my burgeoning villainy," Cullen panted, punctuating each word with another hard thrust, and taking a certain joy in the way Anton wrung him ever tighter. "Is it villainous enough for you? Is it forceful enough?"

"My appreciation of your villainy would improve, if you applied more force, but if my appreciation improves, does that make it less villainous, or am I becoming more villainous by proximity?" The last word ended in a squeak, as Cullen determined that Anton was still far too coherent for this point in the proceedings, and applied his villainy far, far more forcefully, and with a hip-roll, at the end.

"I think," said Cullen -- and that was something that was becoming difficult to do, thinking, "that you would be made villainous by association." He paused to catch his breath and his thoughts between every other word. "Since you are, after all, filled with my villainy."

Cullen often wondered at the absurd things Anton wrung from him in moments like these, and wrung was the word, the way Anton squeezed around him. "Anton," he breathed, breaking character, because in that moment Anton was the only thing that existed. Well, Anton and his desk. The desk was marginally important.

"Villainous horseradish," Anton panted, clutching tightly at Cullen's back and trying not to slide off the desk as he ground himself further down upon that particular horseradish in all its villainy.

"Careful, my dear damsel," Cullen breathed, between tiny squeaks of pleasure, "or you'll wring all the sauce out, before you're done with it."

"Perhaps that wouldn't be so terrible," Anton groaned, taking a moment to breathe between words, "if you mean to lick wine from me until you taste cream."

"Why not both?" Cullen gasped more than asked. "Have your fill of my horseradish sauce, and I'll have your wine and cream for dessert."

"That's awfully generous of you, my dear villain," Anton gasped in kind. He wrapped his legs tighter around his husband, pulling him closer and hoping the angle would keep them from pitching off the desk and onto the floor. But in that moment, he almost didn't care if they did so long as Cullen kept pushing into him like that.

"Anton..." Cullen panted, over and over, a mantra of the only thing with any meaning in his world. He buried his face against Anton's neck, overwhelmed by the scents of sweat and desire -- and why was it demons didn't smell like this? But, that thought was gone as quickly as it had arrived, washed away by the taste of salty-slick skin against his lips. The world could end in that moment, and he didn't think he'd mind at all.

"More," Anton begged, hips rolling of their own accord, desperate for more heat, more friction, more of everything. The wine could wait until they got home. Even if he had to cross town like this. His lip caught in his teeth, tiny, strained sounds of pleasure slipping out around it.

"More, darling damsel?" Cullen managed between thrusts, his every movement desperate, shivery, the movements of someone clinging to the edge. He widened his stance, shifted his grip to hold Anton more tightly with one arm while his other hand slid down and between them, sliding along velvety skin to grasp Anton's knob. He didn't bother to tease, not now, not with the slap of skin on skin already filling the room.

"Yes," Anton hissed, bucking up into that hand, into that squeezing warmth.

Cullen couldn't tell if that was in response to his question, to his touch, or just a general exclamation of pleasure.

Anton writhed, movements losing any sense of rhythm, as he clung desperately to Cullen, pulling him closer. "Cullen -- Cullen, please-- yes!" he panted, as a drawer finally skipped off its track from the constant jostling. The sound of Antivan sweets and pencils skittering across the floor might not have been heard beyond the door, but the drawer bouncing off the chair and crashing to the floor might have been. And Anton could not have cared less, if he tried -- not that he was much capable of trying, in that moment, arched back with his teeth clenched shut, trying not to scream his husband's name in a poorly insulated office in the back of a warehouse-district gambling club, as he spilled across the callused fingers wrapped around his knob.

Somewhere, there was a comment about villainy or horseradishes that Cullen didn't have the presence of mind to grasp. Instead, groans and Anton's name were all that escaped Cullen's lips as he moved, making what he was sure was a terrible racket and caring even less than Anton. With Anton's spend on his hand, Cullen finally let himself go, let himself chase that lovely sparkling pleasure pooling between his hips until he lost all sense of where or who he was.

Anton purred as he felt Cullen stiffen, muscles bunching and tightening under his hands, Cullen's shaky grunts in his ear as he spilled deep into his husband. In the space of a moment, all the frenzy and need ebbed to stillness, to softness, as their heartbeats filled the silence.

"Should go home," Anton muttered, after a moment. "With wine." He let go of Cullen's back and spilled loosely across the desk. "In a minute. After I find my legs."


	378. PART LXVI: HERE COMES THE WAR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meredith starts a war. Cullen prepares to end it.

"Commander?"

Cullen stood at the door of Meredith's office, waiting for the bad news. Whatever it was, at this point, it almost had to be bad.

"Have you seen this week's Gazette?" Meredith asked, placing her own copy of the paper on the desk, folded to expose the headline.

"I hadn't." Cullen shook his head. He should've felt worse about lying, but if he said he knew, she'd have his job, at best. Of course, not knowing was almost as bad, but at least he didn't appear to be hiding anything from her. "It was off the streets quickly, this week. Popular issue."

"I am characterised as a lunatic on the front page, and 'the mage community' of Kirkwall is encouraging people to defend themselves against templar attacks, as if we were wild dogs." Meredith held out the paper, expecting Cullen to come take it, which he did. "The seneschal and that guard captain you like are quoted as reinforcing this idea. Obviously, this foolishness must be purged from the city, as my predecessor tried to do, before me. If Dumar had kept his head, perhaps we would have maintained some control of this idiocy."

Cullen looked over the Gazette, pretending to be reading it for the first time. His wince was not faked, not now that he was reading this, knowing Meredith had seen it, against all their precautions. Her words sank in as he set the paper down. "Purged?" he repeated, barely hiding a stutter. "How, exactly, do you plan to do that?" He hoped her answer wasn't the one he was anticipating.

But Meredith was calm, the self-assured kind of calm that Cullen found more frightening than her anger. "This just further proves that my concerns are not unfounded," she said. "If the mages are preparing, then so should we. I have already requested the Right of Annulment, and it is only a matter of time before the approval comes through. We had best get everything in order."

Cullen swallowed, took his time responding, hoping the right answer would magically come to him. "Has it really come to that?" he asked.

"Yes, it has come to that!" Meredith snarled, and there was that anger again. "Everywhere I turn, there are blood mages and traitors. I have tried more peaceful means, but the only option left to me is to wipe them out and start anew."

"Tell me what needs to be done, Commander." Cullen held his head up and squared his shoulders. Perhaps once he had an idea of what she was planning, he'd have an idea of what to do about it.

"Count the mages. Ensure they are all in their rooms. Remove anything they might use to write and anything they might write on. I do not want another leak to the Gazette." Meredith eyed Cullen sternly, but he didn't waver. "I want magebane in all the water, starting tonight. See to it that the Tranquil are instructed not to speak of it, when they deliver the water, and post guards in the halls, lest someone try something stupid. They will pose no threat at all, by the time we are given word to ensure they remain that way."

"Yes, Commander. It will be done." Cullen ran through ideas in his head. Magebane? This was going to be... He remembered Cormac waking up on the coast, and Anders, all those years ago. These mages weren't warriors, though. These mages had never been permitted practise or even books on fighting or warfare. Without their magic, Meredith was right -- they'd be completely helpless. "Is there anything else, or should I get started?"

"I want you to find whoever publishes this," Meredith said, jabbing the Gazette with one finger, "and burn the place to the ground."

Cullen didn't point out that he didn't have the authority to do that and that, as far as she was concerned, no one knew where the Gazette was published. "I will see what I can do, Commander," was his obedient answer. "It is about time these miscreants were brought to justice."

His answer brought a grim smile to her lips. "Good," she said as she turned for the door. "And you can start with burning that copy. Interrogate the stonecarver. Whoever it is clearly knows someone involved."

"Yes, Commander," he said, keeping his perfect posture until she was out of sight. Then he sagged, face dropping onto his hands, allowing himself a full minute to lose his composure before piecing it back together again, stepping out of his office to call for Ella. 

* * *

The plan was simple -- Ella was their only Tranquil agent, but she would deliver the water with an incorrect mixture of magebane. Close enough to pass on the taste, but far enough not to cause significant damage to most mages. It wasn't really enough, but it would keep at least one hall still magical -- the hall that had been on the coast, which was mostly Starkhaven mages, anyway. Starkhaven would lead them, when the time came.

The few templars who had stopped trusting in Meredith were easy to convince -- what evidence did any of them have of demons? Cullen, himself, had lived through a tower beset with demons, and if he didn't think it would happen in the Gallows... well, he would know. Thrask, Keran, and Marlein would take the lead, ensuring that they'd be able to evacuate the tower into its cellars quickly and easily. No one would question those orders, as long as they were accompanied by chains. After all, it was much easier to clean the dungeon.

Runners were sent uptown, to summon help from where it was likely to be, and Cullen, himself, went to speak with the First Enchanter. Orsino, after all, was a mage like any other, in the end.

Cullen found Orsino in his office, surrounded by a pile of books and rolls of parchment. It might have been the lighting, but the shadows under his eyes seemed darker than Cullen remembered. "Excuse me, First Enchanter," he said, standing at his full height in the door-frame, "but I am afraid I must interrupt."

"Captain," Orsino replied, quill pausing mid-word before resuming its feverish scrawl until he came to the end of the sentence. "An unexpected pleasure. Do come in." The words were polite, but the tone was suspicious, accompanied by the twitch of one eyebrow.

Cullen shut the door behind him.

"If this is about the Gazette," said Orsino, setting down his quill and sitting back in his chair, "I promise you I knew nothing about it. And I still know nothing about it, despite the narrowed glares the Commander keeps sending me in the hall."

"The Gazette has something to do with it," Cullen admitted, gaze wandering around the room. He'd had few occasions to be in this office over the years. "But not for the reason you think."

"I expect this is serious, if you've come to speak to _me_ ," Orsino said, after a long pause.

"The Commander ... No, let me start somewhere else. I need you to know, first, that I disagree with her, and I will be working to preserve this tower and its mages." Cullen's shoulders remained just short of square, even as one of his feet shifted uncomfortably against the floor.

"Preserve? So she's done it, then." Orsino looked grim, skin paler and tighter on his already-thin face.

"The approval is expected to come down, shortly. There's already magebane in the water, although I've done my best to ensure some mages have gotten as little as possible, but... the Tranquil lie poorly. It's a delicate balance. But, I need your help." Cullen looked over his shoulder, double-checking that the door was really closed. "I'm going to evacuate the tower, if I can. But, through Darktown. I really just need you, and maybe a couple of your students -- if you can get them out, which you may not be able to -- to make a distraction in the courtyard. Something that will draw the Knight-Commander and as many templars as you can manage out of the building, while I start leading mages out the other way."

"The 'other way'?" Orsino raised an eyebrow.

"I know you know it's there. You don't get to be First Enchanter, without knowing how to keep secrets," Cullen drawled. "Do we have a deal? Do you think you can hold them off, until the rest of my distractions arrive from elsewhere?"

The suspicion in Orsino's stare softened to something that wasn't quite curiosity, wasn't quite amazement. "I have a few tricks up my sleeve, Captain," he said, his lips curling up. "There's plenty of room for them in these robes. But, Ser Cullen, I admit to being... I admit I have misjudged you."

"Well. Mages aren't the only ones with secrets," Cullen replied with a shrug of one shoulder. "This armour is roomier than it looks." 

* * *

"Messere Anton!" Bodhan's voice was sharp, between loud knocks. "There's an urgent message from Ser Cullen! Really very urgent -- you'll want to get dressed, messere."

Anton groaned and rolled out of bed, pulling clothing and daggers on, as he moved toward the door. "What's wrong?" he asked, finally opening it.

Bodhan handed him the note, lips tight.

It took only a moment for Anton to absorb the message. "Cormac!" he shouted, running into the hall. "Get up! Get out here! Get-- Just get! Bethy? Bethany? Are you here?"

Cormac burst into the hall, glaive in his hands. "Who do I have to kill?"

"The Knight-Commander." Anton laughed nervously and handed the note to his brother.

"Go. I'll grab Anders. We'll be right behind you. I have the distraction he wants, but take Isabela with you, if you can find her. Let Aveline know, and have her keep the guards inside, but ready to go, until further notice. All districts. We will need an army, to do this, and they're as close as we'll get, but they can't watch the amount of law-breaking we're about to do. In fact, have her send the patrols to start bringing people to the shelters, and then get inside, themselves."

"What's all this noise?" Bethany asked, dressed just as elegantly as always.

"Evacuate the Chantry," Cormac told her. "We both know Elthina won't go, but get everyone else out of that building. Bring them to the Rose. Tell them there's problems with the construction or something, but get them out of there. And then get yourself out. Stay inside, Bethy. In the Rose, in the house, in Artie's house -- stay in one of the shelters. This is what the Gazette was warning about. Now is the time."


	379. Chapter 379

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Preparations begin. Evacuations all around.

This time, when Bethany burst into the Chantry, it wasn't the clack of her heels that broke the silence. "Everyone out of the Chantry!" she declared, startling the prayerful gathered around Andraste's statue. "This is an emergency! The building is unsafe!" Her voice echoed off stone and filled the space up to the vaulted ceilings. The confused congregation rose, exchanging hesitant looks with each other and the Revered Mothers in sight. "Now!" Bethany barked, and confusion gave way to self-preservation as the herd clattered for the door.

"What is going on?" asked a Mother, standing from her kneeler.

"The foundation was more damaged than the builders' guild realised," Bethany explained, herding everyone towards the door. "The building could collapse at any moment, and we need everyone out of here _now_."

The Mother paled, eyes growing wide, but she nodded. "You heard her!" she shouted to the room at large. "Everyone out!" She climbed the stairs to collect the other Mothers and Sisters, while Bethany met Sebastian at Elthina's door.

"What's going on?" he asked, and Bethany wondered how many times she'd have to repeat herself. "I thought they got rid of the mice."

"I don't think this is the mice's fault, pumpkin," she said, squeezing his arm.

"What-- Why is everyone leaving?" Sebastian asked, watching a remarkably ordered evacuation, below.

"The Blooming Rose is a safety shelter!" Bethany called down. "Yes, it's a brothel, but it's also the safest place in Hightown, unless you can convince the Merchants' Guild to let you in!" She cleared her throat and turned back to Sebastian. "The building's become unstable. It needs to be evacuated for safety. Remember how the vaults got moved to the keep, in case of this? Well, now it's happening, and we need to move the people."

"I'll get Elthina," Sebastian said, after only a moment's consideration. "But, why the Rose, instead of the keep?"

"If this building goes sideways, I'm pretty sure the keep isn't safe," Bethany pointed out. "The guard are already moving people who live too close."

"If I tell her the people are going, she'll go." Sebastian nodded. "I'm sure I'll just be a moment."

From out on the balcony, Bethany could hear the argument start.

" _What_?" came Sebastian's voice. "You can't possibly--! Your Grace, staying here serves no purpose--"

"It serves Andraste's purpose, Sebastian. As do I." Elthina's voice was infuriatingly level.

"And you'll better serve Andraste and the Maker by staying _alive_."

"My place is here, Sebastian." Her voice came now a bit clipped, and Bethany could picture the look on her face, the pursed lips and clenched jaw, the knit brows that read of disappointment. "If the Chantry falls, it is the Maker's will. I am not leaving. There is no point in arguing."

A long pause, long enough that Bethany inched closer to the door.

"If you are not leaving, then neither am I," said Sebastian, soft enough that Bethany barely caught the words, soft enough that she hoped, for Sebastian's sake, that she had misheard him. "I owe you everything. May the Maker have mercy on us both."

Bethany whipped the door open. "You are not staying a moment longer in this Chantry, Sebastian. You cannot protect her from this. The only protection that can be had is in leaving, which you and I will be doing, immediately. If you have any sense, Grand Cleric, if you have any will to live, get out of this building. It may be the Maker's will that it falls, but the Maker has provided you an opportunity to save yourself and continue serving the city you claim to protect. Everyone else is gone."

"I can't just leave her, Bethany!" Sebastian whined.

"You can, and you will. If you fall, who will bring the Maker's love back to Starkhaven? Who will care for all these people if she dies, and you do, too?" Bethany argued, raising a gentle hand to Sebastian's cheek.

"She's right, you know," Elthina agreed, unexpectedly. "I must remain here, in case anyone returns. I will serve the Maker until the end. And if the Chantry does not fall? If the ground beneath recovers in the hands of those who know it best? Well, then I, too, will remain." She paused. "You have chosen to return to Starkhaven, then?"

"I must," Sebastian started, but his chin trembled. "But, I will not leave you. I have lost my family already. I will not lose another!"

"If you stay, and it falls, we will both be lost," Elthina said, quietly, and her eyes landed on Bethany, who nodded.

"Forgive me, pumpkin. We have to go," Bethany said, a spell quick to her fingers. She swept Sebastian into her arms, as he fell. "Maker's blessing, Grand Cleric. I pray it isn't necessary."

* * *

A visit from Cormac wasn't unusual. A visit from Cormac where he slipped past Orana without waiting to be announced wasn't unusual either. So when Artie looked up from his cleaning -- when had that stain gotten on this rug? -- he wasn't surprised to see his brother filling the doorway. What surprised him was the look on his face.

Artemis stopped scrubbing. "What did you do?" he asked by way of greeting.

"Nothing yet." Cormac shrugged, trying to look anything other than exactly as freaked out as he was. "I need you to come help me do something stupid. Help us, I guess. I need you to come help us evacuate the Gallows and ... kill the Knight-Commander."

Artie's lips moved, but it took a few false starts before he managed to stutter out any words. "I'm sorry. I must have hallucinated that last bit. Did you say you wanted me to help you _kill the Knight-Commander_?" Artemis pointed the brush at him. "Stupid. That _is_ stupid. You were correct. Why are we... _why_? Why right now?" But even as he spoke, he set down the brush and slid the bucket to the side.

"Because Cullen asked us to," Cormac replied. "Not in as many words, but it's the only place this can possibly end. He's evacuating the Gallows, and he needs us to 'distract' as many templars as possible, while his people get the mages to safety." He paused. "Isn't that the funniest thing you've ever heard? The Knight-Captain is trying to save mages from the templars. ... But, the important thing, is that we have to get across town, right now. And if you're not coming, stay inside. Here. Stay _home_ , specifically, so I don't have to worry what's happened to you in the streets. I know you can take care of yourself, but we're about to do something beyond stupid, and I really need you in a place with barriers on the roof, when we do."

"We're...? You're serious?" Artemis rose to his feet, hands still soapy. It had been coming. He knew it had been coming, but not today, not with the floors half-scrubbed and the furniture awry and -- "Of course I'm coming, you idiot. Just let me get my staff. And my husband." He darted for the stairs, praying he'd set the runes correctly. Orana. He'd tell her to stay indoors. Cormac would have seen to their siblings, but what about the others?

Artemis was still running through his mental checklist as he snatched up his staff -- his father's staff -- and called out to Fenris.

* * *

Anton appeared in the dungeon, taking Keran by surprise. "I have word. Are you ready?"

Keran nodded. "Thrask's upstairs. Ruvena's leading the second hall down, now." With that, he stepped aside and revealed a line of mages in unlocked chains. At Anton's look, Keran continued. "Have to keep up appearances. It's just in case."

"It's not time for appearances any more," Anton said, helping the first mage out of the chains. "Do you have magic?"

The woman shook her head, turning to help the line behind her. "Magebane. We have nothing."

"Shit," Anton sighed. "What am I supposed to --" He caught himself. "We'll just have to be a little more careful."

"The third hall will be staying behind to help," Keran said, gathering the last of the chains. "We managed to spare them."

Anton nodded grimly. It wasn't ideal. Even with all the mages in the Tower behind him, this could be tricky, but they would make do with what they had. He was the Champion, after all, and as far as these poor souls knew, he had single-handedly defeated the Arishok. "The passage should be clear," he said, to Keran and to the mage in front. "It leads out into Darktown and comes out near the clinic, for those of you-- Well, I guess if you're here, you haven't _been_ to the clinic or to much of Kirkwall, really." He tried to keep his smile relaxed, assured and reassuring, and for the first time in a long time, Anton wondered how his dad has made it look so easy.

"Champion," Keran said, angling himself so the mages couldn't hear what he was saying. "There are hundreds of mages. What are we going to do with all these people?"

"I'm working on that," Anton admitted.

Cormac had told him to keep them out of Hightown and away from the Chantry, and Anton didn't have time to question that -- didn't think he'd need to, but this tunnel would put them under Hightown. And the Chantry... well, keeping them away from the Chantry was obvious. Someone down here had to know what to do with this many people, but for now, he thought of the maps behind his brother's desk.

"This used to be a mine," Anton called out, "and there's a lot more space than it looks like. So, what I want you to do is come out of the tunnel, make a right, and keep your hand on the wall, until you get to the first lift. You'll know it. It's a big flat wood thing, with a lot of gears and a lever. There's some people there. I want you to tell them that you're friends of Lord Dog, and more of you are coming. You tell them Lord Dog will come later to repay their assistance, now. And if they give you any trouble, you remind them what happened the last time they picked a fight with Lord Dog."

"What happened?" one of the mages asked, stepping down into the passage.

"That's not important. What's important is that they remember what happened, and I know they do." Anton smiled, jaw squared. "It's going to be better, after this. The hard part is getting you out of here."


	380. Chapter 380

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meredith strikes. Anders is done fucking around.

Meredith's voice was unmistakable, sharp and metallic and judgemental even from a distance, and the Gallows' marketplace rang with it. But as Artie and Cormac rounded the corner, Fenris and Anders at their sides, Orsino was the one snarling.

"You cannot do that!" he said, grip tight on his staff as he jabbed a finger in Meredith's direction. "You have no right!"

"Looks like the party's started without us," Artemis said with an uneasy smile at Cormac, noting the crowd of templars and mages that had gathered. It was, however, more fit to say two crowds, when he thought about it, the way the templars and the mages stood apart.

"I have every right!" Meredith boomed, stepping into Orsino's space. "You are harbouring blood mages, and I intend to root them out before they infest this city!"

"Blood magic? Where do you see blood mages?" Orsino demanded, glaring at Meredith. "My people cannot sneeze without you accusing us of corruption!"

"Do not trifle with me, mage. My patience is at an end!" Meredith shot back, eyes narrowed, as she leaned even closer.

"A wonder that I never saw it begin," Orsino drawled, eyebrow arching.

"The way you two carry on, people will talk!" Cormac teased, stepping out from behind Anders with his chin up and a smug smile on his face. All he had to do was annoy Meredith until she either attacked him -- or preferably Fenris, since Fenris wasn't even a mage. Well. Mostly. Actually, that was a terrible idea, since technically everyone they'd arrived with was a mage. Where was Carver, when you needed him? -- or Anton showed up. And then she could go after Anton. That was actually a good idea.

"Oh, the Hawkes have found us." Meredith rolled her eyes and took a few steps toward the group. "I hope you're here to support your brother-in-law's interests."

"The Hawkes aren't going to help you." Orsino's face twisted at the absurdity of the statement. "The people deserve to know what you've done."

"So, you admit it! You _have_ been writing for the Gazette!" Meredith roared, turning back to Orsino, before she composed herself. "What I've done is protect the people of this city, time and again. What I have done is protect you mages from your curse and your own stupidity. And I will not stop doing it! I will not lower our guard. I dare not!"

Fenris eyed Anders, waiting for an outburst from him, but the mage was silent, unusually tense but silent. The kind of tense that had Fenris wondering if Meredith would burst into flames at any moment.

"Is there any truth to what she's saying?" Fenris asked Orsino.

Orsino scoffed. "These are only her latest accusations, nothing more! And for the last time, Meredith, the Gazette was not my doing! This is the same publication that dubbed this the 'Staff of Violation', for Maker's sake!" Orsino shook his staff in the air, and Meredith's cheeks coloured a blotchy red to match her cowl. "Just how far are you willing to go for your madness, Meredith?"

Meredith turned her shoulder to Orsino and eyed the pair of Hawkes in front of her. "Your brother knows better than anyone how deep the Circle's corruption goes," she said. "If I must cut off a rotting limb to save the whole, then so be it."

"Rotting?" Artie repeated, nails digging into his palms. He was standing in the Gallows, surrounded by templars and drawing the wrath of the Knight-Commander herself. This was, in some ways, his worst nightmare, or at least among the top few, but with his brother, his husband, and his friend were beside him. The rest did not matter. "Does the word 'crazy' mean anything to you?"

"What other options do we have?" Meredith asked, her exasperation clear. "Tell me you have not seen with your own eyes what they can do, heard the lies of mages that seek power. Even your own brother! He makes no move to protect you from himself. Just like your father. Hasn't your family suffered enough for this curse? Cast it off. It is our duty, the duty of the templar order, to protect you from this evil. And we will protect all of Thedas. I will protect this city!"

Artemis tensed, back forming a stiff line. "The only protecting I've needed is from people like you."

"You _will_ protect this city?" Cormac asked drily. "A pity you haven't gotten around to it yet, or I'd have a lot less demon guts in my washing."

"You would cast us all as villains, but it is not so!" Orsino roared, stepping around Meredith to stand by the newcomers, and Anders rested an elbow on his shoulder, absently.

"I know, and it breaks my heart to do it, but we must be vigilant." Meredith's voice was sickly sweet in a way that made the hair on the back of Fenris's neck stand up, and then, suddenly, the sweetness was gone. "If you cannot tell me another way, then do not brand me a tyrant!"

"Have you ... I don't know, listened to Cullen at all, lately?" Anders asked, a curious eye on Meredith.

"This is getting nowhere," Orsino sighed, ducking out from under Anders's arm. "Grand Cleric Elthina will put a stop to this."

"You will not bring Her Grace into this!" Meredith hissed, drawing her sword. "I will not permit you to use the Chantry to cover for your own incompetence any longer!"

Orsino rolled his eyes as he turned away, meaning to head up to the Chantry. He got two steps before the chorus of 'No!' from the three men lunging past him, and then there was a sword. Funny, he didn't remember these robes having a sword, when he'd put them on. He slid off the blade into the arms of the Grey Warden beside him.

"No, no." The word was as much a plea as a denial as Anders pushed healing into the First Enchanter. But the magic slipped and slid over Orsino's body without effect, a body that was limp and lifeless in Anders's arms. Slowly, he lowered Orsino to the ground, his every shift loud in the stunned silence.

Then Anders looked up at Meredith, at her grim expression, devoid of apology, and his eyes lit blue. "Do you not also await word from the Grand Cleric?" he said, rising to his full height. "She cannot help you now." He beat his staff against the ground, raising dust and dirt from between stones.

Meredith angled her sword between them, lighting her face with a red glow. "Explain yourself, mage."

Anders didn't back down or so much as flinch. "I will not stand by and watch you treat all mages like criminals," he said. Another thunk. "And while you murder innocents and those who would lead us. The Circle has failed us!" His voice rose to include the other mages gathered as his skin splintered with Fade light. "The time has come to act! There can be no half-measures."

His tone sent a chill down Artemis's spine. "Anders, what did you do?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

"The time has come for us to be free of this corruption of the Maker's word -- this foolishness that was meant to save us from exactly what is happening right now." Cormac put one arm around Anders and the other around his brother. "This city is full of demons, and we all suffer, and yet you stand by and slaughter the people who are probably best equipped to solve that problem. You're not in this to protect the city. We are."

"The Gazette--" Fenris's eyes widened as he leaned back to look at Cormac.

"Nah, that wasn't me. Probably Gytha, honestly. Varric, maybe." Cormac shrugged. "But, we're bringing it down. We're bringing down the corrupt system that's been oppressing our people for nearly a thousand years. We're done."

"There will be no turning back." Anders squeezed Cormac's hand.

"Better not be," Cormac muttered.

Anders took a deep breath, closing his eyes. For a moment, everything was still, and then the top blew off the Chantry -- a fountain of particoloured flame and dust, like fireworks above some grand Orlesian celebration, if accompanied by chunks of stone that rained down on Hightown. As the flashes of red, green, and blue continued, the Chantry seemed to suck inward, collapsing into itself in a rain of smoking chips of stone.

"Anders," Cormac sighed, a warm smile on his face, as he rested his head against Anders's arm, "it's beautiful. Marry me."

"Fuck the Chantry," Anders replied, leaning down to plant a quick kiss on Cormac's lips. "Mage rights before marriage."

Behind them, Meredith looked on in horror, unable to even find words for what she was watching.


	381. Chapter 381

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirkwall watches the Chantry come down. Meredith's wrath will not be subdued.

Carver couldn't say which came first, the ground trembling or the flash of light. First he thought of thunder and lightning, and then he feared that Meredith was tearing the building down. The trembling stopped, and Carver went to the nearest window and stuck his head out to see not lightning or Meredith's wrath but an ugly grey sky and the beam that split it like an open wound.

Behind him, mages whispered. "What is that?"

" _Where_ is that?"

Carver swallowed hard enough to make a sound. "That's the Chantry," he said, recognising the spires as they were being disintegrated. "That's the... _Cullen_!"

When Carver found him, Cullen was already staring out another window, the blast lighting his face with a washed-out red light. A stiff wind could have knocked him over.

* * *

The rumble under the tavern was enough to raise Varric's eyebrows. "That's not... I thought we didn't have dragons under the city..." He shot a look at Isabela and slipped his cards under his tankard as he got up and went to the door. In the streets, there was panic. In the sky, there was colour -- blazing colour and a dizzying beam of light that seemed to reach the heavens.

"Izzy? We gotta go! Anton said he'd be at the Gallows, right?" Varric was halfway out the door, when he turned around and slapped a few more sovereigns into Corff's hand. "For them. They're going to need drinks, and they're going to need protection. Don't let in anything that looks like it came out of the Gallows -- mage or templar."

"Still not taking sides?" Isabela asked, resting an arm on Varric's shoulder as they stepped out into Lowtown. The sky struck her then. "Oh. Oh, Varric, we gotta go."

"Free beer!" Varric yelled, as he ran through the streets, toward the docks. "Free beer at the Hanged Man! Grab everyone you know! Free beer at the Hanged Man!" They'd move for that, he thought. Free beer meant more in Lowtown than life-threatening danger, which said a lot about the place, really.

* * *

Across Lowtown, Bethany and Sebastian gaped up at the same sky, the same explosive colour. Buildings blocked much of their view from this angle, and Sebastian trotted ahead, trying to find a better vantage point. Whatever that was, it was near the Chantry, and -- and that _was_ the Chantry, he realised with dawning horror as the building floated off the ground, stone by stone.

"No!" he cried, falling to his knees. "Maker, no!"

Bethany's hand squeezed his shoulder just as the final blast washed over them like a harsh wind, rocking them back.

"Elthina," he whimpered as Bethany shushed him gently. "She was Your most faithful, Your most beloved!"

"Maybe she made it out," she said without believing it. That explosion... she had never seen anything like it. "I'll help you look for her later, Pumpkin. But for now we have to get to the Gallows."

* * *

"So, we have a deal, then, yes? You look after the colony for a few days, while I figure out how to move them. That's--" Anton stopped talking as the ground above and below him began to shake. Everyone in the vault looked up.

"I thought you said there weren't any dragons," the Coterie lieutenant beside him said.

"There aren't." Anton ran to the stairs, just in time to see the cloud of dust start to pour out of the tunnels under the Chantry. "Get everyone below! Everyone! There's dust everywhere. Something happened under the Chantry!"

Evacuate the Chantry, his brother had told Bethany. Evacuate the Chantry. Cormac had known this was coming -- and he knew where Cormac was. He untied his sash and wrapped it around his face, as he closed the trapdoor behind him and ran for the tunnel that led back to the Gallows.

* * *

When Meredith finally found words -- "Maker, have mercy" -- Fenris agreed with the breathless shock in them. "Mage," he said, turning his face towards Anders before his stare followed. "What are you doing?" Or mages, he realised, noting Cormac. He wondered for a moment about his mage, but -- no. Artemis looked just as shocked as he did.

"I've removed the chance of compromise," Anders said, taking strength from Cormac's arm around him. "Because there is no compromise. It starts here." It was still Anders's voice, even as his eyes flickered blue. "First Kirkwall and the mages. Then Minrathous and the slaves. Will you stand with me?" His lip curled up into something almost like a smile. "I -- we -- could use a Shartan."

"How long have you been planning this?" Artemis asked Cormac in a whisper. He wasn't sure if he meant the words to come out so accusatory.

But Meredith interrupted them. "The grand cleric has been slain by magic," she said, voice rising to address her templars, "the chantry destroyed." The shock on her face had given way to steely determination, and she held her sword aloft. "As Knight-Commander of Kirkwall, I hereby invoke the Right of Annulment. Every mage in the Circle is to be executed -- immediately!"

"The Circle didn't do this," Cormac pointed out, "as sure as I am that they will one day thank us. You will stay away from them. You will deal with _me_." Not us. He wouldn't presume to include even Anders in this. Anders, obviously, needed to survive. Anders needed to live long enough to lead, and Cormac had little doubt Justice could make that happen. "This is for my father. This is for my family. This is for everyone who didn't get even the sliver of opportunity we had, to become real people and solid members of the community, like any others."

Meredith turned to Fenris. "I demand you stand with us! Even you must see that this outrage cannot be tolerated!"

"I..." Fenris turned to the mages to see Artie ducking out from under his brother's arm.

"You're saying blowing up a building is for _us_?" Artemis asked. His hands moved in front of him as though he wanted to grab Cormac and shake him, but they just ended up buried in his own hair instead. "Cormac, how many people were in there? How could you--?" Artie bit off the rest. How could Cormac not tell him?

"Only one person," said Bethany.

Bethany... Artemis turned to see his sister approaching, leading a white-faced Sebastian by the hand. "What?"

"The grand cleric," she said. "And we tried to get her out. There was no one else in the Chantry."

Artie looked back and forth between his brother and his sister. He pointed at Bethany and glared at Cormac. "You involved her in this?" he asked, even as something eased in his chest at her words. Of course. They'd been after the building, the symbol. Of course Cormac would want to save whomever they could.

"I trust her effectiveness, and I needed you here, with me." Cormac smiled sheepishly at his brother. "I'll admit I expected we'd lose Elthina, though. She's been trying to martyr herself for years." He glanced over his shoulder at Bethany. "How bad is it, up there?"

"The Qunari did worse," Bethany replied, shaking her head. "You know, you could have told me."

"I know. Probably should've, but it ... We didn't really mean to do that, today. The opportunity -- the necessity -- just presented itself. After all, who's going to replace the Knight-Commander?"

"And I didn't want to miss that!" Bethany grinned.

"I have heard of the conditions in which these people are kept, and I can honestly say that most of my time in Tevinter was in better conditions, to the best of my recollection," Fenris replied, at last. "And yet, they did not rise up against you, which is more than I can say for my own patience. These men came to save them from you, and you won't even deal with the problem at the source -- no, you wish to use this as a reason to massacre your prisoners, your slaves, in the hopes of being given more obedient ones, next time. You are no better than the magisters you claim to hate and fear."

Anders smiled proudly, chin tilting upward.

"You and I are going to have a long talk about this, Anders," Fenris growled, turning to jab a finger at the mage. "What are you doing, starting a war, old man? War is for the young! War is for people with nothing to lose!"

"I've already lost it all so many times, at least I should get something satisfying out of it, this time," Anders laughed, shaking his head. "And what am I doing? I'm upending the status quo. What does it look like I'm doing?"

"It looks like you're wearing a very, very nice new coat!" Isabela called out, sprinting down the stairs with Varric balanced on her shoulders. "Very posh, very heroic. Take a note, Shorty, that's a book cover waiting to happen!"

Sebastian finally absorbed what was happening. "Wait, wait. Why are we debating the Right of Annulment when the monsters who did this are right here? I swear to you, I will kill them."

"Calm down, pumpkin. That's my brother you're talking about," Bethany reminded him.

Sebastian looked terribly torn at that but no less livid.

"Which brother are we talking about?" called out a new voice from behind Meredith, Anton's voice. When the Knight-Commander turned to look at him, Anton would have liked to say he made a dashing, heroic figure with his templar entourage at his sides, but his hair and armour were still covered in a layer of dust. "You know it's rude to gossip about your brothers, Bethy. Unless that brother's Carver."

"Hey!" Carver swatted his arm, and a puff of dust came up, making him cough.

"Ah, good," said Meredith. "Captain. Elthina is dead at the hands of mages, and I have invoked the Right. You know what to do."

"Mages?" Anton interrupted, the cocky grin frozen on his face. All eyes pointed to Anders and Cormac. "Ah, shit."

"Champion, your brother has destroyed the Chantry and murdered the grand cleric," Meredith told him. "I believe it would be wiser to stand with your husband in this."

Anton nodded, brow knit as though he were deep in consideration. "I don't think that will be a problem," he said.

"There are no mages left living inside the tower," Cullen reported, crossing his arms. Elthina, he'd really almost expected. Elthina might see him as a liability, instead of an asset, and the Maker only knew speaking to her about the problem had gotten no one anywhere.

"So soon? Are you sure?" Meredith blinked in surprise.

"There is no magic left in the Gallows," Carver confirmed. "Well, aside from out here in the courtyard, of course."

Cullen caught sight of Orsino's body, a flicker of regret in the corners of his eyes. If they could've finished faster... But, he'd given his life to help the rest of the mages escape this. "Put down the sword, Commander. I have some very bad news about it, but I need you to put it down, first."

"Why should I set down my sword?" Meredith asked, looking suspicious. "There are apostates yet to be executed!"

"Because it's making you sick, Commander. I'll give you a different--"

But, Meredith didn't wait for Cullen to finish that sentence. "Kill them all! I will rouse the rest of the Order!"


	382. Chapter 382

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle begins. Sebastian's outrage continues. Assistance arrives from an unexpected direction.

In an instant, there was no more magic in the courtyard than there was inside. Anders's eyes lit blue, and the glow crawled out across his face, as he shouldered his staff and drew the sword at his side. Bethany tilted heavily into Sebastian's arms, dizzy as the magic left her.

"Shit! Somebody fucking punch me and get out of the way!" Cormac roared, glaive suddenly in hand.

Fenris stepped in front of Artemis, sword already in hand, but it was Carver who got to Cormac first. Instead of glancing off a shield, Carver's fist met Cormac's cheek, and the courtyard in front of them filled with the swirl of a storm.

"Sorry, not enough residual to do it right," Cormac muttered, eyeing the absurd number of plated figures, before them. And some of those templars were on their side, but which ones? "Cullen! Cullen! Skirts to the knee! Skirts to the knee, so I can tell who's ours!"

"Shit," Cullen hissed, a blow aimed for his face glancing off his sword instead. He'd trained some of these men, lived and bled beside them, and in that moment he was grateful for the helmets that covered their faces. "A bit busy, Cormac!" But the hand not holding his sword pulled up his skirts and tucked them into the waistband. "Keran, Carver, Marlein! You heard him!"

Izzy tucked in Keran's skirts for him before he even realised she was there. "Nice legs," she said with a wink before spinning away, the momentum slicing her knife across another templar's throat.

"Thank... you?" He jumped back in time to avoid a blow to those legs.

"Better legs," Isabela told Marlein as she passed, almost disappointed that she had fixed those skirts herself.

By then, Bethany had steadied, still pale as she leaned on her spear, and Sebastian had drawn his bow, eyes lit with anger as he shot down the templars without impunity. He _wanted_ to put an arrow through Anders's skull, and for a moment he almost did, arrow trained on the back of the mage's head. But not. Not yet. Not like this.

From the sound, the fight had broken out inside the Gallows, as well, as Meredith realised that not all the templars were willing to accept her leadership any longer. The doors hung open, and the sound of metal on metal rang out into the courtyard.

This, Cormac realised, was what he was meant to do, from the moment his magic manifested. This was the battle his father had trained him to fight, and it wasn't just for his own family, but for every mage in Kirkwall. He'd started the war that would bring liberty or death to every mage in Thedas, and he could only hope that for most of them, it was liberty.

For the most part, his glaive rang off the armour of templar after templar, but even if he couldn't puncture it, those dents had to have broken bone. The few fools who lacked helmets lost their heads quickly, and elsewhere in the furious clash of blades and tin buckets, Justice brought his sparking blade to bear with truly inhuman force behind it, and Cormac could understand terror as an appropriate reaction to that, were it not on his side.

Armour was no obstacle to Fenris, and even as he tore from one templar to the next, he stayed close to the mages, eviscerating any ill-fated fool who got too close. The battle was desperate, bloody, and over as suddenly as it began.

Cullen stood over the fallen, his sword as red as Meredith's now, and counted the living. "So it has come to this," he murmured. He spotted his husband, who fussed with a torn sleeve but was otherwise untouched, and a relieved breath escaped him. "That was not what I meant by a distraction," he told the glowing creature who had been Anders. Justice. Right. The glowing creature had a name.

"THIS IS A WAR THAT NEEDS TO BE FOUGHT," Justice boomed. He was restless, pacing like a caged tiger while his companions collected themselves. "YOU KNOW THAT AS WELL AS I, KNIGHT-CAPTAIN. ANDERS TOLD YOU WE WOULD MAKE YOU COMMANDER."

Cullen tried not to be ill at that. War, Justice said. Not a battle. _War_. This was something greater than him, greater than Kirkwall, and he wasn't sure he was prepared to have that on his shoulders.

The clank of armour approaching drew their attention, and Cullen already had his sword raised before he realised it was one suit of armour, belonging to the Guard Captain.

"Anton!" Aveline barked out, arms out wide. "What the _fuck_ did you do?"

For a moment, Anton debated the wisdom of taking credit for this, but that seemed unwise. He jabbed a finger at Justice. "Don't look at me! Look at him!"

" _You_..." Aveline's eyes narrowed. "What is the purpose of this? What is the purpose and how many innocent people did you kill doing it?"

"NONE," Justice replied, unblinking.

"He means we evacuated the Chantry," Cormac filled in, wiping blood off his face with the bottom of his sleeve. "And this..."

"Meredith's vision of the Order cannot be allowed to stand. Not in Kirkwall, nor anywhere else in Thedas. This is not an answer to the problem of _magisters_ ," Fenris filled in. "And when I told her as much, she ordered us executed, along with every mage in the Gallows. Of course, she meant to do that last, anyway."

"She meant to do that last for weeks," Cullen pointed out. "I asked Anton for a distraction, so I could remove the mages from the tower, until Meredith could be relieved of her position. She's always been more strict in her interpretation of the law than I've come to see as wise, but since she's turned to violating the Chantry's edicts, I can't support her any longer. I haven't supported her for some time. I've called for her removal, but..." He gestured around himself. "Who hears one Knight-Captain's complaints?"

"You asked Anton for a distraction. I'm not hearing the part where Anders just blew the Chantry into a small pile of teetering rubble," Aveline remained unamused, studying the men before her. "And why in Andraste's name are you flashing your legs at everyone, Cullen?"

Cullen blushed to his hairline, and Anton's wolf-whistle did not help matters. "It's... I. Uh." He cleared his throat and fought the urge to cover his legs. There would be more fighting of templars -- other templars -- he imagined, and if this kept him from being a target, he was fine with it. Sort of fine. Mostly fine. "So I don't end up at the business end of a friendly spell by accident," he said. "As for the Chantry..." He darted a look at Anders. "That, I can assure you, I had no part in."

Sebastian's grip was tight on his bow. "He murdered the grand cleric," he said. He, not they. Sebastian wouldn't put Bethany between him and her brother, but Anders was another matter. "Just to make a statement. And he, of all people, should understand why I demand justice!" He took a step towards Anders, when Bethany pretended to be faint again, and he paused to give her his arm and his attention.

"What's done is done," Artemis said, rubbing his forehead. "No one can do anything for the Chantry or Elthina now, but there's still Meredith and the Circle to deal with. Perhaps we should focus on that before stabbing each other? Which I do not condone, by the way."

"I will not fight for his cause!" Sebastian roared, but Bethany shushed him.

"Then do not fight at all," Fenris shot back. "If this fight does you no credit, the other side of it would do you even less."

"Why don't we go up the steps to--" Bethany started, as Merrill stumbled down the steps, staff in hand.

"What's happened? Carver? Is Carver with you?"

Carver stepped around the small crowd he'd gotten caught in, trying to wipe the blood off his armour with one hand. "It's not mine. Mostly. I'm all right, Merrill. Did the alienage make it?"

Merrill smiled and threw her arms around Carver, with no mind to the blood that soaked into her clothes and hair. "Of course, vhenan. Sandal does good work. We're all right. But, I heard it, and I remembered the news -- that the Commander might take to the streets -- and I knew you wouldn't go with her, and I just wanted to know you didn't die."

"We've really tried to keep the dying to a minimum. On all sides," Cormac said, with a somewhat regretful glance at the corpses around them. "Unfortunately, some people didn't get the memo."

"Is that Keran?" Merrill asked, blinking at the armoured figure next to Cullen. "Oh, good. I was hoping everyone's favourite buckethead shem would make it!"

"Thank... you?" Keran said as Carver pouted.

"How come _he's_ your favourite?" Carver whined, his arms tightening around her, not out of jealousy but out of relief that she was there.

"His legs are nicer," Isabela suggested. She winked at Keran and grinned at Carver, who looked twice as offended.

"Well," said Anton cheerfully, "this has been a wonderful clusterfuck of a day so far. I'd ask if it was Marketday, but I see no demons. At least not yet." He cleaned off his daggers with a bloody rag, leaning his hip against a wall. "But I suppose it's our job to clean up Meredith's mess. Is there anyone here who doesn't want any part of this? Well. I imagine few of us actually _want_ a part in this, but you understand. This affair is already a mess, and it's only going to get messier."

"Don't remind me," Artie muttered.

"For the record," muttered Varric, "I am really sick of templars and mages."

"This is a battle for me to fight. I didn't get up this morning expecting to fight it today, but I got up this morning expecting to fight it eventually, just like I do every morning. I tried to do this bloodlessly, and I turned some heads, but not enough, not fast enough, and it falls to me to remove a few heads, to make room for new ideas," Anders pronounced, the blue glow dimmer, but not gone. "Justice and I... insofar as there even are two of us, any more-- Justice and I are prepared for this. If you're not ready to join us -- if you have any doubts about what we're about to do -- then stand down. There are other people who need your help. There are people who have needed your help since that broken shell of the Maker's teaching first started to fail them. I have severed a great weight from this place, and now the tree recoils. At the very least, make new and different mistakes. Maker knows, I will. But, now? Don't just stand there, _help someone_!"

Sebastian draped Bethany across her nearest brother, before he drew an arrow and levelled his bow. "Where was your sentiment when you murdered the Grand Cleric?" Sebastian demanded. "I will not let this abomination walk free! He dies now, or I will return to Starkhaven and come back with such an army that there will be nothing left of Kirkwall for these maleficarum to rule. I will crush--" The sentence cut off in a sharp gasp, and the shot went wild, as the bow dropped from Sebastian's hand, an arrow clean through his shoulder.

"Sit down and stop your posturing, Vael." A figure swaggered up a dimly lit alley, toward the group assembled before the Gallows. "Why is it always you, Anders?" the voice asked, as a familiar Warden stepped out of the alley and crossed to where Sebastian knelt, still trying to decide what to do with the arrow jutting from his shoulder.

"Howe?" Anders asked, wrong-footed for the barest moment before he recovered himself. "Howe can this be? What are you still doing here?"

"Cleaning up your messes as usual," Nathaniel said, pinning Sebastian to the ground with his boot, "which are, apparently, only getting bigger in my absence."

Fenris shifted uncomfortably at the sight of Nathaniel and the mention of messes.

Artemis caught that look around Bethany's head. "Do we know him?" he asked in a loud whisper, one arm still supporting his sister.

"I don't want to talk about it," Fenris grumbled.

On the ground, Sebastian made distressed sounds of pain through his teeth, his working hand fluttering about the arrow in his shoulder. "Who... in the Maker's name?" he choked.

"Who is it always, Your Royal Whininess? I'll give you a hint -- we all thought I'd be the Arl of Amaranthine, one day." Nathaniel gazed down, mercilessly amused.

"Howe, not who, Sebastian," Anders filled in. "You're asking the wrong questions."

"I'm going to punch you in the face, later, just so we're clear." Nathaniel jabbed a finger at Anders, before he returned his attention to Sebastian. "Didn't you ever learn to shoot first and talk later? I kept trying to teach you that, and this, right here, is exactly why. I'm still standing, and you have an arrow sticking out of your shoulder."

"You should probably let me get that out, before you do any real damage," Bethany cut in, extracting herself from Artemis.

"Oh, I'm sure the healer, over there, isn't going to let this turn into anything serious." Nathaniel smiled and took Bethany's hand, shifting his foot for Sebastian's maximum discomfort, as he leaned down to touch his lips to her fingers. "Lady Hawke, I presume."

"Lady Amell," Bethany corrected. "You're a handsome one, aren't you? You look just like... someone famous and Fereldan. It'll come to me."

"Don't say it, Bethy!" Cormac called out. "I said it, and I have regrets!"

"I do not!" Nathaniel insisted, as Bethany snapped the arrow in half, easing it out of Sebastian's shoulder.

"Ah, not to break up this party, but has anyone seen Ella?" Keran asked, looking around. "Anton? Did she go with you?"

"No, she wanted to stay behind and get the Tranquil..." Anton turned an eye toward the door, a sickly look on his face.

"What?" Cullen asked, expression turning sharp as he stared back at the Tower. The Tower Meredith had disappeared into, to gather her templars. "Shit."

Keran turned a ghastly shade of white. He started towards the Tower and then stopped, hand clenching and unclenching around the hilt of his sword. "Captain," he said. "I'm sorry. I have to--"

"Of course you do," Cullen agreed. "And so do I. Come on."

"We," Anders said, following them up the steps. Around him, their friends gathered up their weapons and followed. "Nate, could you keep sitting on that for me? If I end up with an arrow stuck through me, I'd rather it be yours."

"You're giving me good incentive to do just that," Nathaniel warned.

One hand clutching his shoulder, Sebastian tried feebly to sit up, with the boot still on his chest. "Howe--"

"Shut up, Vael."


	383. Chapter 383

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen brings the fight inside, still trying to make less of a fight of it. More of Justice's swording ensues.

The halls nearest the door were nearly empty, but the sound of doors slamming and voices shouting echoed through the building.

"Come out and die quickly!"

"It'll be slow if you make us hunt you down!"

"Someone's still alive in here," Cullen muttered, before raising his voice. "This is the Knight Captain speaking! I want all of you into the entry hall at once! This is not a drill! Every templar in this building, downstairs, now!"

"Ah, not to be rude, Captain, but what the fuck are you doing?" Carver asked, a horrified look on his face.

"This is what I meant by 'a distraction.'" Cullen clapped Carver on the shoulder, still calling out into every stairwell he passed, as he did a lap of the main hallway. The sounds of the building changed, as the message made it through, repetition and the sound of boots.

As they re-entered the entry hall, a figure all in plate stepped out from behind a potted ficus. "Am I too late for the party, Captain?" Samson asked, tucking his helmet under his arm. "I heard what was going, and I figured this was the place to be. Gotta bring it all down, and what." He kicked a couple of helmets into the shadows. "I might've done a little pruning, while I was waiting on your orders." He looked down. "And nice legs, ser, if I may say so."

"Thank you, Samson," Cullen said, clapping the man on the shoulder. "Not... for the legs comment. For staying. And for being on our side."

Samson's face twisted into something that wasn't quite a smile. "I could remind you that I was on this side first," he said, to which Cullen ducked his head, abashed, "but that doesn't matter." He looked up at the other templars filing in and straightened, puffing out his chest. He took his place next to Carver, Keran, and Marlein, the three of them filing in front of the others, and Cullen stepping in front of them.

"Men and Women of the Order," Cullen called out. His voice rang down the hall, filled the vaulted ceilings, and he looked around at faces hidden by helmets, at the swords clenched in some of their fists. Some of them, at least, had to know what was happening, and yet they didn't attack him, at least not yet. "The time has come for us to take responsibility for our actions and our charges. We have done wrong, in the eyes of the law, the Chantry, and the Maker himself, and it is time to right those mistakes. Perhaps we can never make amends for what we have done, but we can move forward. We can ensure those same mistakes are not repeated. We can be the men the Nevarran Accord trusted us to be. Who among you have read it? We are all taught its precepts, as recruits, but who among you has read the text of that treaty that gave life and power to our Order? Who among you understands what we were meant to be? Because this is not it!

"We are here to help protect the strongest weapon Thedas has against the Blight. We are here to ensure that no mage needs to call out to demons for things we take for granted. We are here primarily to prevent, not to punish. To provide a safe environment in which magic can be learned and practised, for when our world needs it most!" Cullen looked around him, spotting the few faces that looked relieved, more certain, determined. "But, for some reason, it has become popular to speak of magic as a curse! What god would _curse_ its followers with the power to change the world like this? I challenge you to look on it as a blessing the maker has granted us. What is His word? He says we must not let magic rule over us, and that is simply done, but is every man who is not king a slave? No! And so in not permitting magic to rule us, why do we treat those who have it as less than common men? As less than we regard our kennels! ... Okay, that may be because I'm Fereldan. I don't suspect most of you have dogs, but I promise you dogs are better regarded than these men and women we are meant to guard.

"Who will stand with me, now, to bring the Order back to its roots? To its essential meaning? To give us a world in which a mage is regarded no differently than a smith or a swordsman? Because it is time for that world. I have seen what mages can do, when we do not restrain them so tightly, and yes, some fall. Some will always fall, just as some men turn to banditry! But, do we punish all men, because some are bandits or warlords? Has Ferelden done away with their noblemen in the wake of Loghain MacTir? I think not. And I think it is time for us to offer mages the same chance at redemption. The same chance to be 'just someone'. A world in which we are still needed, but we are needed as guardsmen are needed, not as jailers. Who will stand with me?"

The silence that followed was tightly wound, coiled like a spring, but short-lived. Thrask was the first to speak, his helmet hiding the emotion in his face -- if not his voice -- as he thought of his daughter. He was already on Cullen's side, had already helped the mages with their escape, but his brothers-in-arms didn't need to know that.

"I will stand with you, Captain." He shouldered his way through the other templars to join Cullen. A pause, and then another templar joined him. And another.

"And I as well."

"Me too."

Feet shuffled, glances exchanged, and a low murmur filled the hall while templars trickled to Cullen's side. Even with Cullen's swelling numbers, too many stayed where they were, hands on their swords, looking to their lieutenants, _Meredith's_ lieutenants, who were among the worst symptoms of the Order's decay.

"Didn't realise you were a robe-lover, Captain," one spat through his helmet. "A mage just murdered the Grand Cleric, and you're asking us to treat them more nicely? You've lost your head."

"Meredith is the one who's lost her head, Ser Penis," Ruvena spat, and the lieutenant bristled at the name. "But by all means, try to stop us. I've been looking for an excuse to stab you in the throat."

"'Throat' wasn't the word you used last time," Keran said in a loud whisper.

"Well, I didn't want to say 'penis' twice in one sentence."

"Are you a robe-lover, Captain?" Cormac asked, looking much too cheerful about the fact that anyone at all had elected to side with them. "I mean, with legs like those, I don't figure there's any reason you wouldn't. You'd look amazing in a robe, especially one of those summer cuts from Tevinter, don't you think, Anders?"

"I think he'd look better in one of those Chasind styles, with the rings and the leather and the fur. Don't you think he'd look great in fur?" Anders twirled his sword, absently, in one hand.

"My husband would look great in anything," Anton pointed out.

"Can we please stop discussing the Knight-Captain's legs, and get back to the matter at hand?" Aveline asked, noticing the number of eyes, including those of the templars they faced, lingering on those legs.

"You're just envious, because he's got nicer calves than Donnic," Isabela teased.

Ser Penis squared his shoulders. "Is this the man you want leading you? A man whose following is too busy looking at his legs to pay mind to his words? A man whose legs are worthy of more attention than his words?"

"Now, now, don't get your panties in a twist, Tin Man," Varric drawled, loading a bolt into Bianca. "We don't have to pay attention, because we all knew what he was going to say. I'll admit to being a little surprised he's admitting any of it, but if you didn't see this coming, how much attention were you paying to anything other than his legs, before this?"

"It's why we call him 'Ser Penis'," Marlein said, lip curled in disgust. "Doesn't think with or about anything above the waist."

Ser Penis drew his sword with a snarl. "Keep calling me that, and it won't end well for you."

"This isn't about you, Ser Denis," Cullen said. "If you don't agree with me, then do us all a favour and stay out of our way. This goes for all of you." Cullen's stare swept the room. "No one else has to die today."

"Now, we both know that's not true, 'Captain'," Ser Penis spat. He turned to the templars who had stayed at his side and raised his sword. "To arms!"

He had barely finished speaking before the ground under them lit green. Everyone above the glow stopped moving, and after a moment the sound of a fan snapping shut could be heard, and the ranks caught in the glow collapsed, unconscious, swords clattering loosely amid the hail of falling plate.

"Please, step aside!" Cullen called out, to those who still faced them. "No one has to die today! If we can no longer find a place for you in the Order, I will see to it that you do not end up like Samson, here."

"Thanks, I think," Samson muttered. "Nothing like being made an example of."

"It's not about what happens to us!" A voice called out from under a helmet, as another smite lashed across the crowd. "It's about what happens to them! It's about you taking the side of mages above regular people just trying to get by! And look at them! It's not like they have anything else to give you, without that magic!"

"Do I get to prove the gentleman in the tin hat wrong?" Cormac asked, stepping forward. "I am Cormac Hawke, son of Malcolm Hawke, lifelong apostate, and I challenge you to single combat. No magic, no templar trickery."

"Single combat," one of the lieutenants scoffed. "Who does he think he is? Kill them all!" This last word rose in pitch as a sword pommel slammed into his helmet, sending him staggering.

"He already told you," Carver said, another blow sending the lieutenant to the floor. "He's my idiot brother, and I'm the only templar allowed to punch him."

"That's so sweet," Artie teased, his staff smacking another templar in the crotch as he waited for his magic to come back. "But I think there'll be less punching and more swording from them at the moment."

"I do like swording!" Merrill chirped over the ring of metal on metal. "Are all templars as good at it as you, Carver?"

"Stop talking about --!" Carver got a kick to the shin in his distraction. "-- _fuck_. OW." Carver was grateful when the flow of battle took him away from his brothers.

Anton and Isabela were a dangerous duo in close quarters, their short blades giving them an advantage over templars trying to swing swords in the halls. They drew the fight back into tighter spaces, where they could, and the sound of blades ringing against the stone of the walls filled the air.

"Oh!" Merrill exclaimed, suddenly, as her magic returned and she lit the unfortunate potted ficus aflame in a burst of focus she hadn't expected to yield a result.

"Damn it all straight to the Abyss," Fenris muttered, hand still buried in some templar's chest, as he eyed Anders, who had been dragging the unconscious templars to the side of the room, out of the fight. But, Anders looked up at the sudden warmth and two exclamations, and he found himself much too close to that tree.

It was only a small fire, he told himself. Nothing to be concerned about. But, Justice had been looking for a window, and Anders's distraction was the opportunity he needed to step forth and stop wasting time. Smite after smite made the air hum like a singing bowl, but still the blue glow persisted, as Justice's electrical blade crackled and buzzed after every clank against another templar's platemail. Templars twitched and twisted in his wake, as the current leapt between the edges of the armour and their skin.

"Still freaks me out when he does that," Samson muttered to Keran. But at least the glowy mage hadn't taken his sword this time, which Samson was putting to good use on his own.

These templars were equipped to deal with mages. Normal mages, the kind who had never been in a fight and had no weapon besides their magic, the kind that would be lambs to the slaughter after one smite. They weren't equipped to deal with the Hawkes, and they certainly weren't equipped to deal with Justice.

Grooves between stones turned pools of blood into rivers, and armoured templars became armoured corpses, or at least armoured wounded in the case of Thrask, who staggered to one knee, bleeding from the thigh.

"Shit," Cullen cursed, grabbing him under the armpits and pulling him out of the fray. "Healer!"

Except the healer wasn't in, and that was fast becoming a lot of blood.

"Here." Artie pressed a potion into Cullen's hand, kneeling to put pressure on the wound while trying not to think of the mess. This, at least, was something he could do. "All my life I wanted my magic gone, and right now I wished I had it back," he rambled while Cullen fed Thrask the potion. "Irony. Cormac! You got any magic fingers at the moment?"

Cormac slammed his glaive against the side of a templar's neck, doing far more damage than chain could help with. "Aw, shit, really? On your right, Ser Templar," he said, leaning over Thrask's shoulder and pressing his fingers to the edge of the wound. "My apologies, I'm quite terrible at this. It's going to scar. On the other hand, you're unlikely to bleed out," he rattled on, trying to scrape up enough mana to make a difference and enough concentration to convince it to do what he meant, instead of what it wanted to. "It's not going to kill you, but you might want Anders to have a look at that, once he stops... Justicing, over there."

In the background, Justice continued his quest to make mincemeat of all that stood against him. "WERE YOU THERE WHEN HE WAS VIOLATED? DID YOU HOLD HIM DOWN WHEN HIS WILL WAS STOLEN? DID YOU HOLD THE BRAND WHEN THE LAWS OF YOUR ORDER WERE DISREGARDED IN THE SERVICE OF ARROGANCE?"

And that was something Samson knew all the words to, and if he had more breath, he might've sung along. Maybe they weren't talking about the same mage, but that just made it worse, didn't it? The Tranquil were still in here, somewhere, he thought, and he'd come in to get them, expecting no one else would, but that spirit seemed bent on it just as he was. Maybe he wasn't such a bad guy, after all. Just a little terrifying. In fact, Samson thought if he hadn't been through quite so much shit already in his life, he'd be wishing he'd worn the brown trousers, right about now.


	384. Chapter 384

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief reprieve from swording. The Tranquil are found, along with records of Meredith's madness.

When the fighting, finally, was over, Justice found himself surrounded by the bodies of fallen templars, a scene that was chillingly familiar. He wondered if this was a scene he'd see again and how often before the mages were truly free.

"Everyone in one piece?" Cullen called out, one hand still on Thrask's shoulder and squeezing, perhaps, more tightly than necessary. Beside him, Thrask was pale and dazed but alive.

"More or less," said Aveline, rolling her shoulder. "Do we need to have a roll call? We'll start with the Hawkes."

"There's blood on my hands," Artemis said blankly.

Next to him, Marlein clapped him on the shoulder. "I know it seems that way," she told him earnestly, "but you did what you had to. The Maker will forgive you."

Artemis blinked at her. "I... no, I mean literally. There's blood on my hands, and it's bothersome. But, yes, I'm fine. And I've counted my siblings, so they're fine."

"Just peachy," Carver mumbled, still favouring one leg. Mostly, Anton suspected, so that Merrill could fuss over it.

Cormac staggered upright, trying to ignore the fact that all the blood seemed to have rushed to his head while he was leaned over Thrask. Justice was the most important thing. Justice couldn't be left to wander by himself. Not here. "Hey, blue and gorgeous, you want to step down? We need a healer!"

"THERE IS NO TIME FOR--"

"Nope. Think. You'll regret that later, and you know it, because it is unjust." Cormac smiled serenely and fluttered his eyelashes at Justice. "Heal them, and we'll move on."

Swirls of blue and green light cropped up, around the room, and a general sense of well-being settled over a good many people who had, moments before, been gritting their teeth not to complain of their wounds.

Bethany stood over a large pile of unconscious templars. "Two of you, start moving these guys down to the dungeon. I don't want to kill them, and we have to put them somewhere, because if I move, they're going to wake up."

"Take the ones who've lost the most blood," Carver said, after a moment's thought. "And take more than two. Anyone who was down, before Glowy the Mage-Lamp over here started slinging around healing spells, go help my sister."

"He's right," Cullen said, looking around. "They'll turn you into meat, in the corridors."

"Well, I do like meat," Isabela joked, "but I prefer my man-meat with a pulse."

"You know I'm going to write that down, right? An epic tale of the fall of the Gallows, and you're going to be right in the middle, talking about throbbing templar sausage." Varric gave Bianca an affectionate pat and scrounged a few bolts that had survived the platemail.

"It's that hint of truth that really makes your stories, Varric." Isabela grinned.

Ruvena shook her head. "I'm sorry not more of them sided with you, Captain -- with _us_. Idiots, the lots of them. Everyone knows Meredith's lost her mind. She just wears that cowl to keep us from noticing how scrambled her head is."

"I'm just glad we got as many as we did," Cullen told her. He looked at the fallen templars and thought of the mages who'd escaped. Even without magebane, one smite would have left them helpless. "This could have been a blood bath."

"Ruvena, we heard shouting when we came in," Keran said, fiddling with his sword's pommel nervously. "Did you see any mages here? Or Tranquil?"

She was nodding before he'd finished asking. "Yes, down that way," she said, pointing to the stairs and the doorway on the right. They've barricaded themselves in a room. Ser Penis was trying to force the door down when the Captain called."

"Ella!" Keran shouted, bolting for the stairs, sword still in his hand.

"As the man says, if not in so many words, let's go get them out of here." Samson spit phlegm as he followed Keran up.

Cullen waved for the rest of the room to follow. The stairs and the hall at the top weren't wide, and they'd have gotten mangled in this passage, with all its little side-rooms, if they hadn't drawn the body of the fight out into the entry. Still, every door had to be opened, every room checked. A few lead to small ambushes, quickly dispatched, others to small numbers of corpses -- those who hadn't made it out, for whatever reason, and Cullen had some extremely unpleasant thoughts about those reasons, if this was where he was finding the bodies. But, most of the rooms were empty. Finally, a door wouldn't open, and Keran waved them all past.

"Ella? It's me and Cullen and some people. We've got everyone else out." Keran knocked at the door.

"And if you're worried about Ser Penis, he hasn't got one any more," Marlein called, as she dragged a few slow-moving parties past.

For a long moment, Keran didn't hear anything. No movement, no voices, and his thigh jumped restlessly as he waited for something, anything, to tell him that Ella was alive. And then he heard the scrape of heavy furniture, probably a desk or a bookcase, and he stilled, holding his breath. The moment the door opened, Ella surged out of the room, throwing her arms around him.

"Oh thank the Maker," Keran breathed, holding her tight, tight enough for her toes to leave the floor.

"I was so worried," she said against his armour, voice and shoulders trembling. "I was scared they'd found you out, and then they were chasing and us, and... Keran, I was so scared."

Keran hushed her gently and held her tighter still as she sobbed.

Varric nudged Isabela with his elbow. "Forbidden romance, nearly ends in tragedy but they manage to fight their way through to each other. What do you think? Bestseller?"

Isabela tilted her head and considered. "You should put his legs on the cover."

Anders seemed to be frozen in place, face much paler than usual, as he watched. He knew -- he _knew_ \-- she wasn't really Tranquil. He'd been part of that stunt. But, seeing her here, like this, with the old brand still on her and so much life left in her eyes, all he could think of was that moment when Karl had finally seen him, known him. He forgot how to breathe, and the next thing he knew was Cormac's warm hand, wiping at damp patches on his cheeks. He just felt so cold. But, they weren't done yet. Somewhere in here, Meredith was still wandering around with that sword.

Still, he took the time to bury his face against Cormac's shoulder, to let the warmth wash over him, even if it didn't sink in.

This was completely fucked up, Samson decided, all at once. He'd been deciding it for years, really, but in the moment, he was more sure of it than ever. He glanced at Cullen. "Is she...?"

"No." Cullen shook his head. "She's something else entirely. Brave, at the least."

Samson nodded speculatively. "Hey, Maddox! Maddox, my man, you here? The Captain brought me back!"

He hadn't seen the man since it happened. They'd been taken away, separately, both still mostly entire, and here they were, again, but neither one quite right.

"Ser." A dark-haired man shuffled out of the group.

"Not quite yet," Samson admitted. He gestured at the sunburst scar on the man's face. "I heard. I'm sorry."

"I brought this on myself and on you," Maddox said, with no change in his expression. "But, we cannot change what has already happened."

"No, I suppose not," Samson said, feeling regret enough for them both.

Carver nudged the door open the rest of the way and waved the occupants out into the hall.

"I must return to my duties," said one Tranquil, her pale blue eyes glassy and vacant as they swept over the gathered templars. "The Knight-Commander has requested my services."

"The Knight-Commander has changed her mind," Carver said, recognising her as Meredith's assistant. It occurred to him that he didn't know her name and that this was something he should be ashamed of.

The Tranquil looked at him, staring just long enough to make him uncomfortable, before sweeping her gaze to Cullen.

"Thank you, Elsa, but he is correct," Cullen said, speaking in what Anton called his 'Captain voice', the one that drew attention and demanded obedience. "I have new orders for you. I would like you, all of you, to follow Ser Keran outside and to follow his instructions."

Anders kept his face turned mostly away, as he tossed a healing potion to Keran. "Tell Sebastian he's still an asshole."

"Take these folks outside and tell Brother Sebastian he's an asshole." Keran nodded. "I can do that."

As the Tranquil headed down the hall, in Keran's wake, Anton called after them, "And help my sister if she needs it! That was a lot of dead weight in the hall!"

"Don't let the commander into this room," Ella told Cullen. "Everything I did for you is filed in here. And... good luck, Ser Cullen. May the Maker watch over you." She followed behind the Tranquil.

"Speaking of Meredith..." Cullen looked down the hall the other way. "She's probably gone to her office. I think I know what she's after, if it isn't me. This hall goes all the way around, so... let's go get this over with."

The smell of smoke caught up with them, before they found the office, and they followed it back to its source. Open cabinets and drawers had been dumped into the middle of the floor, and the enormous pile of paper had been lit aflame.

"I was right," Cullen sighed. "But, she's done here. You see this? Do you all see this for what it is? She's taken all the records of what she's done and burned them. And more than that, I'm fairly certain she's going to try to blame the fire on mages. Since I'm pretty sure every mage currently in this tower is standing here with me, I'm willing to dispute that claim. But, only if we can find her."

"Where would she--?" Varric started to ask, when a few shouts drifted through the open window.

"That's my sister!" Cormac whirled, looking at the assortment of doors around him. "Where are the stairs? Where are the nearest stairs? That's my sister down there with the lunatic Knight-Commander."


	385. Chapter 385

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle begins in earnest, one woman holding her own against many, secure in her arrogance.

Carver paled and whipped open a door, running down the stairs behind it without another word. His brothers followed in hot pursuit, and they came out onto the courtyard, where Meredith and Bethany circled each other like caged tigers. Meredith's sword painted their face and the stones with a red light, but Carver was just relieved to not see that sword sticking out of Bethany from any angle.

Behind Bethany, Nathaniel had his bow drawn, one foot still on Sebastian's chest.

"That's quite a sword," Bethany was saying, her voice carrying. For all her poise, Carver could hear the nervousness in her voice, something he almost never heard from his sister. "Extremely... red. The craftsman who made it must be incredibly skilled." Her spear darted for Meredith's face, and the red sword she was complimenting knocked it aside before making a similar jab for Bethany's face, which Bethy sidestepped. Meredith was toying with her, taking her measure. "Did you say it was lyrium? I thought lyrium only came in blue?"

"You don't recognise it, do you?" Meredith asked, holding the sword in front of her as though there weren't two weapons pointed at her face. And more at her back as the rest of the Hawkes and their entourage joined her. "Pure red lyrium, taken from the Deep Roads. The dwarf charged a great deal for his prize." She looked at it the way most mothers looked at their children.

"The idol?" Bethany asked, feigning surprise. "It seems a lot more sword-like than I remember."

"Commander," Cullen called out, as he came down the stairs, "this is too far. This woman has done everything in her power to ensure as few people died, today, as could be managed."

"I will not allow insubordination!" Meredith roared, turning on him. "Particularly from you, Captain! Have you forgotten everything that led you into that title? Have you forgotten what it feels like to turn away from our path, in a moment of weakness? This mage dies with all the rest! I want her dead!"

"Enough! This is not what the Order stands for. Knight-Commander, step down. I relieve you of your command!" Cullen's chin lifted, his shoulders squared.

"My own knight-captain falls prey to the influence of blood magic. All these children of Malcolm Hawke, and you brought me none of them. And now we know why." Meredith gestured at the gathered templars, with her sword, and Bethany rubbed her fingers together, waiting for the magic to return, after the last smite. "You're all weak, allowing the mages to control your minds. To turn you against me! But, I don't need any of you. I will protect this city myself!"

"You'll have to go through me," Cullen replied, raising his sword.

"Idiot boy. Just like all the others," Meredith hissed.

"I don't know," Isabela said, shifting her weight and twirling her daggers. "I've known a lot of idiot boys in my time. I think Cullen's got a bit more than that! I mean, he got Anton for keeps, didn't he? No stupid child could've managed that."

"The lady has a point," Anton said, pointing at her with the hilt of one dagger.

"She's clearly lost her mind," Anders said with a shake of his head. "Meredith, that is. Not Isabela. Well, a bit Isabela."

"Blondie, you'd be an expert on that, wouldn't you?" Varric cocked Bianca with a heavy clank.

Even with a small army against her, Meredith didn't flinch, didn't balk, didn't falter. Turning her blade over, she stabbed it into the ground, red lightning crackling off of her and off of the sword. With the ground sizzling, Meredith incanted a line from the Chant: "Blessed are those who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter!"

She wrenched the sword out of the ground with one hand as though it were nothing and sprang at the group in front of her, her sword sparking as it swung at Bethany's chest. Bethany brought up her spear and tensed to dodge, but Artie's spell hit before Meredith did, knocking her skidding back along the stones... as well as a few friendly templars. He expected the smite when it landed.

"Fuck." At least he got in one hit.

"Hawkes," Meredith spat, using her sword to lever herself back up. "I should have thrown your family into the harbour when you arrived!"

"Mages, back," Cullen said, motioning Artie and Bethany behind him. "Try to get out of her line of fire."

"You know, Warden, feel free to start doing that creepy glowing shit any time now," Samson muttered to Anders, stepping up next to Cullen.

Nathaniel decided this was enough posturing and politicking, for the day. He'd done his share back in Amaranthine, and he was probably going to have to do some more in Weisshaupt, when all this was over, but right now, he was going to make this over. He took aim and loosed an arrow.

His aim was spectacular, and the arrow splintered into bits instead of plunging into Meredith's eye, shards of wood raining down from the now extremely angry Knight-Commander's face.

"Justice? Now would be a really good time to pay back some favours!" he called out.

"Let me up!" Sebastian demanded. "I am not going to die because some idiot Arl's son was too busy posturing to dodge!"

"If I could trust you to act like an adult, Vael, I'd have you at my back already. But, I can't. So you'll have to settle for they'll have to kill me, before they get to you." Nathaniel really wasn't sure, any more, what, if anything he could be doing.

Cullen and Cormac held back Meredith's first attempt to rush the archer, Cormac tripping her onto Cullen's blade, with his glaive. Meredith, however, seemed little worse than breathless for the blows, and she came back up swinging.

"Bethy? A little help?" Cormac called.

"I can't get a grip on her!" Bethany sounded frustrated, but followed with a hail of hexes.

"Then allow me," Fenris growled. His tattoos glowed in blue counterpoint to Meredith's red sword as he leapt in, swinging. Her sword caught his, and there was something dissonant in the way they connected, in the screech of metal on lyrium. Their fight was brutal, a dance of blades, and Varric muttered a curse as he aimed. The damn elf kept getting in the way.

On a backswing, Fenris's hilt caught on Meredith's chin, snapping her head back, and Fenris seized the opportunity to reach for her chest... But she recovered sooner than anticipated, twisting away from his hand, and Fenris barely side-stepped in time to avoid a sword-shaped hole in his lung. Instead the red blade clipped him along the ribs, cutting through leather to draw blood.

The pain wasn't sharp, not in the way Fenris knew sword wounds to be. Instead it was gnawing, like acid, and it chewed its way along flickering lyrium lines. The ground rocked, and his vision narrowed, but Fenris saw the blade coming for him again. He managed to deflect the blow as he staggered back, but Aveline's shield caught the next one as Fenris's stomach heaved.

Meredith sneered. "You will all pay for your--" A stone fist slammed into her nose and shut her up.

"Just shut the fuck up," said Fenris's mage as he wrapped an arm around Fenris's waist, dragging him back and leaning him up against a column, out of sight of Meredith's rage. "Anders! You busy?" Artemis called out as Fenris threw up over his shoes.

Anders slammed down a bolt of lightning on Meredith, none too thrilled to watch it curve around her even as some of it obviously struck. She jerked nearly hard enough to drop the sword, but it stayed in her hand. "What the fuck? Cormac? Has she got a barrier rune in that tiara or something?"

He looked over his shoulder at where Artie was vomit-spattered, and holding up a sickly-looking Fenris. Healing, first, he thought, gesturing in their direction, and then maybe something for the nausea? He couldn't tell what had happened -- the ring around Meredith was a constantly shifting mass of plate and blades, with an occasional opening for a polearm or a shot from Varric. Nate had stopped shooting after that first, and Sebastian was still down. With Artie out, that cut down on the likelihood of poor aim causing too many injuries on their side. No, all the had to worry about was what that sword would do to whatever it touched.

The sword. _Fenris_. Anders ran across the courtyard, still raining his wrath on Meredith, as he went.

Another bolt of lightning slammed against Meredith's crown, and Anton slipped in behind her, trying to slip a dagger between plates. He knew how this armour went together. He'd taken it off Cullen enough times. The blade slipped in, blood poured out, and then the pommel of that glowing blade took him right in the eye.

As Anton reeled back, cursing and clutching his eye, Meredith staggered back, catching herself on one knee. For the barest moment, Cullen thought she might surrender, but then she looked up at him with glowing red eyes. "Maker," she prayed, pushing herself back up, "your servant begs you for the strength to defeat this evil!"

More lightning crackled around her, but it wasn't from the mages. As Carver drew back his sword for a finishing blow, she leapt up, straight up, in a way that should not have been physically possible. She flew -- and flew really was the only word for it -- over their heads, soaring in an arc until she landed with a slam on the platform across the courtyard.

"Maker's breath."

Slack-jawed, Cullen barely had the presence of mind to press a potion into Anton's hand, and, still choking out pained sounds between his teeth, Anton finally opened his uninjured eye to see what had garnered that reaction. He blinked at the empty patch of stone where Meredith had been. "Where did she go?" he asked before pulling out the cork with his teeth.

"Here I am, defending mages in a hopeless battle," Fenris choked out, before he threw up one more time. "You lead me to strange places, Amatus. And you, too, ab-- h--" He paused, leaning against the column, and looked up at Anders. "Anders."

Artemis held Fenris upright, one hand rubbing his back. "I'll take you to stranger places than this," he said with a soft if despairing smile. "Just watch."

"A tempting offer." Fenris smirked and closed his eyes, resting his head against the pillar. "I might take you up on it, if we survive."

"Sit down, Fenris," Anders suggested. "Artie, you got enough in you to do the rock trick? Because now is the time for that. Keep you both safe -- at least keep _him_ safe until we get this sorted out."

Cormac extracted himself from the wall of people gaping at Meredith, and made his way over to Anders. "Hey, before I forget... In case I don't get the chance..." He pulled something out of his pouch and hung it around Anders's neck. "I don't think this says what I meant it to, when I got it. Tevinter. The Chantry... What I mean is Andraste was a mage, and the revolution's come again."

Anders squinted at the medallion around his neck. "That is... really sparkly." He shot a look at Fenris.

"Yeah, well... I couldn't think of a more appropriate gift than the shiny, compressed remains of my mother's murderer. I ... I did that while you were... While we were... I was talking to Cullen. About the Tower in Ferelden. That happened." Cormac put his arms around Anders. "Part of my family. Don't you forget it. And don't you dare die on me, do you hear me?"

"Me? Don't be ridiculous. I couldn't die if I wanted to -- trust me. I'd know." Anders pressed a kiss to the top of Cormac's head and reached out to pull Artie over. "Don't you die. Either of you. Fenris, I'm pretty sure, is going to be all right, as long as you get those rocks up. But, the two of you... You have shields, but she has smite. Don't make me have to put your insides back in."

Artie responded with a weak laugh. Past his brother, he could see Meredith lighting up the far half of the courtyard, running red lightning up the statues flanking the stairs. Not even the templars dared approach her. "The one time was enough for me, thanks," he said. He stretched out his fingers, and sheets of rock appeared out of nowhere, overlapping until they formed a shield. With a hand on his jacket, his new jacket, Artemis pulled Anders down to kiss his cheek. "Thank you. I don't know if I've said that often enough, but you've been a good friend, you know."

Then Artie's stare dropped to Cormac, and he tried to say something pithy, something flippant to hide just how terribly frightened he was, and not for himself. Instead of words, he stacked the shield high enough to hide them and pulled him into a desperate kiss, burying his hands in Cormac's hair, wrapping arms around his neck. Artie kissed him until he was breathless and then pulled back to press their foreheads together. "If you die, I'll kill you."

"Then I'd _definitely_ be dead," Cormac joked. "I live for you. I would die for you. I'd really rather not, but... Better me than you. I was born to finish the work Dad couldn't start, because he was too busy teaching us to do it. So, I guess I'd better get started, huh? That demon was right, though, you know. I'd do almost anything to make the world safe for you to live in. I love you. I'm yours. Always, no matter what comes." He cleared his throat. "Please don't die, Artie. You know I'd follow you down. Couldn't send you off on a journey like that, alone."

"Ah, you two may want to start paying attention again, sometime soon..." Anders looked a bit pale, as he turned back from looking around the edge of the stone shield. "I'm pretty sure there's a statue over there that just blinked."


	386. Chapter 386

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A first success! Anton has a very good idea.

Artie lowered the top of the stone shield again to follow Anders's line of sight. "That statue is doing more than blinking," he said, eyes round. It turned its head, side to side, lifted the spear in its arms. He'd stood next to that statue. He barely came up to its ankles. "How is this possible?"

"What is it?" Fenris asked. "What's happening?" All he could see was stone, but from the look on the mage's faces, he was going to need his sword. Where was his sword?

Artemis reached down to run his hand over Fenris's hair and lower still to squeeze his shoulder, a gentle reminder to stay down. "Oh, not much. I just learned that red lyrium can make statues move. Did you know red lyrium could make statues move?" He swallowed, watching the statue descent the steps, the templars throwing smites that landed and slid off. "I love you, by the way. I'm fairly certain I said that yesterday, but I can't be sure about today and it's no less true today."

"There's vomit on your shoes, and you're still with me. That says it enough." Fenris kissed the hand on his shoulder, grateful when he didn't vomit over that, too.

Moments later, there was a call for a healer, and Anders darted out from behind the shield.

"I gotta do this, beloved," Cormac said to Artemis, taking his glaive back off his shoulder. He looked at Fenris, before he dashed out. "You take care of him."

Varric and Isabela had taken up behind a column, with Anton.

"Shouldn't you be halfway to Tevinter, by now?" Anton asked, leaning under Isabela's elbow, for a better look at what was going on around the other side of the column.

"Maker's breath! Take off with a priceless relic just once, and you never hear the end of it!" Isabela elbowed Anton in the head and peered around the pillar over him. "Your life would have been easier if you had just cut me out of it. But, you stood by me. I brought you Qunari, and you fought the Arishok."

"Yes, but if I'd let them take you, I wouldn't have been able to shout at you about it, after," Anton drawled.

"Well, I've never been so glad to be shouted at," Isabela teased. "But, I'm with you, this time. No fucking off with priceless relics in the middle of the fight. Promise."

"Nervous, yet, Anton?" Varric asked from the other side, as the statue slammed its spear into a group of scattering templars.

"My mother didn't raise any stupid children." Anton rubbed his face and checked his pockets. "I know how dangerous this is going to be. Is. Already is."

"Well, that's comforting. It's the most dangerous thing we could ever do, but at least we know that," Varric drawled, jabbing a finger at the statue. "I'm not sure all of this is right, but I'm absolutely sure that is wrong. I'm with you."

"We've faced down -- I was going to say worse than this, but we really haven't, have we. My brothers have faced down dragons. We made it out of the Deep Roads." Anton clapped a hand on Varric's shoulder. "What could possibly go wrong?"

"Oh, for fuck's sweet sake, Anton, shut up before you curse us all," Isabela groaned.

"The chains..." Anton muttered, eyeing the ones that still dangled, from the other statues. "I wonder..."

"What are you muttering about?" Varric asked, sighting down Bianca and wondering if there was any point in shooting a fucking _statue_.

But Anton dashed back out from behind the column, darting behind templars and past the bronze behemoth trying to stomp on them. He made for the statues still behaving as statues, eyeing the lengths of chain that bound them to the rails. Bronze chain. Bronze rails. If he could work one end free...

"Aveline!" he called out, tapping her shoulder as he passed. "I have something for you to take you anger out on!"

"I was planning to stab you _later_ , but sure."

A few slams of her shield broke off the end of one chain, leaving it to swing free.

Yards away, Samson barely stumbled out of the way of a bronze foot. "This is not how I'd planned to die, Cul-- Ser-- _Captain_." His shield slammed into the creature's calf, leaving a dent but little else.

"Then maybe you shouldn't," Cullen replied distractedly, looking up, up at four arms and a spear aimed at him. The thing was slow, thank the Maker, but templar armour hadn't been made with dodging in mind.

"Great advice, Captain. Hadn't thought of that."

"Just keep it away from the mages," Cullen reminded him and their companions. "They're the ones with the--"

Instead of stabbing, the statue took to slashing, and the broad sweep of its blade missed Cullen but swept three of his templars to the side as if they were nothing.

"Shit," Cullen hissed. "The ones with the firepower. And healing. _Anders_!"

But, Anders was already there. "Get them out of the armour! It's crushed!" He tried to keep the fallen templars alive as he dragged them out of the way.

He moved toward the corner that still held the Tranquil, and pointed at one. "You! Help me move them!"

The man did as he was told, without hesitating, grabbing one of the templars and running back toward relative safety. Anders caught up with the other two, after a moment.

"Get the armour off them! Quickly!" Anders said again, healing rushing to his fingers, as he did what he could. He couldn't move fast enough. "Four of you. I need four of you," he said finally. "When Ser Cullen calls for a healer, you run out and get the fallen. If you can move them, I can probably save them."

"I'm strong," Maddox volunteered.

"Good. You're on my team. And this guy who was just helping. I don't know any of your names, and I'm sorry." Anders examined the group and pointed to two more Tranquil. "And the two of you. Do you think you can do this?"

"We can," they assured him.

On the ground, the templars stirred, finally breathing easy again.

Aveline watched the whole affair, shaking her head and wondering if any of what they were doing was having an effect. Above her, Meredith watched too, in a halo of red light that made her grinning teeth gleam. Then Anton threw the end of the heavy chain at Aveline's face.

"Here! Hold this!"

Aveline swore, catching the chain on the edge of her shield and wrapping it around her shield-arm. "Anton, what--?"

But he had dashed off again, this time to Anders and his Tranquil contingent. The chains were heavy, too heavy for one person to manage, and Anders had the right idea. "Elsa!" he called out to the Tranquil whose name he'd heard earlier. "New instructions! Grab a friend or six!"

When she stared at him blankly, Anton muttered a curse and picked out six other Tranquil. "You, you... you... not you... and you three. Come with me."

Quietly obedient, the Tranquil followed, and they took their portion of the chain without question and with none of Aveline's frustrated huffing. "Anton, would you just blighted tell me what we're doing?"

"Hopefully, something more useful than poking at the thing's heels," he answered cheerfully. "Now, if we can just get the thing closer..." He doled out instructions, watching the templars trying to corral the statue.

Cormac watched his brother move, even as he held up a barrier around Meredith. They couldn't seem to hurt her, but at the least, he could keep her from hurting them, while they were distracted by the statue. The statue that was, he was chagrined to note, too large for him to get a proper grip on, although he'd managed to crumple a few of the thing's fingers.

The chains. Of course.

"Carver! Pull to the left!" Cormac shouted. "Draw! Draw!"

Carver moved without question, taking ten men with him, shouting orders as they moved.

"Cullen! Make sure it doesn't turn around!" Cormac called into the fight. "Keep it backing up!" After a moment, he glanced over his shoulder. "Artie, I need you to shove the ground around a little. Make that thing stagger back. ... and please don't hit Cullen's men..."

Artie nodded, eyes wide but determined. Keeping a grip on the stone shield, he gathered another spell under his fingers. Best not to miss this target, but at least it was a rather large one. He waited for an opening, breath held alongside the spell, and -- _there_.

Carver felt the air shift but not the impact, thank the Maker, and the statue staggered back, the ground trembling under its steps.

" _Go, go, go_!" Anton called out, and the Tranquil and Aveline obeyed, curling around its legs like a human whip, chain in hand.

And Cullen finally caught on. The statue was slow, slow enough for them to wrap the chain around its legs one, two, three times before it stopped stumbling.

"Pull!" Anton called out, and the Tranquil pulled in the chain in separate directions, tightening the loops around its ankles and forcing its heels together.

"Get back!" Cullen called out, waving his men and women behind him. The statue toppled, smashing the stone underneath and making the ground tremble.

The statue rang as it struck the ground, a muffled echo like a dropped bell. "It's hollow!" Varric shouted, as the realisation hit. "Beat it flat!"

Sadly, few people were equipped for that -- swords dominated, with the occasional dagger, bow, or polearm. Merrill rose to the challenge, though, slamming a boulder against the thing's chest. "Artemis! Help me hit it!" she called, and Carver waved the templars back, a look of undisguised panic on his face at the idea.

Cormac returned his attention to Meredith. He'd imploded the heads of ogres, she should be no trouble at all, but something else protected her, and he couldn't exert enough pressure to crush her -- to even touch her. He wondered, again, if she'd gotten runes into her armour. Enough shield reinforcement, and even he might not be able to get through it, but Fenris -- well, Fenris couldn't even stand, at the moment.

Behind another column, Sebastian objected to being tied down. "Damn it, Howe! You can't do this! This city is lost, what are you doing still standing here?"

"I'm doing what a Warden's meant to do. I'm going to war with the impossible." Nathaniel snorted and watched the battle. "If we lose, nothing's going to save you, even if you do manage to get out of Kirkwall. Look at that thing!"

He studied the scene, before grabbing Sebastian's belt-bound ankles and dragging the prince with him, over to Anders. There were enough people who could keep an eye on Sebastian there. "What can I do?" he asked Anders.

Anders barely spared him a glance, hands still glowing with healing as he walked between the wounded. "Keep an eye on the field," he said. "I have a team of Tranquil bringing me the wounded, but you're faster." He pulled out a few potions from a pouch at his hip. "Here. There's only one of me."

Nathaniel nodded, taking the potions and sticking them in his belt. "Still better than the Mother," he said.

Anders replied with a weak laugh. "If Meredith sprouts tentacles, I'm cutting my losses," he said.

There were still no tentacles the next time Nathaniel looked, but no one seemed able to land a hit on her, where she stood over them on the platform. On the ground, the statue stopped moving, as statues ought, and Anton cheered, joined soon after by Merrill.


	387. Chapter 387

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One statue becomes many statues. A change in tactics.

Bethany exchanged a look with Carver. "She doesn't seem concerned," Bethany said, tipping her head in Meredith's direction. If anything she looked smug.

Meredith raised her sword again, making it crackle and spit with electricity, and another statue moved, followed soon by another, and then another, beginning with the one at the other end of the chain. And that part wasn't a problem, at first... until Anton saw movement out of the corner of his eye and saw the statue they'd just battered stretch out its arms. Arms that it used as legs, separating from the rest of its chain-tangled body.

"Oh fuck," Anton breathed, turning ashen.

Next to him, Aveline drew in a sharp breath. "You really test the limits of loyalty, you know that?" she asked.

"That is not how this is supposed to work," Keran breathed, backing away from the thing.

"I don't think swords are going to help!" Cullen shouted. "Anyone got a hammer?"

"Hammers, hammers..." Merrill tapped her foot as she bit off the tip of her tongue and wrapped vines around the statue-thing. "Oh! Isn't there a shop that sells them over by the stairs to Lowtown? I got lost over there once!"

Anders shrugged at Nate. "You heard the lady. Warhammers."

"There aren't any shops open," Nate protested. "There aren't even any shops closed, down here. The Gallows has rolled up for the night."

"I'll go with you," Varric volunteered, relieving him of a healing potion. "They've got storage in some of the passages. Just gotta find the right door. I trust you can open a lock?"

"Oh, don't you doubt me for a minute," Nate smiled faintly and followed Varric, dodging the slow feet of the statues trying to mash their tiny army into a paste. "Why does everyone assume I can pick locks?" he asked, after a moment. "I was going to be the Arl of Amaranthine, for Andraste's sake!"

"You've got that look about you. Like you're not really nobility, but you know all their secrets. Kind of goes hand in hand with opening things people don't want you in." Varric picked up the pace. "Less talking. More running."

Cormac reached for more lightning, aiming high, so it would leap between the heads of the statues, but not disrupt too much on the ground. If he could just confuse these things, maybe they'd run down.

In the stone shield's shadow, Fenris finally stopped dry heaving, his stomach muscles cramped and shaky, and he looked up at a breathy curse from Artemis. "Amatus," he asked in a ragged voice, "what is happening?" He sat draped against the column, the stone smooth and cold under his cheek, and debated the feasibility of getting up and grabbing his sword.

"The statues," Artemis managed between spells, shaking out fingers that were starting to burn. "Meredith's brought the statues to life. And stabbing them is proving less than useful, so stay where you are."

Varric had said they were hollow, and the last statue had rung like it. Stabbing wouldn't help, but smashing might.

A steadying breath, and then Artemis shouted across to Cormac. "Clear the courtyard, and get me a lyrium potion!"

Cormac moved, confusion on his face, for a split second, and then he realised what Artie was probably about to do. "Back! Back! Everyone to the walls!" he shouted, making his way to Anders. He relieved the healer of a couple of bottles and pressed a kiss to the side of that tired face. "We'll make it. We've done worse."

Anders squeezed his eyes shut and laughed. "Magisters, broodmothers, dragons... All in a day's work, right? If she sprouts tentacles, though, I'm out."

Cormac paused. "You don't think she's going to, do you?"

"No, not really, but it's Marketday."

Shaking his head, Cormac sprinted back to where his brother waited, shouting for people to get out of the way. Cullen, Carver, and Ruvena refused to be moved, attacking the statues every time they tried to follow the fleeing crowd. Finally, vines sprung up from the ground, again, winding up the statues' legs.

"Go!" Merrill shouted at them. "I've got them! Go!"

The vines wouldn't hold long, not against things that powerful, but they were already slow, and the vines slowed them even more.

"Take these," Cormac said, pressing the lyrium potions into Artie's hands. "I have to get to Merrill. That is a _lot_ of blood."

"Thanks," Artemis said, before tossing back one of the potions, and the feeling rushed back into his fingers fast enough to hurt. "Fenris, you might want to shift behind the column in case I can't keep the shield up."

The courtyard was clear, and when Artemis cast, he didn't need to restrain himself. After years, decades, of tightly wound control, he let go as his magic seeped into the stones. An earthquake shook the ground, the tangled cluster of statues its epicentre. Stone cracked and split, jolted upwards under bronze feet, and the statues threw out their arms as though to steady themselves. They toppled, one after another, one _into_ another, hard enough to dent a face, a shoulder, to batter a knee back in the wrong direction.

The Hawkes and their army clutched to the walls and columns to stay upright. Marlein caught Samson when he almost toppled back onto his ass, and, crouched behind his column, Fenris felt the earth shake and smiled, a poorly timed joke on the tip of his tongue.

Before the world stopped shaking, Artie cast another spell, and with a clench of his fist, slammed the statues trying to get back up into the ground again. And again, until bronze faces started to cave in.

"Amatus," Fenris warned, seeing the movement before Artemis did. He grabbed up his sword but trying to glow made his stomach shift sideways.

"Oh, fuck me!" Artemis cursed, jumping when another statue dropped to the ground directly in front of him. "Fuck, fuck, _fuck_!" He scrambled to cast, shoving the statue back, then again when it only tottered a few steps. A third shove, and he finally noticed the numbness creeping up his arms. The stone wall swayed, a few stones dropping to the ground, and out of the corner of his eye, Artemis saw statues dropping from the other columns as well. He could still hit a few, but they were too spread out. He knocked back another potion and tried not to let the despair show on his face.

Nathaniel and Varric returned, balancing warhammers on their shoulders and found an even bigger mess than what they'd left.

Cormac looked on, helpless, as Merrill continued to bleed for the vines.

"Can't heal me. It's not going to work," she muttered. "You want to help me, heal yourself, and get in the way of a vine. They're not alive. They can't sustain me."

Slinging his glaive across his back, Cormac eyed the returning hammer-bearers. "Done," he told Merrill, and ran over to relieve Varric of some weight.

"There's more, but they're fucking heavy," Varric muttered, dumping the warhammers he held in a heap at the edge of the courtyard.

"Hammers!" Nathaniel called out, dropping more onto the pile. "Come get hammers! Your swords are useless!"

"Heavier than I'm used to, but let's see what we can do," Cormac muttered, hefting one.

"I thought you were a mage," Nathaniel teased, having seen Anders do some terrifying things with nothing but a staff.

"That's talent," Cormac said, with a grin. "This is skill." He raised a barrier around Artemis and Fenris and charged in, to throw himself at the ankles of the statues. Dents began to appear, lower than the ones Artie had inflicted, but not enough to make a real difference. He tried pounding the toes flat, to throw off their balance, but getting that close to the front of the feet was asking for trouble. One of Merrill's vines swept him out of the way of a kick, taking a firm bite out of his shoulder, for the trouble.

That was what she'd meant, he realised. She needed someone else's blood to heal her. Well, as long as she kept him from becoming flat, he'd pay the price.

"So, we have mages! We have an awful blighted lot of mages!" Samson shouted across the courtyard, as he tested the weight on the hammer he'd just picked up. "So, where's the fire? Fire and bronze! It's not that hard to melt!" A stone shifted under his feet. "And knock it off with the earthquakes! Andraste's tits, it's gonna do us more harm than good if you drop those blighted things on us!"

Fire... That was one of those things Cormac hardly considered, any more, since Anders was so uncomfortable with it. But, no one would have to see this fire. He squinted at the two barriers he was already holding. Four. He could maintain four firestorms, and contain them inside the statues. More than that, and he'd get sloppy.

"Anton! Carver! Get hammers and hit where I tell you!" he called, stepping onto the foot of a smaller statue and wrapping his arms around the ankle as he cast. He'd likely be safe, at least for a little while, like that.

Anton adjusted to the weight of the hammer in his hands. No matter how hard he swung, it seemed to take forever to hit its target, but he was nothing if not flexible. It was just a matter of learning the timing.

Merrill's vines moved, focusing on the statues that shuffled too close to Anders and his makeshift clinic. Anders didn't have the time to worry about them, or, rather, Anders didn't allow himself the time to worry about them, not when templars were asking for fire and not when there was another templar gasping for breath under crushed plate.

Keran. Anders called a Tranquil over to help him, pulling at buckles as quickly as he could, already smoothing healing into Keran's stomach, where the armour had crushed him.

"For Andraste's sake," Sebastian swore. "I can help! Will you let me go?"

"We're not quite that desperate yet, Sebastian," Anders said without looking over.

Mere feet away, one statue pulled a leg free of the vines, but stone rose up around it instead, pinning it back in place.

The statues began to turn more slowly, and their torsos began to gather condensation. A warm rain drizzled down from where the sea air collided with the suddenly-warm metal. Unfortunately, they weren't getting hot enough to make a significant difference. Cormac had been hoping they'd shear if he heated them in the middle, but it wasn't working fast enough. He couldn't get enough heat going to compensate for the cool air and the thickness of the metal.

Mallets continued to slam into the legs of the rampaging statues, and every few minutes, more templars joined the fight, as the number of available warhammers increased. But, when all was done and Varric and Nathaniel stood poised, but unmoving, at the edge of the courtyard, there were still more unarmed than armed.

"Smith the Smith!" Aveline yelled at Varric, between swings at a statue's toes. "Go wake up Smith!"

"Did that make any sense to you?" Nathaniel asked after a moment, but the way Varric's eyes lit up when he snapped his fingers looked good.

"C'mon. Lowtown. We'll appropriate a cart, this time. I'm not running back and forth if I don't have to." And Varric was off again, with Nathaniel behind him.

Cormac concentrated on the fire, trying to touch more of the metal with it, and his shield started to flicker as the flames licked out, manifesting around the metal instead of just in the cavity inside the statues. "Justice! I could use some help, here!"

Anders heard -- Cormac wasn't hurt. Cormac wasn't yelling for _him_. Cormac was yelling for Justice, which meant something he wasn't going to like.

"I can't get it hot enough! Ella?" Cormac remembered the girl's name from when Keran had yelled it, earlier. "Bethy? Merrill?"

"I've got the big one!" Bethany called back. "I don't know how much the hexes are helping, but you have those! They don't have minds, I can't confuse them! I can't even find what makes them go -- it's like they're puppets!"

"I can help hold them, but--" Merrill cursed in a long stream of Elvish as another statue broke free. She cast again, starting to look a bit pale from blood loss, and more vines rose up around the statue. "They don't have minds or blood or bodies, and I can only do so much. I'm sorry!"

From where she hovered among the Tranquil, Ella looked back at Cormac like a cornered deer. "What? I-I'm not... I just make copies! And clean!"

"Just keep hitting them!" Aveline barked, sweat dripping down the bridge of her nose. "Unless we find a furnace big enough, that's the best we can do!"


	388. Chapter 388

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris is disappointed. Anton is a lunatic. Merrill is not doing so hot.

Across the way, Artie was still casting, launching stone at the creatures and only slamming them into the ground when no one was in range. He was on his last potion, and he'd dropped the shield once Cormac threw up the barrier.

"I need a hammer," Fenris decided, levering himself up on wobbly legs, face set in determination.

"You can't get through the barrier," Artie replied, which Fenris found out the hard way, smashing his nose into the invisible wall.

"Fasta vass, Cormac!" Fenris swore, clutching his nose.

Cormac might have had something witty to say, if he'd heard Fenris at all, but all of his attention was on the fires and the two barriers. His own shield had been sacrificed, already, to fuel the flames. And that was what gave him the idea. It was terrible, but he was still carrying that healing potion Merrill hadn't taken. With a deep breath, he slid down and hooked a foot under the statue's foot, as it stepped forward to swing at Anton again.

Behind him, Cullen saw it happen. Misread it at first, and ran in, swinging, trying to get to Cormac before he fell under a foot, but the flicker and pop as Cormac's shield reasserted itself in the midst of a good lot of screaming reminded him that Cormac _did that_. Intentionally. The heat overhead increased sharply, but the statues didn't soften enough, even as they creaked more and moved slower.

Cormac clutched at this statue's ankle, hauling himself back onto the foot. He could do this. He just had to focus on the fire instead of the fact that he wasn't sure if he had toes any more, on the left.

Anders knew that scream -- he'd caused it enough times. Finishing the healing he was working on, he handed the bag of potions to Ella. "Take care of them," he said, turning around as Cormac howled, again, a long chain of expletives strung together with the occasional pause for breath. He reached out, the spell already in his hand and sincerely hoped his aim was as good as he thought it was, at this distance.

A whoop sounded from above, and Anton leapt down from a decorative fixture, warhammer slung across his back with his sash, as he landed on the shoulders of one of the smaller statues and slung the hammer back around to pound on the next statue over. Which, unfortunately, was the one his brother was lying on the foot of. The bronze dented much more easily, and he kept swinging, legs over this statue's shoulder as it moved through the crowd, trying to ignore how far off the ground he really was. He'd done stupider things, he was sure.

Cullen was going to kill him. Or at least he planned to, once Anton was back on the ground and once Cullen had remembered how to breathe.

Leaning heavily on his warhammer, Samson panted for breath and found enough to say, "Your husband's a nutcase."

"How do you think he became the bloody Champion of bloody Kirkwall?"

With a war-cry, Anton swung his hammer, again and again, battering the statues around him, wherever he could reach. Soon the statue Cormac clung to was pockmarked with hammer blows. A solid hit sent the next statue spinning, and Anton was about to comment on its dance moves when it overbalanced and stumbled in the wrong direction _. His_ direction. It knocked into Anton's statue steed, sending it staggering to the left and forward, and the next sound out of Anton was less a war-cry and more a, well, _cry_.

Cullen ran to the statue's feet, closer than was smart or even sane, and wondered how the shit he was supposed to catch his husband without the plate doing him more damage.

"I'm good!" Anton yelled, hammer hanging from his arm, still tied in the sash. And then the statue staggered again. "Oh, Andraste fuck me twice! Nope. Still good!"

Cullen was going to catch his husband and then strangle him, if Anton fell.

Cormac, on the other hand, was interrupted in the middle of trying to drink a healing potion, and more of it went on his face than in his face, as the sudden change in direction launched him off the statue's foot. He dropped the hammer, curled up, and prayed he didn't land on anything sharp.

The flames went out, all at once, and a sudden barrier stopped him in midair. At least his toes were less broken, he figured, trying to scrounge up enough healing to make them stop hurting quite so much, so he could focus. Below him, he saw the fire start in Anders's hand, and realised that as impressive as it might be to be standing in the air a few yards above the healer, it was quite possibly the last place he wanted to be, right that second. Dropping the healing, he rushed to step the barriers down, one at a time, dropping a couple feet each time.

Ella glanced at Anders. "Are you--?"

Flashes of flame took out the grass growing between the stones of the courtyard, and finally a pillar of flame shot up, around one of the smaller statues. The fire looked like it might burn the sky itself, it rose so tall.

"Finally!" Samson exclaimed, throwing up one hand. "That's what we need! Keep it up... glowy healer-mage! Whatever your name is!"

"Anders," Carver supplied, looking more concerned than relieved. He remembered the last time he'd seen fire and Anders in the same room. There almost hadn't _been_ a room after.

And soon there was barely a statue amid the flames. Bronze sagged like aging skin, melting and bubbling where the flames were hottest. The templars didn't dare get close enough to hammer what was left, but mages kept throwing spells, stone hitting from different directions, until the statue had become a glob.

Anton watched from his perch, one hand shielding his eyes from the heat, and Carver raised his voice. "Anton, you might want to get off your steed, unless you want your crotch melted off!" That pillar of fire was dangerously close.

"So kind of you to show such concern for my crotch," Anton quipped, even as he tried to find a way down.

Cormac finally got his feet on the ground, to his regret, as the pain shot up his leg. He burned his hand, picking Anders's pockets for potions, one red and one blue, but it was worthwhile when he finally got that healing draught down and the grinding pain in his toes stopped. It also took care of the burns. The second draught solved another problem.

"Jump!" he shouted to Anton.

"Are you out of your mind?" Anton yelled back, as the flames licked up the side of another statue, dribbles of bronze still leaking out across the stone from where the first had gone down.

"I mean it, Anton! I've got you! Jump!" Cormac called out again, as Aveline and Isabela herded groups of templars out of the way of both the stomping statues and the rivulets of metal.

Anders stood, unmoving, in a circle of his own flame, apparently untouched by it, and Ella watched him in horror.

"What-- what is he--? Is he all right?" She asked Cormac.

"He will be. He does this, sometimes. The last time, he melted a Tevinter magister."

The statues seemed to have figured out where the flames were coming from, and as the second one went down, bronze buckling and sliding downward over itself in seemingly-impossible ways, they turned their attentions toward the burning mage.

"I need some support over here! Knock them back!" Cormac hadn't wanted to waste the power, but he raised a barrier around Anders. "Don't let them step on the healer! That barrier's not going to stop everything!" He paused. "And for Andraste's blazing sweet sake, Anton, get the fuck off that thing before it catches!"

Artemis swore under his breath. "You know, it would easier for me to shove them back from the healer if there weren't a barrier keeping me _stuck here_!" He still pushed and prodded where he could, stone pinning bronze feet to the ground.

"If I die from this..." Anton said, looking over his shoulder at the drop. That was stone. That was stone, far away enough to hurt things if fallen on. "If I die from this, Cullen is going to kick your ass!"

"It's _your_ ass I'm going to kick!" Cullen shouted back.

"Love you too!" Anton called down to his husband before taking a steadying breath and dropping backwards off the statue's shoulders.

He didn't even fall a yard, before the first barrier caught him. "Curl up, it hurts less!" Cormac shouted, bringing up the next barrier. "And you'll move faster!"

"Do I want to move faster?" Anton asked. "I thought the whole principle here was to move slower!"

"The principle is to get your feet on the ground before I lose the spell and drop you!"

"I like that principle!" Anton sat down and wrapped his arms around his knees.

Across the courtyard, Merrill crumpled, and the vines no longer tugged at the statues. Cormac diverted enough of his attention to realise he couldn't reach the healing potions that were still inside the barrier with Anders. "Ella? There's an elf between the second and third pillars from the back, on the other side. Someone needs to go get her."

"I don't see her..." Ella squinted into the distance, amid bubbling runnels of bronze.

"Exactly my point. She needs healing." Cormac lowered Anton further, and the barrier blocked a massive droplet of bronze, from another melting statue. "You'll be on the ground in two more drops! As soon as you feel it open, pick a direction and run!"

Anton had already picked a direction. It was a direction he liked to call 'away from the pillar of melting metal'. When the last barrier dropped, he landed on his feet and took off that way, where his husband waited, wearing a stare that either meant murder or sex, possibly both. That his armour was still on was not promising.

Looking back, Anton saw the state of the statues, and that state was liquid. Heat made grotesque forms out of cold shapes, and finally, it looked like they'd gotten the upper hand.

Even behind the pillars, Ella could feel the fire's heat, a line of sweat forming down her back, and she kept an eye on it as she ran, finally spotting a pair of feet with white toes, poking out from behind the appointed pillar. Ella wished she'd remembered the elf's name.

"I'm going to kill you," Cullen muttered, grabbing Anton and kissing him soundly. "Later. I'm going to kill you later. Is my hair grey yet? It will be, tomorrow."

"Mmm, as long as you suffocate me with kisses, it'll be a good death," Anton purred, with a saucy wink.

Cullen shot a glance at Carver. "Hopeless. Your brother is hopeless."

"If you'd asked for my opinion, I could've told you that years ago," Carver muttered, glancing around for Merrill. "Has anyone seen--?"

And then he spotted her, pale and bloody, as Ella tried to carry her back to Anders.

"No." Carver was moving before he'd quite registered what he was seeing, sprinting across the stones to take Merrill out of Ella's arms. Who had been watching her? Why was she -- still breathing, at least. Unconscious, but not dead. Across the courtyard, Anders was still encased in a pillar of flame -- useless, as a healer, completely unreachable. Cormac might actually be less useless, but potions were better than Cormac.

"Potions," Carver demanded, returning to the small knot of templars he'd just left. "Potions, bandages, anything!"

"The healer--" someone suggested, but Carver cut them off.

"The healer is on fire. Potions."

Keran came up with one, after a moment, and Carver rubbed half of it into Merrill's bloody forearms, before slowly dribbling the rest into her mouth. He didn't think she'd die, but he wished he could be sure.

"I was supposed to bring her back to the healer and his friend," Ella admitted.

"Shit," Carver muttered. He didn't want to trust Cormac with this, but if nothing else, there were probably more potions there, than here. He lifted Merrill, again, and made his way around the back wall, where the melting bronze hadn't yet reached. The statues were almost gone, and he was afraid of what Meredith might bring to bear, next.

Poking her head out from behind a pillar, Bethany had a great vantage point of the whole affair, of Anders untouched in the centre of the flames, of bronze forming molten rivers between stones... of Meredith watching, making a sound between a snarl and a cackle. Cormac's barrier contained her but not her sword's... magic -- was magic the word? -- and it still pulsed and glowed with energy.

What else could that sword do, beside bring statues to life? And looking at the wounded, at the exhaustion in her fellow mages, would they survive it?


	389. Chapter 389

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle continues, and Cullen earns a scar that will stay with him a long while.

"Does he have an off switch?" Bethany asked Cormac, tipping her head at Anders. "Or should I give him a nap?" Assuming the spell would take hold this time, which was always iffy where Anders and Justice were concerned.

But before she finished speaking, Carver ran up to them with Merrill in his arms, his face almost as pale as hers. "Anders can wait," he snapped. "I need potions."

"Shit." Cormac sighed and dropped the barrier around Anders. Without the statues, he didn't need it. Rolling up his sleeve, Cormac plunged his hand back into the flames surrounding Anders and extracted another potion bottle from his bag. The glass was warm, but not hot. The fire, on the other hand, had done away with most of the hair on Cormac's arm.

"Here," he said, offering the bottle to Carver, and then realising he was going to have to do this, himself. "Just keep an eye on Commander Crazy, over there."

Cormac dribbled the potion down Merrill's throat, while Carver shifted from foot to foot, impatiently, not watching Meredith at all. The pool of bronze had discovered the lay of the courtyard, and was now migrating toward lower terrain, which was, thankfully, away from where they were standing, but toward another group of templars, who scattered toward higher ground. Finally, after most of the potion, Merrill coughed and swatted at Cormac's hand.

Behind him, the fire went out, and Anders lit up in blue, before collapsing into a heap, and thankfully not landing on the bag of potions. There weren't many left, and without the healer... No, there weren't _any_ left. The rest of those were lyrium, Cormac realised, as they rolled out of the bag.

Down two mages, Carver thought, and looked his brother right in the eye. "We're going to die, aren't we?"

Cormac shrugged, expressively.

Over her shoulder, Bethany watched Meredith focus on her sword, more sparks skipping off the blade, but at least she was out of statues.

Back in the courtyard, Tranquil stepped over rivers of bronze to carry Anders out of the open, bringing him back to his makeshift clinic where bruised templars and an unhappy Sebastian waited. "Just set him down, there," Marlein said when the Tranquil looked to the templars for instructions. "Gently." Then she exchanged a helpless look with Keran, unsure what to do for him from there.

Nearby, Cullen counted them, compared the list of wounded with the list of those still standing, all while waiting for Meredith's next attack, which would be a long time coming, judging from the look of concentration on her face. Samson was still up, as was Ruvena, albeit a little singed, and Carver was unharmed, if preoccupied. Marlein's shield arm was out of commission, and so was Keran's armour. The rest of his templars were out of the battle, and Cullen tried to keep the desperation off his face. How had one woman wreaked this much destruction?

Anton squeezed his arm. "We'll get through this," he said. "We've been through stranger things." Stranger, not worse. "All part of being a Hawke, really."

"And that's only counting the times you caused trouble by peeing on the wrong things," Cullen replied. Hawkes. The Hawkes were still standing, at least, which meant they were still a force to be reckoned with.

Then the ground shook, stones sliding and stopping, but the heavy way Artemis leaned against his column said he had no more magic to give. On the platform, Meredith grit her teeth.

Cormac made use of the pain from his burns to do away with them. Sort of. It wasn't a very good job, but he just didn't have the concentration for this shit, right now. "Artie? Bethy? Tell me you're all right!" he called out, one eye on where Meredith strained against... the barrier, he thought, but that wasn't right. The leaved tops of the pillars creaked, but nothing more tore loose.

"All's well!" Bethany shouted from somewhere not immediately visible.

Artie lifted his head from where his cheek rested against stone. "There's still dried puke on my shoes!" was his answer. A pause, and then, "Fenris says he's fine too, thanks for asking."

"I figured you'd be screaming bloody murder if he wasn't!" Cormac laughed, grabbing Anders's bag and running across the courtyard. He'd get the last of the lyrium potions to the mages they had left, and then drop the barrier. Something had to be able to get through Meredith's... whatever that was. The best chance they had was probably still Fenris, but after what happened the last time, that would take some doing.

That train of thought stopped cold as a smite whipped across the courtyard, and Meredith let herself out of the barrier.

Cormac ran harder, as templars surged past him, going the other way. "Keep her distracted! I think there's someone who can get through!"

Fenris smiled awkwardly up from the ground, as Cormac approached. "Someone?"

"You look like shit," Cormac said, handing a lyrium potion to Artemis, even as he looked Fenris over. "Can you do it? I can get you close enough."

Fenris shrugged, gamely.

The sound of metal on metal rang out as hammers and swords collided with Meredith and did little damage. She seemed almost invincible, eyes glowing red, and the dull red glow that simmered just below the surface of her skin. Aveline's shield slammed into Meredith's face several times, providing an opening for several strikes, but none seemed to actually break skin.

"Keep hitting her!" Isabela insisted, slamming a hammer into Meredith's back, like a battering ram, and driving her forward a few steps. "It's magic, and magic gives out, if you just keep hitting it."

"Magic?" Samson looked up, gobsmacked, and took a backhand to the face. "But she's a templar! That's ridiculous!" he complained, staggering back and trying to get his balance again.

"Have you ever seen anything that wasn't a mage do that?" Isabela asked, still trying to trip Meredith.

"No, but I've seen my brother do it an awful lot," Anton put in, dagger squealing across what should've been the skin of Meredith's cheek.

"This is insanity," Cullen muttered before raising his voice. "Do you hear that, Meredith? You profess the evils of magic, and now you're _using_ magic!"

The barest hesitation in her next swing told Cullen she'd heard him, but then she pivoted, sword cutting the air where Anton had been a moment before. "These mages have poisoned your mind, Cullen," she said, burning eyes spotting Anton. " _This_ mage. Are you a mage too, like the others?" she asked Anton. "Or did they call on demons for you?"

Anton barked a laugh at that. Him, a mage? She truly was insane. "The only magic I have is in my winning smile." He bent back, the sword missing his nose by inches. "You've never been one for jokes, have you?"

Cullen's sword struck her back and glanced off, and Meredith turned on him with a snarl. Three swings of her sword jarred his in rapid succession, herding him back until Aveline cut in with her shield, catching the red sword... and promptly breaking her arm, watching her shield split in half under the blow. Anton pulled her out of the way as she swore at the Maker, eyes wide and streaming. He started to call for a healer before biting off the request.

Fenris managed not to stumble as he made his way across the courtyard, the sword in his hand heavier and the ground at a different angle than they should be. Behind him, Artemis knocked back his potion, worry a cold grip on his stomach as he watched his husband.

"Stay behind them, Fenris," Cormac warned. "I'll get you in." He whistled loudly, and when Bethany looked over, he lobbed the bag of lyrium potions in her direction, keeping one for himself. "Pinpoint hexes!" he called, and she nodded.

Fenris paused, looking sick and dizzy as he got closer to the battle. Whatever was wrong with that sword, with this magic, was that much worse, this close to Meredith.

Cormac downed the potion he'd held on to and raised a shield for Fenris. "My hands are free. Take my arm. Leave the sword -- it's not going to help you if you can't lift it, and you know you don't need it. One shot, straight through."

Breathing deeply, Fenris forced himself to embrace the fade, and promptly vomited again, though almost nothing came out. He clung to Cormac's arm, retching.

"Shit. I'm saying that a lot, today," Cormac muttered, changing his grip and sweeping Fenris into his arms. "New plan! Don't stop hitting!" He turned and ran back toward Artemis, as Fenris continued to retch weakly in his arms.

Meredith stopped moving, again, tilting her head back, fearlessly, as she tried to call upon some greater horror. Blades still skipped off her, but Samson landed a blow that put a tiny scratch in her armour, like someone had scraped it with a fork.

"It's going down!" he crowed, swinging again and again, minuscule nicks appearing every several hits.

But, it didn't last. As Meredith realised more help wasn't coming, she turned back to her sword for defence, beating back the horde of templars, her defences once again solid.

"Fen..." Artemis took Fenris from his brother, eyes wide with concern as the elf shuddered in his arms, racked with more dry heaves. This was the part where Artie usually called Anders, but even if Anders were around to help, Artie wasn't sure he could. "Shit. Let's sit you back down. Breathe." Panicking was for later, he told himself. Panicking was for when Meredith was dead.

"Meredith... I can..." Fenris croaked out between heaving breaths as Artemis set him down, leaning him back against a column.

"If the rest of that sentence is 'pee on her corpse once our small army has disposed of her', then yes, you can." Artie offered him a tight smile and, still kneeling by Fenris, turned back to his brother. "This needs to end. And soon." Ignoring the burning numbness in his fingers, Artemis cast, throwing more stone and lightning that bounced off her. He didn't quite bite back his growl of frustration, not with Fenris shaking and sickly next to him.

A blow from Meredith's blade was like a hammer's, which Samson found out the hard way, bent double over the dent in his plate shaped like her sword. And that? That was going to bruise.

"Meredith!" Cullen roared. She turned, and at that angle, his sword should have pierced her eye. Instead it glanced off, as expected, but she still shut her eyes on instinct. A punch from his pommel sent her staggering back.

Unfortunately, that blow left an opening, high, and Meredith swung back around, blade slipping in above Cullen's elbow. Anton yanked his husband back, but the glowing red edge still cleaved through Cullen's lip with enough force to wedge a space between his teeth. Cullen fell back, howling, tears in his eyes dried from the hot wind of the lyrium blade's passing, as Anton lunged in, trying to shove a dagger up under Meredith's chin.

Her head tipped back, but he couldn't pierce the skin. "I will not be defeated!" Meredith roared. "Maker aid your humble servant!"

The sword lit brighter, red light spilling from it, as she heaved it up, with both hands, shoving Anton back with her clenched fists. But, what came next was obviously not what she had expected, to judge from the screams -- it wasn't what any of them expected. Meredith dropped to her knees, that same red crackling across her skin as if she were taken by some corruption of Justice, until she glowed with it, her eyes alone enough to light the ragged team of rogues and templars before her. And slowly, the stone crept in from her fingertips, blackening her flesh as it passed, that red glow still winding through it, as if she were a statue carved from the edges of a red lyrium vein. Finally, the screaming died out, but the light did not.

"Don't touch her!" Carver called out. "She's turned into that shit! It's still dangerous!"

"He's not joking," Bethany filled in, sitting slowly on the steps. "What that sword did to her, she'll do to any of you. We'll need to get the Merchants' Guild to move her."

Cullen still struggled to catch his breath, blood running freely down his chin.


	390. Chapter 390

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cleanup begins. Cormac gets punched a whole lot. Sebastian is entirely irritated by everything.

"Blessed art thou, o Mythal, who has seen us through this day," Cormac breathed, looking around and taking stock of the situation. Anders was still sleeping off the flames; Fenris looked like he was going to lose his lunch again if he still had a lunch to lose; Artie was still right beside him, standing, even, if barely; Cullen was bleeding; Aveline had a broken arm; that lady templar with the notes, whose name would come back to him in a moment, looked about as grey-green as Fenris; Merrill was using Anders for a pillow... That had been much closer than anyone wanted it to be.

"Artie?" Cormac looked shaken. "I love you more than anything in this world or the next. And I am so, so fucking glad you're not dead. But, we're down a healer, and I'm not doing as good as I should be. Would you please punch me in the jaw, so I can go put Aveline's arm and Cullen's face back together as best I can?"

Artie eyed his brother up and down. "If you're looking to be punched, you have another brother better suited for the job, but... all right." With one more glance at Fenris to double check that he wasn't dead, Artemis straightened and tried not to overthink just how hard this punch should be. His fist caught Cormac's jaw, knocking his head to the side. "Sorry!"

Cormac's hands flashed green as he grabbed Artie's face, running a quick wave of healing down his brother, before following up with a kiss to the forehead that he had to stand on his toes to deliver. His toes, which were still not entirely unbroken, apparently. "What are you sorry about? That's exactly what I asked you to do."

"Impulse," Artie said, sagging into the warmth of healing, even if it didn't touch the bone-deep tiredness he was feeling. "It's what I'm used to saying every time I smack you into things."

"Cormac, maybe when you're done putting little butterfly kisses on the scratches of the brother who doesn't need your help, you could come over here and do something useful?" Anton sounded annoyed, but more than that, he sounded panicked. But, that was the order of these things, and he knew it. Cormac always went to Artie, first.

"Keep your pants on, Anton. I'm moving." Cormac shot another glance at where Anders lay, surrounded by Tranquil. "How bad is that?" he asked, coming up on Cullen, who seemed to be hyperventilating and entirely supported by Anton.

"It's bad." Anton looked grim.

"Then I'm really sorry about uglying up your husband," Cormac apologised, taking Cullen's face in his hands. "Don't fucking smite me, Cullen. Do you hear me? I'm trying to fix your face."

The skin knit together first. That was always easy. The gash in Cullen's gums closed up, his lip became a continuous line, once more. Cormac worked steadily, if slowly, and after a while, the swelling stopped getting worse.

"Cullen? Smile for me." Cormac squinted at the fresh pink scar that wound up from Cullen's lip, and cursed when it split again. "Almost. You're doing fine."

"I'm liking it," Anton said, after a moment. "It's dashing. Heroic, even. It's the kind of thing you could use to entice swooning noble ladies."

Cullen shot Anton a watery-eyed glare, as more weak healing pulled the scar a little tighter.

"I think that's all I've got." Cormac shrugged. "I'm sorry about your face. You probably want to see Anders, once he stops doing corpse impressions."

Cullen gurgled a sound of acknowledgement, licking his teeth and prodding his lip with the tip of his tongue, tracing the ragged edge. He poked the edges with his fingers before Anton pulled his hands away. This was what he got for not wearing his helmet, wasn't it?

"Stop touching it," Anton said. "I promise it only enhances your rugged good looks, and you're in one piece. I'd kiss you, but I wouldn't want to overwhelm you."

Cullen gave him a sceptical look and carefully shaped his next words. "It hurts much less now. I don't think the pain would be a problem--"

"Pain? Oh no. I meant you'd swoon. Overcome at my slightest touch."

Cullen's glare said he was less than impressed.

"No? Fine, you can swoon later."

Isabela propped up Aveline as they approached Cormac. Aveline had the pale, tight-jawed look of someone in pain, and the wild-eyed look of someone who would punch another someone just to be rid of it.

"You look like you're going to hit me," Cormac noted, turning to Aveline. "That's good. That'll get this done faster. Just remember that if you knock me out, though, this isn't getting done at all, because it's not like Anders is standing up."

Aveline nodded and gingerly held out the broken arm, for Cormac's inspection.

"Is he all right?" Cullen asked, words still a little awkward as he tongued at his teeth to make sure they were at least stable, if not quite where he expected them.

"He does that, sometimes," Cormac said, with a shrug. "Hey, Izzy, take her wrist and pull?"

"I thought you were trying to get you hit, not _me_." Isabela took a gentle grip on Aveline's arm.

"This is going to hurt," Cormac assured Aveline. "Hit me. It's my fault, not Izzy's."

"What you mean I don't get to take advantage of the fact that I've finally got the perfect ex--" Aveline's face turned stark white, and she rocked back on her heels. As Cormac reached out to steady her, her fist slammed into his chin.

Aveline just kept punching, and the healing raced down her arm, the bones setting in something like the right place. Finally, Cormac fell, gracelessly sprawling across the stones, so he hit his head on Anton's ankle.

"And now we're down _both_ healers," Anton muttered.

"Just give me a minute. I can't feel my hand and all my teeth are loose," Cormac groaned, using the last of the magic he had to settle the sudden swelling in his face. "Are you two all right? Where's Merrill? How's Fenris?"

"Cullen's looking better than you are, right now," Anton said, crouching to poke at Cormac. "Then again, Cullen tends to look better than you anyway."

"I hope so. I'd be worried about you if you thought I was better looking than the brave slayer of dragons you married," Cormac joked, squinting dizzily up at his brother.

"Is this your way of asking to be punched again?" Anton asked sweetly. He patted Cormac's cheek instead and looked around for the elves he'd asked about. Merrill still looked ghostly pale under her vallaslin, but she was awake and sitting, smiling tiredly up at Carver. "Merrill is looking less dead, which is always good, and Fenris... well, he's stopped puking. For the moment. About as white as his tattoos, though."

Behind him, the red lyrium in Meredith's shape still simmered, and Anton still half-expected her to stand back up, raving about blood magic. The Gallows were eerily still in the aftermath. "It's over," he said. "I think. You don't have plans to blow up anything else, do you? You know Artie's gonna start on cleaning the place as it is, and..." Anton trailed off at the sound of hurried footsteps and wheels on stone.

"Ah, shit," sighed Varric as he pulled a cart full of hammers to a stop. "We missed the fun, didn't we? I knew that was gonna happen." He eyed the stones underfoot with their new bronze designs. "Where's Meredith?"

Next to him, Nathaniel squinted into the crowd, looking first Meredith and then for -- oh, there was that idiot mage. "He's not dead, is he?"

" _Our_ Anders? No." The thick Antivan accent came from behind Nathaniel's shoulder, and after a moment, Zevran untangled himself from the heap of hammers in the cart and hopped down. "He's a healer. Why would he be dead?"

"Because he's got all the common sense of a nug," Varric muttered, watching Cormac try to stand up.

"I think that's an insult to nugs," Nathaniel sighed. "How's the healer, Champion?"

"I don't know." Anton shrugged and finally reached down to haul Cormac to his feet. "How's Anders?"

"Well, he wasn't dead the last time I looked," Cormac admitted. "It's not the first time he's done that. Panics, sets the world on fire, blacks out from overexertion. He's probably fine. I just hope nobody knifed him, while I wasn't looking. Speaking of, where's Sebastian?"

Nathaniel's jaw squared. "I'm going to shove my boot so far up his ass, if he's anywhere but where I left him..."

"We had to move him," Carver chimed in. "The metal was catching up."

"I'm still going to kick his ass," Nathaniel grumbled. "This fucking job -- you can't let one death turn your head like that. I made that mistake. He can't afford to. But, if he's still alive -- if he's going back to Starkhaven -- I'll go, too. Someone's got to keep an eye on that idiot, until he grows into leadership. Not that I'm the prime example of doing it right, but my father, apparently, was the prime example of doing it wrong. I like to think I've taken a lesson."

"There he is," Varric tipped his chin toward where Bethany crouched over a dusty, bound figure.

Anton helped Cormac over to Anders, in the mean time. Someone had to make sure they'd have a healer to take care of the rest of them, come morning. Zevran followed at a respectful distance.

Squaring his jaw, Sebastian glared up at Nathaniel as he approached, trying to look as dignified as one could covered in dust and tied up. "You can save your threats," he said. "The murderer must answer for his crime."

"From what I can see, that 'murderer' just saved this city from a lunatic," Nathaniel said, making no move to set him free. "You know, the longer you posture, the longer I'm going to keep you tied up. At this rate, I'll be dragging you into Starkhaven like this. That sounds like more work than I want to do, so how about you save us all the trouble?"

"I'll try to keep him out of trouble, Warden," Bethany said, barely keeping the amusement out of her eyes as she patted Sebastian's arm. He looked terribly offended.

Across the courtyard, Anders didn't so much stir as jolt awake, eyes wide and wild as he looked around, levering himself up on one elbow. Courtyard. Gallows. The stink of smoke and the taste of metal. They'd been fighting for their lives, and then... what? He couldn't remember.

"I told you! The Healer's alive!"

Anders flinched at the shout, but when he looked, it was only Zevran -- ...wait. Anders's gaze dropped to Cormac, who was looking ragged around the edges. And the middle. "I missed something," he said, even as healing sputtered to life at his fingertips.

"Don't you dare cast that," Cormac warned. "You will die. You did it again, and you haven't been out nearly long enough to be trying that."

"Did...?" Anders looked up in confusion.

"Does he really not remember?" Zevran looked surprised. "Anders, you started an amazing fire. Flames reaching the heavens. It's why I ran into dear Nathaniel in the depths of Lowtown. He said he was there to get hammers to beat down some ancient Tevinter statuary that had picked a fight, down here. Even from the market, I could see the fire reaching for the gods, themselves. But, we were too late getting back. No fire. No statues. Which is a pity, I was really hoping to see those."

"Your anti-magister tactics got the better of you, again," Cormac said, kneeling and looking greatly relieved he no longer had to worry about staying upright. "I tried to take care of the worst of things, while you were out, but Fenris and Merrill aren't looking so good. They'll have to wait, though. You cast again, now, and you'll go right back down."

"I have potions," Anders argued, groping around for his bag.

"No, you don't. I took them, when you fell. We've already used all of them." Cormac reached out and brushed the hair out of Anders's face. "Meredith's... if not dead, definitely not currently a threat. We're alive. I suspect we may have lost a few templars, in the fighting, but no one whose name I knew. We did it, and we did it because of you, once again."

"And in other news, that little old lady you had me watching out for -- she never came out. If she got out of that building, it was by no exit I could discover," Zevran told Cormac. "I feel like I should return some of the money you paid me for this terribly simple bit of babysitting."

"Why? Go buy my cousin some more kids, or something. Tell her it's a gift from the family." Cormac grinned, lopsidedly, as half his face didn't quite keep up with the other half.

"How generous!" Zevran said with a wicked smile. "I might do just that. We have an anniversary coming up, you see. Last year, I tied myself up in ribbon, but she was... less thrilled than I'd hoped."

"The children might be the safer alternative," Anders said, one side of his mouth creeping up in a smirk. He cupped the side of Cormac's face, his touch gentle against half-healed bruises as he tried not to look as concerned as he felt. "You look fairly terrible," he said.

"I already told him as much," Anton cheerfully told him. "I compared him to... hm." Anton's head tilted as something finally clicked. "My husband just got promoted, didn't he? Essentially?"

"Ah!" Zevran turned to him with a grin. "So you're _that_ Hawke. How does it feel to be married to the Knight-Commander of Kirkwall?"

Anton shuddered visibly. "Horrifying. That's how it feels. You use that title, and I still see Meredith." He squinted at Zevran. "What do you mean 'that' Hawke?"

"Why, the Champion of Kirkwall, of course. You are the Hawke everyone has heard of." Zevran smiled slyly. "Has anyone ever told you how much you look like your cousin? I have heard she also had a fondness for a certain plate-clad someone."

"You have heard?" Anton asked.

"In bed, of course." The sly smile evolved into a wicked grin. "She is very imaginative. I imagine you are, as well."

"Dragon noises," Cormac muttered, gathering Anders into his arms and forcing himself to stand.

"Can we not talk about that in public?" Anton chuckled and looked away.

"You really set yourself up for that one," Anders chimed in, as he folded himself over Cormac's shoulder, unhooking the glaive to pass it to Cormac. "If you didn't want us to hear it, you should have considered being quieter."

"Oh, that's a lot from you!" Anton scoffed.

"You've never heard me. Your _brother_ , however, could raise the dead with his screaming. And he doesn't complain when people talk about it in public."

"As exciting as this discussion is, I need to talk to Ser Cullen, and then I need to get Anders back home. I'm not really expecting any screaming for another ten hours or so, because I would really like to sleep until I actually stop being tired." Cormac staggered forward, one hand on Anders's thigh and the other gripping the glaive for support. He stumbled back toward Cullen.


	391. Chapter 391

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen tries to come to terms with being Knight-Commander. Sebastian makes an ass of himself. Cormac needs to sit down, now.

"Commander," he said, after a moment. "I'd offer you my hand, but I don't have one free."

"Captain," Cullen corrected, reflexively, and then... "I'm not, any more, am I?"

"As long as no one removes you, I'm pretty sure you're the highest ranking Chantry official in all of Kirkwall, right now. You and Bran are what's holding this place together, at the top," Cormac replied, suddenly sitting down, as his knees buckled, and pouring Anders to the ground, again. "Sorry, sweet thing. I'll get you home, somehow."

Cullen moved to help Cormac a second too late, his face pale from more than blood loss. "The city might have been better off with the demons," Cullen said with a cringing smile, unsure what to do with his hands since Cormac and Anders had already hit the ground. Except... no, that wasn't something he should joke about. "I... Maker, what a mess."

"Hey, Shouty," Varric said, the cart's wheels creaking as he brought it over. "Maybe you should save the sweeping of Grey Wardens off their feet for when you can stand on your own?"

"Just the one Grey Warden, please," Nathaniel called out from behind a pillar.

"I think he just volunteered to push the cart on the way back," Varric said with a wink. "So what do you think?" he asked Cullen. "I think there's room enough for a couple healers." He patted the side of the cart, and it made a hollow sound.

"I think," Anders answered instead, still lying sprawled on his back, "that that is a great way for Nathaniel to roll me into the water." He peered up at Cullen. "I told you I'd make you Knight-Commander. But, is your first edict going to involve a change in dress code? I must say I'm a fan, but it's probably time to put away your Sword of Mercy, at least for now."

"What?" Cullen blinked down first at the Sword of Mercy on his chest, and then down at the grinning mage. Then he saw his knees and remembered that he still had his skirts tucked into his belt. And realised that Anders was getting an eyeful.

Cullen's face was tomato-red as he untucked his skirts with as much dignity as he could.

"That said, Cullen, I'm sure you're wanting us out of your hair," Cormac said, resting his head on Anders's knee. "Give me a few days to organise our affairs, and we'll disappear. Scenic tour of Thedas time, for the two of us, I think. I promise to leave you some money for the reconstruction of anything we might've hit. I'm thinking you might want to just smooth over the bronze in the courtyard, here, though. Let it serve as a historic reminder."

Cullen laughed, first, and then, "A reminder to whom? It's not like Kirkwall has any mages left, after that, and the Maker only knows what will come of the Order. Or me."

"Well, you're the Knight-Commander, now. Unless the Knight-Vigilant decides to get up your ass about something, this place is yours. The Gallows, I mean. Kirkwall's still the Seneschal's. You might want to let him know he can start making plans for a new viscount, now that Meredith's gone."

"I'm getting out of city politics," Cullen promised, shaking his head. "It's not what we're supposed to do. But, you said something about reconstruction? How bad is it going to be, up there?"

"Zevran?" Cormac raised his voice without lifting his head. "How bad is it?"

"It's just a few estates in Hightown. Rocks in the garden. People who didn't take the Gazette's advice and got rocks in the ballroom. But, there is a very, very large mound of Tevinter-quarried stone at the edge of Hightown, now. I have a feeling some of it might have fallen into the earth, because it doesn't look nearly high enough." Zevran shrugged and turned an appreciative eye on Cullen. "You know, Commander, Solona was right. I can see the appeal." He winked. "But, there is always the question of what a reconstruction will be, you know. Are you going to rebuild just what was there, or will you reach out into the places people have never been able to repair, on their own?"

"I think that's up to the viscount," Cullen admitted, "but I can make some suggestions. You're worried about the Alienage?"

"I am worried about all the people who are not flamboyantly wealthy, like my friends, the Hawkes." Zevran smiled, but his eyes stayed serious.

"Where's my brother?" Cormac muttered. "Artie? You still standing? How's your husband?"

"Technically, I'm sitting," Artemis replied, "but not because I can't stand. Sitting just... has so much appeal right now..." As he spoke, he looked over Fenris, not quite able to hide the concern in his eyes. His elf was curled up, half in his lap. Though his eyes were closed, the tightness in his forehead said he was still awake. "Did you hear him, love? What adjective should I give him?" Artie's hand smoothed back Fenris's hair.

Fenris mumbled something unhappy against Artemis's thigh.

"That's not an adjective, love," Artemis told him. "That is, in fact, a verb, and a rather rude one, considering." Artemis looked up at Cormac with a helpless shrug. Fenris wasn't puking any more, which was a plus, but they had no way of knowing how long this was going to affect him. "I'm going to take cursing you as a good sign."

"Well, at least he remembers who I am," Cormac laughed. "I think we're going back to Hightown in a cart. I also think we're not going anywhere if we don't find someone to pull it, because I think Varric's going to kill us if he has to do it again."

Artemis laughed weakly. "In... a cart. I'd ask if you were joking, but this is _you_. Do you have room for an elf?"

Fenris made a sound somewhere between a whine and a growl at that suggestion, until Artemis stroked the shell of his ear. He muttered something about magical bears but didn't protest too loudly when Artie pulled him into his arms and tried to put his feet under them both. He carried Fenris over to his brother and the cart.

"I'll push it," Artie offered. "I have mana enough for that, but not so much that I'd send you off a cliff." In truth, he doubted he had enough in him for that, but he was stronger than he looked.

"All right," Cormac announced. "Wounded and exhausted back to Hightown, in the cart. My brother's going to try not to throw us in the sea."

"Please don't throw us in the sea, Artie. I don't think Cormac's got enough left to barrier us out of that." Anders giggled stupidly, staring dazedly up into the clouds and smoke over Kirkwall. "Templars should stay here. I'm... I can't imagine you don't have potions, at least. I'll stop by, later, if you want, Cullen. But, quietly. Nobody knows I'm still in town."

"The mages are still down with the Coterie -- what are we doing about that?" Anton asked, after a moment. "Is it safe for them to leave? Is it safe for them to stay? I'd like to get them out of the Coterie bunker, either way. That, I'm pretty sure, is not safe."

"The First Enchanter is dead," Cullen pointed out. "I'd like to talk to them. To let them know things are different now. To let them know they'll need to pick a new First Enchanter."

"Then we'll go together," Anton offered, helping Cormac lift Anders into the now hammer-free cart. "Just, you know, don't... touch anything down there. Keep your eyes on me, until they take us to the mages, and let me do the talking until we get there."

Cullen nodded, looking across the courtyard. He started shouting orders for the Tranquil to collect the wounded and the dead and bring them back inside. There would be time enough to deal with all of these things, but he had to get started.

"Room for one more?" Nathaniel asked, carrying a still-bound Sebastian to the cart. "I'll keep an eye on him, but he kicks, and I'm not carrying him all the way back up to the Hanged Man, without some help."

"The Hanged Man!?" Zevran looked stunned. "No, no, caro. We are taking him to the Blooming Rose. I can afford such things. I have become a very wealthy man, in my travels."

"I didn't want to carry him that far," Nathaniel complained.

"You take that end. I will take this end. If he squirms too much, I'll rap him on the head." Zevran looked at Sebastian. "You wouldn't like that, would you? And when we get there, I am certain we can buy anything we need to tend to ourselves. Anything at all. But, of course, there are some things I am hoping not to have to pay for." He winked slyly at Nathaniel.

"Like what?" Nathaniel drawled, ignoring the wink. "A bath?"

"Why?" Zevran replied. "Is my virile, masculine odour too much for your sensibilities?"

"Your everything is too much for my sensibilities."

A pair of mages and an elf ended up in the cart, knees and elbows digging into ribs, the elf looking particularly disgruntled by all the contact. When Anders shifted, Fenris all but landed in his lap, his ears sticking straight out. "Amatus," he said, voice even more gravelly than usual. "I may not mind so much if you do send us into the sea."

Artie tweaked one ear affectionately. "You've touched more of him, wearing less. I think you'll survive."

"I'm not sure I will," Anders said, eyeing the look on Fenris's face.

With Artie's hand on the handle, the cart started to roll, a wheel catching in cracked stone long enough to jolt Fenris and to put the sick look back on his face.

"Ooh, I want to ride in the cart!" Merrill said.

"No, you don't," Carver assured her before scooping her up in his arms. "Trust me on that."


	392. Chapter 392

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Anton speak to the mages.

"Yes, you tell her that. Lord Dog is here to relieve you of his friends." Anton's smile, Cullen had noticed, looked even deadlier in the dim light of Darktown. "You'll get the money, and the contract, when I know they're safe."

"I ain't arguing with Lord Dog, Sean," one of the Coterie guards remarked, to the other.

Sean looked like he might start something, but his lips tightened, and he lifted the heavy trapdoor. "Good to see you again, Barky."

Anton snapped his teeth, as he passed, leading Cullen into what looked like more mining tunnels, first, and then a living section of the Undercity. With most of the torches lit, it was easy to see the excellent masonry and the skill of the carvers who'd laid in the designs along the stone walls. Stories, he thought, of Tevinter heroes, long since lost to the passage of time, and the intentional erasure of so much of what was left behind, when the Imperium was forced out of the Marches. But, here, it remained.

Cullen was so distracted by the story of... well, he wasn't sure, but it looked like a man making a deal with a dragon, that he almost missed the side passage Anton turned down. Behind ancient doors, there seemed to be an indoor amphitheatre of some sort, well lit, but somewhat foul, in the moment, full as it was with refugees -- with mages.

"Templar!" someone yelled from the middle of the crowd at ground level.

"No, no! It's the Knight-Captain!" Someone else called out, as panic started to spread through the ranks. "He got us out of there!"

Anton whistled sharply. "Hello, pleased to meet you all. I'm sorry we didn't have time for introductions, earlier, but you can call me Lord Dog. It explains the accent." Anton paused, waiting for a laugh that didn't come. "I'm proud to tell you that Knight-Commander Meredith has been removed from power, in an extremely permanent fashion."

A soft murmur ran through the crowd at that, sidelong glances exchanged. While the mages, as a whole, looked less likely to bolt, Anton still read wariness in the room, and for all his authority, Cullen felt like a bug being inspected.

"What do you mean permanent?" asked one mage from the back row, her arms folded across her chest as all eyes panned to her. "Did you kill her?"

Cullen's feet shuffled where he stood. "I... She is dead, yes. But it was her own folly that killed her." More murmurings, and this time Cullen only caught a few whispers, but they stuck with him. "And yes, that... that technically makes me the new Knight-Commander, but as I hope my actions have proven, I am not Meredith." He wished he had his sword in his hands, just to give them something to do. "As you have heard, Meredith called for the Right of Annulment in an alarmingly disproportionate response to her fears. When I tried to relieve her of her command, she retaliated. As much as I... regret that we could not come to a more peaceable decision, I think the city of Kirkwall is better for her absence."

"Meredith wasn't the only problem," said that same mage in the back. "Alrik was a pustule. But when he died, more came to take his place. How do we know that won't happen again?" Cullen looked at her more closely, wondering how she hadn't been made Tranquil yet, with that obstinacy, but -- Semele. Right. Her name had been on Meredith's short list.

"How can anyone know that, really?" Cullen asked. "But, if you report that sort of behaviour, or anything you think might turn into that sort of behaviour, we can get rid of it when it happens. Not everyone is cut out to do what we do, and I would rather the ranks be filled with compassionate people who would hesitate before striking a blow than with the sort of conscience-free tyrants who proliferated under my predecessor's reign."

"I'm not going back," Semele decided. "You'll have to kill me."

"No, I won't." Cullen shrugged. "I've come to invite all of you back. You and I know how poorly the public views your gifts, and I would like to use the tower to protect you, while you sleep. People need time to learn that magic isn't just a weapon, it's a tool that we can use to help people. That's what the Chant says, isn't it? That we're to help each other? 'All men are the Work of our Maker's Hands, from the lowest slaves to the highest kings. Those who bring harm without provocation to the least of His children are hated and accursed by the Maker.' Well, it's been a long time since there's been any of that in this city, and I want to believe that we can start a trend."

"What about the Chantry?" another mage asked. "Aren't they supposed to be doing that?"

"I have a reliable source who tells me that even the Chantry failed Kirkwall, in the end. And it is the end. The Chantry's ... not there any more." Cullen shrugged, unwilling to say too much about that, yet.

"Some of you travelled through that," Anton reminded them. "That cloud of dust and rocks wasn't normal Darktown atmosphere."

That garnered a mix of responses, from horror to confusion to grim satisfaction. Despite living in this city, most of the mages had never set foot in the Chantry, had never been able to. And that, right there, was at the heart of what was so wrong with the Circle. "The Grand Cleric was in the Chantry when it... when it fell," Cullen said, stumbling over the verb. There were words for what had happened to the Chantry, but 'fell' wasn't quite it. "While we should mourn her loss, we should also take the opportunity to start anew, to dig up the rotted foundation and rebuild, brick by brick. It is time for the Order to stop making the same mistakes, mistakes that you pay for."

In the back of his mind, Cullen could see Meredith's face, twisted in outrage at these words. But in front of him, Cullen saw the faces of mages, of people he had sworn to guard and protect, and those faces were turned towards his. They were listening, he realised, and not just because they had to.

"And if we don't want to come back?" someone asked.

"I have a friend. She has a ship. I am led to understand she's leaving town at the end of the week. You're welcome to go where you've always wanted, but keep in mind that not all places are going to be as forgiving as this one will be." Anton studied the crowd, pleased as he always was that none of these people were his relatives. But, then again, with the way the Amells turned mage, maybe they were. "That said, I've heard good things about Rivain. I've heard they _like_ mages in Rivain. Tevinter's an obvious choice."

"And anyone with family here is obviously welcome to move home," Cullen pointed out. "Just keep in mind that your neighbours may take a while to come around. I'd like to keep the murdering rampages to a minimum, as we get started here -- not you, of course. Other people trying to kill you. Meredith took advantage of the fear of magic every Thedosian is raised with and pried it open into a gaping, toothed maw, and I'd rather not have any of you fall into it before we can coax it closed."

"That's it?" Semele asked with a scoff. "We can just... go home? After everything?"

"After everything," Cullen agreed, but his openness failed to wipe the suspicion from her face. He couldn't blame her for that. "And you will be welcomed back to the Circle, should you wish to return. Should you choose to stay, now or in the future, you may leave whenever you like. For too long the Circle has been a prison, and you its inmates. I will not let my templars become your jailers."

"And what of the First Enchanter?" asked a shy voice in the front. Cullen looked to find that voice attached to a familiar face. Alain, one of the Starkhaven mages. "Does he know of this?"

Cullen looked around at the sea of faces and sucked in a breath. "I wish that First Enchanter Orsino could be here to tell you this himself, but he has taken his seat by the Maker. He fell defending you all from Meredith's wrath, so that you could get to safety."

"What the man means to say," Anton translated, "is that Meredith stabbed him to death, as her last act as Knight-Commander. And then we think she summoned demons. Let that sink in."

"That's ridiculous!" a voice called out from the back. "She wasn't a mage! If she was a mage how would she have gotten so far into templar ranks?"

"You're working off the assumption that you need to be a mage to get a demon in Kirkwall, which appears not to be the case," Anton pointed out. "I've got some stories about that."

"We discovered she'd fallen victim to a very rare form of lyrium poisoning, which may have made that easier," Cullen offered, diplomatically. "We will, of course, be examining the rest of Kirkwall's templars, for signs of it."

A man with a long grey beard and a strange hood with ram's horns stepped forward. "I would like to stay," he announced. "Perhaps I am too trusting, in my age, but I am willing to believe that this young man desires change. Some of you came from Ferelden, I know, after the trouble they had, and what you have told me leads me to believe Ser Cullen is strong and righteous. Is it true, Commander, that you were held by demons?"

"For days. Or so I'm told. I had no sense of how long it was." Cullen shook his head. "That's... that's not something I really want to talk about. But, it changed me. It made me forget my duty, and I apologise for that. I was afraid, and I acted poorly. But, my time with mages -- with _apostates_ , really -- has reminded me of what it means to be a templar. My place is to protect Kirkwall from magical _threats_ \-- like the inordinate number of demons in this Maker-forsaken place -- but it is not to prevent the use of magic."

"Also, he slew a dragon and ate its heart, saving fifty miners from a fiery death. Killed an ancient Tevinter demon that was living under the city, too. I got a friend who's writing a book about it. I'll bring copies to the tower, when it's published." Anton grinned, wrapping his arm around Cullen's waist. "I'm Lord Dog, most of my family is composed of mages, and I still married this guy. I think that tells you what you need to know about him."

"It's... it's true," Alain said, forcing himself to raise his voice. "When Grace... when Grace went mad, he gave me a second chance. I didn't deserve it, but he did. He's a good man, the kind that Kirkwall needs right now, and..." Alain looked down at his hands as they twisted in his lap. "Well, I've nowhere else to go. There's nothing for me in Starkhaven."

"Thank you, Alain," Cullen said, tipping his head respectfully. "There is a place here for anyone who wants it."

"For those of you who decide not to stay," Anton said, "please let us help you get on your way. You'll need more than the clothes on your back and a cringingly conspicuous staff." He hoped for their sakes that they stayed, but he knew that, in their shoes, he wouldn't, not when a whole world had been kept from him.


	393. Chapter 393

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carver and Merrill talk about the future. Sebastian continues to make an ass of himself.

They were in bed, blankets piled up to Merrill's chin and Carver wrapped around her side. Even the demons hadn't tired her like this, and she drifted in and out of consciousness. Blood loss, Anders had said, but he wasn't in any condition to do anything about it. She'd been sure of that, when she realised he couldn't stand up, either. She didn't quite understand human politics, even after all these years, but she got the idea, from listening to the conversations around her, that day, that the Chantry wasn't doing what it was supposed to, so Anders and Cormac had knocked it down to make room for a new one. That didn't seem quite right, somehow, since a building didn't do much but keep the rain off, and the Chantry didn't seem to have been leaking, but she was sure this was another case of one word meaning more than one thing, and it would make better sense after she slept.

Still, there was the matter of where she would fit in all of this. "Carver? If Cullen knows, does that mean I have to go to the tower, now?"

Carver pulled her tighter against him, and she hid her smile amidst the blankets, a worried smile.

"No," Carver assured her, and the conviction in his tone helped her breathe. "He's... he's changing policies, it seems. Regarding mages in general. The mages of Kirkwall are free to stay and go as they like, and that would... well, that would be a load of horseshit if he made you stay, especially since you're Dalish." Which wasn't as much of an argument now, if he were honest with himself. Not now that Merrill had been living in the Alienage for all these years.

"Even though I'm... even with the blood magic?" Merrill asked. She twisted just enough to look at Carver, at blue eyes that met hers before dropping to the side. "I know he saw. I know he knows. What does that mean for us?"

"Us?" Carver asked, brows knitting.

"Well, I know most people get their trousers in a knot whenever there's blood magic, and templars most of all..."

"Panties," Carver corrected her with the face of someone trying not to laugh. "Panties in a knot. That's the expression."

"Oh." Merrill blinked. "I don't know if my panties are big enough to get tied into knots. But, oh, right. Templars don't wear trousers, so I suppose that makes a bit of sense. Maybe it's their skirts they get into knots?"

"You're overthinking it again. It's not supposed to make sense, it's just supposed to sound uncomfortable." Carver finally did laugh, pressing a kiss to the top of Merrill's head. "If Cullen's right, and we don't all end up fired, we've got a whole city to enjoy, and no more worries about someone taking you away."

"I wish we'd been soon enough for all the people who died, here," Merrill sighed, tucking her head under Carver's chin again. "It's getting cold again. We should see if anyone needs the windows fixed, before the next storm comes in from the sea."

"We should," Carver agreed, knowing that she meant he should spend weeks doing repairs in the Alienage. But, people liked them, and Merrill was considered something of an important person, in the community, even if she did spend all her time with him. And that had been an interesting discovery -- that the elves had first reacted to him in much the way his mother had reacted to Merrill and Fenris. "Listen, I was going to ask Anton... Do you think with all the 'recovery' allotments that need to be made, we could get something done, down here?"

"But, we didn't get any parts of the Chantry dropped on us, down here." Merrill's brow bunched against Carver's neck.

"I know, but the way the ground shook broke a few windows, for sure. I was going to ask Anton to drag it out of Bran, and see what we can get." Carver shifted, bringing a hand up to pet Merrill's hair. "I know you used to live near some ruins, and some other ruins, and probably some ruins you haven't told me about, but... were any of them elven ruins? What if we do something in an older style -- I mean that stuff's stood up for a thousand years, right? And we've got houses that fall over in twenty, here."

Everything about Merrill was soft, just then, when she looked at Carver, her eyes, her smile, the hand that reached up to tug the round shell of his ear. "That would be... well, that would be incredible, if we could do it," she said. "Do you think we could? Would the others let us? Oh, but think of what we could do! This place now, it's so... grey and dry and -- well, dry except for when it's raining. Then you want the Alienage to be dry, and it isn't. The Vhenadahl is lovely, but it's... An elf needs more than that to breathe. You know how it is. I think. Do you?"

"A bit," Carver said with a soft chuckle. He kissed her forehead again, pleased to see that light in her eyes again, that need to fix, to change the world, after everything involving that damned mirror. "Scheming already, are we? I'll see what I can do. We'll see about making this place less grey and -- well, we should probably keep it dry."

* * *

Sebastian was still sulking, behind a folding screen, in a suite at the Rose. He was up to his neck in bathwater, in a brothel, while some elven assassin tried to talk Howe into bed. Sebastian just couldn't see the appeal. At all. In either of them. But, he was particularly angry with Howe, right that moment.

Still, Bethany was there, having come to check on him, after making sure her brothers and the abomination got home. To his confusion, she seemed mostly unsympathetic to his plight.

"I'm honestly surprised he didn't heal you -- or I would be, if he'd had the strength to sit up without help. You must understand that he would have," Bethany explained, from a chair on the other side of the screen. "You're not the first person who's tried to murder him and survived the experience. Why, Fenris would have had terrible scars, from his last attempt, if Anders hadn't healed him after it."

"The man is insane! He's a lunatic! That, right there, should be proof enough!" Sebastian sputtered a bit before he found another sentence. "And he's an abomination! It goes against everything we stand for as decent and reasonable people!"

"And what, pray tell, _do_ we stand for as 'decent and reasonable' people?" Bethany asked, cool and collected where Sebastian seethed. "Not, I hope, for the Annulment of the Circle and the murder of innocent mages?"

"That-- no, of course not," Sebastian said, throwing the screen an indignant look that said he was hurt Bethany would even _ask_. "But you're conflating two different issues. The mages -- the Circle mages -- had naught to do with Elthina's murder. Even I'll admit Meredith was over the line. But this mage, Anders, needs to be brought to justice. You must see that!"

"Anders and Justice are already intimately acquainted, pumpkin."

Sebastian grit his teeth. "You know what I mean."

A pause, and then, "You are asking for vengeance, not justice. If this were truly about Elthina, you would recognise that. Will it end at Anders? Just Anders?"

"Yes, just Anders," Sebastian said, letting his head rest against the back of the tub. "He took advantage of your brother's trust, and I have to think that Cormac didn't step into this with both eyes open."

"Do you truly think so little of my brother, or is this how you justify not pursuing his death with the same rancour you reserve for Anders, perhaps in deference to my desires?" Bethany's words were smooth and calm, as if she were reading the Chant to children.

"Do you want me to hunt down your brother, as well? If you tell me he was of sound mind, that he did this intentionally -- murdered the Grand Cleric of Kirkwall -- I will do just that," Sebastian warned, a sloshing sound indicating that he'd sat up, suddenly.

"Murdered," Bethany scoffed. "Murdered, Sebastian? Really? Does a murderer try to save the people who might be harmed by a symbolic gesture of protest?"

That gave Sebastian pause. "Your brother sent you to the Chantry. He knew what was coming."

"He did," Bethany agreed, "and he tried to make sure that everyone in the building would be out of it. Everyone. Including Elthina."

"Then why didn't you take her out? You... whatever you did, and you carried me out! Why didn't you take her!"

Zevran eyed that side of the room in amusement and held out two silver coins to Nathaniel. "I'll make odds on this."

"You are the single most immoral..." Nathaniel started, and then produced two coins of his own.

"I could only carry one of you, Sebastian, and you are much more valuable to me than she was," Bethany said, quietly. "After all, I am to marry you, am I not? You would not be my husband, if you were dead."

The pause that followed was pensive, punctuated with a sigh. "Forgive me," he said. "I ought not to blame you for any of this. You saved my life, a life only you and the Maker give meaning to, and I should be thanking you for that. All the same, a part of me wished I had been there, only so she needn't have died alone."

Bethany didn't have a ready response to that. For all that the Grand Cleric had meant nothing to Bethany, Sebastian had truly cared about her.

"I must make it right," Sebastian said, as much to himself as to Bethany. "I must return to Starkhaven and gather an army. I ask that you come with me."

"So that I can help you invade my home?" Bethany asked, her cadence never changing, but her tone turning a shade colder. "You are asking quite a lot of me, pumpkin."

Sebastian wished he'd waited to ask her until he was dressed and could see her face. Instead he flailed uselessly and stared at the screen, trying to read her expression through it. "Starkhaven can be your home," he said. " _Will_ be your home."

"My family are native Marchers, for all that I am not, and we have held nobility and land in the City of Kirkwall, since the dawn of the modern era. I will not surrender ages of our blood and toils for this city, so that you can march on it for the sake of one man, who will have left it, before the end of the week." Bethany's words were firm and strong, and they rang through the room with the force of a proclamation.

"And you went for Cousland," Zevran teased Nathaniel. "Don't you wish you'd held out for an Amell?"

Nathaniel shot Zevran a disapproving look, but he swallowed hard, mouth dry. He'd heard stories, in the time he spent in Kirkwall, but this was the first time he'd seen Bethany do more than pretty politicking. If she was this firm in all her dealings, he'd want to rule beside her, himself. Not that he could rule anything, as a Warden, though Alistair had nearly put the lie to that. And this wasn't something he should be thinking at all.


	394. Chapter 394

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders checks on Fenris. Cullen brings word to the people of the changes soon to pass. Some mages decide not to stick around, after all.

"Congratulations!" Anders cheerfully proclaimed. "You're not dead!"

Leaning back on fluffed-up pillows, Fenris's already sour expression only tightened further at this pronouncement. "I can see why your skills as a healer are so widely praised," he drawled. "But, now that we have established that I am not dead or in immediate danger of becoming dead, am I allowed to leave the house? Or at least this bed..."

And that was a first for Fenris, complaining because his mage wanted him in bed all day, but he might complain less if Artemis had wanted him there for their usual... activities.

"Can you stand without throwing up over my shoes?" Artemis asked him without any pity. "I don't know about Anders, but that is _my_ standard of measure." He loomed over the bed, arms folded.

Fenris dragged himself out of the bed, looking dazed and dizzy as he clung to one of the bedposts. His stomach, at least, seemed not to disagree with the idea nearly as much as his head.

"Give it a moment," Anders said, quietly, watching Fenris slowly catch his breath and his balance. "You've been lying down for a couple of days. You're going to be a little wobbly. How are you feeling, besides that?"

"Angry," Fenris muttered. "Barely a scratch, and then days in bed."

"Barely a scratch with a red lyrium blade. You know what that stuff did to Varric's brother, and he didn't have any other lyrium already in his system. I think you just overdosed for a little while." Anders looked over the lyrium lines on Fenris's arms. "You might also want to take off the runes for a little while, just to give your skin a rest. That much electricity isn't doing you any favours, if you're sick with something else. I just don't want your body to start trying to reject the lyrium because it's sparking -- or, to choose the wrong lyrium to reject, really, if any of that's still in you."

Fenris considered the pain he'd borne for years. It wouldn't be pleasant, but he could handle it for a few days. "If you think it will help..."

"I'm afraid of what might happen, if you don't, and I won't be here to help you." And Anders did look afraid -- fear, grief, and regret writ large upon his face.

Fenris paused in the middle of unstrapping one cuff and looked past Anders to his husband. Artemis looked sad, terribly sad, but not surprised. Fenris supposed he wasn't surprised either. "You're leaving," he said, throwing the cuff to the bed and starting on the next one. Already something shifted in the lyrium, and after years of barely noticing the current running through his lines, he noticed its absence now in the ache in his fingers.

Anders hummed, his smile not reaching his eyes. "Funny thing," he said. "When you blow up a Chantry, some people get upset. I thought it best to leave before said upset people showed up at my door. Your family's door."

"Probably for the best," said Artie. "They probably wouldn't knock and end up walking in on something emotionally scarring." The joke was a weak one to match his smile. He ducked his head, tried to straighten the rug with his toes. "I, um... And speaking of my family and doors... Cormac?"

"He won't go without your permission," Anders said with a shrug. "I know him. I don't really want to do that to him."

"You don't want to leave without him." Fenris pointed out the obvious.

"And the two of you don't want to come with me. That's not a question, not an offer, it's a statement. I know where I'm going, and it's not somewhere you want to be." Anders's hands closed, at his sides, his eyes still on the furniture rather than either of the men in front of him. "So, that's up to you, Artie. I don't want to take him away from you. The two of you..." Anders smiled sadly. "Besides, who's going to take care of my cats, while I'm away?"

Artie's throat was tight, but he forced an unhappy laugh through it, turning away to hide the way his eyes were brimming. His brother. He had three brothers but only one Cormac, and Artemis had never stopped to picture what life without him would be like. He'd never had to. "He doesn't need my 'permission'," Artemis finally said, addressing Anders over his shoulder. "You shouldn't go alone, and he's good about making sure you eat and sleep and do all those things mortals do."

Artemis wanted to offer to go with them anyway. Fenris, he knew, would go where he went, but they had a life here now. They had a home, and there was too much rebuilding to do. And he would be sure they'd rebuild it the right way.

Fenris wobbled his way over to his husband and wrapped an arm around him. His mage, at least, was better than a cane at propping him up. To Anders, Fenris asked, "Did you just bequeath us your cats?"

"I... Well... I suppose if Artemis is going to grant me the extended loan of his brother, the least I could do was return something else fuzzy and cuddly," Anders joked, voice still a little flat, words still a little hollow. "He needs to hear you say it, Artie. And I promise you, we'll send word every time we stop long enough to find a messenger. You might not know our names, but you'll know us. Once we have somewhere it's safe to bring someone, we'll write. I'd really like it if you'd visit. It won't be forever, but it'll be a few years -- need to wait until my face gets smeary in everyone's memory, before I show up here, again."

"And why would we visit _you_?" Fenris teased, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

"I give it six months, and you'll miss Justice."

* * *

 

* * *

There were more people than Cullen expected. Which was good, he reasoned. He wanted his message to carry, and for that to happen, it had to be heard. For the moment, however, he wished it didn't have to be heard by quite so many people. The Lowtown market was brimming by the time Cullen took his place on the steps, the glint of his armour catching their attention, and the thought occurred to him that the market may not have been the best idea after all, what with the proximity of vegetables that could be thrown at him if this went poorly.

"Good citizens of Kirkwall," he began, pausing to clear his throat when his voice cracked on the last syllable. He caught his husband's eye and tried again. "Good citizens of Kirkwall, if I could have a moment of your time. Please."

The 'good citizens of Kirkwall', it seemed, were a rowdier lot than an amphitheatre full of mages, but the crowd soon quieted enough to listen.

"Thank you," Cullen said. "I am Knight-Captain Cullen -- er. Knight- _Commander_ Cullen, now. Technically. It's going to take a while to get used to saying that." A weak laugh followed that no one shared in.

"Where's that dwarf?" someone in the crowd asked. "He said this was going to be good!"

"Maker, Varric, don't get everyone's hopes up!" Aveline shouted from the side of the impromptu stage.

The crowd laughed, then, and below them, tens of mages filed out of Darktown into the Docks, all headed down to one ship. Dockhands turned away from the solemn procession -- they saw nothing, heard nothing, if anyone asked, but the taverns would be full of whispers by nightfall. The captain waited at the end of the pier, counting heads and calling instructions up to her crew. Most of the mages had come with nearly nothing, but two sat on the edge of a cart of baggage, waiting for the others to finish boarding, hoods pulled low, whispering to each other. They kept looking up the pier, obviously waiting for something else, as well.

"Anyway this... this is a time for change, for this city," Cullen went on, glancing nervously around, and wondering if he wouldn't be better off getting on that ship, too.

"Gee, Commander, you think?" a woman shouted from the middle of the crowd.

"I do." Cullen finally had a focus. He could talk to her, but very loudly. "The City of Emerius was built by Tevinter for the purpose of dealing in slaves from Ferelden -- not that it was Ferelden, then. A million slaves were kept in this city, at the height of the Imperium, and hundreds were sacrificed each year for blood magic rites that were built into the stones of the city." He knew this, because Cormac had explained it, complete with diagrams and maps, after they'd fought that demon, together. After they'd found the body of the last researcher to have pursued that line of study.

"Didn't realise we were here for a history lesson," shouted the woman's friend, but Cullen went on.

"This city was built on bloody foundations," he said. "Even if we cannot see those foundations from where we stand, we know they're still there beneath us. The literal foundations, the stone under our feet and under Darktown, cannot be uprooted without destroying the city as a whole. But those other foundations, the foundations for our history, our way of life, a history of oppression and injustice... those we can uproot. Those we _should_ uproot.

"Since I have come to Kirkwall, every day I have been a witness to and, I am ashamed to admit, complicit in another great injustice. As templars, we swear our lives to the Maker's will, and we have been entrusted with a sacred duty. That sacred duty is to protect the Maker's children, which is what we all are, men and women, nobles and peasants, templars and mages."

* * *

 

On the pier, mages elbowed each other and smiled up at the sun, struggling to believe they'd been granted this freedom. For many, it was the first time in memory they'd seen the sea or even the city. Many stopped to ask questions, crowding around the captain, heads full of wild stories from books. She assured them all that she was a real pirate queen, and she had 'underground contacts' in every city along the coast -- surely enough to get them a fair start, wherever they wanted to go. And she had questions, too -- did anyone know how to call the winds? They could go much faster, if that was so. And maybe, just maybe, if they wanted to stay, she could find a place for a few of them on the crew.

And still, the two hooded mages sat and waited, ignoring the shock and the glares of the others who passed them, at the sight of the two of them together, holding hands, a head rested on the other's shoulder. These were not things mages were meant to have.

Finally, two noblemen, to judge by their clothes, appeared at the end of the pier, looking around as if they were lost, and the mages stared. Was the shorter one really an elf? Dressed like that? One of the hooded mages, the tall one, whistled and waved.

* * *

 

"You know this is the same shite the Chantry always said, for all the good they didn't do," someone else called out.

"The Chantry has fallen under the weight of its failure," Cullen announced. He wasn't really sure how he felt about the whole thing with the Chantry -- actually, he didn't much like it at all -- but listening to Bethany and Anton explain the corruption that Sebastian had uncovered, he was hesitant to speak too well of what the Chantry had been up to, in recent years. "And it is up to the Revered Mothers to see to its repair and the repair of the faith of the people of Kirkwall, myself included, but all of you, most of all. And it is the duty of the Templar Order to guard this city from magical threats -- from demons and mages of ill intent. But, it is not our duty to patrol the streets, or to invade the homes of the people of Kirkwall. It is not our duty to disrupt the lives of those who do not threaten others with magic. It is the duty of the City Guard, under the leadership of the dedicated Captain Aveline, to see to criminal disturbances of the usual sort. And if you see any of my men behaving poorly -- if you are afraid to report them to me -- go to the guard. Aveline has shown a particular fondness for packing up poorly-behaved templars, just as she would any other threat to the people of Kirkwall."

At the edge of the crowd, Cullen found Aveline by her red hair and armour, and the smile she gave him was both approving and terrifying. Seneschal Bran stood next to her, just as red-haired if less terrifying, and he tipped his head at Cullen to continue.

"Just as it is not our right to police your streets, it is not our right to insinuate ourselves into your politics... no matter how much you need a viscount, which you all know we do and badly."

The pair of noblemen caught up with the hooded mages, and the taller noble -- the human noble -- paused in front of the shorter mage, his stare as intense and aching as it was indecipherable to those around. Soft words passed his lips, and then the noble pulled the mage into a hug, knuckles white where they bunched in fabric.

"And so," Cullen went on, "in our quest for a new viscount, we must look to Seneschal Bran." He held an arm out in Bran's direction, only to be met with a look of alarm and a frantic head-shake from the seneschal. "...by which, he wants me to remind you, I mean he will help organise an election."

Murmurs of confusion rippled through the crowd.

* * *

 

Down on the docks, the teasing and kissing went on until all the mages had boarded the ship and the cart of baggage had been loaded, leaving the captain to interrupt. From the deck, a golden-haired elf called down something filthy and Antivan to the taller noble, and the elven noble offered him a single finger in reply. The taller mage called up a crackling spell on the tips of his fingers and traced it along the white lines on the elven noble's chin, a sad smile crossing his face. The shorter mage produced a small bouquet of flowers from the back of his belt and pressed them into the hands of the noble he'd been kissing. His eyes brimmed with tears as he forced himself to let go of the sleeve of that gold-embroidered shirt. Starkhaven strawberry blossoms and impatiens said most of what he meant, and after one final, longing kiss, the two hooded mages clasped hands and boarded the ship, leaving nothing behind but flowers and promises. And two very hungry cats.

* * *

 

"I put to you that the City of Kirkwall has been maintained at the whims of its conquerors for too long! You are the people who were born here, the people who will likely live here until you die, and pass this city to your children. You are the heart of Kirkwall, and it is time for the city to care for you! This was once a very important place, it is still one of the most important ports on the Waking Sea, and it is up to you, the people, to bring back the greatness of Kirkwall -- this time without slavery, without demons. And if you _are_ having demon problems, _that_ is what the Templar Order is here to help with." Cullen looked out across the crowd. "Most of all, what I am doing here, today, is apologising for the mistakes of my predecessor and giving the City of Kirkwall back to its people!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this brings us to the end of Rhapsody in Ass Major! Stay tuned for the next part of the story, which starts right now, in '[Assing It Up: Three Years in Kirkwall](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6368758/)' and on Wednesday night/Thursday morning, in '[By the Petty Crown](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5626165)'. We're on a Sunday/Wednesday update schedule, now (for those of you in the US, which I think is most of you, and Monday/Thursday in Europe, because we post pretty close to midnight EST).
> 
> Happy Easter to all, and a fine new beginning!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Rhapsody in Ass Major - Selected Chapters](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5386583) by [mevipodfic (mevima)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mevima/pseuds/mevipodfic)
  * [A Wizard's Staff](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6197140) by [antivanelf (macabreromansu)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/macabreromansu/pseuds/antivanelf)




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